Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People often make the mistake of assuming that children are blissfully unaware of what goes on around them. And to some extent it's a reasonable, albeit ignorant, assumption. There is only so much that young children are meant to comprehend, and much less they're meant to ruminate on. But Tubbo knew from early on in life that his father was not a good person.

Maybe he once was, back in those days of hazy memories untainted by shadowed figures, whispers of payments and gold, of eyes that glinted not with love but with greed and malevolence. But that person had vanished, and Tubbo doubted he would ever return.

When he began to pick up on the truth about his father, Tubbo had just turned seven. He’d waited for his father to leave his study and so they could celebrate together, to go into town and buy a slice of cake for them both at the bakery Tubbo loved. He’d waited outside of that wretched office for hours, watching as the sun rose through the window and began to descend.

Their townhouse home had never felt so empty.

Eventually the child grew bored of waiting and left the hallway in favor of wandering throughout the house. Maybe his father wanted to surprise him! He'd reasoned. Or maybe he’d been trying to get out without Tubbo seeing him? Surprise parties were a thing weren't they? He remembered a young girl he played with in a park some months before, proudly bragging about her own surprise party. Was Tubbo in the way? Maybe Schlatt couldn't leave to set up the party if he was waiting there!

...Right? There had to be a reason he was gone, surely?

Tubbo was shaken out of his doubtful thoughts by the sound of knocking on the door. For just a moment, his thoughts of a surprise celebration took focus, before he shook his head and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, as he made his way over to the door. As Tubbo twisted the doorknob, he heard his father coming down the stairs. His face lit up, and he watched his father walk over to him.

It really was a party! He didn’t have many friends, but there was Quackity, who worked for his father. The duck-hybrid sometimes watched over Tubbo while Schlatt was away, and didn’t mind when Tubbo touched the small golden wings on his back. Tubbo stopped where he was opening the door to stare at his father, waiting for a chuckle or smile, a sign that he was correct in his assumptions.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked gruffly. The small smile gracing Tubbo's face lessened at the man's tone. “I’ve got important business to get to, let them in already.” Tubbo’s looked at him in confusion, before diligently opening the door. A few tall people in suits stepped in, ignoring him as they shook hands with his father.

The people filed into the house and made their way up the stairway. Briefly, Tubbo swore he saw something glint in the pocket of a women’s coat, metallic and dangerous. The boy watched in unease as Schlatt followed them up the stairs before his eyebrows furrowed in sudden anger.

“Dad!” He called out. His father stopped in his tracks, huffing a small laugh and flashing an artificial smile to the group. Even at the wise age of seven years old, Tubbo could see how fake the gesture was.

“One moment, you can start the meeting without me.” Schlatt made his way over to the young goat-hybrid.

“What is it, Tubbo? I’ll have you know this is a really important meeting, which could mean a lot of profit for me and the company.” His father asked, his mouth pulled into an irritated frown. He crouched down to look at Tubbo. His suit smelled like smoke and Tubbo wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“It’s my birthday today.” He said, watching the older man’s face carefully. The older man’s eyes didn’t widen in surprise, didn’t shine with guilt or promise, and somehow that was worse.

“I know Tubbo, but this is important. We’ll go out for cake later okay? Now, entertain yourself out here, and don’t cause any problems.”

Tubbo nodded stiffly and let Schlatt ruffle his hair before returning to his office, the door snapping shut once more. He spent the rest of the day in his room, silently putting together a puzzle. The moon began to climb outside, and Tubbo stared from his window at the town below.

Later that night as he laid in his bed, covers pulled up around him to keep away the cold winter chill, he crept out of his room and made his way to his father’s office. Light shined from the gap under the doorway, bright against the shadows of the house.

Tubbo quietly knelt down, pressing his ear against the door.

“—if that’s the case, I can have the money delivered to you. But only, if you agree to provide the tools we need.”

“Of course, who do you take me for!” Schaltt replied. “I’m not known as the finest black-market weapons dealer for nothing.” Tubbo’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement, Schaltt.”

“As am I. You receive your weaponry, I receive my payment.” There was the sound of chairs moving against the hardwood floors, and Tubbo gasped softly, scrambling to his feet and backing away to his bedroom door. Unfortunately, the door opened and golden light flooded the dark hallway, illuminated Tubbo. Schlatt and his guest left the room first, and the unfamiliar man’s eyes caught on Tubbo.

He felt his heart beating in his chest, and hoped his face didn’t show any of his fear or guilt as he stared back. His father took notice of Tubbo's presence at last and glared.

“Tubbo, what are you doing here! It’s long past midnight!” Tubbo blinked and clenched his fists, eyes flicking from his father and the man standing behind him. Slowly the other people in the room filed out, some paying attention to what was happening and others ignoring it entirely.

“I wa-was just going to get some w-water,” He managed to stutter out. Schlatt sighed and turned to the man beside him.

“I’m so sorry about him, one moment,” He muttered, before addressing Tubbo. “Go to sleep, kid, it’s too late to get water. You should’ve been asleep ages ago.”

“But—”

Schlatt's eyes glinted.

“Don’t argue with me, Tubbo.” He growled.

And that was that. Reluctantly, the boy made his way back to his room, ears flattened against his head as he took one final glance at the scene before him. Then, he made his way back to his bed and laid there for the rest of the night, sleep unable to come and blanket his troubled mind.

Since that day, Tubbo began to notice more and more of his father’s strange behavior, unsavory business partners, and growing empire. He watched as the deal he witnessed that night became more and more common, as his father's services changed from weaponry to assassinations, as his prices changed from simple cash to debts and favors.

They began to talk and see one another less and less, but each time they did, Tubbo was left with the irremovable scent of whiskey and cigarettes that stained Schlatt’s breath. They moved houses, their simple townhouse replaced by a large and opulent manor on the outskirts of town. To the public, Schlatt’s Security and Hired Protection was a quickly growing and prominent company. To the underworld, Schlatt was taking over the scene for everything from drugs to weapons. From assassinations to stolen goods.

Schlatt conquered the criminal underground, and a new ambition began to cultivate in his mind.

On Tubbo’s tenth birthday, Schlatt took him to the basement of the house. Strictly off limits, it was where all of the ram-hybrid’s criminal activities operated from, hidden behind a bookshelf in the study. Schlatt kept a firm hand on Tubbo’s back as he guided him through the hallways of the basement, gripping his shoulder tightly when Tubbo would try to look into the rooms.

“Where are we going?” Tubbo finally asked, risking a glance up at Schlatt. The older man lifted an eyebrow before flashing him a callous smirk.

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” he said, before slowing to a stop and opening the door. The room was clearly an office, complete with a desk and elegant furniture and a chandelier that bathed the room in light. Schlatt sat down and gestured for Tubbo to do the same, and the boy awkwardly sat down, legs swinging in the air. Schlatt folded his hands and spoke.

“I’m not going to act like you're an idiot, Tubbo, because you’re not. You’re my son after all,” Tubbo ignored the resentment that rose up in him, snuffing it out like a candle in the wind. “You know damn well I don’t run a security company.” Tubbo sat there silently. Thankfully, his father only took that as a cue to continue speaking.

“It’s time for you to join the family business.”

What.

“I’ve gotten you an instructor on everything you will need to learn.” Schlatt continued, while Tubbo sat in disbelief, hurriedly trying to regain his bearings. “You’ll be living in an undisclosed location where they’ll train you until they have deemed you ready to take your place here.”

Tubbo sat there silently, unable to form words as Schlatt waved his instructor into the room. He stared at his father, searching, begging for any hint of sadness, remorse—hell, he’d even take a hint of self-righteousness, in his face. Any trace of emotion at the sight of Tubbo, at his only child, being led out of the room. Any sort of explanation, of reasoning or care.

But Schlatt didn’t give him more than a passing glance as without a goodbye, without even a wave, he was taken away.

It was three years later that Tubbo would sit down face to face with his father again.

“So,” Schlatt began. “It seems you’ve been deemed ready.”

In the three years since Tubbo had been in Schlatt's office, hardly anything had changed. Scratch that, nothing had changed, except for his father’s taste in suits and a fake potted plant that sat in the back corner. The carpeted floor was still plush and soft under his feet and the ram horns that curled around Schlatt’s head were still adorned with various golden jewelry.

“I must say you returned much sooner than I expected you too,” Schlatt continued. “I hope your instructor did not make a mistake when sending you back.”

It wasn’t a lie that his instructor sent Tubbo back to the city earlier than expected. Just the night before as he clambered into the wagon that would take to the city, his mentor had whispered that he was the best student he’d ever taken on. Tubbo had a natural talent.

If only it wasn’t for killing.

“We’ll see how true that is. I assume I don’t need to explain what your new role is?”

“An assassin.” Tubbo stated, swallowing back the bitter taste that rose in the back of his mouth.

“Of sorts,” Schlatt affirmed. “If your instructor taught you correctly, you shouldn’t have any issue with your very first job. Unless of course, you let those three years go to waste.”

“No, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Schlatt smirked cruelly. The ram-hybrid opened the drawer next to him, pulling out a thick file and passing it over to Tubbo. The brown-haired boy opened it, eyes skimming over the neat rows of ink and the photo of the target clipped to the top with a paperclip.

There wasn’t any information pertaining to why Schlatt wanted them dead, but his instructor's voice echoed in his head. The assassin does not question the mission or the target. They just get the job done. So Tubbo schooled his face into a blank expression like he’d been trained to do.

“How soon do you need them out of the picture?”

The target was found dead in their living room the next morning.

At the very same moment, Schlatt presented Tubbo as an official member of his organization. The crown jewel in his collection of hired killers and conmen.

Tubbo tugged the prop book and watched the bookshelf unlatch from the door, pulling it away to reveal the entrance to the manor’s underground area. Shutting it closed behind him, he stalked through the cold stone hallways, giving brief nods to the people he came across on his way to his storage room.

Well, he called it a storage room, but with how much time he spent there, a better name might’ve been second bedroom. It was far more convenient to move his belongings down here where he could receive assignments and gear up at a moment’s notice, then to traverse the manor every time Schlatt wanted to speak to him in his office.

The brown-haired teen finally arrived at his destination, pulling down the dark hood of his coat and unloading the weaponry from his person. He wiped the bloodstained blades gently, in practiced movements to keep the knives in pristine condition.

Tubbo finally deemed them clean and stored them away with the rest of his tools, sighing and changing into clothes that weren’t dark and typically worn when he was assassinating people. Call him crazy, but they weren’t exactly the most comfortable clothes to wear to bed.

After he showered and changed into a different set of clothes, he flopped onto the bed, letting out a huff as his body hit the mattress. Lately Schlatt hadn’t given him a moment to catch his breath, sending him out for target after target.

He wasn’t really complaining, not only because he knew that Schlatt wouldn’t hesitate to slap him if he dared to do so, but also because he didn’t really have much else to do with his life. When your identity is almost completely wiped off of the grid, and you're publicly known as “the son of that misanthropic business man, who coincidentally hasn’t been seen in years” there is’t exactly much opportunity for parties or friends.

Or a social life at all, if Tubbo was being completely honest. Being familiar with Bad and Skeppy who worked at the bakery down the road didn’t mean much if all they knew was his first name, that he liked bees (an offhand comment he had made when Bad was talking) and that he had a preference for blueberry scones.

The chances of this break lasting were slim to none, if Tubbo was going by the past few weeks, but he allowed himself the luxury of letting his eyes flutter shut and taking a small nap. All too soon, the sound of rapping on the door forced him awake, the teen yawning as he opened the door and nodded to whichever one of Schlatt’s goons had been sent to fetch him.

“Schlatt is requesting you—”

“Yeah, yeah shut up already Josh, I've got it.” Tubbo said to the man. He ignored the man’s offended mutter about how that wasn’t his name, and began making his way down the hall to Schlatt’s office. Perhaps it was unnecessarily rude of him, but just because Tubbo might be a part of Schlatt's assorted menagerie of criminals and mercenaries didn't mean he had to hold any respect for them. Sorry, but not sorry, Josh.

Quackity was leaving the office as he arrived, and the two nodded at each other before Tubbo entered the room. Both of them know better than to start up a conversation with Schlatt on just the other side of the door, so they settle for that. Tubbo was sure that he would see Quackity tomorrow, if not later today anyway.

Unlike most of his opinions from when Tubbo was a little kid, his seventeen-year-old self still felt pretty similarly about Quackity. He hadn’t quite grasped how young the duck-hybrid was when he was younger, especially to be working in a weapon-dealing gang, but who was he to judge? Still, it was nice to have something from his old life not completely shatter, even if it was certainly not the same as before.

Quackity was only a few years older then Tubbo, with less then a decade's difference in their ages. Their shared closeness to Schlatt, Tubbo in the shape of his personal assassin and son, and Quackity as his right-hand man, meant they experienced the worst of the worst of Schlatt’s wrath in a more private manner.

Tubbo was there for Quackity after another one of his and Schaltt’s arguments, and Quackity was there for him when he came back covered in blood during the middle of the night, sleep deprived and exhausted.

Tubbo entered the office, sitting down in the chair across from Schlatt’s as usual. Bottles of whiskey covered the table, but Quackity hadn’t come out of the office bruised or wincing. This was a different kind of drinking. Tubbo’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you want?” He demanded, searching the man’s face.

“Tubbo! Good to see you back, how did the assignment go?” Schlatt said with a toothy smile, ignoring Tubbo’s question completely. Tubbo tensed, forcing himself to keep his features unchanged in front of the man.

What the fuck. Schlatt never asked him how the mission went, especially not in such a—dare he say— pleasant tone of voice. Schlatt was happy.

Tubbo didn’t know how to handle a happy Schlatt. The most jovial he had seen the man last was six months ago when Tubbo killed an old enemy of Schlatt’s, an old and well-known figure in the Underground. But that had been a different sort of happiness, one of grim satisfaction.

Which meant one of three things: either Schlatt had some sort of life-changing experience, had hit his head hard enough for a complete and total personality change, or it was fake.

Tubbo would take his chances with the last option.

“The mission went fine.” He replied, picking his words carefully. “I eliminated the target quickly, was gone before anyone even knew he was lying dead on the floor. What do you want?” Tubbo insisted, growing frustrated. He was rewarded with Schlatt giving him a cheshire-like smile.

“So impatient.” Schlatt taunted. “Since you’re so impatient, I’ll let you know. But for future reference, it’s not usually considered polite to interrupt someone when they're talking.” His voice dropped to a deeper and more dangerous octave.

“It’s also not polite to ignore people.” Tubbo snarked, before he could think any better. He shut his mouth as he realized what he said, but his eyes retained their spiteful gleam. Thankfully, Schlatt didn’t seem to take offense, simply moving on as if Tubbo had never spoken in the first place.

“I have a new target for you.” Schlatt began. “It’ll be the most high-profile and toughest assignment I’ve given you, but I trust you’ll accomplish it.”

“I’ve done a lot of risky and supposedly hard cases before. What makes you think this one will be such an issue?” Tubbo asks. Schlatt had him take on many well-guarded targets without even a single word of warning, and Tubbo never failed to finish the mission. So if Schlatt was saying this was going to be a harder mission, Tubbo was going to take his word for it.

“Your new target is the Kingdom's prince.”

Tubbo’s eyes widened.

“Prince Ranboo!?” He exclaimed, voice filled with incredulity. “That’s the target?!”

“He’s now your number one priority. You’ve taken out the rest of my competition, and I’ve secured my spot in the Underground. So it’s time to take a step into the big leagues.” Tubbo couldn’t bring himself to utter a word as Schlatt monologued.

“I’m granting you as much time as you need. There isn’t a deadline, although I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you that this doesn’t mean you can lounge about doing nothing. Anything you need—weapons, gear, backup, I can provide.”

“But the prince will die.” Schlatt finished.

“Why?” Tubbo finally managed. “Why do you need him dead?” Schlatt’s eyes narrowed. His earlier glee completely vanished, his eyes sharp and cold.

“I don’t remember you needing that information for this mission.” He snapped. Tubbo frowned, instinctively leaning away from Schlatt. He decided to nod his head to avoid unnecessary conflict, as much as he disagreed.

It was telling enough that he hadn’t been given a deadline, since Tubbo knew for a fact that had never happened before. The teen was used to dealing with pressure, acting under the threat of a trickling hourglass. To be granted as much time as needed, acesses to any and all form of materials and supplies aside, was incredible.

This was serious. Schlatt wasn’t joking around. He knew the stakes, knew the risk. But for whatever reason was still crazy enough to want it done. Tubbo wondered whether he should really be as surprised as he was.

It still didn’t explain why Schlatt had ordered for Prince Ranboo’s death, but he’d find out eventually. He always did.

“Where are the files?” He asked. “Or do I need to do research and recon on my own?”

He hoped that his luck hadn’t run dry with Schlatt’s earlier lenience, recon was a pain in the ass, and trying to do it on a royal? Tubbo thought it seemed harder than assassinating him.

“I asked Quackity to get them sent to your room earlier,” Schlatt answered. His voice was still steely, and the ram hybrid took a swig from the whiskey bottle next to him, the rich brown drink swirling around in the glass bottle as he set it down on the table. It looked as though the earlier joy, however fraudulent it was, had ended.

It was back to the usual.

“Better get to it.” Schlatt grunted.

Tubbo didn’t bother to respond as he walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He let out a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, and staring up at the ceiling as he did so.

Being given the task of assassinating the kingdom’s Crown Prince...it was certainly not how he expected that meeting to go.

Chapter Text

Given how high-profile Tubbo’s target was, he really shouldn't be as surprised as he is when the files in his room yielded...exiguous amounts of information. 

When he made his way back to his room after the meeting with Schlatt, he was met with the files Schlatt had mentioned placed on his bed. The amount of information within the manila files was so meager that even with his dyslexia, Tubbo doesn’t spend much more than five minutes reading until he's gone through it all. 

Tubbo didn’t know exactly what he had been expecting. While it was true that the amount of information he was given varied, he always had something substantial. But this...it was useless. The royal family and their guards were careful about keeping people like Tubbo away and unable to accomplish their jobs. He didn't care what the Prince had mentioned his favorite season was in passing, what he wants to know was how to best do his job. 

Perhaps he should just go to sleep, and let the exhaustion that hung off his frame be washed away by the welcome darkness of sleep. Tubbo can’t remember when he last had a good night's sleep, let alone the mere idea of a healthy sleep schedule. 

Quackity joked that he was more nocturnal than anything, and the man was uncomfortably correct. It wasn’t exactly like the prime assassination time was the middle of the afternoon, which meant that as cliche as it was, Tubbo did a good majority of his work in the cover of night. 

He had gotten rather good at seeing in the dark, a necessity after he had cut himself across the face during the first few months of his new career as an assassin. He had been creeping through an alleyway and tripped over some garbage. Tubbo had been so focused on making sure he didn't make enough noise to alert the target that he hadn’t noticed the jagged edge of a broken mirror. 

He’d twisted his head to the side at the last moment and probably avoided getting stabbed in the eye, but it had left him with a nasty scar that stretched from his cheek to his jaw. Tubbo mindlessly traces over that scar now and lets out a deep sight before pushing himself back out of bed. 

He needs to think, not fall asleep. Schlatt might have said he had all the time in the world, but Tubbo seriously doubted the ram-hybrid was telling the truth. It didn’t make sense given the last few years. Maybe that trick would’ve worked on him before, back when he was still gullible and had some remaining hope that his father was still a good person deep down. 

After the incident, however, Tubbo knew that his naivety had no place to remain.

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts, and Tubbo gratefully snaps his attention over to it. 

“Come in!” He calls out and is greeted with Quackity’s face peeking through the doorway. 

“Hey Tubbo,” Quackity greets him with a tight smile. “How’d it go with Schlatt?” He slips into Tubbo’s room and shuts the door behind him. Tubbo shrugs in response, looking back at the disappointing file with a frown. 

“You know what the mission is, don’t you?” Tubbo states, looking Quackity in the eyes. The scar that marred his face, leaving him partially blind is even more clear in the lamplight of Tubbo room. It was the work of Technoblade, the piglin warrior and Head of the Royal Guard.

Tubbo grimaces as he realizes the very same could happen to him if he was unsuccessful. Nobody in the kingdom would take kindly to the Prince being assassinated, especially not the Head Guard, who was notoriously protective of the royal family and an unbeatable fighter. Quackity seems to notice his apprehension and new focus on his scar, and sighs. 

“Yeah, Schlatt has been discussing it with me for these past few weeks. It...caught me off guard, that was for sure.”

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” Tubbo replies dryly. “You didn’t think I should know about Schlatt’s new thirst for the crown?” 

“You don’t know if that’s why he’s ordered the hit on Prince Ranboo,” Quackity argues, but it feels weak to the both of them. It was no secret that Schlatt simply wanted power. It was their fault for not seeing this coming sooner. This was bound to happen, one way or another. 

Unavoidable, Tubbo thinks. 

“I would’ve thought you at least would try and stop this.” He tells Quackity. “You know better than all of us how dangerous this is. It’s reckless and dangerous. Schlatt might be power-hungry, vindictive, and cruel, but if there is one thing he isn’t, it’s reckless.” 

Quackity tilts his head at Tubbo as if peering into his green-blue eyes and trying to figure out the clockwork inside him. 

“But Tubbo,” Quackity finally responds. “Don’t you see? To Schlatt, there isn’t a single thing that’s reckless about this.” Tubbo furrows his brows in confusion and opens his mouth to interject, but Quackity pushes on before he can.

“Schlatt has inexhaustible faith in you. He has not a single doubt in his mind that you can—and will—fulfill this mission.”

Tubbo stays silent, watching as Quackity stands up and makes his way over to the door, not once looking back at the younger boy. 

“And you know what?” Quackity pauses. “He’s not wrong.” And with that confession, the duck hybrid left the room. 

And what was Tubbo supposed to do? Because no matter what lies he told himself, the truth continues to stare back, unblinking. Quackity simply forced him to face it. 

Schlatt had molded him into the perfect weapon, the tool that would take out his enemy’s at his every beck and call. Tubbo had blood on his hands. It might be true that he no longer sought out Schlatt’s approval like a moth drawn to the flame, but he still killed without complaint. 

That was what Tubbo was now. It was what he had been for a very long time. 

Something unnameable clouded his brain, and his hands shook. Tubbo shut his eyes as his vision begins to blur and sucks in a deep breath, clenching his fists. He was fine. He was fine. 

His fingernails dig into his skin and the faint but sharp smell of blood fills Tubbo’s nose. He was fine. He was a killer, an assassin. He’d come to this conclusion long ago.

So why was he only now truly realizing the weight of those words? 

With the files as useless as they were, Tubbo had to go find his own information. He spent the last week listening in on conversations between guards, both royal and village to learn about schedules and rotations. 

At first, he’d attempted to gain information through passing gossip about the royal family in the town center. Unfortunately, after Tubbo heard more gossip about the blacksmith’s sister and merchant’s daughter being caught kissing behind the bakery or how a group of village guards had caused a bunch of chaos over some game called “Manhunt”, Tubbo deemed the excursion a failure. 

But eventually even eavesdropping on conversations between the guards and looking at schedules proved not to be enough. No, what Tubbo needed to do was scope out the area of assassination. He needed to explore the castle. To learn its inhabitants and defenses, so to best exploit them when the time comes. 

Which was how he ended up pressed up against the bottom of a horse-drawn wagon, the paved road just a foot away from his face as the rider unknowingly led him right into the castle. It hadn’t taken too long to find out that they made weekly rounds to the castle to deliver goods to the kitchens. All that was left was for Tubbo to sneak a ride without being noticed. 

The wagon begins to slow, and Tubbo resists the urge to shift his position. It’s uncomfortable, and one of the beams under him is digging into his ribs. But he doesn’t dare move until he is surely within the castle walls and ready to sneak away. The wagon jostles over a rock and Tubbo nearly yelps in surprise, quickly slamming his mouth shut to stop himself. 

And biting his tongue instead. 

Tubbo winces from the sudden pain, but the metallic and sickly sweet taste of blood wasn’t tainting his mouth. Small mercies, he supposed. The wagon rolls to a stop, and Tubbo hears the driver greet somebody. 

We must be at the entrance to the castle, Tubbo noted. The driver makes small talk with the guards, and Tubbo quickly concludes that there must have been two guards stationed there, at least directly in front of the gates. Inside the castle walls, however, it was sure to be crawling with them. How fun. 

Tubbo is at his wit’s end when almost ten minutes later, the wagon was still standing in the castle entrance, the guards and driver chatting away happily. Go catch up at the damn pub or something! I thought royal guards were meant to be the best of the best, not easily distracted and unprofessional fools! 

“Alright Harvey, it was good catching up but I should really go deliver these to the castle now.” The driver says. Tubbo feels like weeping tears of joy as the wagon rolls into the castle grounds. At last! The teenager can’t hold back a small smile as the wagon comes to a stop and the driver hops out of the front seat, murmuring something to the horses. 

A few more voices arrive and Tubbo sees the feet of people unloading packages and crates on the back of the wagon. He waits until they fade away and the room is silent, before carefully getting out of the cramped position and dropping to the floor. Tubbo crawls out from underneath the wagon and glances around, running out of the room after spotting nobody. 

From what he knew, the driver was typically gone for three hours. It was only a thirty-minute ride to the castle, and with the added time spent chatting with the guards, Tubbo estimated he only had around a little under two hours to gather the information he needed. He hadn’t exactly prepared a method of leaving the castle grounds outside of sneaking back onto the wagon.

A tight schedule, which Tubbo was certain would come down to the wire, but also sure he could make it work. All he needs to do is find out the security guarding the Prince, common hauntings, and figure out the layout of the castle. 

Actually, Tubbo realizes, peeking around a corner to check for people before making his way down. Schlatt did say he was willing to provide any resources I need. If I can convince him to get me a map of the castle and its grounds, this will be much easier. The thought of relying on Schlatt for, well, practically anything, makes Tubbo’s nose wrinkle in distaste, but if the man could get him the map it would be stupid for him to turn it down for something as trivial as that.

Tubbo continues wandering the halls, keeping his pace purposefully brisk and collected, but with a hint of anxiety in his step. With his clothing and young age, any passerby would just see a young servant making their way through the castle. 

As kind-hearted as Queen Niki was rumored to be, there was no chance even she knew every single servant employed there. And the rest of the servants and guards would care even less so with how occupied they are with their jobs, Tubbo concludes. So as long as he makes sure not to appear suspicious, he shouldn’t encounter any issues.

Well...at least in theory. 

Tubbo manages to arrive in the kitchens, where he is immediately confronted by a middle-aged woman with what appeared to be green scales dotting her cheeks and wrists. A snake or reptile hybrid, perhaps? She catches sight of him walking through the door and walks over, a platter tightly grasped in her hand. 

“Boy! What are you doing, slacking off?” she barks out. “I don’t recognize you, what’s your name?” 

“Uh, I’m Robin,” Tubbo replies. “I”m not normally assigned to the kitchens, but I was told you needed help.” The woman stares at him briefly before nodding sharply and placing the platter in his hands. 

“We always need help down here,” she mutters. “Go bring that to Wilbur!” 

“Uh, the Grand Diplomat?” Tubbo asks as he adjusts the platter in his hands as she places more plates and glasses on it. “Where exactly...is he?” 

“Useless, completely useless.” The lady mutters and Tubbo fights the urge to throw the tray in her face. “Third floor, western wing of the castle. Across from the library. Just knock and tell him you’re bringing the food he requested.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Tubbo says, before turning around to go as she demanded. 

“And come straight back as soon as you can!” 

Tubbo expected himself to be more lost within the castle’s many hallways, staircases, and doorways but ends up pleasantly surprised when he locates the library quite quickly. He does as the chef had asked and knocks on the door, announcing himself beforehand. When he doesn’t receive a response, Tubbo slowly creaks upon the door. He glances around the room for Wilbur before deciding to place down the tray next to a table covered in books and notes with still-drying ink. It’s information on relations with a nearby kingdom, and while he’s sure Schlatt would kill to get his hands on them, he leaves them be. 

Tubbo closes the door behind him and looks up to see the entrance to the library in front of him, the door open and welcoming. He leaves just ten minutes later with two books stuffed within his shirt. The information is likely dated and certainly not exact to the present, but any information is better than nothing. The next hour passes with him in the kitchens, helping various servants and eavesdropping on their conversations. 

It proves to be much more informative than those from the village. They hardly have a clue how valuable their words are to Tubbo, who just nods with a small smile as they absent-mindedly speak to him, but it is just what he came here in search of. 

Once he got that map of the castle from Schlatt, the mission could go underway. 

The servant next to him begins to ramble with a grin on their face as they describe the time that Prince Ranboo and his personal guard (a subject of much exasperated but not malicious complaining in the kitchens) tried to sneak an animal into the castle, and ended up setting off the head guard’s allergies. Tubbo automatically files away the weakness for later. 

His gut twists in disgust as he continues to plan the Prince’s assassination whilst these people unknowingly help him. He is an assassin, and he’s long since gone numb to the brutality of his job, of the grim reality it holds. But he can’t stand the thought of getting others involved or allowing them to know of how he used them to bring death upon others. Not when they had done nothing deserving to have them weighed down by that knowledge.

He clenches his fists and hopes the servant next to him doesn’t notice the slight down-turn of his lips. When the time came, Tubbo hoped at the very least these servants never realized the role they played in his plans. 

He is jolted out of his thoughts by a sudden commotion behind him, where the wagon driver and some other servants were reloading the wagon. His time has run out. So Tubbo excuses himself and goes over to help them, purposefully sticking near the back of the group. He loads the crates back onto the wagon with ease and tells the others to go fetch the rest of the luggage while he loads them onto the wagon. The servants accept the help easily, leaving Tubbo alone. 

Tubbo doesn’t waste a moment before hurriedly shoving them onto the wagon, ears alert and carefully listening for the sound of footsteps or voices. He crawls back under the wagon and maneuvers himself back under the wagon just as they returned. This time he manages to position himself so he isn’t in pain the entire time, luckily. 

Ten minutes later, Tubbo is out of the castle and on his way back to the manor. He lets out a quiet sigh and closes his eyes. The quiet song of the driver humming, the clip-clop of hooves trotting on the dirt road, and the creaking wagon wheels lull him to a peaceful and much-needed slumber.

He wakes up with a jolt as the wagon comes to a stop and the driver leaps out. Tubbo swallows back a large yawn, blinking away the fogginess of sleep from his eyes and he bides his time and waits once again for the opportunity to slip away. 

When Tubbo arrives at the manor, he immediately heads towards Schlatt’s office. He keeps his face blank and neutral as he demands a map of the castle, discreetly fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves. Schlatt doesn’t spare him a glance before giving him a sharp nod and a grunt of approval, before telling him to leave him be. Tubbo feels a tinge of annoyance at the easy dismissal, but it wasn’t like this interaction was out of the ordinary. It would have been more concerning if Schlatt actually paid attention and involved himself, and besides, the faster he was able to leave that alcohol reeking office the better.

Not even three nights later, after Tubbo comes back with sore muscles and bruised knuckles from training, he finds a neatly folded map of the castle on his bed. He opens it up, flattening it against his bed covers as he analyses it, finger gently tracing over the inked outlines of different floors and towers. 

He ignores the speckles of blood in the corner of the map, deep in thought. Everything was coming together, like puzzle pieces expertly slotting against each other. 

The assassination night approaches. 

Tubbo crouches down and cautiously moves closer to the balcony outcropping below him. With the castle map and the information he’d gained about the guard routines, it hadn’t taken him long to climb over the castle borders. 

Scaling the castle had certainly been more difficult, but Tubbo has had plenty of experience with climbing buildings and jumping from rooftops. He certainly hasn’t ever been this high up before though, the goat-hybrid notes with a worried flick of his ear, unable to stop himself from glancing over the roof railings. He forcibly pulls himself away from the edge and shifts his focus. He can’t allow himself to become scared. Fear is but a distraction. 

He shifts the positions of his feet on shingles that formed the roof and turns around. The Prince’s window is just a few feet away, but he needs to get closer. It was all about timing and careful calculation. The enormous window was open, and the wind caused flowy curtains to flutter in the wind as they were swept into the open air. The room is dark and quiet, but with how late it is, the Prince surely has to be coming soon. 

Unless I got the room wrong, Tubbo reminds himself. Unlikely, but not impossible. So he checks again, climbing up to the top of the roof. He’s thankful for the cover of night since although there are castle windows the peer over the roof, the light from inside cannot banish all of the darkness, effectively hiding him from sight. 

The wind blows a little harsher and Tubbo grips his cowl tightly, making sure it stays securely over his head. After reassuring himself, he returns to his spot. The light remains off, and he wonders for how long he will have to wait. 

Two minutes...three minutes....five minutes...

Tubbo is onto seven and a half minutes when the lights flicker on, and he presses himself further into the darkness of the sloping roof. 

“I’m telling you, Ranboo,” Someone exclaims. “He’s conspiring against me!” 

“He’s your brother. I think that's kinda in the job description.” A different voice replies drily, and fuck, he hadn’t planned for multiple people. This had to be the prince and his personal guard. He knew they were close, but it had been an oversight on his part to assume that he’d manage to just find the prince alone.

I mean, Tubbo begrudgingly thinks, it is literally in the title, personal guard. He’s going to have to rely purely on the element of surprise to gain the advantage it seems. Tubbo reaches to the holster on his calf and takes out the shiny dagger. 

“Besides,” Ranboo adds. “You have to admit you are kinda the one who started that whole mess.” 

“Me! Tommy Trusty Careful Danger Kraken Innit? Cause problems and trouble and all-around chaos? You must be ha-loo-cin-in-at-ting!” Tommy quips, over enunciating the last word dramactically. 

“Literally none of those middle names are real.” Ranboo says flatly. 

“Oh yeah? And what do you know about my middle name, boob boy?” 

“It’s Henry. Your middle name is Henry— Tommy we’ve known each other for almost our entire lives, do you really think I don’t know your middle name?” The room is silent as Ranboo waits for a response. Tubbo waits patiently. Not yet. 

“Well now I don’t.” 

“...you're an idiot.” 

“What the fuck!” Tommy shouts, and Ranboo just laughs. The conversation is light-hearted and easygoing. Chaotic, yet calm and tension free. Longing rises up in Tubbo’s gut, longing for something he knows he can’t have. He stares at the open window before a shadow covers the panes. A moment later, the Prince steps into his sight. 

He’s tall, is the first thing Tubbo notices. It’s well known that as enderman hybrids, both the Queen and Prince were rather eccentric looking, even in a world full of hybrids. His skin and hair are black and white, perfectly split down the middle as if painted on. 

His face is kind. 

When he hears footsteps grow louder, he knows he’s losing his advantage. He should have striked when the prince first appeared in the window. Now the guard is going to come and ruin his plans. And well, Tubbo can’t have that.

Tubbo darts up, on his feet and gripping his dagger tightly and he leaps from the castle rooftop.

The blade gleams in the moonlight, and as if in slow motion, Ranboo frowns. The prince turns, and Tubbo can tell he’s been spotted. 

“Tommy!” He shouts, throwing himself away from the window. Tubbo lands on the window with ease, and grabs the dagger with both hands, slamming it towards Ranboo's throat. 

The screech of metal fills the air. The guard is staring at him with fury.  Tubbo moves quickly, unsheathing another dagger from his belt so he’s dual wielding. Not a second later and he’s bringing the knives up to fend off the guard’s sword. 

“Thought you could kill the prince, didn’t you? Not on my fucking watch!” Tommy snarls, swinging the sword with expertise at Tubbo. He’s not the only one who knows how to fight though. 

Leaping back, Tubbo takes a split-second to survey his surroundings. The window is still open behind him, and the prince is picking himself off of the floor. The guard is holding his sword defensively in front of him, but he’s practically armorless. 

Tubbo darts forward, sweeping Tommy’s feet from beneath him. The blonde falls to the ground with a thump , instantly raising his own sword to swipe out at Tubbo.

“Don’t talk so high and mighty if you can’t back it up.” Tubbo replies. Tommy scowls. 

Their fight is like a dance. They dart to and from in a twirling clash of metal. Tubbo kicks the guard in the chest, watching as he stumbles back. Tommy regains himself and swings his sword. Tubbo goes to block his swing, but is punched in the face. He raises a hand to his nose gingerly, wincing. 

The mask that covers the lower half of his face is keeping any blood from gushing over his face, but Tubbo can feel the warm liquid being absorbed by the fabric. Aw man, gross. At least I don’t have to worry about it staining. 

Tubbo’s dagger catches against the guard’s sword, forcing the two into a standstill. He stares at him through narrowed eyes before looking behind him. There, the prince stands, frozen in place as he watches the two boys try and force the other into an opening, the clashing sound of metal blades filling the air. The guard catches his gaze and twists his head around, cerulean eyes gleaming with irritation. He curses under his breath. 

“Ranboo, you idiot, stop just standing there and go get back up!” The prince snaps out of his stupor, nodding and taking one last glimpse at Tubbo before running out of the room. 

Shit. It’s all gone to shit so very quickly.

Tubbo knows when to pick his battles. It’s not something he often has to do when on missions, but he’s certainly had to hone that sense when dealing with Schlatt. Who knows how fast the prince will alert the guards, pinning him down and leaving no route for escape?

With one swift movement, he breaks the impasse he’d been in with the blonde guard. Watching as his opponent's eyes widen with surprise, he leaps out the window, hand raised in one final mocking salute. The guard’s head appears just a second later, leaning over the window and gaping. 

Tubbo allows himself to free fall then longer than was necessary, but what can he say? A little bit of theatrics never hurt anyone; at least not too badly. It isn’t as though this guard can tell anyways. 

He twists midair, and his hand reaches for the holster on his waist. The mechanical contraption, a grapple gun he had made a year ago, shoots out a cable, and Tubbo uses his momentum to fly in an arc, pressing the button above the trigger to release the cable.

Tubbo flies through the air, and the adrenaline already pumping through his veins for a brief moment, manages to overpower the fear he has for when Schlatt hears of his failure. He uses the trees to traverse the large field in the front of the castle, eventually returning the grapple gun to its place in favor of good old-fashioned parkour. Then it’s over and he lands on the wall in a crouch and doesn’t waste any time leaping into the underbrush surrounding the other side of the wall. 

His father is not going to be pleased.

Chapter Text

“You’re completely sure that you’re alright?” Niki asks him for the fifth time in the last hour. “No injuries whatsoever?”

“Yes, Niki, I’m fine,” Ranboo responds, though not unkindly. Niki squeezes his hand. “The assassin only got close to me once, and they still didn’t end up touching me.” Barely, Ranboo declines to add. His sister is worried enough as is, and he doesn’t want to be the cause of more stress for her. 

If you’d asked him how he expected his night to go, he certainly wouldn’t have responded by being locked in one of the castle’s many safe rooms with Niki and Techno at three in the morning. After Tommy had snapped him out of his stupor and Ranboo had regained himself, he’d run down the hallways, yelling about attacks and assassins. 

It hadn’t taken him long to stumble across a group of guards, and one of them instantly went to go get Niki and Techno as they stumbled over his words. The others had told him to stay put while they went to help Tommy. 

However, it turned out to be unnecessary, since Tommy returned with the guards with a furious expression on his face. His striped tail flicked back and forth agitatedly, the fur spiked up in a way that instantly let Ranboo know just how his friend was feeling. 

“The assassin got away,” the blonde said. “Jumped out the fuckin’ window.” Ranboo stayed close to Tommy while the guard led them to the safe room Ranboo currently sat in. 

All things considered, he was actually fine. Tommy was worse off than him since he’d been fighting, but even then, the worst of it was just some nasty bruises. Did that mean it would stop Niki from fussing over him though? 

No, absolutely not. 

He thinks back to the struggle that Tommy had whilst fighting the assassin, and how some of the only people in the castle who Tommy hadn’t beaten in a fight were experienced and talented superiors like Techno, Puffy, or Phil. 

One of those listed was the head of the Royal Guard, and the other two were captains of the kingdom’s guard. Tommy’s talent was not to be underestimated. 

Which means that this assassin was truly formidable. 

Ranboo rubs his neck on instinct, momentarily forgetting about Niki and Techno’s presence. Tommy had left to help with the manhunt for the assassin as soon as they arrived. Something tells Ranboo that the assassin will not be found.

“It was luck.” He states quietly, all too aware of the way that Niki and Techno’s gaze turns to him. He fights against the urge to shrink into himself in some futile way to avoid their attention and continues. “The only reason I’m not dead right now was because I spotted them out of the corner of my eye and jumped out of the way at the last second.” He swallows dryly.

“If the light hadn’t been as bright as it was, if I hadn’t been paying as much attention, or if Tommy hadn’t been there…” He lets the words go unspoken. Everyone knows what he means. Niki looks up at Techno with resolve in her eyes. 

“Techno, go find out the status of the search. I’ll stay here with Ranboo.” The man stands up and follows the orders without hesitation, and Ranboo will never fail to be surprised at how Niki and Phil were the only ones able to get the “Blood God” to behave that way.

Although, Niki was rather terrifying when she was angry. Ranboo almost hopes this assassin wasn’t found, if only out of sympathy for them once Niki got her hands on them. The pink-haired woman turns to him, holding Ranboo’s hand from her spot next to him. 

“Ranboo, I need you to tell me exactly what went down.” She tells him, and Ranboo’s gaze flicks back down to his lap. Niki’s gaze was one of few which didn’t make him uncomfortable, a small list that really only consisted of her, Tommy and Techno. 

Despite her also being an ender hybrid, Niki had never struggled with making eye contact, not like Ranboo did, but she was always understanding and patient with him. It made Ranboo blossom with appreciation for his sister, and a small smile tugs at his lips. He reminds himself about what Niki had asked him and realigned his focus. 

“Me and Tommy were in my room, talking.” He starts. “I left the window open earlier this morning, and I forgot to close it. The assassin probably noticed this, because when I walked over to the window…” Ranboo pauses in the midst of his sentence before Niki nudges him gently. 

“I was just breathing in the night air when out of the corner of my eye I saw something flash—”

“The dagger.” A voice interrupts, and the siblings look up to see Techno having returned, Tommy trailing behind him. 

“Tommy!” Ranboo exclaims, getting up from his seat to greet the blonde. Tommy flashes him a smile, but Ranboo can see the falsity in it, and the way that Tommy’s eyes shine with anger and bitterness. 

“The assassin got away,” he informs the group, looking at Techno as he says this. “We’ve searched the entire grounds of the castle. Every single nook and cranny, the secret passageways, and the border of the castle walls. That motherfucker got away—sorry Niki.” Tommy adds after receiving a disapproving glance from the queen. 

Like Ranboo said earlier. Niki is a terrifying woman if she wants to be. 

“I’m asking Ranboo to explain what went down, can you share your perspective?” Niki asks. Tommy shrugs, but nods his head.

“It’s not much different from what Ranboo must’ve told you already. We were talking in his room, when I saw Ranboo leap away from the window at the same moment he yelled my name.” 

“The assassin had the dagger aimed at my throat, but Tommy managed to stop it in it’s path with his sword. After that they started fighting, but...I was frozen in place.” Ranboo admits, tugging the hem of his shirt nervously. Niki and Techno look at him in confusion.

He supposes their reaction is justified, in a sense. As the crown prince of the kingdom, it’s a requirement to deal with attempts on their life and the throne. When he was a little kid, before Niki had even been crowned and declared Queen, he’d faced more than any member of his family. 

His poor memory and tendency to trust too easily made him an easy target, especially with his age. It wasn’t exactly like a six-year-old could defend very well against armed attackers, no matter how outrageously tall he was for his age. 

Ranboo’s body was littered with long faded scars from these events. Faint marks left behind from a long forgotten stab wound, a ragged scar from where an arrow had been shot through his shoulder. Long, discolored slashes that span across his back from when he was kidnapped and nearly died at just eight years old. 

Niki had been inconsolable for days. He’d drifted in and out of consciousness over the course of four long days and nights. Ranboo was told afterward that not once did Niki leave the castle infirmary. That a heavy gloom suffocated the inhabitants of the castle as they waited to see what would happen.

It was how Tommy became his personal guard. Normally, members of the royal family didn’t get personal guards until they were old enough to realize how important the role was. Niki and Techno had known each other for years, growing a close friendship before even bringing up the topic of Techno becoming her personal guard.

That was not the case for Ranboo and Tommy.

They were an unlikely pair.

Ranboo and Tommy met each other so early that their first meeting had long since been forgotten, in the same way that all foggy childhood memories eventually vanish. Where Tommy was obnoxious and loud, Ranboo was reserved and anxious. 

They got on like a house on fire. Which was a rather accurate metaphor, considered they had in fact committed arson on multiple occasions. And so Tommy became Ranboo’s closest friend, and Tommy’s closest friend became Ranboo. 

Neither of them were very good at making friends. Ranboo vividly remembered the day that a young and embarrassed Tommy had admitted that to him. His fluffy tail had curled around his legs and his ears pressed to his head in shame. But perhaps that’s what made them stick together, unwavering and loyal to a fault. 

It didn't come as a surprise when Tommy, who watched Technoblade practice with the other guards with awestruck eyes and excited shouts of encouragement, who was viciously protective over Ranboo, became his personal guard. 

Everyone had grown weary over seeing the Prince kidnapped, or confined to the infirmary after suffering near fatal wounds yet again. So despite how unconventional it was, Tommy began to train (years before he would’ve normally) to take the position of his personal guard.

To pour his energy, time and soul into learning to fight and defend. To build up a resistance to pain and preserve through all conditions. To hold Ranboo’s life in his hands, and promise to protect it, even at the cost of his own.  The blonde would groan and complain, sprawled out on the group with aching muscles and blossoming bruises in various shades of blue, yellow and purple. But he never once missed a training day, never even considered taking a break. Tommy took to his new duty like a duck to water.

Slowly, the kidnappings and assassination attempts began to slow. Tommy was not yet officially done with his training, but proved himself capable enough to take the title of Ranboo’s guard, officially. But none of it explained why Ranboo had been shocked in place at that moment, just watching his closest friend and would-be killer battle it out. 

He had seen it happen countless times before, ending up bleeding out on the floor countless times before. But he hadn’t frozen up like that in years.

“Why?” Techno finally queried, asking the question that had been on everyone’s mind, and cutting through the thick silence clouding the room. Ranboo frowns, and the prickle of everyone’s eyes on him makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 

“I don’t know,” He says in little more than a murmur. 

He is a liar. 

He sees how Tommy’s gaze shifts to him, confused and questioning. His ear flicks in a gesture that silently asks Ranboo to elaborate, to explain himself. Ranboo stares back at him before looking back down at his feet. 

We’re talking about this later. Tommy tells him wordlessly. Both Niki and Techno seem doubtful of his answer, but to his luck, neither of them push the subject. 

“After that,” Tommy says, effectively shifting the attention away from Ranboo. “We just fought for a few minutes. He was wearing a mask and hood, so I couldn’t see anything besides his eyes. But he was definitely shorter than me, and a good fighter.” Tommy frowns, and something unreadable flickers in the depths of his eyes. 

“I didn’t realize that Ranboo hadn’t moved, but then the assassin tipped me off by looking at him,” Tommy jerks his head towards Ranboo. “I told him to go get help. Once he left the room, the assassin jumped backward. I thought it was just a breather in the fight, but then they just, saluted me and jumped out the fucking window!” 

Tommy paused, before adding in a more quiet voice. 

“It was my fault he got away. I shouldn’t have misread the situation like that, I shouldn't have gotten so exhausted, I just—” Tommy lets out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his hair. “It’s my fault they escaped.”

“Tommy—” Ranboo tries to interrupt, but is stopped by Techno shaking his head. 

“Tommy’s right about this one.” He says, and Ranboo is briefly shocked into silence before his expression twists angrily. 

“Are you seriously blaming him? If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead right now! You’re being ridiculous and—”

“If you had let me finish, you would know I was about to say that Tommy also shouldn’t be so hard on himself. It’s good to be aware of the consequences of your actions, and even better not to shift the blame. I was not trying to blame him, alright?” Techno clarifies, his tone and red eyes blank, but not virulent.

“There’s nothing we can do now, and the most important thing is that both of you are fine.” There is a moment of silence before both Ranboo and Tommy nod their heads, though Ranboo can tell that Techno’s words have not reached the blonde. Tommy is not one to take failure to heart, but this particular instance seems to have shaken his confidence. 

Ranboo resolves to confront his friend about it later.

“We’ll continue searching for this assassin.” Niki states. “With the limited information that we have, I doubt we’ll be able to bring them into custody, but we can make it known that they are being hunted down.” 

“Until then,” She continues, standing up and making her way over to the locked door of the safe room. “There’s no reason to stay locked up in here for the rest of the night.” She takes out a key from one of the pockets of her sleepwear and inserts it into the door, pulling it open with a soft click.

Ranboo heads back to his room with Tommy just a single step behind him, his hand twitching ever so often to the sword hanging by his side. A group of guards, some he recognizes, others he doesn’t walk them back. If the assassin is miraculously still in the castle and planning another attempt on Ranboo’s life, they have definitely been scared off by the sheer number of guards. 

And then it’s just Tommy and Ranboo alone in his room again. The window has been locked shut, the curtains drawn over the glass panes. Tommy quietly turns on the lamp next to his bed, bathing the room in soft light. 

It makes Ranboo all too aware of how weary he is. Of how his body longs to collapse onto the bed and drift off into the blissful embrace of sleep, and how his half-lidded eyes keep fluttering closed without his permission. 

He hasn’t quite processed climbing onto the soft mattress of his bed until his half-conscious mind notices a soft blanket being placed on top of him. There is the quiet murmur of someone’s voice, words his tired mind can’t make out, before he slips into the welcoming darkness. 

He wakes up to the harsh sunlight as Tommy yanks back the curtains. Ranboo groans, and turns over to face the wall, keeping his eyes tightly shut. 

“Get up, bitch!” 

What a great start to the day. The ender-hybrid grouchily props himself up onto his shoulders, noting that he’s still wearing the same clothes from the day before. Tommy is sitting in a chair across the room, legs curled up onto the cushioned seat with his bushy tail wrapped around them. Ranboo yawns and rubs his eyes to rid them of the fog that clouded his vision. Tommy yawns moments later, and Ranboo notices the tired look on his face. There are eyebags on his face, and his sword is at the foot of the chair, where it can be grabbed at a seconds notice. 

“D-did you sleep last night?” Ranboo asks incredulously. “Like...at all?”

“Nope.” Tommy responds, trailing off into a yawn. “Didn’t need to.”

“Your eyebags contradict that statement.” Ranboo remarks dryly. He climbs out of the bed, stretching before making his way over to his friend. 

“Seriously though, Tommy, you can’t just stay up all night.”

“Oh really?” The boy raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Well I just did.”

“I know you’re still on edge from the incident earlier, but even you have to recognize how pointless this is.” 

“It is not pointless,” Tommy argues, getting out of the chair and putting his sword back in its holster. “I’m your personal guard. I’m not sure if you’ve realized, Ranboob , but my whole purpose is to make sure you don’t go and die on us. That would be pretty shit.” 

“You’re no help to me if you're sleep deprived and exhausted.” Ranboo disputes, crossing his arms as he watches the racoon-hybrid. 

“I’ve been training for years, you really think I would allow anything as silly as not getting a couple hours of sleep to affect my fighting skills? Scratch that, you think Techno would allow me to become your guard if that was the case?”

Ranboo can’t exactly argue against that logic, so grumbles under his breath about stubborn, stupid friends while he goes to the bathroom to get changed. 

When he returns, refreshed and dressed, he returns to see Tommy sitting upside down on the chair, legs above him and leaning on the wall. His raccoon ears swivel at the sound of Ranboo’s footsteps, and Tommy lets his head fall over the edge of the chair to properly look at him. 

“So wait,” Ranboo asks, voicing the thought that appeared in his mind just moments before. “Were you just watching me all night? Because if so, that’s kinda creepy.” Tommy shrugs.

“I mean, sometimes if I got super, super bored I did, but I read your books most of the time.” The blonde points over to the towering bookshelf, filled with Ranboo’s favorite books. The castle had a library, but Ranboo liked the small collection of his favorite novels kept in his room just for him. And now apparently Tommy, he supposed.

“I’m going to find doodles in the margins of the pages now, aren’t I.”

“Yep,” Tommy affirms, before pausing. “It’s just us now,” Tommy says more seriously. “Are you going to lie to me as well, or are you going to explain what happened last night.” Ranboo sighs at the boy's words.

“I was hoping you’d forgotten about that…” 

“Well, I haven’t, so talk.” His friend demands. “You haven’t been caught that off guard by an assassination attempt in fucking years , Ranboo! I’ll admit that having someone leap through your window with a knife aimed at your throat isn’t the most relaxing thing but—what exactly happened?” Tommy asks, tone turning more genuine the longer he speaks. 

Ranboo is silent, deliberating what to tell him. The reason he knows is ridiculous. Tommy will stare at him in confusion and most definitely mock him about it at some point. But he doesn’t want to hold secrets from his best friend.

“Their eyes,” Ranboo admits, his voice small in the silence of the room. “It was something about their eyes.”

“Their eyes?” Tommy repeats, confused. Ranboo nods, looking over at the window, the same one where he’d nearly been assassinated just last night. 

“They were guilty.” Ranboo breathes. “It didn’t quite hit me until I was waiting for you last night, but…his eyes felt like he was trying to hide guilt, or remorse.”

“Ranboo…” Tommy begins hesitantly. “I’m not trying to imply anything, well, actually I kinda am but —are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“I didn’t imagine it,” Ranboo snaps, a bit more harshly than intended. “I know what I saw, Tommy.” He reaffirms a bit more softly. He looks up to stare his friend in the eyes. 

The meaning behind the gesture isn't lost on Tommy, who returns his gaze. Then he looks away and nods, and Ranboo lets out a sigh of relief. 

“I believe you,” Tommy reassures the prince. “I have no fucking clue why an assassin would be remorseful if they seemed so intent on murdering you, but,” He sighs. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Ranboo says genuinely. “And Tommy?” He addresses the blonde, who looks back over at him in false disinterest. 

“Please go to sleep. I’m asking this as your friend.” It’s a near plea, and Ranboo watches the blonde’s gaze shift away while he lets out a long-suffering groan. 

“Fine.” Tommy relents at last. “But just a quick nap. I’ll be in my room if you need me, don’t die before I wake up.” 

“Clingy.” Ranboo gibes with a smile, and Tommy flips him off in response. He slips out the door of Ranboo’s bedroom, leaving the prince to stare at the door for a moment longer. Then Ranboo walks over to the window, the same one that he’d never died in front of last night.

It’s a strange thought. The idea that an assassin might actually hold regret for what they might do. Ranboo doesn’t understand it.

Surely if they had planned that far ahead, they wouldn’t have remorse for their actions. Surely, if they were as determined as they were to have their plan go off without a hitch, they wouldn’t have remorse.

But Ranboo knows what he saw. 

Ender-hybrids hate eye contact, that was just common knowledge. But Ranboo had held the assassin’s gaze and saw the emotion that pooled in his eyes. He opens the window, a gentle breeze ruffling his hair and the sun’s glow peeking through the clouds to warm his face. 

For whatever reason, there is an assassin after him, one that holds regret for what they are trying to do. They clearly know the consequences of their actions. 

So why? What is causing them to do this if they were unhappy about it? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about them did and irked the prince. 

Perhaps it was the naivety of his youth talking, or perhaps he was simply too curious for his own good. It was foolish, but Ranboo wishes he could speak to the assassin himself and discover their motive. Discover what the reasoning behind their guilty eyes was. 

Ranboo looks to the side, where the assassin had laid in wait the night before. There could be countless reasons for it— and Ranboo is determined to confront the assassin about it during their next meeting. 

“So?” Schlatt drawled, resting his head in clasped hands with a sharp glint in his eye. “Care to explain what happened last night?”

Tubbo stays silent, biting the inside of his cheek. The goat-hybrid is stiff and hyper-aware of everything around him. Muffled footsteps are heard from the hallway on the other side of the door, the pungent scent of cigarette smoke clogging his nose. His throat is dry, and Tubbo can feel Schlatt’s gaze picking him apart. 

Schlatt had been under the impression he would finish this mission. He failed, and now, as he suffocates under the tension in the room, he’s left wondering what the consequences will be. 
Schlatt doesn’t take kindly to failure, never has. 

But he can’t remain silent forever. Tubbo doesn’t know the protocol for this sort of situation, so he keeps his answers short and to the point.

“I failed my mission last night. After my first attempt to stab them through the throat didn’t work, I got distracted while fighting their guard. During that time, they ran away for help, and I fled to escape being captured.” Schlatt hums in response. 

The ram-hybrid is dragging this out. Whether for suspense, intimidation, maybe out of some sick pleasure watching Tubbo try not to squirm in his chair. Whatever it is, Tubbo is quickly growing sick of it. 

It’s like ripping a band-aid off, he reasons. It’ll hurt all the same, but at the very least he can try to get it over with as soon as possible. He clears his throat awkwardly. However before he can speak up, and inquire as to what consequences he will face, he sees Schlatt nod. There is a thin smile on his face, laced with false understanding and sympathy. 

“Can’t say that I’m surprised.” He says, and Tubbo can’t help the hurt that jolts through him like a bolt of lightning. It fills him with shame, and suddenly Tubbo feels like a child again, longing for Schlatt’s approval. He clenches his teeth and looks away from the Schlatt. 

He thought he had gotten over this long ago. He thought he had beaten away the stray thoughts that ached and begged and pleaded for any recognition, anything from the man he once called his father. Yet it seems he was only fooling himself. 

He hasn’t changed aside from the number of people he’s eliminated. 

“Why is that?” He finds himself asking. 

“Well,” Schlatt replies. “This is by far the most risky and hardest target I’ve given you. I suppose I should’ve prepared myself for mistakes to be made.” Tubbo’s eyes widen at his statement. It’s unlike Schlatt, who has gotten enraged and violent over much smaller issues to be so...forgiving. 

“Of course,” the man adds lightly, a sinister looking smile blooming across his face. “I do expect you to accomplish your mission. After all,” He lets out a flinty chuckle. “I won’t always be so lenient towards failure.” Tubbo swallows dryly.

“I understand, sir.” 

“Good, good...I’m glad to hear that Tubbo.” When Tubbo remains seated, he lifts an eyebrow, still smiling despite the way he’s looking at Tubbo coldly. 

“What are you waiting for? You’re dismissed, best go get to work.”

Chapter Text

Before he had come to realize Schlatt’s true nature, before he was sent away and worked to bone, molded and sculpted into Schlatt’s perfect weapon, Tubbo had been a normal child. A kid, just like any other. 

Rather shy, shorter than average for his age and with a penchant for causing light chaos. He’d adored his father as all children do; naive and unwilling to perceive and even foster the idea of his father doing wrong. Evil was something confined to his storybooks and fables, to the puppet shows that were held in the town hall early each Saturday morning.

It was black and white. Light and dark, Heaven and Hell. Evil was but a dragon who terrorized a fictional village, a ferocious hound that stalked the night, an evil witch cursing a maiden to eternal sleep. Good was but a brave warrior, a sacrificing hero or a queen who put her people first. They were foreign concepts, not something sinister that laid within his own household.

As perceptive as Tubbo was, at the end of the day he was still just a child. One that didn’t want to acknowledge the truth about Schlatt. That fateful night, the night that his childhood innocence was permanently shattered, that simple perception of life slipped out of his hands, like grains of sand in an hourglass. 

And the worst thing is, the moment you begin to perceive the gray, it’s almost stunning how many different shades there are. It’s a grim realization, that you too, are not free from it’s claws. 

Tubbo doesn’t know where he lies on that scale. He doesn’t know where Schlatt lies either. And in all honesty, he thinks it’s the last thing on Earth he wants to know.  

For all that he convinces himself, for all that he blissfully lies and believes, he doesn’t know Schlatt well. He only sees what the man lets him, only glimpses and flashes of the real person the adorned ram horns and cold eyes hide. 

Schlatt is a vicious and grinning face in the shadows. His suit neatly pressed and his tie carefully done, no matter what horrors he has just sentenced someone to, or how much he has just drank. No matter how much blood and how much misery has been caused by him, his hands remain pristinely clean. 

Tubbo has lied and harmed. Tubbo has killed and stolen and left family members wondering what cruel entity cut their loved one’s life short, as if it was as meaningless and unimportant as a snagged thread. Tubbo has snipped the string of countless lives, all on the orders of a single man. 

Tubbo’s heart does not match his deeds, and it bleeds with guilt and self-loathing. 

But this doesn’t change the fact that Tubbo’s hands are not clean. They are weathered and scarred, calluses worn with climbing rooftops and fingers nimble, ready to pull a trigger at a moment's notice. 

Schlatt does not get his hands dirty, but Tubbo knows that is only because he has someone else to do it for him. It is not because he cannot, and it is not because he will not.

If Tubbo displays more failure then Schlatt has the patience for, if Schlatt decides he has no more worth? How much will his years of obedience protect him from Schlatt’s roaring tempers? 

Tubbo wonders how clean Schlatt’s hands will be then, dripping with his blood.

Tommy wants it written on record that he thought this was one of Ranboo’s stupidest ideas yet.

Now, did this mean that he put in any effort to stop the prince? Of course not, he’s not some sort of bitchboy like Techno after all!

If Ranboo wanted to sneak out of the castle fairly unnoticed just a little more then a week following the attempt on his life, then that’s what they were doing. At least it wasn’t Tommy bringing some action into their lives for once. All of his hard work was finally starting to pay off.

So yes, he may be a personal guard, but he was also Ranboo’s best friend. And when those two duties came into conflict, it was up to Tommy’s judgement of what was the best route. 

Did he think it was a particularly foolproof plan? Not really. While the royals weren’t often spotted in public, they went into town often enough. Niki herself was even known for offering to work in bakeries for the day, stunning citizens with her knowledge and skill. There was quite a high chance of them being recognized, of the news being brought back to the castle by the time they returned, of attracting the attention of other idiots who thought they can pull off the unimaginable and kill the prince.

But Tommy wasn’t about to turn down an excuse to leave the castle grounds, and really, what exactly were they expecting from the castle’s resident goblins?

There was only so long until the shock of asssasigation attempts faded away and it became just another checkmark in a very long list. When you are growing up and working in the castle, you just become a bit numb to these sorts of things, and Tommy and Ranboo were no exception, even with how close of a call it had been.

So they had gotten bored, and Ranboo had suggested an outing into town. So they grabbed Henry and Ender from the stables, Tommy and Ranboo’s horses respectively, and set off. 

With carriages and wagon carrying loads, the trip to the nearest town (although, it was really more of a city) could take up to forty-five minutes. But to be as honest as Tommy could without sounding gloating, Henry and Ender were two very fast horses. 

Tommy smiles fondly at Henry as he pets the horse’s soft muzzle, the animal snuffling contentedly at him. 

“Nice job, big man. I promise I’ll bring you back some fresh carrots later, so don’t wander off, got it?” He tells the horse. Henry nickers at him. Both Ranboo and Tommy forgot to bring leads, so the fenced off field near the city grounds would have to do.

Neither of them really think the horses would run off of course. The royal stables always produced strong and intelligent steeds, and Ranboo always remarked that Ender’s deep eyes always seemed to sense when something was amiss. Henry himself had saved Tommy from many tight spots when he was a younger lad, and even Techno shared a deep bond with his own horse, Carl. 

Plus, the promise of food is enough to keep even the most rambunctious horses satisfied. 

“You ready to go?” Tommy queries, looking over to Ranboo. The prince is attempting— key word: attempting— to tug some strange clump of...something...out of Ender’s mouth, the mare playfully tugging it away. Ranboo grunts.

“Not...quite—hand it over already!” With an almost exasperated whinney, the horse let the strange object drop from her mouth, before trotting away to where Henry has begun munching on the grass.

“Uh,” Tommy intelligently remarks. “What exactly have you got there bud?” Ranboo looks down at the item in his hands. 

“Well,” the hybrid starts. “It was a wig, but I think Ender has made her opinion on it quite clear.”

“A wig? The fuck do you need that for?” Ranboo stares at him, unimpressed.

“Have you forgotten the fact that I nearly died...literally like the other day?” The prince asks. Tommy shakes his hand in a dismissive so-so motion in response before smirking impishly.

“So what you’re saying is... you don’t trust me?” 

Ranboo furrows his eyebrows in cautious confusion at Tommy's words.

“What? No, where did you even—” 

“I can’t believe this,” Tommy continues in a melodramatic and fake heartbroken tone, ignoring the taller boy’s glare. “My closest friend in this world, my beloved, my most honorable prince doesn’t trust me! His very own guard! I can’t believe after all these years, all my training and heartbreak— so many sleepless nights and broken bones wasted for you— and I’ve been tossed aside! I guess I’m just not good enough for your standards, Ranboob!” He cries, before collapsing backwards into the field. Ranboo pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“...I’m headed into town, see you there, my useless guard.” Tommy snaps up to watch Ranboo walk away, the fur on his raccoon ears and tail flaring up in anger.

“What the fuck man!” 

“Let’s sneak into the pub.” Tommy suggests, looking at the tavern in the distance. “I bet they wouldn’t even notice we’re not yet eighteen, and even if they did, all you’d have to do is take off that wig of yours and they’d let us in.” Ranboo looks down at him. 

“Do you really think I would abuse my royal standing like that?” Ranboo asks him incredulously.

“What, so the last time you used it so that that lady in the animal shelter would let you take all the cats with you, just so you could pet them all wasn’t abuse of power?”

“Hey, don't you lie and say you wouldn't have done the same!”

“I would not!” Tommy cries, staring at Ranboo as if in great offense. “Dogs are much better than cats, I’ll have you know!” 

“You know what- nevermind, I think I’d rather be assassinated than listen to you rant about how much you hate cats—which while we’re on the subject by the way, you genuinely have the worst opinions of anyone I’ve ever met—for a second longer.”

“Meh meh meh meh my name’s Ranboo meh meh, I think I’m so smart and cool meh meh meh meh meh.” Tommy mocks, sticking his tongue out like the mature teenager that he is. Ranboo only rolls his eyes at Tommy's antics. 

The clothing the two normally wore has been left behind with Ender and Henry, replaced with some more regular clothing. It’s a bit of a pointless endeavor to try and hide Ranboo’s identity, they have begun to realize with each passing visit, but the two still futilely try their best to do so during each secret expedition. 

The brown wig Ranboo had brought with him from the castle has been discarded—and by that he means both him and Ranboo decided to set it on fire in a dark alleyway. 

Oh the joys of friendship—there truly was nothing quite like it. 

So they instead used the tried and true method of a hooded cloak. It was a lightweight material, so the warmer weather of the day wouldn’t be too annoying. Tommy had also briefly worn a hat he found lying around the castle, but Ranboo had taken one look at his hat before slapping a hand over his mouth to smother his laughter.

He failed. Miserably, if he might add. Afterward Tommy tried to stealthily rid himself of the hat, only for Ranboo to stuff it back onto his head, claiming it was “essential to Tommy’s disguise”. Tommy didn’t think he had ever wanted to strangle someone that wasn’t one of his brothers more than he had in that moment.

“Let’s go back to the alleyway.” Tommy said flatly, not bothering to wait for a response before turning on his heel, the stupid hat clutched in his hands. “The ashes of that wig of yours are about to be joined by a new friend.” Ranboo's laughter turned into a wheeze as he followed the blonde. 

Ranboo half-heartedly tried to save the hat from it’s flaming demise, but the temptation of setting fire to something was too great to ignore, like it is for any respectable teenager.

They watch the last of the hat disintegrate into ashes on the alleyway floor, and make sure all the last sparks and embers don’t set anything else on fire, because while they might have a love for destruction, they don’t want to accidentally be the cause of an entire city burning down. 

Then they wander about the city, which has led them here. Ranboo clutches a bouquet of alliums, peonies and begonias, apparently for weaving as flower crowns later, and Tommy stares at the tavern in determination.

“Yeah, no.” Ranboo states dryly, following Tommy’s gaze. 

“You are a dumbass, Ranboo, are you aware?” He says casually, stepping towards the building, only for a hand to grip his shirt collar. 

“Let’s go to the bakery instead.” The prince suggests, letting go of Tommy. “It’s been awhile since we’ve seen Bad and Skeppy.” 

The thought of warm and freshly baked muffins filled with sweet blueberries floated up in Tommy’s mind, and he could feel his mouth water. 

“Alright,” he agrees. It doesn’t take longer than five minutes for them to reach the bakery. It’s a quaint and homely thing, with a squeaky door and a doorbell that chimes at the slightest breeze. The shelves are lined with all sorts of goods, from fluffy loaves of bread to carefully frosted cakes that we put on display in the small narrow windows of the shop. 

But what Tommy and Ranboo thought the bakery was renowned for across town for was their prized muffins. A strange thing to specialize in, sure, but something they did even better than the chef’s employed in the castle.

The bell above the doorway rings loudly as they enter, before stifling as Ranboo reaches up to stop the bell. 

“Show off.” Tommy mutters, as a hooded figure pops out from behind the counter. Tommy had never seen Bad’s face, just glowing white eyes and sometimes the glimpse of a fanged smile. But despite being a demon hybrid (rarer than even Ranboo and Niki’s enderman genes), he was one of the sweetest people Tommy had ever encountered.

“Tommy, Ranboo! How are you both?” The baker greeted. Ranboo smiles sheepishly.

“We’re supposed to be disguised…” 

“Oh I see,” Bad remarks with a smile. “I hate to break it to you both, but wearing a cloak doesn’t exactly…” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. Either way, it’d be hard for me not to recognize you two muffin heads.” Tommy nodded.

“Well Bad, it’s hard to hide when you’re the biggest fuckin’ men in town. All the women flock to us, they do!” Tommy exclaims, hooking his arm around Ranboo as the boy buries his head in his hands when Tommy pulls him closer. 

“Language!” Bad says, although there’s no real anger in his voice. Hmm. Tommy will have to make a note of this, it’s getting harder and harder to rile Bad up as he grows accustomed to Tommy’s swearing. He can’t have that, now can he?

“The usual?” Bad asks, interrupting Tommy’s plotting. Ranboo frowns in thought, before nodding. 

“Thanks!” The two said in unison, grabbing the muffins Bad handed to them. 

“I’ll pay.” Tommy said. “You go find a table somewhere!”

Ranboo’s sitting in front of Tommy, who has his back to the cafe in order to keep an eye out. But honestly, it’s hard to remain vigilant and careful when you’re in the middle of planning the next stage in the war against Jack Manifold. They needed to strike before the bald-headed one could act first and place them at a disadvantage. It would be rather inconvenient given how long they had spent terrorising the man. 

“Do you think there’s any way we can permanently glue a blue wig to his head?” Tommy proposes, taking a bite out of his muffin. 

“We already did that.” Ranboo reminds the blonde. “I’m pretty sure Niki had a portrait commissioned of him wearing that wig after it went down.” Tommy cackles. 

“No fucking way!” 

“It’s true.” Ranboo confirms in a hushed voice. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. It stares into my soul every time.” 

“Who do you think pulled it off better?”

“Oh definitely portrait Jack, no argument necessary.” Ranboo says in an assured tone, causing the both of them to break into another bout of laughter. Tommy opens his mouth to speak, when a shiver runs through him. It’s a small, insignificant action, but Tommy pauses anyway. He glances around the town instinctively, scanning the buildings and nearby people for threats. It turns up empty, and Tommy tries to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. 

He thought he had outgrown his tendency to overthink and create false scenarios a long time ago. Techno’s lessons on self awareness and observation had been one of the hardest for him to master, but it had been years that his senses had tricked him. 

Yet when he looked around, he was left empty-handed, fingers reaching for something that he could not pinpoint. 

I must be imagining things...guess that assassin messed me up more than I thought. He thinks, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Ranboo looks at him.

“Is something wrong?” he asks. Tommy frowns, eyebrows furrowing as he walks just a step ahead of Ranboo. 

“Nah,” he responds. “Just the wind.” 

Tommy takes another bite of the warm blueberry muffin. The flavour of the fresh blueberries and sweet cake practically melt in his mouth, and he can’t hold back a content smile.

At least, that is, until he feels a familiar prickle of a gaze on his neck returns, and Tommy stiffens. It’s a miniscule movement, but Ranboo catches sight of it, turning his attention away from his own half-eaten muffin to look at Tommy.

“Again?” He asks, and Tommy just shrugs in response. He can hear the whispers of Techno’s voice that have been ingrained in his mind remind him of the importance of trusting his gut, and he shoves the rest of the muffin in his mouth. Ranboo wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“That’s disgusting.” Tommy chews louder, only stopping when Ranboo raises his hand to slap him. 

“Somebody’s violent today.” He muttered. 

Tommy reaches his arms up towards the sky, and looks around under the pretense of stretching. There on the rooftop, there is a flash of movement. A bird? There were an awful lot of crows in Snowchester. He furrows his eyebrows. Or were they ravens…? He glances around the street, an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine like curling vines of ivy. 

Ranboo sees the unease on his face, sees the way Tommy’s eyes dart around the area and ears flick towards each and every sound and stiffens. 

“Tommy? What’s wrong?” He asks, voice quiet and cautious. 

“I don’t know,” Tommy admits. “But I have a feeling it’s nothing good.” 

Ranboo stands up from his seat, reaching over for the bouquet of flowers he had placed on the table while they ate. As peers up at Ranboo, Tommy feels the blood drain from his face. 

Standing on the rooftop of the buildings across the street, on the edge with a loaded crossbow in his hands, is the assassin. 

Not just any old assassin, but the one from that very same night. Tommy knows that the assassin has noticed his awareness of the situation. And there is a brief moment in the world where the only things that register in Tommy’s mind are the assassin perched on the opposing rooftop and Ranboo, who sits unaware of the threat. 

Ranboo, whose back remains exposed to the assassin. 

Tommy scrambles out of his seat with a yell of Ranboo’s name, and he swears to Prime above that in that moment all he can hear is his heart pumping, threatening to burst out of his chest, and the sharp snapping sound of the crossbow’s string snapping back as the arrow is launched into the air.

“Ranboo!” He screeches, locking eyes with his friend. Wide-eyed and fearful, Ranboo makes to get out of his chair, but before he can do as much he freezes. The hybrid’s face morphs into one of grim realization. 

And just as Tommy reaches him, he sees the arrows impale the prince’s chest. Tommy is floating in an ocean, gasping for air and he surfaces from underneath the waves. He feels the blood drain from his face. 

Time shutters back into motion with a jerk. 

“Oh my Prime,” Tommy utters, crouching down next to Ranboo, who’s still in his seat. His hands are pressed against his chest, slick with blood. It is staining his shirt and cloak,  sluggishly oozing out of the wound, slowly at first, but growing ever faster. The coppery smells taints his senses, and Tommy takes his cloak off, adding pressure. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Ranboo repeats, but his words are filled with poorly concealed pain. Tommy gulps, but before he can speak a loud jingling noise sounds through the air. 

“Bad,” he says breathlessly, turning to face the man. “Help. We—we need help, now. ” He can see the moment the Bd realizes what has occurred, because his glowing eyes shine brighter, and an air of anger, worry and danger rolls off him. 

“You’re going to be fine, Ranboo.” The demon-hybrid assures, pushing Tommy to the side, although not harshly. “You’re going to be fine, but I need you to look at me, alright?” He doesn’t take his eyes off Ranboo as he switches to speak with Tommy. 

“Tommy,” he says sharply. “Skeppy is in the back. I need you to go tell him to get a healing potion right away. There’s a potions brewer on the other side of town!”

“What about me?” Tommy asks. 

“Isn’t that obvious?” Bad states, almost irked. “Find the person who did this!” 

Tubbo was screwed. Undeniably, irrevocably, screwed .

There were two rules to being an assassin, two very simple rules, and somehow he had managed to fail them both.

The first: The job is not complete until you are sure that target has been killed. And the second: Above all else, assassins remain in the shadows. Don’t be seen and don’t be followed. 

Of course his own conflict, his own stupidity and carelessness would land him in this situation. The prince isn’t dead, and his guard (who is quickly climbing the leaderboard for most infuriating person in Tubbo’s life) is hot on his tail.

Tubbo grits his teeth with umbrage, and pulls the mask up higher on his face. Why? Why had he shot the Prince in the chest? It was foolish, and illogical, two things that Tubbo was certainly not. So why? 

He could claim that the blond guard had caught him off-guard, considering how they had locked eyes in the middle of Tubbo prepping his shot. He could claim that he had expected the prince to bleed out from the wound. Hell , if he was really reaching for something it could be argued that he thought he could take out two birds with one stone and eliminate the issue the blond guard posed while he was distracted. 

But that wouldn’t be true, and honestly, the excuses just get worse and more unbelievable the more he thinks of them. A brash and seething voice interrupts Tubbo’s thoughts. 

“Get the fuck back here and face me!” Tubbo had waited way too long at the scene of the crime, because that’s what assassins are supposed to do: confirm the kill. Only now, Tubbo has just the smallest of head-starts in this manhunt now that the guard has impromptu forced him into.

Tubbo forces himself to pick up the pace, leaping across gaps in the rooftops and ignoring the way his heart nearly leaps out of his chest as his feet slip on the tiled roofs of the town. He wasn’t the biggest fan of his hybrid traits, but at the very least his good balance was a blessing. 

“No thanks!” He shouts back, and if this wasn’t such a nerve-wracking situation, he’d almost be amused at the angry growl the boy lets out. 

Because here’s the thing: Tubbo is a good fighter, and an even better killer. But he’s fought the guard before, hardly more than a week prior to this moment. And he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance in a real battle against him. 

He is an assassin, not a guard, just like the guard is not an assassin. Although their talents overlap, they do not specialize in the same things. The only thing left for him to do is run in hopes of shaking the guard off his tail, or find some sort of advantage for their eventual fight.

He sprints down a sloped roof, and ignores the shouts of alarmed civilians as he leaps across the wide gap. He just barely catches the edge of the rooftop, hand gripping the railing tightly before pulling himself up. He pauses to catch his breath and turns around to look behind him.On the rooftop he just abandoned stands the guard. Even from here, Tubbo can see the way his eyes burn with fury, an all-encompassing blaze that he feels unable to look away from each time. 

The blonde runs to the left. Confused, the goat-hybrid follows his path, before noticing a narrow part of the street. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath. “Nothing can ever go well for me, can it?” Tubbo pulls himself back onto his feet and begins to run again. By now the townspeople are well aware of the rooftop chase, and he’s already disregarded the two most important rules an assassin must follow today—what’s the harm in breaking them a little more?

So Tubbo runs through the town center, flinging himself off the edges of buildings and dropping into the crowd. There are screams and shouts of alarm filling the air— and yeah, okay maybe this was a bit too risky.

But it’s too late now, so Tubbo runs through the crowd. They do little to conceal him, and even the more crowded areas part for him. Figures that the one time he desperately wants to be hidden and tramped by the crowd, he is unable to.

He hears the sound of shoes on the pavement and another round of shocked cries. Instinctively, Tubbo runs off into the alleyways. 

The thing about Snowchester, is that wide streets…just aren’t a thing. Or at least, they aren’t very common. The town is traversable through countless narrow, winding streets and alleyways that curl around and through the buildings. 

His best chance is to lead him through a wolf goose chase in the city’s maze of a layout, Tubbo realizes. 

Fifteen minutes later, he realizes that his knowledge of Snowchester’s alleys is not greater than the guard’s. He’s crouched in a dead end street, walled off by some tall buildings. I can climb them, Tubbo brainstorms, ears and eyes alert for the slightest hint of the guard. But it’s going to take time and energy I don’t have.

His lungs burn painfully as he evens out his breathing, and he leans his head against the wall. Footsteps that sound like a whirlwind echo throughout the labyrinth, before coming to a stop. There is no more delaying the inevitable. Tubbo sucks in a deep breath, makes sure his mask is stiff covering his face, and steps out of the small nook. 

The guard instantly tracks him, and grips the sword in his hands a little tighter. He hasn’t come unprepared. Tubbo can tell he is hiding his own signs of exhaustion, with the way his breathing is strained. 

He dreads the impending fight, but there is no more delaying the inevitable. There will be no more chases, no more daring escapes. 

There will only be a winner, and a loser.

Tubbo stares at the guard. He’s surprised to see him holding a sword in hand, considering he hadn’t seen any sign of it during the entirety of him stalking the two throughout the village, waiting for the right moment. He looks more dishevelved than when they last fought in the castle, and he seems armorless, dressed in casual clothing. 

Tubbo knows better then to underestimate his opponent though. He was, after all, the reason the prince is taking so long to die. His lips purse in displeasure. 

“You know,” Tubbo comments in an amicable tone. “I was hoping that you would have given up the chase by now.” The guard scoffs, and points their sword at Tubbo’s chest, a challenge to anyone who could see. 

“You must not know me very well,” he replies through a grin laced with anger. “I’m a right stubborn bastard.” Tubbo takes out his own daggers, one in each hand as he adjusts his stance. 

He’s nearly a second late, and he looks up to see the blade of the sword coming down on him, the guard’s face contorted in an expression of wrath. Tubbo swiftly brings up his own blades to hold off the blow, and the sound of metal blades clashing pierces his ears. 

He darts to the side, the guards sword slashing down at the spot where he had been standing prior. The blond is quick to recover, impressively so. 

They go on like this for a few minutes, trading blows and insults with a pace that doesn’t match the exhaustion weighing down both their bodies. Tubbo’s dagger slashes the guard’s cheek, before he’s promptly kicked onto the ground and forced to roll away from a wide slash of the blond’s sword.

He pulls himself onto his feet, and punches the guard in the face. His head snaps back, and Tubbo can see blood trickle out his nose and down his face. Still, the guard doesn’t so much as let a second pass before he is back in the fight, sword piercing Tubbo’s shoulder. He lets out a hushed pained gasp, and looks back up to see the guard raising his sword above him once more. He darts out of the way, and kicks the guard’s back as his sword scratches the wall. 

He stumbles back, and wipes away the blood gushing out his nose. It smears across his face and Tubbo can see him pause to spit away blood that had collected in his mouth. Tubbo pulls a face in disgust. 

The guard seems to notice though, because he narrows his eyes at him.

“What, can’t handle a bit of blood? I thought you were meant to be an assassin.” With the speed of lightning, they get back onto their feet, and begin clashing blades once more. 

“I can handle blood plenty fine,” Tubbo responds, slashing his sword down towards the blond’s chest, only for them to hit the sword’s blade.

“Doesn’t look like it to me!”

“Have you ever considered that you’re just an idiot then?” He retorts, with a smirk that cannot be seen from underneath his mask.

“You’re so annoying!” Tubbo snarls. The guard seems to find this funny, cackling as he leans to the side to avoid Tubbo’s dagger. 

“Most people find me annoying at first, but I grow on them—”

“—like a parasite?” 

“I was going to say like a persistent dandelion,” the guard corrects, his sword leaving a small laceration in Tubbo’s chest as he fails to avoid the blow in time. 

Tubbo is too late to realize he’s being backed into a corner, not until his back hits the gritty brick wall. His eyes widen in surprise, before he raises his blades in front of him, blocking the sword that the guard is pressing down on him. 

He scowls, then kicks the guard in the gut. He stumbles back with a growl, and Tubbo runs out of the corner, and drops his daggers.

“What are—” The guard begins to say in confusion, before pressing himself to the ground, hands covering his head. The knife Tubbo had thrown embeds itself into the wall behind him. The guard hurtles over to it, tugging it out. 

“You’re not the only one who knows how to use a throw knife bitch!” He growls. 

“Yeah, but I bet I throw them better than you ever could!” He retorts, not wasting anymore time before fixing his stance and throwing more knives. Two of them the guard avoids, but the last hits it’s target, embedding itself in the boy’s upper arm. 

Tubbo can see him try and figure out what to do about it, but doesn’t give him time to think before running over and punching him in the face. Tubbo grips the guard’s hair in his hand, and tugs him back, slamming him into the wall. The guard manages to move their head enough so it doesn’t take the brunt of the blow like Tubbo intended.

“Why won’t you—” his sword grazes the wall. “—fuck off and die already!” His voice infused with conniption and laced with pain.

“Funny,” Tubbo grunts back, “I was just about to ask you to do the same thing!” He prepares to throw the last of his knives, but the guard rushes over to him, weapon grasped in one hand.

The next thing Tubbo knows, there is a sword embedded in his side. 

For a moment, there is no ache in his bones, no pain from the cuts and bruises that cover his body. He stumbles back, eyes wide in surprise as he stares at where the sword pierced his side. It isn’t visible on his dark clothes, but he can feel the warm blood seep out of the wound. 

He looks up to see the guard staring at him. There isn’t remorse or guilt in his eyes, but he looks strangely disappointed.  He doesn’t take the sword out of his stomach, but instead carefully lowers them both onto the ground, so Tubbo sits propped up against the wall.

The knife he had been about to throw lays scattered to the side. He’s been beaten. He doesn’t even realize he’s begun to quietly laugh, until his chest twinges in pain and he grimaces.

“So,” He says, looking the guard in the eyes. “Are you going to kill me?” The blond is silent for a moment, before wrinkling his nose. 

“No.” He says resolutely, and it causes Tubbo to laugh even more. It’s a bitter and venomous laugh that shakes with pain, echoing through the alley. 

“Is that so? It seems rather foolish to me.” “I won’t stoop down to your level. I have more honour than that.” The guard spits out, and Tubbo pauses. In a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability he pauses. He looks down at the sword embedded in his side and lets out a tired sigh. 

“Honour?” Tubbo repeats in an unimpressed tone. “What is the use of honour in this world?” The guard seems unnerved at these words. 

“Honour is being able to recognize when you have been beaten, and when your opponent has been beaten,” He replies, the words rolling off his tongue like they’ve been repeated to him time and time again. “There is a time and place for gloating and violence, but those who are truly commendable warriors know how to recognize it and act upon it. There is no point in continuing to shed blood when both fighters know the outcome of the battle, not unless they are truly and utterly deserving of it.”

“And how do you know I’m not?”

“I don’t,” the guard says honestly. “But it’s up to me to make that decision, innit?”

Tubbo remains silent, biting his lip until he can taste the acrid sweetness of blood on his tongue. A voice that sounds like Schlatt reverberating through his mind about how stupid he was, and that emotion was to be locked away, not worn on his sleeve. An open target, a weakness for all to see. 

“So why? Why are you doing this?” The guard asks, and Tubbo stiffens.

“It doesn’t matter.” he says automatically. No matter what else, no matter how badly he fails the mission, nothing could be as bad as revealing anything about Schlatt and his work. He knows what has happened to those that do.

It seems like the wrong thing to say, because the sword presses harder into his side, making Tubbo gasp in pain, and his hand moves to press down on the laceration. He opens his eyes, not sure when he had even closed them, to see guilt on the guard’s face. 

Huh, he thinks in surprise, it wasn’t on purpose. 

He’s just about to accept his fate, when through his pain-wracked mind, there is the flicker of an idea. 

“Speaking of the prince,” Tubbo murmurs, and he can see the way the guard’s eyes light up with attention. Good. “How is he doing?” 

The guard’s face shifts into an expression that Tubbo has grown familiar with seeing, one of hatred and anger. 

“He’ll be fine. I don’t think that it’s any of your concern, anyway.”“Oh but of course it’s concerning to me,” Tubbo asserts. “I am trying to have him killed after all. Although,” he pauses. “I would assume that out of the both of us you should be more concerned.”

“Of course I’m fucking concerned!” The guard shouts. 

“Then why are you here?” Tubbo inquires.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘why am I here?’ to do my goddamn job!” 

“Your job is to protect the prince.” Tubbo states. “And while it’s true that you have done a good job of hunting down the danger, considering, well, the fact that I’m bleeding out onto the pavement, do you even know if the prince is okay?”

“Bad said there was a potions dealer in town.” The guard argues. Tubbo nods, but tilts his head. 

“But you don’t know whether they had potions in stock. Or if they were able to make it there in time. I’ll cut to the chase, for both of our sakes,” Tubbo continues. 

“You have two options here my friend,”

“We are not fuckin’ friends.”
“Fine then, my enemy, is that better for you?” Tubbo 

The guard shakes his hand in a so-so motion, and Tubbo can’t resist rolling his eyes. 

“Look, the point I’m trying to make is that you can either leave me here, kill me, whatever and make sure that the Prince is still alive, or you can stay and continue wasting your time with me here.”  The guard is silent at that. It’s true, of course, neither of them truly know what the state of the prince is at the moment, and Tubbo has been dealt with, at least for now.

It’s just about whether the prince is up to finishing the job, or continuing to stay with Tubbo.

“What will it be?” Tubbo says, staring at the guard. His cerulean eyes flip through emotions so fast they feel as fleeting as receding tides. Tubbo hasn't ever met anyone with such expressive eyes. 

Then the guard puts down the sword and stands up. 

“I don’t want to kill you.” He says, “But I won’t help you either. You’re lucky that I can’t bring you back with me, otherwise, you’d be facing the Queen herself.” Then he turns around and walks away, out of the alley. Tubbo waits for a minute, then another, sure that it is a trick. He’d even left the sword, recognizing that taking it with him would only cause the wound to bleed out quicker.

For some reason he’d given him mercy, something Tubbo knows well he is undeserving of.  

Peculiarly, Tubbo almost feels a sense of acumen joined by envy. He wishes he could do the same, offer every one of his targets the humanity that is bestowed upon him now. In fact, Tubbo realizes the only person he has done so for has been the prince. 

His side is slick with blood, and his entire body is screaming in pain, but the only thing Tubbo can feel is an overwhelming sense of odium with himself.

Tubbo knows he should get up. Every last sane part of him is shrieking for him to move, to hurry back to the estate. He needs medical attention, he needs sleep, he needs the damn prince to just die already so his life can go back to normal. 

But Tubbo is too enervated for all of that right now. The only thing stopping him from letting the exhaustion pull him under is the knowledge that the chances of him being discovered and arrested grow with each passing second. 

So he sits there, bleeding onto the pavement with only his hands pressing down on the wound to stop it. And he painstakingly, agonizingly forces himself onto his feet. He’s in no state to scale buildings and run across rooftops, but even if he were to take off his mask ( and why hadn’t the guard unmasked him, when he had the opportunity? ) he can’t exactly wander the streets leaving a trail of blood behind him. 

So it’s back to navigating the town's labyrinthian alleys and streets to find a way back home, hopefully before he passes out from blood loss.

How the fuck is he going to explain this shit-show to Schlatt?

Chapter Text

The castle is in a frantic state. 

That isn’t to say that it usually isn’t, but this is different. Much , much different. 

It was not the chaos that came with the sounds of grouchy ambassadors arguing down the hall, of maids and servants going about their jobs while they idly gossiped. This wasn’t the mayhem of two boys racing through the castle halls laughing, nor of the guards pranking each other when they thought nobody was watching. 

No. This was the pandemonium caused by fear and worry for the Prince. 

The news spreads through the castle faster than wildfire in a dry forest. It disrupts the usual routine of the castle’s inhabitants, and reaches Techno in the middle of a rare break. He’s drinking coffee with Wilbur in the castle library, a well-loved book of mythologies and legends clutched in his hands as he listens to his brother ramble when the serene scene is pulled to a jarring halt. 

“ Technoblade !” a voice calls out, voice laced with a sense of urgency that has Techno on his feet in an instant. A guard appears around the shelf of books, relief spreading across their face before vanishing abruptly. “Oh thank Prime I found you both,” they say. “It’s Prince Ranboo, sir, and Tommy.” 

Techno will admit, his first thought in that moment is irritation that he was being disrupted. Tommy and Ranboo causing some great scandal is something he will be forced to hear about over the dinner table anyway, when the two recounted their grand tale to anybody who would listen, poorly filtering the parts that would get them into trouble. Couldn’t it wait for later? 

They were the sort to get into trouble, yes, but not serious danger. So when something twisted in his gut, at those initial thoughts, he pushes them away and looks to the guard with an intense gaze. Techno didn’t become the well-renowned warrior he was by ignoring his instincts. Had not kept him, his brothers, his family , (because what were Niki and Ranboo if not family?) alive by living in allowing himself to be caught off guard. 

“Pardon?” Wilbur questions from Techno’s side, pulling him back to the present. 

“They were attacked in Snowchester, sir.” 

“Snowchester?” Wilbur repeats sharply, his carefree nature disappearing in an instant, replaced with shock. “What do you mean they were attacked in Snowchester?” his brother’s voice is icy and his gaze even more sharp as he stares down the guard. Even Techno holds back a wince at the cold-fury in his brother’s gaze. He’d much rather fight an entire army then deal with an angry Wilbur. 

However as he looks at the guard who looks on the verge of cowering in fear under the weight of Wilbur’s stare, he steps in. 

“Wilbur,” Techno says. “Calm down. You know just as well as me that Tommy and Ranboo were going to end up sneaking out of the castle at some point. Literally when have you seen those two be content with lounging around doing nothing?” When Wilbur remains silent, albeit looking a little bit less vexed, he continues, turning his attention to the guard. 

“Alright, you can talk on the way.” Techno informs them. “Does Niki know about this?” He demands, leaving the library and his peaceful afternoon discarded. He can hear Wilbur’s feet on the tiled floor, along with the more heavy footsteps of the guard as he leads them through the castle. 

“Someone else was sent to tell her—we only found out a few minutes ago, the prince and Tommy haven’t even arrived yet.” The guard answers, speeding up to walk alongside the piglin-hybrid twins. “Tommy sent a message to Hannah, the royal witch, I’m sure you know her?” At Wilbur’s nod, they continue. 

“Personally I’ve never quite understood how all that magic, enchanting and potionry works—”

“That’s great and all but you’re getting off topic,” that came out a bit more bluntly than he intended, Techno notes too late. “and that isn’t the best thing to be doing after you’ve just said that the prince and his guard have just been attacked.” If anyone thinks it was a bit harsher than he intends, then they do not comment. 

“Right, sorry,” they squeak. “Apparently it was the same assassin from before...he ambushed the two of them and shot Ranboo in the chest.” 

“The same one as before?” Wilbur asks, the guard nodding in response. 

“Tommy also mentioned that he pursued the assassin but that they didn’t manage to arrest them.” There was a pause where the three walked in silence, before Techno spoke again. 

“Well, what else?” the guard glances between him and Wilbur apologetically. 

“That’s all he said.” 

Techno lets out a breath, and while it makes sense considering the message Tommy sent was likely hasty and only in order to prepare the castle for their imminent arrival, he cannot repress the irritated feeling at lacking knowledge. 

The group turn the corner, and are greeted with the sight of a furious Niki walking briskly down the hallway. When she catches sight of them, the angry expression adorning her face lessens, if only ever so slightly. 

“I’m just going to assume that you’ve already heard.” She says, waiting for the sound of Wilbur and Techno’s agreeing before continuing. 

“I’ve already had the infirmary prepared, and I’ve sent Jack out to go assess the situation in the village.”  They reach the grand entrance of the castle, and the crowd of people there separate for them, hushing their whispering poorly. “I don’t know what else to do, they hardly told me anything.” Niki says, and Wilbur reassures her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says, “don’t be so hard on yourself. Tommy and Ranboo can take care of themselves, and they sent us a message, didn’t they?” Techno can already tell this day is going to be emotionally exhausting if Wilbur is already starting to get mushy. Lame. They pause a small distance away from the castle gates, already opened in wait for the boys. 

Niki steels herself and nods, standing up a bit straighter. Techno gives her a glimpse of an approving smile, which she returns, albeit a little strained. Understandable, to be fair. At least it’s better than Wilbur, who has begun pacing, but then again he was always a little bit overprotective of Tommy, no matter how many times the blonde proved that worry to be unnecessary. When a blanket of tense silence descends on the group, he sits down with a tired sigh, and waits. 

Ranboo and Tommy return just before sundown, the sky a myriad of bright colors. 

Wilbur spots them first, eyes widening before he sprints to the opening gates, Niki and Techno just steps behind him. Tommy doesn't seem to notice them at first, preoccupied with keeping a half-conscious Ranboo upright on his horse. It is only when Tommy looks up and sees them quickly approaching that he brings the horse to a halt. 

“Hey Techno,” the blonde greets wearily. “You wouldn’t fuckin’ believe the day I’ve had.” He nods to Wilbur and Niki, and slightly shakes Ranboo to get his attention. The prince blinks briefly before giving a small wave to the adults still on the ground, before carefully making his way off the horse, Tommy watching with poorly hidden nervousness. Ranboo steps onto the group and Techno promptly lifts him into his arms. 

Whether from exhaustion or from injuries, Ranboo doesn’t struggle against the hold that he has been put into, simply slumping into it. The blood staining his shirt, and the bandages that peak out from behind it, the shallow although steady rise and fall of his chest and the exhausted state of the boy fill him with worry. 

Tommy steps down from the horse, pushing away Wilbur’s attempts to help with an annoyed but tired glare. He sighs, turning away. 

“Let’s just get to the infirmary, alright?” He doesn’t wait for a response before taking off. 

It is later that the four of them (Techno, Wilbur, Niki and Jack) sit in one of the castle’s many conference halls. The tall windows that line the wall display the approaching sunrise, the sky a portrait of brightening skies that seem dark in only the way pre-dawn skies do. It’s the sort of contradictory appearance that could only be caused by nature itself, like when the sun briefly shines through pockets of dark and stormy clouds, illuminating a grey and gloomy world.

The last few hours have been taxing on them all, and it’s clear to see by the exhaustion on their faces. Next to him, Wilbur is in the middle of yawning, before jerking away from the loud thump of Niki slamming a stack of papers onto the table. Jack closes the door shut behind the two of them, also carrying some papers before taking a seat. Niki lets out a breath. 

“So, I’ve got the papers from the initial investigation of the scene, I’ve got the reports from the doctors about Ranboo and Tommy’s injuries, and I have a list of every single known threat to the crown.” 

“What about Tommy? We need to ask him further about what happened, don’t we?” Techno asks. Niki nods. 

“He fell asleep, so I’ve told the nurses to let him rest and tell him that we’ve sent for him once he wakes up. We have enough to go through until then, anyways. It’s clear that this is a much more serious situation than we first thought.” 

“Well, no shit.” Jack says bluntly, leaning away from Niki as she smacks his arm with a benign glare. “What! It’s true—as your most trusted advisor, I’m well known amongst the people for being an honest soul you know.” 

“Jack, the only thing you’re well known for is the time you got that blue wig stuck on—” Techno begins to retort from where he sits across the bald man, watching Wilbur half-heartedly stifle the hint of a grin. 

“I thought we agreed not to mention that!” Jack cries, and even Niki is faintly smiling, patting Jack’s arm in a fake consoling fashion. 

“I don’t know who told you that Jack, but you’ve been lied to.” Niki informs the man, already moving on as he stares at her in betrayal. “But no more getting off track, this is serious. Something needs to be done about that assassin! I won’t fault Tommy for this, Prime knows it’s clear he’s placing all the blame for this on himself, but I think this has gotten dire enough to call for a proper discussion on how to act.”

“Are we sure this isn’t just some lucky bastard? You know there is always somebody who thinks they can get away with it and ends up ruining our lives for the next month.” Wilbur asks. Next to him, Techno shakes his head in disagreement. 

“This isn’t some random idot with an agenda and an ego though,” the piglin-hybrid disputes. “No matter how much luck you have, the  clean operations, stealth and ability to kill this guy isn't the work of some ameatur. Besides, Wilbur,” he adds. “Do you really think we would be in this situation if it wasn’t serious?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Tommy has always handled these things without issue before,” Jack comments. “If anything, it’s our fault for not reacting before when the assassin put up so much of a fight that not only did he nearly ambush Ranboo in the castle, but he also managed to escape.” he frowns. “We’re paying the consequences now.”

They stew in silence for a moment before Niki shuffles through the papers. “The assassination was somewhat planned, it seems,” she begins. “The assassin had time to discreetly set up an area on the rooftop opposite to the bakery Tommy and Ranboo were at, meaning he knew where they were beforehand.” 

“He can’t have known for long though,” Jack said. “Nobody in the castle even knew where they went.”

“So we can rule out there being traitors in our midst.” Niki concluded. Wilbur hummed thoughtfully. 

“No, I wouldn’t cross the possibility out just yet,” Wilbur disagreed. “The first attack happened right in his bedroom. Unless he’s been staking out this place for months without being caught, in which case they would be in a position to launch a much more fool-proof plan, then he had some sort of knowledge about the layout of the castle and schedules of the guards. I’d say that’s most likely,” the brown-haired man concludes. 

“It fits with what we know about them,” Wilbur remarks. “Logical, methodical, clever— a pain in the ass to deal with.” 

“So what, we still don’t know anything about them?” Niki groans, wearily rubbing her eyes. Wilbur opens his mouth to speak, before slowly closing it and sheepishly nodding. 

“...that is what it looks like, yeah.” Techno says. They stew in silence before there is a knock on the door, echoing through the silent room. A moment later, it opens and Tommy looks on from behind them.

“You’re awake?” Jack notes, surprised. There is silence as they wait for Tommy’s response, watching the boy awkwardly shift his feet. 

“Uh, yeah...you wanted to see me? About the assassin?” Tommy confirms, closing the door behind him and taking the empty seat across from Techno and next to Jack. From closer up Techno can better see how the bruises that marr his face have turned a deep purple color, compared to the reddish-blue they had been when they were fresher. 

“Tommy,” Niki starts, pausing as she tries to phrase her thoughts. “We need to hear about what happened. Unfortunately, you’re our only hope of understanding what happened and how to deal with this guy.” 

“...no pressure, huh?” Tommy jokes half-heartedly. He coughs awkwardly in the silence that follows. “...well, me and Ranboo went to Snowchester. We didn’t encounter any issues or see anything or body suspicious. Even while we were walking around town, I didn’t notice the assassin once. 'Just had a bad feeling growing inside me...like a particularly weird flower.” Tommy summarizes, with one of his analogies nobody even bothers to try and to pick apart. 

“I only saw him as he was aiming his crossbow at Ranboo. I think me noticing him and warning Ranboo caught him off guard because he shot Ranboo in the chest. With the perfect opportunity he had, only a fool wouldn’t aim for the head." He pauses before adding. "And trust me, he isn’t a fool.” 

“We’ve already know that he's highly intelligent and trained, that much is obvious.” Techno says. “What else can you tell us? How did he fight, what did he look like?” 

“Uhm, well...he was short, he had brown hair. He wore dark clothes and a mask, but his hood slipped during the fight, and I saw that he had some sort of horns and non-human ears.” At the mention of hybrid traits Tommy’s own ears flick, as if in acknowledgement. “I—” Tommy cuts himself off, biting his cheek and glancing away from them. Was that reluctance or unsureness that passed over his face? Techno wonders. “I think he was my age. Definitely a young adult, at most.” 

At that admission, the already silent room felt like a coffin, enclosed and void of life and air. Wilbur slams his hands on the table angrily and put his head in his hands, startling the group, but not enough so that they snap out of their statue-like state. 

“Of course, of fucking course,” he exclaims angrily, “because our lives weren’t difficult enough, now we have to throw in a teenage assassin on the loose!” Tommy stares uncomfortably at his hands. 

“He used both long ranged and melee weapons, I assume he knew some hand-to-hand combat and he had some fucking, fuckin’ knives and shit. It was like he never ran out of them.” Tommy complains. “They were throwing knives too, and his aim was probably some of the best I’ve seen.” he glances up at Techno. “Probably could give you a run for your money.” 

“But I won the fight.” Tommy ends up saying, a hint of pride in his voice. Which honestly, after hearing about this assassin, Technoblade will let Tommy have. “I got him cornered and managed to gain the upperhand.” Confusion spreads among them. 

“Wait so if you had him, then why isn’t he here?” Wilbur asked sharply. “You just let him go?” He asked in bewilderment. Tommy stared at him, eyes wide in a mixture of hurt and disbelief at his brother's accusation.

“No! No, no I didn’t let him go! I mean, I guess I did,” Tommy responds, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall, unable to get a grasp on what he’s trying to say in his haste to defend himself. He sucked in a deep breath, glaring at the four others sitting at the table. 

“I didn’t let him go, not on purpose.” 

“Tommy, you need to explain yourself before we reach a misunderstanding.” Niki orders, and Tommy’s jaw clenches until Techno sends him a glance and he breathes in. Now calmer, forced as it is, he begins to reply. 

“After Ranboo was shot, I started dealing with his wound before Bad said he could take care of Ranboo—”

“You willingly left Ranboo with some random stranger?” Techno asks, silencing himself after Tommy turns to look at him with a withering stare.
“Bad isn’t dangerous, Techno,” Tommy grits out. “He wouldn’t harm a fly! And don’t come at me with your paranoid-ass ‘ you don’t know that for sure, Theseus ’ Ranboo and I have been going to Bad and Skeppy’s bakery for years, they are some of the kindest people in the kingdom, so don’t you fucking dare insinute they would hurt Ranboo!” 

Techno stared into his brother's eyes, and Tommy unflinchingly returned his gaze. It was an unspoken challenge for his resolve, an easy way to force the headstrong and furiously stubborn boy to pick and choose his battles wisely, a tactic used since they were both little. Tommy didn’t look away. 

“Alright,” Techno relented. “I believe you. I’ll trust your word.” Tommy didn’t say retort, simply giving a satisfied nod. 

“Like I was saying, after I made sure Ranboo would be taken care of, at least enough so that he wouldn’t bleed out right then and there, I started chasing after the assassin. He tried to lose me in the alleyway network of the city, but it didn’t work, of course. He ended up hiding in an alley and trying to get the jump on me, and from there we began fighting.”

“I’m not sure how long we fought, since it didn’t feel like very long at the moment, but the moment I finished fighting him I felt like hell warmed over...and the fact that I passed out almost immediately upon being treated by the doctors...yeah. Anyway, we’re both have about the same skills, but I outmatched him in the end.”

“You still haven’t explained why you weren’t able to capture him though,” Jack pointed out. 

“Oh, right. Well, after I stabbed him in the side—”

“You what?!” Jack exclaimed. Tommy stared at him blankly, unimpressed. 

“Did you go deaf, Manifold? I said: After I stabbed him—” 

“No no no, I heard what you said, but don’t you think we would need to know that??” The raccoon-hybrid continued to stare at Jack Manifold as if he was an idiot.

“No? Jack, do you understand what the concept of a fight is?” At Jack’s nod, he continued. “Then why are you acting shocked? Of course I stabbed him. I didn’t like it, but better him then me. Like I was saying, after I stabbed him, the fight was basically over. I was planning on bringing him back with me, when he brought up Ranboo.” 

“What about him?” Wilbur asked. 

“That I could either leave the assassin there and go back to make sure Ranboo was still alive and alright, or that I could waste my time trying to haul him back, kill him, whatever. I made the choice to leave the assassin in order to prioritize Ranboo.”

“Looking back on it now, I didn’t—it wasn’t exactly a choice that made very much sense. I didn’t want him to die, and he seemed confused by that, and then he said that it was either I deal with him or make sure Ranboo wasn’t dead and—yeah.” Tommy finishes off lamely. “Yeah, that’s what happened.” 

“Thank you, Tommy.” Niki says in a warm but tired voice. “We may have to ask you for your help again, but this is all for now. Go get some rest.” Exhaustion radiates off her frame, but she sits upright, offering the blonde a small smile, which he returns after a moment’s hesitation.

Techno watches as Tommy walks away and slips out of the conference room doors. The queen sighs, running a hand through her pink hair.  

“At least we have a description,” she says. “God, I still can’t believe we have a child assassin on our hands. Wilbur you were taking notes on this, right? I know it isn’t your job but somebody needs to.”

“Don’t worry Niki, I’ve got it covered.” Wilbur assured her, lifting up papers covered with bullet points of his slanted script. Techno’s mind wanders back to what Tommy had been saying. 

A highly trained assassin who had appeared out of nowhere, talented enough to come close to nearly killing Ranboo twice, and only failing the second time by what? Accident? Or guilt? 

These questions burrowed themselves in his mind, made a home in his brain yet he could not answer them. And then there was the elusive wondering of why? It seemed as though the assassin worked alone, however that didn’t explain how they got information of the castle’s inner workings. Guard routine changes and locations of each room, that wasn’t information easily come by. 

How long had this been planned for? What reasons would such a young assassin have for attacking the royal family? Could he be a mercenary— wait. 

“We’ve been thinking about this the wrong way” Techno remarks under his breath, catching the attention of the others. 

“Sorry?” He looks up to their questioning faces. 

“We’ve been thinking about this like the assassin is operating alone, or at least fairly alone. But why would a child assassin be after the royal family, specifically Ranboo?”

“A vendetta?” Jack suggested, but Wilbur shook his head from next to Techno, catching onto his brother’s line of thought.

“What kind of grudge could they hold? Niki’s reign has been something of practically no argument. Even when she took the crown earlier than expected, there was very little protest amongst the people, and we’ve been lucky enough to avoid having any conflict with the neighboring nations, allowing us to focus on eliminating the internal threats.”

“Unless of course, we’ve missed one.” Techno finishes. He allows the statement to sit in the minds of the others. 

“I don’t think this is the work of the assassin alone. There is something bigger going on here. Think about it,” he decides to add.

“Are you suggesting we may have another group against the crown on our hands?” Niki asks, confounded, lips pursed with worry at the mere suggestion. Techno pauses, before sighing resolutely. 

“Yes, yes I am.”

It seems as though an eternity has passed when he is finally able to leave the conference room, even though it’s only been about an hour since Tommy left the room. His mind has only grown more filled with theories and questions. 

They’d agreed that there was too much to be discussed and decided in one night, although the night had long passed them by, and agreed to get some rest. Tired as he is though, Technoblade’s mind is possessed by the mysterious assassin and the strange look on Tommy’s face. 

He’s slightly disappointed when Tommy isn’t sitting outside the conference room waiting for them to finish, and embarrassingly enough it must show on his face, because Wilbur shakes his head and rests his hand on Techno’s shoulder. 

“Check the sparring room, the one you both use to train? Whenever he’s in a bad mood he goes there to let off some steam. He’s kinda like you in that sense.”

“Do you... want to come with me?” Techno asks. 

“Hmm, tempting. But I get the feeling that he has something on his mind that you’ll be better equipped to deal with, considering what we just spent the night talking about. Also, I feel like I could go and hibernate for the next ten years, so I’m going to bed.” Wilbur says pointedly, before waving his brother goodbye. 

“Wake me up if Phil sends a letter!” Wilbur calls out, before vanishing around the hallway turn. 

And so Techno is left by himself. Briefly, he wonders if it is really necessary to go and find Tommy, and not just give in to the urge to go to bed himself, but he lets out a sigh and heads on his way to the sparring room. 

He knows that Wilbur was right in his assumption on where to find Tommy when he opens the door and is greeted with the sound of a training dummy being beaten into a pulp. Tommy stands above the dummy, panting for air with bleeding knuckles. Techno frowns, eyes narrowing in displeasure at the sight. 

“Please don’t tell me that I’m going to have to start lecturing you about the importance of practicing proper safety when training, again.” Techno deadpans. “Everytime I think we’re past that point you manage to prove me wrong.” Tommy spins around, eyes wide. 

“Techno! What are you doing here?” The blonde chuckles nervously, and Techno watches him blankly as he hides his hands behind his back. 

“We decided to call it a night before we all fell asleep at the table,” he replies. “Although, Wilbur fell asleep anyway. He thinks we didn’t notice, but Niki just felt bad about waking him up.” Technoblade walks across the room to where he keeps the medical supplies and grabs a roll of bandages. 

He waves over Tommy, who sheepishly walks over, sitting down against the wall. Holding out his hand patiently, Techno begins to unravel the old bandages from Tommy’s hand.

“So?” he asks. “What’s your excuse for not wrapping your hands well today?” 

“I just—ya know,” Tommy shrugs. “Forgot.” Techno stops what he is doing to stare at his brother. 

“Try again.” Techno says and Tommy sputters as Techno finishes cleaning the scratches on Tommy’s knuckles and starts rewrapping them.

“What do you mean try again? That’s just the truth.” 

“Tommy, you are the worst liar I’ve ever encountered. Ever . That’s quite an accomplishment considering some of the idiots I’ve spoken to. I entertain your lies by choice.” The blonde scowls, but doesn’t argue. 

“Why even bother asking for a lie then?” His brother asks, and Techno shrugs in response. 

“Are you gonna tell the truth?” He asks, sighing when Tommy shrugs. “Well there’s your answer.” He starts to wrap the other hand, winding the cotton wrap bandages around his hand and in between fingers. 

When Techno finishes, Tommy stands back up, stretching his hands as he examines Techno’s work. He looks vaguely disappointed when he can’t find something to criticize and Techno lets the ghost of a smug smile show on his face. Tommy flips him off when he notices, before walking back over to the punching bag. 

“Tommy,” Techno begins.

“Yeah?” Tommy responds, fists hitting the punching bag with a bam bam . What are you going to lecture me on now? I swear to god if you have some imaginary critique on my stance like always I’m going to punch you .” 

Techno stares pointedly at Tommy’s stance until the blonde is opening his mouth to yell at him and Techno quickly tells him that he was “Only joking!” Tommy punches him anyway.

“Tommy, what were you thinking about?” he asks in a more serious tone. It catches the attention of the boy in question, who pauses from beating up the punching bag to look at Techno. “Near the end of the meeting, you had a strange look on your face. What were you thinking about?” He clarifies. 

Tommy stares at him for a moment longer before he returns to punching, hitting the bag with a bit more ferocity then before. Techno watches patiently. With Tommy, it’s a fifty-fifty on whether he’ll answer Techno or just ignore him, but Techno will take his chances. 

“Earlier,” Tommy finally responds, not stopping his attack on the punching bag. “Like, after Ranboo and I were first ambushed by this assassin, he told me something. Ranboo, told me.” he clarifies, and Techno nods. “He told me that the assassin had remorse in his eyes.” 

“Obviously, I thought he was being ridiculous. That, his mind made up things in the moment out of fear, or some stupid shit. But he insisted it was true, so I accepted it.” 

“And then what?”

“Well...nothing really. We didn’t mention it again after that, and we stopped talking about the attack completely. I didn’t bring it up with the assassin, had bigger things on my mind ya know.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I only really started thinking about it afterward.” Tommy admits.

“Why?” Techno asks.  “Did he say something, did Ranboo say something that reminded you of it? If it seemed insignificant in the first place, why are you thinking about it again?” Tommy frowned. 

“Are you keeping something from us?”

“No!” Tommy says guiltily. “But even if I did, it’s none of your business.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.” Techno tells him. 

“ Mememememememememe, I’m Techno, and I’m annoying.” 

“That sounds just like me Tommy, great job.” The piglin-hybrid sarcastically notes. “Are you going to answer me or not?”

“I thought I was done being interrogated.” Tommy tells him. Techno huffs out a breath. “Tommy, I know it’s not exactly the most fun thing in the world—” 

“That’s an understatement.”

“—but if we end up missing critical information that could help us understand this assassin and how to take them down just because we didn’t ask you about it, then nobody's going to be happy. Just, tell me what was bothering you at the end of the meeting.” 

Tommy punches the punching bag again, watching it sway back and forth from the impact. Silence permeates the room as Tommy deliberates answering, both brothers determined to have their way. 

“It’s not something he said.” The blonde finally relents. “It was just a look he had on his face. I could tell he was always trying to mask his true thoughts and feelings, but it would always just... slip . And I’d catch glimpses of what he was really like, mostly from his eyes, cause he had this huge mask covering most of his face but…” Tommy sighs. “I can’t put it into words."

“He would ask whether I was going to kill me, and I would stare at him and just see him...waiting, almost patiently, expectantly for it. And when I explained the concept of honor, he didn’t mock it or insult me like I was expecting. He just seemed...confused. Maybe something more, something I couldn’t glimpse.” 

“All his reactions just seemed a little sideways.” Tommy pauses. “Do you get what I’m trying to say?” 

And Techno tries to envision it, he really does. It’s not that he’s completely emotionless, although he knows that he tends to come off that way. He’s a fighter and guard, yes, but he’s also a lover of literature, pages upon pages of mythos and legends are collected in his mind. By all means, he should understand the vague descriptions that Tommy is using to describe some sort of deeper emotion. From him, from the guard, about the situation altogether.

But he isn’t able to perceive what it is Tommy is trying to convey to him. So when Tommy asks him this, he can only respond with pensive silence. The blonde looks away, and the moment of honesty is over. It isn’t laced in bitterness or anger that Tommy couldn’t convey his point, just acceptance, laced with a hint of disappointment.

Tommy begins hitting the punching bag again and Techno makes his way over, resting a hand on the blonde shoulder. 

“Tommy,” he says. “We think that the assassin is part of a larger organization to overthrow the crown.” 

“What?!” Tommy exclaims. “How the hell did you even come to that conclusion? Doesn’t this guy work alone?” 

“On the surface, yes.” Techno concedes. “But little things weren’t adding up, and it seems like a reasonable explanation.” Another thought hits Techno in this moment, another clog clicking together into the machinery of his mind.

“Didn’t you say that after you stabbed him in the side, he made you choose between leaving him behind or dead, and checking up on Ranboo?” 

“Yeah? We already discussed how it wasn’t a choice I should have made.” Something twisted creeps into Tommy’s tone.

“No, Tommy, you did what you thought was best, nobody is blaming you for that. Nobody is blaming you for anything, you did well, alright? I know you beat yourself up over nothing, but you acted just as you should’ve.” Techno assures him, but Tommy just quietly scoffs. 

“Oh sure, failing my job not once, but twice, is ‘acting just as I should have’. Stop lying to me Techno! I know I fucked up, okay? My job is to keep Ranboo safe and take care of any threats, and apparently I can’t do either of those tasks.” 

“Sometimes, Tommy, you can be a real idiot.” Techno says bluntly, wincing as Tommy turned his glare onto him. “Right, don’t antagonize emotional teenagers.” Techno berates himself. Tommy scowls at him for the comment, aiming a half-heartened punch at his brother's shoulder that Techno dodges without even thinking. 

“I’m not being emotional, I’m being truthful!” Tommy argues, the fur on his raccoon ears and tail spiking up defensively. 

“Look, what I’m tryin’ to say is that you need to let up with the self-blame. Ranboo is doing fine, and okay, yes, the assassin might have gotten away, but you aren’t to blame. Do you understand me?” Tommy mumbles something under his breath. “That wasn’t a yes, Tommy. Do I need to get Wilbur and Ranboo to come lecture you as well?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t my fault.” Sarcastic as his tone might have been, Techno can spot some of the guilt and self-loathing disappear from his eyes. 

“Good. To finish the point I was making before, the assassin wouldn’t have been able to patch themselves up from such a wound alone. Maybe they paid someone to be quiet, or somebody is working with them willingly, but they had to have some sort of outside help. And that is something we can use to track this guy down.” 

Tommy mulls this information over, and a wave of exhaustion rolls over Techno. God, who knew dealing with an actually competent assassin was difficult? 

“Well,” Techno huffs. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. Are you gonna go to sleep, or am I gonna come back later to see you passed out on the floor?” 

“That only happened once!”

“And that was one time too many.” Techno responds dryly. He watches Tommy roll his shoulders, fluffy tail flicking from side to side before he attacks the punching bag again, his freshly wrapped fists hitting the bag with a consistent bam bam bam. 

“I’ll go to sleep soon, promise.” Tommy ends up saying. Techno hums.

“I’ll hold you to that. I’ll sick Wilbur on you if you’re not careful—you know how overprotective he gets.” Tommy rolls his eyes. 

“It’s fuckin’ annoying is what it is.” His fists land against the punching bag again, bam bam bam bam. 

“Yeah, fair enough. And Tommy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Remember what I said about beating yourself up needlessly. Good night, Tommy.” Techno says at last. The sound of punching ceases. 

“Night, Techno.” He closes the door behind him, and a few seconds later the muffled sound of punches hitting their target starts back up again.

Everything from that night got blurry at some point. 

Tubbo remembers the fight he had against the guard, remembers getting cornered and then being stabbed. He remembers the guard standing over him, sword stained and dripping with his blood held tightly in his hand. Tubbo remembers saying something to him, convincing him to leave him alone as Tubbo held his wound shut with his hand, blood seeping through his fingers and onto the dirty ground. 

Maybe the guard believed that it wouldn’t matter whether he finished the job then and that Tubbo was a doomed man either way, maybe Tubbo's desperate plan to get him scared enough to back off and check on the prince had worked, but he doubted he’d ever find out. 

What did it matter, anyway? Tubbo had much bigger problems to solve, like trying to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to stop himself from bleeding out onto the pavement. What sophisticated troubles he has in his day-to-day life. 

He’s a little ashamed to admit that it took him quite a while to force himself onto his feet, even after making makeshift bandages to wrap around his torso and stem the blood flow. From there he remembers wandering through the labyrinthian alleyways, likely leaving a trail of blood behind, memory and consciousness slowly growing more and more fuzzy.  

Somebody found him at that point, laying on the ground, waiting for Death’s patient and warm grip to take it’s hold. He doesn’t remember who, only hearing their panicked voice telling him to keep his eyes open for a little longer. Then there was a sharp scorching pain, an excruciating burn that made the stab wound feel like a simple scratch. 

Distantly, somebody's harrowing screams filled his ears, which Tubbo now rationalizes, must’ve been his. After that, the pain had begun to die down, and Tubbo let the bliss of unconsciousness take its hold. 

Tubbo wakes up in his bedroom, the lights off except for the light of a flickering oil lamp. His lips are dry and parched, and he reaches over for the glass of water on his bedside, downing it in seconds, relishing in the water. It’s not even cold, just lukewarm, teetering on the verge of warmth, but in that moment it feels like the best thing in this world. 

His mind feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and for a while he does not but stare at the wall, blinking away the last remaining dregs of unawareness. Slowly, his mind begins to remember the events of...whenever the fight between him and the guard happened. 

He pulls down the blankets and shifts his position so he is closer to sitting then lying down. He’s pleasantly surprised when the pain he expects from moving the wound doesn’t arrive, so he begins to poke and prod at the bandages that have been wrapped around his torso. Perhaps not the smartest thing to do, but Tubbo’s brain is too tired to start analysing the situation and most logical paths of actions, like his normal self would. 

Perhaps this lapse of logic is what makes him step out of his warm, safe bed and onto the cold, unfriendly ground, all in search of answers. 

Even in this state of mind, a sense of wrongness permeates Tubbo’s senses, and grips him more than the cold floor beneath his feet. Both the manor above him and the sprawling network under it have never felt welcoming, always silent and filled with ill-intentions, with deals and deaths and people sucked into a web of long-crafted plans and betrayals that stretched farther into their kingdom than one could ever begin to imagine. 

But at the very least, no matter how quiet it got, it didn’t feel like it did now, Tubbo remarks to himself, turning the corner as his brain searches for the word to describe the growing feeling of unease and foreboding the longer he wanders the compound.

It feels abandoned. Abandoned, except for the faintest traces of light that escape from the gap beneath Schlatt’s office door.

Stupidly, he twists the door’s brass knob, letting the door swing open slowly. The disgusting scent of booze and vomit slaps Tubbo in the face, and he covers his mouth, repulsed.

“The fuck are you doing here.” Schlatt asks, voice slurred and eyes gleaming not just from the influence of alcohol. Tubbo feels as though he has made a grave mistake, and suddenly the emptiness of the compound makes much more sense. 

“Hey!” Schlatt yells, and Tubbo flinches back, feeling like a little kid again, scared and helpless against the empty bottles that caused so much misery and fury. Schlatt looks at him with loathing in his gaze as he does, propping himself up onto the desk shakily to stare down at Tubbo.

“I asked you a question. Answer me.”

Chapter Text

In the face of Schlatt’s fury, grand and all-encompassing in its presence, Tubbo can feel his thoughts come to a screeching halt. It’s as though he’s been tossed onto the surface of a frozen lake; the ice cracking beneath him before he has the chance to register what is happening and pulling him under. He’s been left to the mercy of the frigid water and it’s murky depths, to the mercy of Schlatt and his alcohol. 

All he can do as he stands in front of Schlatt is gape with wide and fearful eyes. He futilely struggles to rid himself of the fear that has taken control; but he cannot tear away the fear that has made a home in his bones, comfortable and familiar. 

It’s almost funny, Tubbo thinks, not entirely present. He’d gone through years of brutal training to sculpt him into the perfect assassin, training that left him with a foggy memory and instincts that couldn’t be taught with just words. He’d surpassed it, became a feared and dangerous assassin within not just Schlatt’s territory but the whole Underworld, could kill with ease, and yet the thing it took to rid him of all resolve and strength was his father. 

He’s reduced to a scared child, to the part of him he’s always tried so desperately to bury. Always always be unable to find his voice, always weathering through the rage, because surely there must be a reason for it? Just like the thunderstorms in the sky were caused by contrasting warm and cold vapors within clouds, surely the anger Schlatt exhibited, the anger that he took out on others was fueled by something reasonable, something logical, beyond just the alcohol. 

There is a pressure building up in his lungs, one that would have Tubbo gasping for air if he could just manage to regain control of himself. It’s pathetic, he’s pathetic, why can’t he breathe? —

“What are you, fucking deaf now?” Schlatt demands, and Tubbo’s struck from his frightened fervor at the booming voice. It seems to ring unnaturally in his ears, his heart thumping in his chest, gasping as he manages to take another step away from the man. 

“N-no, no.” Tubbo finally stutters.

“I’m going to ask you this one last time, brat— what the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 

“I just, just saw that you were here, a-and the rest of the compound is empty and well...um,” his eyes flit to the doorway, an escape from the situation that’s so close yet so unreachable. “I wanted to know what was going on.” 

Schlatt’s face morphs into one of genuine surprise before swiftly returning to its (likely natural) state of anger. Tubbo can’t even bother to try and wonder why he would be surprised, too preoccupied with the desire to flee. 

“What was going on?” Schlatt repeats, staring at Tubbo as if he’s just grown a second head. Tubbo chews the inside of his cheek, pointedly staring at a spot on the floor. 

Scuff marks tarnish the floor in front of the desk from where chairs have been dragged around, and one of the floorboards seem to be a little looser than the rest, but just enough so that it wouldn’t be noticed. The air is painfully still and musty, and there is not a sound to be heard from the rest of the compound—

A fist slams onto the desk, and the items atop it shake and shiver, precariously close to toppling over. Tubbo stumbles further back, letting out a soft gasp of pain as a sharp pain emerges from the bottom of his feet. He glances down at his feet, a mess of broken alcohol bottles and pieces of glass littering the rug beneath them. Before he has even glanced up again to see Schlatt stomping forward, he’s grabbed roughly by the arm. 

“What’re you playin’ dumb now? Think you can just wander back as if you aren’t the cause of the shitshow I have to deal with now?” 

“I- what?” Tubbo asks. Schlatt seems to only get angrier at his reaction, or maybe lack thereof. In his weakened state, Tubbo can hardly do anything but stop himself from wincing. He’s treading on shards of glass, both figuratively and metaphorically, but the thought of Schlatt’s fury only growing keeps him rooted in place. 

“Years, years and years of work!” Schlatt shouts. “Put into building up this operation, this empire of mine, all for it to get fucked over, by some kid who can’t do a single job right.” Even in the stench that the room holds, alcohol noticeably taints the ram-hybrid’s breath. 

Up close, Tubbo can see the way his red-rimmed eyes are unfocused in their wrath and if Tubbo had been in a better stare he’s sure that the arm holding him would not feel as imprisoning as it does in this moment. 

Unfortunately, he is not in a better state. He’s recovering from having the crap kicked out of him by that strange guard and probably nearly dying, and— oh shit , he thinks, as the puzzle pieces finally slot into place in his befuddled mind. 

“This is about Prince Ranboo,” he realizes, speaking aloud. His voice is hushed and quiet, but somehow the older man manages to catch wind of his words. 

“Who else would it be about?” Schlatt responds. 

“Schlatt,” he hastens to respond, eyes darting around the room to look at anything besides Schlatt’s eyes. His hand weakly reaches up to try and loosen the grip Schlatt has on his arm. “I’m sorry, I really am! I-I should’ve tried harder, it’s my fault–” 

“Don’t try to fucking bullshit me, Tubbo!” Schlatt snaps, and his grip around Tubbo’s arm tightens, tugging him forward. Shards of glass dig deeper into the soles of his feet, 

“You think that just because I’m a little drunk, I’m incompetent?” Schlatt accuses, to which Tubbo shakes his head in futile disagreement. “Then why are you acting as if I’ll accept some pathetic excuses! I saw the reports, I heard it all. You had the perfect opportunity, nobody even knew about you! And what did you do?” Schlatt asks. 

“You fucking missed the shot.” Schlatt answers for him. Schlatt lets go of his arm, and Tubbo collapses backwards, falling down onto the floor. Glass shards dig into his soft palms, into the base of back and his legs. Tubbo stumbles back onto his feet, holding his stomach where the bandaged wound is burning in pain. 

“All you had to do was one simple task, one thing for me, Tubbo. Kill the prince. I gave you help, I provided you time and tools,” Schlatt yells. “And what’d you do? You fail. You fail, and you have the audacity to do it multiple times!” He declares. Schlatt pauses to stand in the middle of the room, staring at him scrutinizingly. 

“Are you a fucking traitor?” He accuses, and Tubbo can’t hold back the choked noise of shock that escapes him, ears pressed flat against his head. It’s misinterpreted by the drunk though, whose face contorts into a portrait of hatred. 

No, not hatred, that was wrong. Tubbo had seen Schlatt, and this wasn’t hatred. This was far worse, the flames of it only stoked by the influence of alcohol. This was repugnance, this was abhorrence, pure and undiluted. Apparently he takes too long to answer, however because Schlatt is stomping towards him on unsteady legs. 

“A traitor in my midst, who would’ve fucking believed it. I bet you went to the castle and had a grand old time with all your royal buddies,” Schlatt spits. “Well Tubbo, I’ll teach you what happens to traitors!” Schlatt shouts, and before Tubbo even realizes what is happening, his instincts take  control and forcibly shove him to the side.

Schlatt’s swing hits empty air, fist just brushing the wall. Then there is a pause, an unbroken stillness of growing anticipation. The silence before the clap of booming thunder that shakes the Earth. He turns to look at Tubbo, and in that moment Tubbo swears his eyes seem to glow like two burning twin flames. 

He needs to leave, he realizes, shooting up to his feet with a speed that makes Schlatt’s face twist into an expression of insulted surprise. The pain of his injuries barely registers, the adrenaline and fear shoving it into the backseat as it took control of his mind. 

A bottle is flung at him and Tubbo ducks, hands flying to the top of his head. Shards of glass rain down upon him, but he doesn’t wait for them to fall. Shoving open the door, dim light spills into the hallway. Tubbo makes it only a few feet away in some random direction when he feels someone grab the back of his shirt, and he is thrown to the ground. 

The impact knocks the air out of his lungs, and for a brief moment of time Tubbo is suspended there, paralyzed, before his lungs begin to function again. Then there is the sharp slap of pain striking him in the gut, again and again and again, until he cannot focus on anything besides the pain of Schlatt repeatedly kicking him.

‘He’s going to mess up my stab wound even further,’ Tubbo thinks with growing horror. 

“Schlatt?” 

Both Schlatt and Tubbo still, although for quite different reasons, as their is attention grabbed by the sound of a voice calling out in the compound. Footsteps can be heard slowly reaching closer, before the voice is calling out again. 

“Schlatt? Are you there? I know you’re probably still wasted, but we—” The footsteps round the corner of the hallway, and Quackity appears, not noticing them at first, looking in confusion at the mess of an office, door wide open.

Then he turns around, and even through the haze of pain Tubbo can clearly spot the very moment the duck hybrid clocks onto what has, or is, happening. Quackity’s hands go slack, papers dangerously close to falling to the floor as his arms drop to his sides. The wings on his back flare out in shock and anger. 

A quiet exhale of relief escapes him, but Tubbo doesn’t stop to rest. He can’t allow himself to let his head fall onto the ground and let his body melt into the earth until he has become one with the world. 

The distraction he was so desperately looking for has arrived, and though he knows in the future he will regret his choices, in the moment he is glad for Quackity’s presence. So he won’t be foolish enough to waste it. 

Struggling to his feet as he clutches the bandaged wound in his side, which Tubbo worriedly realizes has reopened if the warm substance that clings to his clothing and palm is anything to go by, he begins to shuffle away from Schlatt. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed, and Schlatt lands a solid punch to Tubbo's face, snapping his head back. 

“What the hell is wrong with you!” Quackity hollers, pulling the drunk away from Tubbo. Schlatt’s back slams into the wall, but he just stares at Quackity in annoyance. “I know you’re drunk, but have you lost your goddamn mind?!”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Schlatt slurs. “I’m teaching that piece of shit a lesson, now get out of my way.” Quackity stares at him in shock, before looking at Tubbo. 

“Get out of here kid, I’ll deal with this.” Tubbo stares silently at Quackity, before glancing at Schlatt. A dark, threatening look overtakes his face and without any more overthinking Tubbo He runs down the hallway, ignoring the pain before coming to a stop.

Well, it’s more of a messed up speedwalk, but he’s trying his best. 

The sight of a pitch-black hallway has never felt like more of a relief, but he doesn’t race to his room. He doesn’t take a look at his feet, to the inevitable sight of glass shards still embedded in the soft soles of his feet.

He stands there in the center of the hallway, eyes still wide. He feels small in the emptiness of the hallway, but at least it isn’t silent. The sound of arguing is clear and he can hear Schlatt and Quackity argue. Tubbo walks on autopilot until he is close enough that their words are clear but he isn’t in the sight of either man. 

He curls up, pulling his knees close to him and wrapping his arms around them, and sits there in the darkness alone, accompanied only by the sounds of fighting.

“—traitor? Traitor, do you even hear yourself right now?” Quackity yells. “Oh wait, you’re so drunk I doubt you’ll even remember your own name after this!” 

“Remember your place, Quackity.” Schlatt warns. 

“No, fuck you, man! I work my ass off, and for what? For you to sit in your office, getting sad, drunk and beating the shit out of the only other competent person in this entire compound?” 

Huh , Tubbo thinks. There is something warm and sticky on the side of his head, and with the hand that isn’t occupied with his stab wound, he brushes over the spot, wincing at the slight pain. When did I cut my forehead? He stares at the blood on his fingers before wiping it on his trousers and turning his attention back to Quackity and Schlatt.

“That cockroach you just defended is the entire reason we’re in this situation in the first place!” 

“No, no, no, you don’t get to pin the blame on Tubbo!” Quackity responds. “You’re the issue Schlatt. I can’t believe how absolutely nonsensical you’ve gotten! You’re risking years of work and the moment that something goes wrong, which it was destined to do, you just use somebody as a scapegoat.” 

“I gave him countless chances, Quackity, I was more lenient with his screw-ups then I wanted to be and he still proved me wrong by managing not only to be a complete and total waste of a weapon, but a traitor as well!” 

“...I should’ve taken him away from here the moment he came back from…wherever it is you sent him.” Quackity mutters. “You ruined that boy.” 

Tubbo flinches at the sound of Schlatt’s laughter. 

He doesn’t want to know what Schlatt will respond to that sentiment with; so he leaves. He leaves the hallway with a dull ringing in his ears and a pain that racks his entire body. 

The door to his room shuts closed behind him, and Tubbo stumbles over to his closet. His hand searches around the bottom before his fingers find a small groove, and he lifts the clover to a hidden compartment. He grabs a vial of healing potion and downs it, gritting his teeth and letting a sigh of pain and relief slip past as he feels the reopened stab wound slowly patching itself together.

It isn’t a large enough dose to heal all of his injuries, but considering how there is still glass stuck in his feet, it’s probably a good thing. Infection is a bitch. He painstakingly removes the glass from his feet, a small pile growing beside him as he sits on the floor leaning against his bed and wraps his feet in bandages. 

There is nothing else left to do from there, really. Tubbo tiredly sits back and stares at the wall, waiting. There is a routine that was established ages ago. It is an unspoken one, but not once during the years that Tubbo returned from training has it been broken. 

In all seriousness, it is probably the one thing that he still trusts, and to that extent, it means Quackity is the only person he can place some trust in. Pretty crazy, how being raised to be an assassin will do that to you. 

Quackity will return, looking considerably more bruised and tired, as he always does after dealing with Schlatt’s drunken outbursts. They would keep each other company, and on some rough nights, though neither Tubbo nor Quackity would admit it, Tubbo would pat Quackity on the back as he cried, and silently wish he could do the same. 

Tubbo and Quackity were always the ones that took the brunt of his fury, the only ones that could truly begin to understand the other. 

Sometimes, Tubbo hated it with a burning passion. Other times, he craved that feeling of connection and awareness so badly that he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. 

(He never does, because if there is anything good about himself that he can assure himself of, it’s that he is nothing like Schlatt.)

Belatedly, he recognizes the heat that has been building up in his face for the last few minutes, hot and uncomfortable in a way that has Tubbo pause. His eyes water and a choked sob escapes him, only for Tubbo to slam his hand over his mouth. There is nobody here to even hear his show of weakness, but instinct is a funny little thing, so Tubbo does so anyway. 

Hot tears escape his eyes, and despite Tubbo shutting them close, they leak down his face, leaving behind watery trails on his knuckles and cheeks. It’s been since he let himself cry, at least the kind of crying that was gross and suffocating and real , that Tubbo is caught off guard. 

He doesn’t know what makes this situation stand out from the rest. Maybe he’s delirious from the pain, or maybe he is still just too scared to admit that Schlatt’s accusations of betrayal were both terrifying and infuriating. 

Tubbo wipes away the tears from his face, but they don’t seem to stop. They leave trails down his face, slip down his chin and wet his shirt. He gives up eventually, the sobs slowly dying down into small sniffles. It stops completely, and the emotion that gripped Tubbo so tightly vanishes. He’s exhausted and numb, both from the cold floor and his own emotions. It’s not a pleasant combination, but the thought barely makes its way to Tubbo's brain before it is being ignored. 

All he wants to do is to continue staring at the wall, maybe even fall asleep while doing so, but apparently the universe can’t grant him that one desire.

Tubbo is resting his head on his knees as Quackity enters the room. He can hear the duck hybrid shuffling behind him before he appears in Tubbo’s line of sight. His face seems to sag in weariness and exhaustion, and there is the start of a nasty bruise forming on his cheek that wasn’t there before. It’s nothing too surprising, and all things considered Quackity dealt with far worse than to be very bothered by a punch. 

(The voice whispering that Quackity shouldn’t be having bruises at all goes unnoticed.)

The fog that clouds Tubbo's mind is too heavy to lift at Quackity’s presence, but the duck-hybrid thankfully doesn’t mind. So he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t acknowledge Quackity, just sits beside him and stares in silence. 

“Schlatt’s passed out,” Quackity says. 

“...I should’ve realized something was wrong when I saw that the compound was empty except for him.” Tubbo says hoarsely after a few seconds of awkward silence. “I thought I wasn’t stupid enough anymore to make those dumb mistakes, but…” he shrugs. “Apparently not. Are you alright?” Quackity looks at him with something akin to pain in his eyes, a strained chuckle escaping him.

“I’m not the one who needs to be worried about, kid, okay? And you can’t blame yourself for that…you and I know better than anyone that sometimes Schlatt just can’t be reasoned with.” 

“I guess.”

“The doctors said that even with the healing potions you would need time to heal; you lost a lot of blood.” Tubbo thinks back to that night, annoyed to find that his memories aren’t any clearer than before. 

“Who found me?” He asks. 

“One of the groups Schlatt sent out to search for you. I was in another one of them, but not the one that found you. They had to perform an impromptu cauterization to keep from losing any more blood.”

“And after that? You mentioned doctors.” 

“Yeah, we had some doctors come over to make sure you were going to be alright. Schlatt was busy dealing with the aftermath, so I’ve been the one that they’ve been updating about your condition.” Quackity pauses. “Should I assume you want me to tell you about what 

“Well, I heard some of it from Schlatt, but it would be nice to hear it from someone who isn’t hammered.”

“Fair enough,” Quackity mutters. “The day after it happened, there was a public announcement by Queen Nihachu. The guard you fought gave them a description of you, but it wasn’t enough to be concerning. The real issue comes from what information hasn’t been made public yet.” 

“They pieced together that you aren’t working alone. I don’t think they know specifically about our existence just yet, but…it’s not exactly a secret anymore, if that makes sense. So uh, this is pretty bad. The compound’s empty not just because of how wasted the big guy is but because we’re relocating.”

“I’ve only been coming to check on the both of you,” Quackity continues. “You’ve been unconscious for a while and Schlatt hasn’t been dealing with the whole situation very well. Now that you’re awake, I should probably tell you to pack everything important, since this place is going to be a thing of the past come tomorrow night.” 

Tubbo nods, turning over the information in his mind. 

“Is that it?” He asks, and Quackity grimaces. 

“That’s all we know. Getting information into what’s going on inside the castle is hard enough normally, but with all the upped security and panic it’s nearly impossible.” Quackity explains. He glances at Tubbo’s forehead. 

“You’re bleeding.” He states before dabbing a cotton ball in a bottle of antiseptic and cleansing the cut with it. Tubbo scarcely notices the sting of the rubbing alcohol as he thinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Quackity confesses, and the words catch Tubbo so off guard that he turns his head to face the man. Confusion festers within him as he stares at Quackity.

“For what?” 

“I shouldn’t have let him turn you into this.”

“Into what, a monster?” Tubbo inquires; the corner of his lips lift in a self-deprecating smile. Quackity’s frown deepens, and he glimpses the cut on his forehead again before returning his gaze to Tubbo. 

“You’re not a monster, Tubbo. Just a kid who got dealt a bad hand of cards. Nobody has the right to blame you for doing what it takes to survive.” Quackity states. 

“I disagree with that. Most people would. I’ve hurt people, Quackity...hell, ‘hurt’ is a bit of a light word to use.” 

“...do you think I’m a monster, Tubbo?” Quackity asks. Tubbo's eyebrows furrow at the question.

“No—?”

“And why not? You think you’re the only one in this compound who’s done shitty things? Whose hurt people?”

“Well, obviously not.” 

“So you know full well that I am no less innocent than you are. Now tell me what makes you think I’m not a monster, and yet you are; because quite frankly Tubbo, it isn’t adding up to me.”

“Yeah, that’s different, Quackity.” 

“You’re right. It is different, and you want to know why?” Quackity asks. “Because I was not forced into this world like you. This is the result of my own dumb decisions, but you? You’re just a kid. You’re a kid, and you’re fighting other kids, and honestly, everything about this just flat out sucks.” 

“But it is not your fault. Okay? You are many things Tubbo, but a monster is not one of them.”

Tubbo stares at Quackity, searching his eyes for the hidden truth. There is none. Only honesty, so Tubbo looks away, unsure of what to think. 

“Okay,” Tubbo says, if only to reassure Quackity. The man does not seem entirely convinced by him, but he nods in appeasement. 

“Okay,” Tubbo repeats, if only to see if the words will cement themselves a little deeper in his mind. 

It isn’t long after that night that the doctors Quackity brought in to oversee his recovery deem him stable enough to get back to work. Three days after that night, in fact. He’s given potions by some doctors; enough to last him a week, consisting of a less potent healing potion to ensure that there weren’t any complications and keep the residual pain of the injuries at bay.

He isn’t sure of what to do for a while. 

The answer to this is of course, to get back to work. To pick back up from where he left off and start gathering information, preparing his weapons and scouring locations for the next try at Prince Ranboo’s assassination. But Tubbo…he avoids it. For quite a while, actually. 

While their new base of operations is no less dreary then the last, it’s much closer to the center of Snowchester. So Tubbo spends his days in recovery watching impassively at people going about their lives. He drinks coffee paid for with pickpocketed money, pointedly avoids the labyrinthian alleyways where he fought the guard.

At some point Tubbo realizes that he never even knew his name, and it begins to irk him. It’s perhaps the only thing to really break through the monotony of, well…everything.

But he’s distracted by the atmosphere of the new compound. Arguments that used to echo through the halls in passing seem to be almost constant these days. Quackity and Schlatt are always at each other’s throat over one thing or another, and even with Schlatt slowly regaining some sobriety, it isn’t a pleasant thing to hear.

People have begun to return, partners and competitors, mercenaries and information brokers that Tubbo has only seen in passing arrive, but they all know of the fragile state of the organization. 

Besides this all though, Tubbo is dealing with his own issues. 

Tubbo isn’t sure what caused it. What shifted after years of killing as a child assassin 

Because that was what he was, wasn’t he? No matter how nauseating the words sounded, or how heavy they weighed in his throat, that was the truth, plain and simple. 

Of not just being complicit in his crimes, but perhaps the reason so many of them he got away with, scot-free. Schlatt’s criminal empire would not exist without him. 

Tubbo used to believe that he was detached from his emotions. Distanced from his actions and numb to the growing list of corpses that could be credited to his name. He knows now just how wrong he was. His false perception of stoicism was nothing in comparison with the blankness that he carries with him now. 

The last remainder of childhood innocence, which he buried deep inside his gut in subconscious desperation to be protected from the harsh reality of the world, was brought to light. With it no longer there, with his psyche untethered to that anchor, Tubbo drifts.

It would be inaccurate to describe the apathy that sinks into his soul as anything but that—apathy. 

The only time it really breaks is when the world’s expanse is silent and slumbering, and Tubbo finds himself sitting in his bed with nothing but the light of the moon for company. 

It is during the night that the guilt consumes him, pulls him face to face with horrors long forgotten and corpses old and new. Haunting faces, still warm bodies with pools of blood beneath him and hoarse, taunting whispers leave him waking up in a cold sweat and stifled sobs. 

And when the sun rose over the horizon signaling the start of a new day, the numbness would return, as though it never even left. 

He still goes about his day like a leaf blowing in the wind, drifting and floating throughout life. He still goes about his job, collecting information and all that garbage. His weapons and gear remain ready and polished in his room, albeit hidden in his drawers.

So Tubbo’s days pass by like that. He grows used to it, the same way he did before.  The same way he adapted to the brutal lessons of his instructor whilst he trained, the same way that carrying out assassinations became the usual. It was just another aspect of life. 

He pays half-attention to the news, races across rooftops to feel the adrenaline course through his veins, hot and addicting, as if the excitement and energy could shake the iron grip of numbness that had come over him.

The apathy was convenient at times, Tubbo won't lie. In fact, life is so much easier when he just… didn't care . But it becomes a burden in that same sense. 

Tubbo is a logical person. Even when he was younger, it was always clear to him that it was only common sense to follow what your brain says. So no matter the lack of feeling that had taken hold of him, logic remained, and he knew that purposefully letting Schlatt perceive him to be slacking off, to be neglecting his work and in turn sabotaging Schlatt, was just stupid. 

Deliberately pissing off the man who ran the biggest criminal organization in the nation, who had gone years without detection, slowly eliminating enemies and making a name for himself in the underground only to have it screwed up because Tubbo couldn’t kill one dumb prince, was the worst thing he could do. It didn’t help that Schlatt already despised him, so he really couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes.

And if there was anything Quackity had said about him that was correct, it was that Tubbo will do what it takes to survive. 

The prince is reading a book, completely unaware of Tubbo’s presence. 

The prince hadn’t been seen in public since the last time Tubbo tried to kill him, and patrols both outside and inside the castle have gotten so difficult to get around that Tubbo hasn’t had many opportunities to scout the grounds of the castle. It’s only by complete accident that Tubbo has stumbled upon him once more. 

Okay, perhaps sneaking around the grounds of the royal castle wasn't a complete accident, but Tubbo has not actively been searching for Prince Ranboo. Yet here he was, sitting at the base of the tree without any idea of Tubbo’s perch in the branches above him. 

If it was any later into the fall, the leaves would have all fallen and this wouldn't've been possible. Leaves of a wide array of colors adorned the branches of the trees, and hid him from sight, at least enough so he wasn’t easily seen. 

The awareness of how easy it would be to kill him now, to just do the deed and get it over with sinks it’s claws into Tubbo, and he purses his lips. Ranboo was all alone, and there wouldn’t be any interference. He could finally have this ordeal over with. 

Tubbo remains in the branches of the tree, before exhaling, and adjusting the mask more firmly over his face. He unsheathes one of the knives secured around his hand, and stares at the blade. 

Below him, Ranboo turns to the next page of the book. 

Silently, Tubbo shifts his stance, slipping down onto the branch below. A few leaves fall, but Ranboo doesn’t seem to notice. Slowly, Tubbo makes his way further and further down the tree. He stills, just a few feet above the still unaware prince, who is contentedly reading. 

Tubbo exhales, grip on the knife tightening. 

In one single movement, he leaps from the branch. He braces for impact as his feet touch the ground and he lands in front of the prince. Ranboo’s already on his feet, a look of cold determination in his eyes.

It’s a stark contrast to the panic and alarm Tubbo has grown to expect, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on the matter.  

Tubbo moves to slash his throat before the prince can make a noise, attempting to use his free hand to push the other boy against the trunk of the tree and pin him there. The chilling weight of a blade appears as he does, pressed firmly against his throat. 

Instinctively, he stills, hyper aware of the way the silver edge has dug into his skin, leaving a thin, bright streak of crimson blood where it has cut him. 

It is not as though Ranboo has gained the upper hand entirely, even if he has locked the both of them to a standstill. The threat is not a false one to either of them. 

Tubbo feels a single drip of the crimson liquid slide down his neck, but doesn’t give the prince the pleasure of acknowledging it. His own blade is similarly pressed against the Ranboo’s neck, not quite deeply enough as to let the blood flow as Ranboo’s has, but it is still just as capable of harm.

“So,” Ranboo states, the first of them to speak. Tubbo’s eyes latch onto the prince’s face, onto the mask of indifference he has put on. “Let’s have a chat, hm?” 

Tubbo remains silent, eyes darting around the area in search of an advantage, a way to sway the situation back into his favor. Unfortunately, the tall lanky limbs of the Prince have made that rather difficult. 

It puts Tubbo at a disadvantage in this standstill, since although Tubbo might be physically stronger than the prince, it’s no use if he literally cannot reach him to do anything. 

The blade pressed into his neck is no empty threat, and considering how he’s only just healed from the injuries of their last encounter, Tubbo isn’t exactly in search of more. 

Tubbo may be apathetic, might be dismissive to turmoil and pain, but he isn’t quite to the point of pointless acts of injury, especially if they can be avoided. 

“Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, watching the way Ranboo reacts. “Let’s talk. What’s on your mind, your highness?”

“So you’re intent on killing me, but you’ll go through the hassle of using honorifics.” Ranboo remarks quizzically. Tubbo shrugs. 

“I’ve never really thought about it before. Do you want me to stop?”

“What, the killing me part, or the part about the honorifics?”

“Which do you think I’m referring to?” Tubbo asks, though it’s less of a question and more of a dry statement. Ranboo sighs, as if disappointed. 

“C’mon man, I’m trying my best to reason with you.”

“And you do realize how ridiculous you sound, right? Trying to reason with the person who’s actively trying to kill you?” 

“Well then, should I continue trying to talk with you, or should I just start yelling for guards?”

Tubbo contemplates, before grumbling an inaudible response, to which Ranboo only smirks. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ranboo says. Tubbo’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t have the time to entertain the prince, he’s here for one reason and one reason only. There’s a brief moment where no words are spoken.  Tubbo spots the opening. 

With the speed of a viper, he kicks Ranboo’s shins, the prince falling to the ground and the blade held to Tubbo’s throat flying upward. He shoves his head backward, just barely maneuvering out of its path. 

“Oh crap —!” 

There’s no hesitation in his movements this time, and he kicks Ranboo in the wrist, his knife falling out of his hands. Before the enderman hybrid can even make a move towards the weapon, Tubbo kicks it away, watching it tumble along the ground until it is out of sight. 

Ranboo is back onto his feet, his irritatingly long legs already having crossed quite the distance to the castle. Tubbo scowls, cursing his own, much shorter legs as he chases after the target. 

He begins to gain ever so slightly closer on Ranboo, but under no circumstance can Tubbo allow this pursuit to go any further. Already his nerves have grown as they reach closer to the less discreet and secluded areas of castle grounds. 

So before he can think, Tubbo propels himself off the ground, and rams into Ranboo. 

They both fall to the ground, rolling in the grass from the impact. Tubbo’s hood has fallen off in the confusion, and all that is left to shield his identity is the mask that stretches from his nose to his neck. He adjusts it more firmly on his face as Ranboo groans in pain. 

His knife has fallen out of his hand, and he swears under his breath before grabbing the one secured by his thigh. He’s kneeling over Ranboo now, one knee firmly planted on the prince’s chest. 

There is no escape, now that he’s been pinned down. 

“Wait no, c’mon man, we can talk about this, surely!” Ranboo stutters, eyes flitting between Tubbo and the knife held in his hand. 

Tubbo raises the blade over his head. 

“For what it’s worth,” Tubbo says, thinking back to sleepless nights as he stares down at the next face soon to haunt him. “I’m sorry.” His hands grip the blade tightly, the noise of the surrounding world fading out. He can see Ranboo’s mouth move, forming words he doesn’t hear. 

Tubbo dives for the kill, and brings the blade plunging down towards Ranboo’s throat. 

It’s brought to a forceful halt mere inches away from it’s intended mark. 

Ranboo’s hands grip the blade tightly as he pushes against the force Tubbo has brought down with the blade. The sharp edge of the blade cuts his skin, and Tubbo can see the way that his blood coats the palms of his hand and the blade.

It spreads to his fingers and then slowly drips off the end of the blade and pools onto his neck. It’s a false portrayal of Tubbo’s intentions, and he presses down harder, gritting his teeth as the blade shivers and shakes.  

“Ranboo!” A voice calls out, brash and echoing through this area of the castle grounds, empty aside from Tubbo and the prince. “Ranboo, you twat, where are you?!” The voice, who Tubbo now recognizes is that of Ranboo’s personal guard shouts again. Ranboo tilts his head in the direction of the voice. 

“Tommy.” He breathes, and Tubbo finds himself pausing at the name, gratification filling him as he learns the name of his…enemy? 

He’s not quite clear what to call the two of them. “Enemies” seems a bit dramatic, but calling them “rivals” makes it seem more trivial than this whole situation is. 

Perhaps he should save this unimportant debate for a time when he isn’t at risk for imprisonment. 

There is enough time to use Ranboo’s distraction to his advantage. To get this ordeal over with, just like he planned. He might risk being caught by Tommy, but the moment the knife is embedded in Ranboo’s throat, the prince will be dead. 

Tubbo’s frown deepens. He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand why or how the prince has managed to elude him, especially after so many attempts on his life. But now, as he holds the knife above Ranboo’s neck, there is a turbulence in his mind again, a break in the apathy that has consumed him.

It’s true what Quackity said, that he will do what it takes to survive. 

But, this is the thought process of a logical, emotionless Tubbo. 

And right now—the biggest emotion that has fought its way through the waves of apathy in his brain, is that of spite. He fears Schlatt, even more than that he fears what the man will do if he discovers Tubbo let the prince’s life stay intact once more. 

But the vindictive thought of inconveniencing him further is enticing. 

“Saved yet again.” Tubbo remarks. His tone holds no amazement, no bitterness. Only neutral observation. His hold on the blade loosens and Ranboo pushes it away from his neck, pulling himself onto his elbows. 

“You’re quite the lucky guy, has anyone ever told you?” 

Ranboo stares in disbelief and something else that Tubbo cannot pinpoint, breathing heavily. 

“Till, the next time we meet, your highness.” Tubbo says. “It was nice chatting with you.” He takes one last look at the prince before turning on his heel, not willing to stick around any longer. 

He can feel the weight of Ranboo’s gaze on his back as he leaves, and something within the assassin shifts.

Chapter Text

Ranboo hasn’t entered the hidden room in the easternmost tower in a long time. 

They found it years ago, him and Tommy. It used to be reserved for situations when they were desperate for an escape. Stuffy banquets with foreign officials and delegates they didn’t care about, getaways from the consequences of a prank gone wrong, or sometimes just to see the winter sunsets from one of the best spots in the kingdom. 

Now, Ranboo glances at Tommy and thinks that the definition of escape—or at least the severity of what is worth fleeing to the tower for—has changed quite a bit since those easy days. They lay in the light of the dying sun, blankets laid out beneath them to fight away the chill of the floor. 

The air is still and the light catches the dust particles that drift through the air. Once, years ago, the two of them had attempted to clean the room as best they could. They had arrived early in the morning, ignoring the questioning gazes of the staff and guards who watched them raid the storage rooms for cleaning supplies. 

They swept the floorboards and wiped the window panes, tried to organize the mess of forgotten stuff. But their efforts proved fruitless. For whatever reason, the room was just dustier than the rest of the castle, possibly as a result of being forgotten for so long. 

Eventually, they accepted the dust as part of its charm. 

Ranboo lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, imagining the tiredness seeping out of his mind and pores and evaporating. It had been tough to convince Tommy to let them find refuge in the quietness of the tower. 

Since…well, since he was attacked in the village, Tommy’s overprotective side had become much more evident. It didn’t matter that the assassin hadn’t been seen for weeks, that patrols in and around the castle became more regular and strict, for quite some time Tommy wouldn’t dare let Ranboo out of his sight.

At first, Ranboo teased the boy for it, chuckling at how Tommy would defensively snap back at him. But at some point, the joke lost its spark. It’s hard to make light of something when Ranboo was witnessing the physical toll of it on Tommy, all while he ignored Ranboo’s demands for him to rest. 

It’s clear to anybody that Tommy blames himself for what happened. It’s stupid, Ranboo and the others have told him so, but the raccoon-hybrid tended to place the fault on himself, even though he tried to portray himself as unbothered. 

Tommy had taken to near-constant watch outside Ranboo’s door, refusing to sleep even as the bags under his eyes grew deeper and darker. Eventually, Techno just tossed the boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, uncaring of Tommy’s screeching and forced him to get some sleep.

It was a painfully similar scene to that one from years before, and Ranboo forces himself to shove the unwanted reminder out of his head. 

Convincing Tommy to sneak away and take a breather had been a struggle. Ranboo watched the internal battle in his eyes before he relented and allowed Ranboo to drag him away with a triumphant smile. Thankfully, the paranoia from those past weeks has slowly begun to fade with each passing day without a glimpse of the assassin. 

Ranboo looks back over at Tommy. He’s not quite asleep, eyes half-lidded and flickering open and shut in an attempt to stay awake, but it’s certainly close. Ranboo takes it as a victory and lets his own eyes fall shut once more. 

He knows Tommy like the back of his hand. His laughter is as familiar as the small sunspots that speckle his knuckles, knows his hurt and anger like the faded scars on his pointer finger. He’s grown up with him, fought with him, laughed with him, cried with him (even if Tommy would adamantly insist that “big men” don’t cry). 

With all the secrets that Niki and the others think they’re hiding, Tommy and him are the only ones in the castle who truly understand each other, bear their secrets to one another, or at least the truth that matters.

Except, Ranboo thinks shamefully, even that isn’t true. He hasn’t told anyone about the latest encounter with the assassin, not even told Tommy that he once again saved his life. 

He knows Tommy like the back of his hand, and it is for that reason that he never wants Tommy to know of what occurred that afternoon. The strange tension and confusing meetings, not so discrete looks shared between Niki, Wilbur, Techno, and Jack, and hushed, laconic conversations that abruptly come to a halt as soon as Ranboo and Tommy come by are already exhausting enough. 

Ranboo won’t have himself enhance the feeling of suffocation that gripped the tower like a snare. 

He tells himself that it would only make Tommy latch onto his worry and guilt even more, that he’s doing the right thing by prioritizing his friend’s mental wellbeing. Logically, he also knows that if Tommy was to ever find out about this, let alone hear Ranboo’s explanation, he would probably get slapped across the face for this logic. 

He lets out a sigh and wonders how things have oh so abruptly switched gears. Assassination attempts on the kingdom’s monarchy are nothing new, yes, but since Queen Niki’s rule, the kingdom has turned over a new leaf on how they regard the rulers. She had done her best to make up for their predecessors' faults, and because of that, life became better for all of them. 

So he doesn’t know why this particular assassin is so insistent on trying to ruin that. 

“I can hear you overthinking from here, Ranboo,” Tommy mutters tiredly. 

It is a cloudless evening today. The sun falls below the horizon without interference, and Ranboo curls his tail tighter around his ankles, resting his chin on his knees. The autumn breeze brings with it the promise of a chilly winter, but until then Ranboo will enjoy the last of the somewhat pleasant weather. 

“Can you really blame me?” He asks. 

“...not really. But tone it down, eh?” 

“Yeah alright. I see someone needs their beauty rest.” He comments dryly with a smile.

“Damn right I do,” Tommy affirms. 

The tranquil silence is a welcome respite, a much-needed one from the tiring meetings he’s been attending since he was released from the medical wing. 

It feels all too soon when Tommy stands up with a yawn and suggests they return to the others and make sure they haven’t started freaking out in the duration of their absence. Ranboo doesn’t argue with him. 

As they walk through the hallways, they pass by Niki and Techno whispering to each other. The murmuring stops as soon as they reach earshot, replaced by a thin-lipped smile and nod. 

Ranboo can sense Tommy’s shared indignation as the two of them hear the murmuring pick back up once they turn the corner. 

This tense and stifling atmosphere is sinking deep in his bones; a persistent, growing ache that he couldn’t get rid of. 

He detests it.

In the strange and unorthodox atmosphere that pervades the kingdom and most deeply the castle, Ranboo has found a surprising refuge within the library. 

Ranboo's never been too big on reading, but the presence of the archives and shelves of knowledge has provided him with a strange comfort. 

However, that wasn’t the only reason that he had found a new appeal for the library. 

The other reason was that for once, he was alone. 

Ranboo knows it isn’t fair to blame Tommy for the way he’s acting, the taste of his own thoughts bitter in the back of his throat, he can’t stop himself from feeling it. It’s just a culmination of negative feelings that his brain has begun to associate with the person he spends the most time with. 

Ranboo sighs and flips the page of the book he’s reading, not really registering any of the words on the page. It’s something about architecture and the various styles of buildings and construction that have been documented around the kingdom.

It’s kind of boring. 

He starts to think about the assassin causing all of this mess once more, who’s residence in Ranboo’s mind has become as permanent as his guilt at the present moment. 

He’s a variable Ranboo did not expect to appear in the equation, unsure of where exactly he lies. Part of him is curious about them, intrigue growing with everything they discover. The other part is equal halves fearful and despising the assassin, the typical and expected reaction.

He hasn’t told anybody about what happened that day. Not even Tommy knows how close he’d been to death, or how the blonde had unknowingly saved him. Ranboo has kept that to himself, pondering over it at night, staring at the ceiling while he restlessly waits for sleep to come. 

No, it was kept only for Ranboo, and the assassin, to know about. 

He’s being selfish, he knows, by keeping quiet about it. The assassin, despite all of their increased precaution, and security, made it into the castle grounds albeit near the less patrolled edges. 

But...Ranboo held a conversation with him. Like, actually, personally one-on-one spoken chat. 

It’s a strange feeling, casually chatting with the person intent on killing him. Or, as casual as you can be when there is a knife against your throat. 

The assassin had surprised Ranboo with their cavalier nature, leaving an impression on the prince. He couldn’t pick up on what the assassin was feeling, or if he felt anything at all. But for some reason, he is still alive. 

Ranboo is intrigued by this strange assassin. 

If anybody in the castle caught wind of this, Ranboo has little doubt that he would be locked inside the castle for who knows how long. Either that, or he would never be let out of somebody's sight, which was enough of a struggle already. But, what was that saying again? 

“Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

So it’s kept a secret housed in the back of Ranboo’s mind.  

As royalty, it would be the standard assumption to make that Ranboo would be a dignified and distinguished presence. 

From where he lies on the ground, an ear pressed to the door as he listens intently to a muffed conversation, he doubts this would be what people imagine. 

“I told you we should've just hidden inside the room before the meeting.” Tommy mutters, his own ear pressed firmly against the door. 

“Hidden where? The only thing inside that room is a table and chairs!” Ranboo argues back in a half-whisper. Tommy glares at him and opens his mouth to reply before his eyes widen and his ear perks up from where it pressed against the door. 

“Wait, I think I hear something…!” 

Both teens go silent in an instant, before Tommy’s eyes widen. In the same moment, Ranboo registers the sound too. 

“Wait, shit-” 

“Footsteps!” 

The door swings open just as the pair begins to move, shoving Tommy back so he falls onto the floor and smacking Ranboo in the forehead. 

“Motherfucker-!” Tommy exclaims as Ranboo groans in pain, pressing his hands against his forehead. He looks up to see Wilbur looking down at them in confusion, Niki standing beside him.

“Were you two listening from outside the door?!” Niki asks in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed as she glares at the two of them. Tommy pulls himself to his feet, and Ranboo shuffles his feet awkwardly. 

“We wouldn’t have to eavesdrop if you actually bothered to tell us what’s going on.” Tommy says with a scowl.

“And don’t act like you aren’t,” Ranboo adds. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed the way you guys all whisper amongst each other. You’re hiding something, and it’s starting to get really frustrating. You act as if we aren't directly involved in this!” He flushes a bit once he realizes everyone is staring at him, but Tommy nods approvingly, before glaring at the group. 

Niki’s lips are pressed into a frown, eyes glinting with irritation. 

“Has it never occurred to you both, that there might be information that you aren’t privy to?”

“If it’s about the assassin, don’t we have every right to know?” Tommy argues back heatedly, only to turn his attention to Wilbur, as the man grabbed Tommy's shoulder.

“Drop it, both of you.” Wilbur commands. “Niki’s right. There’s more to this situation than you two understand.”

“How are we meant to understand if you won’t even entertain the thought of telling us!” Ranboo questions. Belatedly he feels a twinge of guilt at his attitude. But the frustration and acrimony that has been festering inside of him for so long has burst through the floodgates, and he can’t find it in himself to care. 

“That’s enough! ” Niki interjects, and they all fall silent. “I know this is a stressful time for all of us, but if we have been, as you put it, ‘hiding’ information from you two, then it has never been without reason.” 

Tommy scoffs and looks at the ground angrily.

“You can’t hide it forever. Sooner or later, the truth will make its way to us.” 

“...Well, until that time comes, I have nothing in regards to this subject left to say to you two.” Niki states. With that, the queen leaves, Techno following after her. Jack spares Ranboo and Tommy a passing glance, before he too walks off.

All who remain are Tommy, Ranboo and Wilbur, who peers at them with inscrutable brown eyes. Neither party seems eager to break the tense silence left behind in the aftermath. 

“I’ll see you two at dinner,” Wilbur eventually voices. Then, he too leaves the corridor. For a moment, the two teens both just stand there motionless, before Tommy lets out a huff and slides down the wall behind them, falling into a crouch on the floor whilst his ears flatten against his head. 

The anger that had consumed him slowly dissipates, a burning pyre ebbing to a bunch of embers. Ranboo does not end up going to dinner that night. 

Instead, he wanders the hallways and corridors of the castle. He can feel the eyes of various guards and staff watching him. No doubt somebody overheard the argument, and spread the news amongst them like a bunch of gossiping songbirds.

At some point the moon had risen in the sky, bathing the hallways in cool, muted light. The hallways are quiet, and Ranboo eventually finds himself in a more isolated area of the castle. 

He stares at the open window. 

The latch on the window unlocks after a few minutes of fiddling, during which somehow nobody arrives to catch him in the act. Although, if they really wanted to stop him, they shouldn’t have made something so enticing, so very easy to achieve. 

He can’t climb onto the roof from here, so Ranboo settles on just sitting by the window, swinging his legs and letting the light of the moon settle over his face. He quickly realizes that he isn’t properly dressed for the chill of the night, and tugs his arms around himself as he shivers. 

He can see the pinpricks of light from Snowchester in the far distance. To the east, a mountain range with snow capped peaks, and the west a winding river. 

He remembers going to that particular river a few years ago. He didn’t dare get nearer than a few feet to the water, but he and Tommy still enjoyed themselves with skipping stones. A small smile graces his face, and Ranboo sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. 

He’ll have to apologize later to Niki. While he still stands by his words, Ranboo hates fighting with her. She only means the best for him, and for the kingdom, he knows. 

In this calm, he hears footsteps, and Ranboo tenses. At first, he thinks someone has finally come across him, ready to pull him away from where he sits in the open window and scold him.

But the sound of footsteps is not coming from behind him. 

Looking back on the situation, Ranboo realizes that he may have acted rather stupidly. Well, not maybe, he absolutely did not react as he should’ve.

What he should have done was dart back inside the castle, away from the precarious ledge. 

But he’s so sick and tired of this bullshit. What gives this assassin the right to come and be such a thorn in his side? To put the entire kingdom on edge and infect the precarious peace they’ve been building.

What gives them the audacity? 

So instead, he sits there. Waiting and waiting. To the assassin, he would appear none the wiser as they inched ever closer. But Ranboo knew the truth. 

He can feel himself growing tense and anxious, mind finally realizing the gravity of his anger fueled plan. But it’s too late to think of a reason, and he’s far too eager to give this assassin a piece of his mind. At this moment, the prey has become predator. 

Ranboo grips the railing of the window he sits in, and looks up to be greeted with the face of the assassin. He doesn’t hesitate. 

Ranboo darts to his feet, ignoring his precarious position. With one hand they grip the window and with the other he grabs the assassin’s jacket, and pulls. 

The assassin falls from the perch on the upper outcrop of the window, a yelp of fear leaving the mouth as they grab onto Ranboo’s wrist tightly. For a moment they stare at each other as the assassin free falls to the air. 

Ranboo quickly realizes he is not strong enough to carry the weight of the assassin with just one hand. 

He lets go of the window and leans back, both hands grasping the assassin’s collar tightly. In the same moment, the assassin manages to get a precarious foothold on the window ledge, just barely reaching it. 

“You’re insane! You’re actually lost your mind—” Their voice doesn’t shake, or pitch high in fear but Ranboo picks up on the way it's them trying not to display their fear. The assassin realizes the situation he’s in, evident by the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes blown wide with fear.

“Oh so when I take action, I’m insane?” Ranboo remarks scathingly. “You know what, whatever. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m really not in the mood to deal with this tonight. So give me one good reason I don’t just alert the guards to this whole situation, because you know damn well that I’m the one with the power here.” Ranbo pauses. 

“Or better yet, give one good reason I don’t just let go of you. Right here, right now.” 

“You wouldn’t.” The assassin states. 

“You are not in a position to doubt what I am and aren’t willing to do—”

“No,” The assassin interrupts, voice resolute. “Take it from a killer, you don’t want that on your conscience.”

“You weren’t like this last time,” The assassin remarks. “Something happen?”

“You were planning to kill me just a minute ago, and now you’re asking me how my day was?” Ranboo asks incredulously. The assassin makes an aborted gesture, as if they were about to shrug but thought better of it. 

“I’m going to be straight with you, okay?” They begin, and Ranboo’s lips purse. “I personally do not trust in your strength to hold my weight for very long, honestly I’m surprised you haven’t dropped me yet looking at your skinny arms—”

“Dude,” 

“I’m just being truthful, man.” 

“It’s not enough that you have to try and kill me, but you have to damage my self esteem too?” Ranboo comments, only half-jokingly. The assassin remains silent before letting out a long suffering sigh. 

“...sorry for saying that you have weak and pitiful arms—”

“That is just, objectively worse—”

“—but like I said, you don’t want someone’s death on your conscience, and personally I’m not in the mood to kick the bucket today, if you know what I mean. So how about a truce?” 

“...a truce?” Ranboo repeats skeptically. The assassin nods. 

“How would I even trust that the moment I pull you back onto solid ground you won’t just kill me?” 

“You want insurance?” The assassins asks. When Ranboo nods his confirmation, they pause to think for a moment before slowly reaching towards their pocket. 

When they pull it out, a pistol is grasped in their hand. The handle is facing Ranboo, but all he can do is stare in shock. The assassin’s eyes dart nervously between him and the looming distance from the ground. 

“Is that a—!”

“Yes,”

“But—”

“Look man, can you please just get over your shock and pull me onto the goddamn window ledge!” 

“Y-yeah,” Ranboo says shakily. Slowly and carefully he pulls the assassin so that they stand firmly in the window sill, and he quickly grabs the weapon still outstretched for him. 

“I can't believe it,” Ranboo says in shock, fingers gingerly brushing the surface of the gun. It’s well taken care of. Polished, with gleaming spruce wood making up the handle and part of the body, before it transitions to shiny metals. 

He notices a small, poorly engraved bee carved near the bottom of the handle, and he looks up at the assassin in surprise, who is anxiously looking down the hallway. The reminder that the assassin is suspected to be around his age flashes through their mind.

“Did you carve a bee in your gun?” Ranboo questions, watching in great amusement as their eyes widen. The mask that covers the bottom half of his face prevents him from being completely sure, but Ranboo would bet good money on their face being flushed red in embarrassment beneath it. 

“No! It—it just…came like that?” 

“Uh huh,” 

“Who here knows more about guns here, you or me?” The assassin asks. Ranboo’s eyes narrow at the reminder. 

“I thought this sort of weaponry was just a myth.” He comments.

“The general public does,” The assassin tells him, surprising the Prince at their openness. “It’s been kept pretty tightly under wraps, for a long time too.”

“And you’re trusting me with this,” Ranboo confirms. “As insurance.” 

At this, the assassin’s eyes crinkle mischievously at the edges. 

“Well, it doesn’t actually have any ammo in it,” They pull their hand out of their pocket once more to show Ranboo a handful of silver bullets. Suddenly Ranboo feels a lot more nervous. 

“You tricked me,” He states. The assassin shakes their hand in a so-so motion in response.

“Well, I only ever offered you the gun. I never actually clarified if it was loaded or not.” Ranboo stares at the assassin. 

“In any case, I’m leaving. Clearly this isn’t either of our nights, so I’m leaving before it gets any worse.” 

“I’m not giving you the gun back.” Ranboo tells the assassin, watching him pause, staring at Ranboo and then at the gun in his hands before giving him a shrug. 

“I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to. Well then, until next time, Prince Ranboo.” 

“Do you think maybe you could…not try to kill me, next time? Like I mentioned earlier, it’s not a pleasant experience. Actually, it’s pretty horrible.” Ranboo explains. “The whole, trying to murder me bit is getting kinda old.” 

“It’s really nothing personal—” 

“Yeah? It kinda feels that way from my perspective!”

“My bad,” the assassin replies, and in the midst of the humor that shines in their eyes, Ranboo spots a glimpse of sadness. They turn away, gripping the top of the window outcrop.

“See you around.” With that, the assassin pulls himself back onto the rooftop. Ranboo quickly runs over to lock the window. He thinks if he squints, he can make out the image of the assassin running away. 

He backs away, and leans against the wall, before lifting up his hand to stare at the gun. Ranboo looks around the hallway, and a few minutes later he leaves, carefully hiding the weapon from view. 

Surprisingly enough, the time between their next encounter is nowhere near as long as the first. Just a few weeks later, the two speak again. 

Ranboo’s in the stables, tending to Ender’s coat and gently patting the animal as he brushed through their mane. It was a while since he last visited or rode the horse, so he decided to come by. 

The stables were closer to the border of the castle grounds, and sometimes he’d hear wagons and guards pass by. The stable boy had left on one of those occasions, giving Ranboo a small wave before running off in that direction.

Which left Ranboo alone. Ender nickered at him as if she had read his mind. Ranboo shook his head fondly at the horse. 

“Yes, you’re here too, Ender.” He reassured, returning to the task at hand. For a while, he sits there peacefully, uninterrupted. 

Then from the rafters of the stable, he hears a rustling sound. Confused, the prince looks up but spots nothing. Hesitantly, when the shuffling noise does not reappear, he ignores it and goes back to tending to Ender. 

As he does, the rustling sound returns and Ranboo swiftly turns around. From the ceiling, the assassin falls, flipping in the air before landing on their feet with ease. They hold a dagger in one hand. 

However, so does Ranboo. It’s more for a false sense of security and to get Tommy to chill out. There’s no doubt that he’s so inexperienced it wouldn’t take more than a second thought for the assassin to disarm him, but still. Some sort of defense is better than none. 

“Hey Ranboo,” The assassin greets him, as if they hadn’t just fallen from the rafters, flipped in midair, and pulled out a dagger. 

“Hey,” he replies warily. The assassin glances down at the knife in Ranboo’s hands. They raise an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You don’t really think that’s going to do anything, do you?”

“Uhm, not really,” Ranboo answers honestly.

“Hey, at least you’re aware,” The assassin says with a shrug. 

“I could just run away. Ender’s fast, I doubt you’d be able to catch up before the guard’s caught you.” Ranboo says. “So if you ask me…it seems that we’ve reached another standstill.” Ranboo declares.

“Is that so?” 

“I don’t see you making any moves.” Ranboo states.

“Maybe I just don’t feel like killing you yet.” 

“Well, if you are so confident, why don’t you take me up on that offer to talk, huh? At least have the decency to enthrall me with another conversation.” Ranboo offers. He ignores the part of him that desperately hopes the assassin will agree, increasingly fascinated with him. 

“Alright,” The assassin agrees, just a few moments later. “One last conversation.”

“That was easy,” Ranboo remarks, guard slowly easing back into something calmer. It’s a strangely familiar feeling.

“Eh, I don’t get much interesting conversation these days,” The assassin admits. “Just a lot of yelling.” 

‘What am I supposed to respond to that with?’ Ranboo thinks. It’s just his luck for the assassin trying to kill him to start trauma dumping.

…Okay, all that sounds way ruder than Ranboo thought it would. Good thing he didn’t voice those thoughts.

“Are you ever going to tell me your name?” Ranboo decides to ask instead. The assassin sits down and looks down at him before doing the same. 

“My name?” The assassin repeats, ignoring the swift conversation change. Maybe they felt that they overshared as well, but Ranboo couldn’t be sure. 

“And your guard, Tommy.” The assassin interrupts. 

“...yes, and Tommy’s name, yet I don’t know yours? I mean, at least give me some sort of a nickname so I’m not just referring to you as “the assassin” all the time.”

“Awww you talk about me? That’s sweet of you.” The assassin says in amusement, cocking his head to the side. 

“It’s about how you keep trying to kill me,” Ranboo says flatly. The assassin shrugs but doesn’t respond immediately, which Ranboo takes as him considering Ranboo’s request. 

“I suppose there isn’t any harm…” he says reluctantly, sounding unsure for the first time in the entire conversation. “You can call me Tubbo. ” 

“Tubbo,” Ranboo repeats. “That’s an…uncommon name.”

“Your name is literally Ranboo , you’re in no position to comment.”

“Fair enough.” 

“It’s not my legal name, anyway,” Tubbo (what a relief it is, finally being able to refer to him as something other than ‘the assassin, Ranboo thinks) clarifies. “Just what everybody calls me.” 

“And who’s everybody?” Ranboo inquired.

“Hmm, maybe I’ll let you know next time,” Tubbo replies. He stretches his arms, before pulling himself up to his feet. 

“Next time?” Ranboo repeats.

Tubbo snorts at his tone, which has Ranboo’s cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Wow, Ranboo, I didn’t realize you looked forward to my continuously failing attempts at killing you so much." 

“And I didn’t realize you loved our little conversations so much,” Ranboo retorts, still a little red-faced at how the assassin instantly picked up on his earnestness. Tubbo’s eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Hmm…well, I suppose you aren’t that bad of a conversationalist.”

“I’m glad I’ve got the assassin’s approval.”

“As you should,” Tubbo responds. “I guess I better get going before your guard comes back.”

“Tommy?” Ranboo says, to which Tubbo nods. “I guess that’s a fair reaction; he’s more of an act now, think later, sorta guy.”

“Trust me, I know. From experience,” Tubbo comments dryly. 

“He’s just protective,” Ranboo defends.

“And I’m an assassin.” Tubbo finishes. Ranboo glances away awkwardly to look at Ender. 

“I’m surprised he isn’t with you every moment of the day, considering how many times I’ve broken into the castle and attacked you,” Tubbo comments off-handedly, but Ranboo picks up on his confusion. 

“Uh, well,” He begins. “Nobody actually knows you’ve…been here.”

“You didn’t tell them?” Tubbo says in shock. “Why? I’m seriously starting to doubt that you have any logic in that head of yours, Prince Ranboo.”

“Oh shut up, I don’t need to give them any more reasons to start panicking. They’re all already overprotective enough.” 

Tubbo doesn’t comment, still just standing in front of him. He peers down at where Ranboo is sitting on the dusty floor with analytical eyes. 

“You’re a strange one,” 

“I’m going to choose not to take that as an insult,” Ranboo replies cheerfully. Tubbo barks out a laugh and rolls his eyes, before leaving. 

How he escapes the grounds unseen remains as much a mystery as to how he enters, but Ranboo knows it’s far from the last time it’ll happen. 

He can’t find himself to be too mad about it. 

The forest is silent and still in the early moments before dawn. 

It’s the moment when the sky has only barely begun to lighten, dark hues of indigo and inky blacks slowly vanishing from the horizon. Soon, the birds will begin to chirp, signaling the true start of a new day. 

It’s far too early for anyone to be awake, at least for any sane, normal person. Tubbo rubs his eyes and exhales silently, watching his breath condense in the frosty morning air. Inhale and exhale. 

Ignore the stinging bite of the wind, and the way he wishes to tug his coat tighter around himself. Focus on the target, nothing more.

The weight of his instructor’s gaze settles heavily on the back of his neck. 

It’s not as unnerving as it used to be. He hasn’t been here very long, but it’s taken Tubbo very little time to adjust to this new…lifestyle. 

The revolver is heavy, and unfamiliar in his hands. It’s a newer invention, one he hadn’t even known really existed prior to…well, whatever his current situation could be aptly described as. He has heard rumors, of course.

But at no point during the revolution had it been recorded that new, destructive weapons had been invented and distributed, and even now, the royal guard and knights stuck to traditional weaponry. The public could gossip and mutter all they liked, but no proof of these weapons making their way inside the kingdom was ever proved. 

Yet, here he was, holding perhaps one of the most dangerous weapons in the kingdom. The weight of it seemed to pull him down, the ground beneath his feet pulling him into the earth like quicksand. 

Sometimes the information nagged at him, at nights where his bedroom felt too empty and yet too constricting all at once. Just how much was hidden and buried beneath secrets and tight-lipped smiles? What was truly going on in the kingdom and it’s hidden criminals? 

He’d ponder these thoughts as sleep evaded his grasp, slowly turning her confusion into frustration, and from frustration into anger. Anger at the world, and at himself. Anger with how his father didn’t give a damn about him, or how he was stuck in this cabin becoming a trained killer for the foreseeable future. 

Anger at how the floorboards creaked beneath his feet, making it impossible to sneak out, and at the way his body had begun to permanently ache from strained muscles, bruises and exhaustion.  

More often than not that anger was accompanied by soft crying. Tears would slide down his cheeks as he gripped a well-loved bee plushie, falling asleep with the taste of saltiness on his tongue. 

Tubbo bites the inside of his cheek. The young buck that they had spent the past hour trailing sniffs the ground some fifteen yards away. His instructor stands somewhere to the side, watching him. 

That same morning the man had handed Tubbo the weapon as they departed from the cabin, watching impassively as Tubbo’s eyes widened in shock at being handed the weapon. 

“It’s not the weapon preffered for the types of assassinations I assume you’ll be given.” The instructor had explained. The two stood in a clearing farther away from the cabin, the sun’s gentle warmth a blissful gift in the winter chill. As if the mercenary couldn’t irk him anymore then he already did, the man seemed almost unaffected by the temperature. Tubbo glared at them when his back was turned. 

“In fact, I doubt that you’ll have many opportunities to use one.” they continued. 

“Because they’re hard to get your hands on?” Tubbo had asked. 

“Yes, and no.”

Then, without shifting their gaze from Tubbo’s face, they raised the gun to the side, and pulled the trigger. A thunderclap shatters the air, leaving Tubbo with a ringing echo in his eardrums. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and uncovered his ears.

In the center of the target, his mentor looked uninterestedly at the smoking hole left behind in the center of the target. They flicked the safety back on the weapon and twirled it in their hand. 

“I’m sure if for whatever reason you needed a gun , you of all people will not struggle with getting on. The reason I doubt that you’ll be using them, is because that won’t be the kind of message I expect Schlatt wants to send through his skills.” 

Tubbo remains quiet, hoping the mercenary would elaborate. They do. 

“You said it yourself. I’m surprised you were unaware, considering how knowledgeable you are about your father’s operation,” The instructor comments. “but I suppose it just goes to show his competence. Schlatt won’t risk having his operation brought to the attention of the kingdom. 

“He runs a tight ship, Schlatt, and he has people and connections. You would expect the manufacturing of deadly weapons like these to have been brought to the public’s attention, no?” 

Tubbo nods. 

“But it hasn't. Because people can be bribed, authority can be bought off, and humanity is so, so very fallible. So despite his little empire in the underground, nobody has realized that the rumors are true.” 

“That’s why I don’t think you’ll be using them. Unless you’ve truly become desperate, or Schlatt doesn’t care about leaving behind a message, you won’t be using these too often.” 

He raises the gun again, and reluctantly Tubbo watches the bullets embed themselves into the center of the target. 

Tubbo doesn’t let his hands shake as he raises the revolver now, even though the weapon scares him more than anything. The deer tilts its head, ears pricked and alert. Then, the moment passes and it returns to sniffing the frosty ground. 

Tubbo raises the revolver. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t let his hands shake as he lines up the shot, just as he was taught. He inhales, cold air stinging his lungs. 

He pulls the trigger. 

A deafening boom shakes the air, and despite all of the training on dealing with the recoil of the revolver, the afternoons spent practicing on painted targets, and the proper handling of such a weapon, Tubbo is still left staggering after pulling the trigger. The raucous noise is followed by the flapping of wings and frantic caws of disturbed birds fleeing the area. 

There on the ground, fifteen yards away, lays the deer, unmoving. 

A hand is placed on Tubbo’s shoulder, and the boy turns to see the mercenary appraising him. It’s not an approving nod, nor a cruel smile or a victorious gleam in his eyes. Just impassive approval.

Tubbo feels sick nonetheless. 

Tubbo doesn’t listen to the muffled words of his instructor. He’ll probably pay for it later, when he’s asked to recall the lesson of this, or apply it to their training. It’s a rancid, vile truth, but Tubbo doesn’t care. Distantly, he’s aware of how he’s standing in the pool of blood surrounding the animal like a crimson halo.

Through this haze, Tubbo’s eyes manage to reach the young buck, and truly look at it. 

Even in death, the deer’s glassy eyes stare accusingly back at him.

Chapter Text

hello everyone...it's been a while, huh?

i want to keep this brief. I AM NOT DISCONTINUING THIS FIC!

i know that i've been gone for a hell of a long time. the one year anniversary of me uploading the first chapter of this fic has come and go without fanfare. and i have not uploaded chapter eight yet, despite it having been, what, six months since i last updated? good lord. i honestly have no idea whether there is anybody still interested in my writing, in this story. but i've received so much support and love, and its been guilting away at me that i just disappeared like that. i have my reasons of course.

after i posted that last chapter, i started struggling with certain subjects *chemistry* quite a bit in school. i had my psats, writers block, then i gained a hyperfixation on the owl house (very good show btw) that kinda took over my brain for a couple of months. i had my final exams and got my very first job!

and of course there was technoblade's passing... his death hit me very hard, and i know a lot of fic writers needed to take a break from writing, which i understand completely. but i think i want to keep his memory alive. through writing fic, creating art and talking about him.

i had hoped to have finished writing the story by now, but clearly that has not happened. never the less, i've invested a lot of heart, soul and love into this fic, and so even if all my readers have disappeared during the time i've been gone, i want to give this story the justice that it deserves. if all goes according to plan, then chapter eight should be out before the end of august, but just know that i am working on this fic and have not abandoned it. i also have plans to start another sbi focused story. i'm hoping that by allowing myself to write for more then just one story, i'll be able to stop myself from getting burned out. but of course, only time will tell how that goes.

thank you to everybody who has supported this fic, who has supported me and my writing. it means the world to me. i'll see you all soon.

Chapter Text

“You’re in an unnaturally good mood today,” Ranboo notes off-handedly. “Should I be worried about my imminent death, or something?” 

“Always big man,” Tubbo replies in the same joking manner. As joking as possible, considering he is still meant to assassinate the very same prince that sits a few feet below him amongst the large roots of the tree. 

It’s a strange feeling, being able to entertain this unusual…companionship, Tubbo thinks as he stares through the branches of the tree, catching glimpses of the cloudy sky above. 

The fall weather had at last trickled into the start of the kingdom’s long and harsh winter, complete with barren tree branches and early morning frost. But despite the freezing weather that numbs Tubbo’s fingers and tints his nose a bright red, he feels lighter, warmer than he has in years. 

He doesn’t allow the realization to sink into his mind, quickly shooing it away as if it were a particularly persistent fly. 

“Shame,” Ranboo laments with a sigh. “And here I thought that we were friends!” 

Tubbo pauses, looking over at the prince in hidden surprise. His body stills at the significance of the likely off-hand comment. 

“Friends?” He repeats, the word falling from his tongue carefully, treading the unknown depths of these new waters. It feels unnatural in Tubbo’s voice: misplaced, ill-fitting, and entirely impossible. 

Ranboo can’t possibly understand the weight that word holds to someone like Tubbo.

Assassins don’t have friends. Hell, you could disregard the fact that Tubbo was an assassin completely. Tubbo didn’t have friends. There was no opportunity to, in the isolated countryside where he spent years being trained, and certainly not when he returned. 

And it’s not as if murderers are deserving of friends, anyway. Tubbo reminds himself harshly as if his thoughts aren’t a dagger to his soul. If the knowledge will finally cement in his mind, after all of these years still clinging to some foolish hope fueled by unattainable desire, then he will twist the knife as much as he needs. He cannot be led astray by such fleeting childish desires. 

Tubbo stretches his stiff fingers and burrows his chin deeper into his scarf. 

Despite all the time they’ve spent together these past few weeks, and how his endeavors to kill the prince have slowly begun to fade into pleasant conversations, the happiness it brings Tubbo is accompanied by growing turmoil.

The fact of the matter is an inconceivable concept in Tubbo’s mind, much less a truth or spoken reality. 

Yet, here he stands; lounging within palace grounds with the man he is meant to kill and being declared, however falsely, a friend. 

“Tubbo?” Ranboo asks, breaking through the assassin’s thoughts. Tubbo looks up at the prince in question, bundled up into a rich purple cloak that sways in winter’s cold exhale. The scarf wrapped around Ranboo’s neck flaps in tandem with the wind, and Tubbo notes with momentary curiosity that it looks hand-made. 

He ignores the way he wants to shiver from the harsh wind. It’s not like he hasn’t faced worse, so it’s probably just the way Ranboo is bundled up that is confusing his body into thinking it’s worse than it really is. Yeah, that must be it. 

“Yeah?” He responds. “Yeah, sorry, I got distracted by something.”

“You alright? You seemed a bit…distant for a moment.”

“I’m fine,” Tubbo affirms. 

“Was it something I said, or—”

“No, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it…here, think fast!” With practiced ease, Tubbo grabs a throwing knife from the holster around his calf and throws it at the prince. Is it the most subtle change in conversation? Absolutely not. But still, Ranboo moves out of the way with a jolt and the blade embeds itself in the ground where he stood seconds prior. 

“Not today!” Ranboo says all-too-cheerfully, not bothering to hide the smug look he shoots at the perpetrator. Tubbo rolls his eyes.

“Oh please, I was hardly trying.” He retorts with a sniff. 

“I really thought today would be the day you forget to try and kill me, you know,” Ranboo says in a wistful tone. 

It’s a fine line they walk, knowing that the tentative peace between them can be broken in an instant, reliant mainly on the mutual curiosity they share in regard to one another. 

“I’d say I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve been told it’s rude to lie.” 

“I think that admitting you still plan on murdering me is still ruder…aren’t you cold?” Ranboo asks as a particularly sharp gust of wind shakes the branches of the tree Tubbo and him at the roots of. 

“It’s not my fault you decided to meet up outside, in the middle of winter,” Tubbo says dryly, shoving his gloved hands further into the pockets of his jacket. 

“Well, I thought you would be dressed for the occasion!” Ranboo sputters. Tubbo only answers with a shrug. 

That was the other thing—he’s begun to...hang out…with his target.

Tubbo can practically hear Schlatt screaming in fury with each moment he acknowledges the strange situation. Or, perhaps how he would be screaming… if he hadn’t taken to ignoring Tubbo’s existence aside from nasty glares that caused the hair on the back of Tubbo’s neck to raise. 

The irony of it all, is almost amusing. A renowned assassin, shrouded with secrecy and a formidable number of deaths to their name, befriending their most important target. What a pathetic waste. Tubbo bites his tongue and grips his wrist tightly. 

He could kill Ranboo now. He could’ve killed him countless times. And yet he hasn’t. Some assassin he is. 

It’s just that…

There’s something about the prince that has…captured him. Not physically, of course—no matter his mistakes and failures, Tubbo will never allow himself to reach that level of incompetence. But…the thought of putting an end to the life of the one person who has made him feel like more than just a weapon? It left more than just a sour taste in his mouth. 

Before he could even recognize what was happening, he’d begun meeting up to spend time with Ranboo. Each time believing that would be the day he finally accomplishes his mission, and instead returning without the prince’s blood staining his blade, but rather a smile gracing his features. Unnatural but…welcomed. 

Tubbo isn’t sure how long this respite from Schlatt’s demands and orders will last before it returns to normal. The compound is still filled with shouting, his office still cluttered with bottles of alcohol, despite Quackity’s pleading and arguing. 

He’s no fool, after all. Schlatt will eventually try to make use of his favorite pawn. The moment Tubbo lets himself fall into a false sense of security is the moment the man will take advantage of.

Schemes and plans are still being carried out, Tubbo stills wakes up shaking and sweating bullets, gasping for air in the shattered calm of night from night terrors. Life goes on, and some things will never change. 

He’s beyond redemption. 

Who? Is it you, or is it him? 

For now, Tubbo will appreciate the way Schlatt only ever stares at him in malice. Could it classify as an improvement? Probably not. It was only a matter of time before the water boiled over again, and he was left to deal with the ruined mess. 

Secretly though, Tubbo thinks it might all be worth it if he can finally experience, if only for the briefest of moments, a glimpse of what could’ve been.

Tubbo returns to the compound to find it blissfully quiet. Schlatt, for once, is not passed out on his desk, still surrounded by the dozens of empty alcohol bottles nobody can be bothered to clean up. Rather, he’s staring down at a pile of blueprints.

Tubbo stares at the mess uninterestedly. It’s been a while since Schlatt and him had a proper conversation, not since the incident. 

Tubbo didn’t expect Schlatt to stand by his drunken accusations from that night. After all, it was a ridiculous notion. What sort of traitor would willingly return to the lion’s den? So for weeks Tubbo waited with anticipation and tension coiling in his guts, feeling like a spring about to burst. And yet the day never came. 

Well, whether Schlatt truly thinks of Tubbo as a traitor or not, he doesn’t care. He didn’t have the energy or the desire to prove Schlatt’s beliefs wrong anymore. Why should he? 

Tubbo didn’t ask for any of this. Schlatt can deal with his own problems. 

It’s a sentiment he never let himself entertain, simply because in what world would Schlatt let his prized executioner flee? He had a purpose, in Schlatt’s eyes, and if he didn’t fulfill that purpose- what was he even good for? 

So there were no other options in sight. And Tubbo complied with his orders, like the good little yes-man he was. 

Not entirely of course. He could never really be free. But this was the closest Tubbo had come to that in years. Nobody bothered him, searched for where he was when he didn’t report on the status of assignments, or came knocking on his door with a grim look in their eye. 

But in a surprising twist of events, Schlatt believing that Tubbo was a traitor had freed him. It is because of this, that Tubbo can stand in the doorway, staring down his bastard of a father without even a scathing glare being sent his way. 

Perhaps he should've been more concerned. But Tubbo had already grown weary of caring for the wicked wiles of a man drunk on more than just power. 

He knew he wasn’t the only one either, judging from how Quackity’s demeanor, which had been generally displeased prior to the incident, was now outright disdain.

Hours after he’d protected Tubbo, Quackity had returned, sporting a rapidly bruising eye and a gaze of shrapnel. He’d asked to check up on Tubbo, voice scratchy and hoarse from screaming, but not without its ever present determination and care. 

Tubbo couldn’t do much more than sit there and nod or shake his head in response to Quackity’s questions. Exhausted from the tears he’d shed and the empty feeling that sat heavy in his gut. But Quackity hadn’t said a word, just accepted the circumstances without question, and provided the only comfort available for miles.

But though Tubbo is grateful, he hasn’t spoken with Quackity either. He secluded himself from the rest of Schlatt’s crew. And that same foolish part of him that insists in following the thread of friendship, of chasing that glint of possibility tells him to see what will happen if he continues along this path. 

If Schlatt believes him to be a traitor, then why should Tubbo give a damn about proving him wrong on something he’s already decided is true? For once in his life, Tubbo has a friend. And he’s not afraid to rain hellfire down on anybody who gets in the way of this. 

These days, Tommy feels as though his body is crawling from under his skin. The quiet and stillness of everything unnerves him, and he cannot rid himself of it. 

His mind is plagued with ceaseless restlessness; buzzing with emotions that he cannot be bothered to delve too deeply into, a desperation for answers, and to put it simply, itching for a fight. 

He spent his childhood learning how to defend his best and only friend, his crown prince with everything he could give. In the tumultuous years after the old rulers assassination and Queen Niki’s sudden coronation, there was always something happening. 

Never a moment of peace, never a beat where something wasn’t to be worried over in some way or another. It was an unstable time, where everyone preyed on the power of the throne. 

Since those years, Tommy has grown used to the untainted peace. Now, it feels as though his old instincts have resurfaced more brutally and harshly than ever. The assassin hasn’t been spotted for weeks, despite the near manhunt set out for them, and yet Tommy still isn’t able to pause and simply breathe.

How could he? How can he pause, when all that encapsulates his focus is that damned assassin? Tommy cannot seal away his emotions, has always worn his heart on his sleeve like a fool. 

He knows they can all see how this has been tearing away at him inside, which only serves to make him angrier. He is restless and angry and despite all, guilty. 

But the worst part is these emotions have no escape, instead festering inside him like an ugly wound. With the assassin not showing their face nearby in weeks, Ranboo began to avoid him. Tommy didn’t know whether the prince was trying to hide it or not, but it was clear to him what was going on. He accepted that if he was in Ranboo’s shoes, he probably would’ve done the same, pissed off and desperate to not have someone watching over his shoulder all the time. 

It didn’t bother him, of course— why would it? Ranboo is his own person, afterall! Such tiny matters didn’t pierce through his manly, tough skin! 

So he would continue insisting that he wasn’t bothered by Ranboo’s disappearance, or his empty role in what Tommy had mistakenly assumed would be their joint operation to delve into the secrets that Niki’s personal counsel didn’t seem intent on sharing. 

Because that was simply the truth. 

Tommy groans and presses his hands against his forehead in frustration. He’s by himself and laying flat on his bed. 

“I’m fuckin’ fine,” 

It was a futile attempt to convince himself of this fictitious belief, but Tommy wouldn’t let it consume him.

So what if Niki, Wilbur and Techno refused to let him into whatever fucking secrets they kept hidden between them. So what, if Ranboo wanted to act like Tommy had never been his friend in the first place! 

His eyebrows furrowed angrily, before swinging his legs over the side of his bed. 

Wilbur was the poet of the family. It was why out of him and Techno, Phil and Kristen, he was the only one to seek a position in the castle within the sphere of words. Yes, Wilbur was the one gifted with a silver tongue, with the ability to articulate his thoughts into flowery phrases, convincing suggestions and beguiling metaphors. 

Tommy did not have Wilbur’s prose. But if Tommy was to describe what had been building in his gut for the last couple of weeks, he would compare it to that of a slow-burning fuse. But he couldn't let it consume him, lest he allow his frustration with the situation become clear.

“I’m going to do it, with their help or without,” Tommy mutters to himself, reaching down to grab at the loose floorboard. 

Secrets be damned, Tommy’s going to get to the bottom of this, and catch that assassin. 

Unfortunately for him…Tommy soon realizes that it’s not quite as simple as it seems. 

Aside from what he had learned from that very first meeting months ago and from what Techno had told him afterwards, he’s practically searching for answers in the dark. But, he has no idea whether he would have ever learned this information had that meeting taken place in the current circumstances, and he had a feeling the others wouldn’t have been so keen on including him. 

Which means two things:

The first is that he’s at an advantage. He knows something that they probably wished to have kept from him.

The second is that even if he doesn’t know where the answers to his questions can be found, he certainly knows where he can begin looking.

The castle’s archives. 

The archives are located in the south wing of the castle, a subset of the library that is even older, dustier and more boring then its counterpart. Tommy rarely ever visits, unless its to follow alongside Wilbur and chat while he searches the maze of shelves and drawers containing decades worth of lame-ass documents. 

Seriously— once Wil had Tommy fetch him a scroll dated about sixty years prior, about a scientific study on salmon propagation. Not important transcripts of inter-kingdom conferences, not statements of important justice cases, not even logs of exports and imports of the nation. 

Fucking salmon propagation. 

Suffice to say, Tommy lost a bit of respect for both Wilbur and the archives that day. 

It’s easy to enter the archives, mostly due to the fact that nobody really gives a shit about what he’s doing, even if it is a bit out of the ordinary for him to be strolling around the castle grounds at just past two in the morning. 

The librarian left for the night a little less than three hours prior, and while there is always the possibility of somebody being in the library reading (even at this time of night), tonight it is blissfully empty. 

Staring out the large windows that line the wall, Tommy looks out into the kingdom. He can see down below, how the scattered lampposts illuminate the castle grounds, and line the sturdy walls. Beyond that, forests and rolling hills decorate the landscape, within the valley of one nestled in the very same town that Ranboo and Tommy were visiting months prior. 

Right! The assassin. Tommy shakes his head as if it will somehow rid himself of his distracted thought process.

“I’ve things to do,” he reminds himself quietly. “No time for dawdling to look at landscapes.” So Tommy savors one last look at that peaceful night’s beauty before turning away and heading towards the archives. 

He does actually have a key to unlock the door to the archives, meaning he doesn’t have to deal with the annoying hassle of picking the lock. Did he spend nearly an hour earlier that day searching both his and Ranboo’s bedrooms for it and nearly give up? …Possibly. But he found it eventually, and isn’t that what matters at the end of the day, folks?

“ Heyyyyy Techno! My good friend, my pal, my brother some would say! How have you been? Funny seeing you here, aye? What a coincidence, amiright?” 

“Tommy, what are you doing?” Technoblade deadpans, only acknowledging Tommy by raising a judging eyebrow. 

“The real question we should be asking is- why are any of us here? Have you ever tried peering deep into your soul Techno? It’s important to ask ourselves these difficult things—”

“Tommy,” Techno interrupts.

“Techno,” Tommy parrots. 

“Can you please try sparing more than just a singular brain cell to answer my question. I know you have more than one stored there, even if that can seem…debatable at times.” Techno deadpans.

“ Oi! Techno you prick!”

“You have such a way with words. Doesn’t quite answer my question, though.”

“ Ughhhh. Can we just get this over with?” Tommy asks irritatedly. “Just start your stupid-ass lecture already man. ‘ Oh, Tommy? What are you doing this late in the archives?’ , and ‘ stupid kids don’t need to know about shit that involves them because I said so’ already man.” 

“I could do that, you are right. But I’m not going to.” Techno says gruffly, tilting his head questioningly.

“...huh?” 

“Tommy,” Technoblade begins, voice taking on a more serious tone. “If there is literally anybody in this castle who understands how you feel, or at the very least, who can understand your perspective regarding this whole mess, it would be me.” Tommy stares at him in response to the admission. Then, the blonde’s demeanor shifts.

“Well in that case, why didn’t you let me in on those meetings! Seriously, it’s fucking ridiculous!”

“It’s not just up to me. At the end of the day, Niki’s word will always trump mine.” Techno shrugs. “But I never confronted you. Just like I never showed you the way to the castle’s most secret, hidden documents.” Techno states, before walking away. 

Tommy stands there in pure shock for a second, maybe two, before running as soundlessly as he could to catch up with his brother. 

“Wait, wait, wait, are you seriously just going to help me out? Jus-just like that?” Tommy asks incredulously.

“Yep.” 

“...you’re my favorite brother, Techno. Just don’t tell Wil I said that.” 

“Oh, I’m absolutely going to rub it in his face.” 

Tommy follows Technoblade through the castle’s archives, letting the golden light of the lantern cast shadows across the shelves and cabinets. Neither of their footsteps make a sound as they cross through it, before eventually they come to a halt in front at a dead end.

There's a brief pause as Tommy sets the lantern down to survey the area, before he swivels his head to look at Techno, a shit-eating grin laced on his face. 

“Oh please tell me there is a cliche secret doorway here, no way it’s that stupid.”

Techno’s ever so slightly peeved look is all the answer Tommy needs.

“You know better than anybody the number of hidden passageways and tunnels there are in this place. The old folks were paranoid as hell.” Techno shrugs. “Why not make some use out of it?” 

Tommy nods, silent as he follows behind Techno, examining the old stone walls curiously, as if they too might hold secrets within them. At some point they begin to climb up a set of stairs, and every so often a small, almost invisible window appears from the wall, allowing fresh air to enter the dusty space. Tommy pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on him. 

“Wait a minute,” he says. Techno stops in his tracks to look at Tommy, who stares back at him in mild confusion. “How’d you even know I was in the archives?” 

“C’mon Tommy, I could see you were slowly losing it.”

“I was not losing it.” Tommy disagrees sullenly. “I was having a completely reasonable reaction.” 

“Right, anyways, I figured it was only a matter of time until you gave up trying to convince the others to let you in on what was going on and took matters into your own hands.

“Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain how you knew I’d be here.”

“I mean I narrowed it down from a couple options. I figured this was the most likely bet. Guess my intuition was right.”

“Hm.”

“Do you remember the events that led to Niki’s coronation?” Techno asks out of the blue. Tommy turns to look at Techno, mouth pursing into a frown whilst he thinks. Meanwhile, they come to a stop and Techno begins fishing through his pockets, pulling out a ring of keys. 

“Uhh some assassination, innit? Except it was actually successful and ended up killing the old King and Queen, didn’t they?” Techno nods in response as he looks through the keys. 

“I wasn’t sure whether you’d remember to be honest, both you and Ranboo were pretty young. Actually, how old were you guys…like…eight, or nine?” 

“Just about, yeah. And well, I don’t actually remember a ton from it.” Tommy corrects sheepishly. Techno raises glances at him, silently pressing for him to elaborate. 

“I wasn’t even Ranboo’s personal guard yet, Techno. I had started my training like, a year prior, and it only started being an actual thing after that whole thing.” Tommy says with a shrug. “We were probably off doing who knows what, causing chaos and being knobheads. And then all I remember is everybody freaking out after fighting broke out and the two of us being taken to a panic room. Everything else I’ve known is from what somebody else told me happened.”

“Well, to understand what's going on with the assassin targeting Ranboo now—” Techno raises one key from the bunch to show Tommy. It’s a large, old-fashioned silver key, the design on the head of the key matching that of the lock on the door. Tommy watches with baited breath and Techno slots it into places. 

“—you have to be in the know about what really happened.”

The door swings open with a faint creak in its hinges, revealing a rather cramped room. There is no grand fanfare, no eyes widening in shock or surprised exclamations. In all honesty it’s a rather underwhelming sight. If Tommy didn’t know better, he would think it was just some nook in between the archives he had never discovered. 

Despite the route it takes to reach, it's a plain and unassuming room. Tommy sits atop the table, ears flattening as he holds back a sneeze due to Techno dumping a leatherbound book onto the table and sending a wave of distrubed dust into the air. 

“I was just a little older than you, actually.” Techno begins. “I was Niki’s personal guard, before she promoted me after her coronation. But I don’t think we were as close as you and Ranboo. Our circumstances were different. Until that day, the royal line, despite not being very well-liked, was uncontested.”

“And the assailants infiltrated the castle, killed the king and queen and forced the kingdom into a very vulnerable and precarious position due to the fact that Niki was too young to take the crown and whatnot. She got coronated a little less than two years after that though.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Techno says gruffly, annoyed at being cut off by Tommy. “But if that was it I wouldn’t have led you somewhere private to talk, would I?”

“I was just trying to point out that you don’t need to over simplify it. I’m not clueless ya know.”

“That’s not what I was—whatever, sure.” Techno’s response dies abruptly as he shakes his head. ”So, yes, Niki was crowned. And while her rule isn’t publicly disputed— in fact she’s probably the most well received queen the kingdom has had in decades—I'm sure you’re aware that we’ve had a fair share of private affairs in regards to it.”

“Assassination attempts,” Tommy says bluntly. 

“Exactly,” Techno agrees. “But the first didn’t happen after that event. It happened during it.”

“What?” Tommy asks, eyebrows furrowed as he took in Techno’s words. “I thought that only the prior king and queen were targeted!” 

“...we might’ve done a little bit of covering up and bribery to keep the truth from ever escaping a very small circle of people,” Techno admitted. He pushes the open book to Tommy who, still sitting on the table, pulled it into his lap to read. “In actuality, a smaller group separated and came after Niki.”

“Oh shit.”

“Eloquently put, but yeah.”

“Oh fuck off, if you wanted a reaction that sounds like it was pre-written by a thesaurus you should’ve asked Wil.” Techno cracks a smile, and Tommy marks down mentally another win for himself. 

The book is heavy in his lap, and the aroma of parchment is present even without having his nose deep in the book. The page Technoblade opened isn’t even that of a book, rather, a collection of unrelated papers.

“So what happened?” Tommy asks as he sorts through them. The words scribbled in small margins are handwritten, nothing like the clean and calculated work of a typewriter or enchanted quill. Techno doesn’t respond at first. Instead, he stands up and points to one of the drawings in the files. A young man, one that looks barely older than nineteen with a beanie covering his black hair stares back at him. 

“That’s the drawing we had made of the in-command of the group that was sent after Niki, based on our recounts,” Techno says without inflection. Tommy looks at Techno in surprise, realization dawning on him. 

“They were never taken into custody.” He surmises. 

“There wasn’t a fight when they first attacked the king. A minute after they killed him, they killed the queen. The guards captured them, but we had no idea of the scale of the situation. All we knew was that the castle had been successfully infiltrated and that the royalty were in danger. It was me, Wilbur, and Niki who were there when the group cut us off. We’d been running to the nearest panic when one of them shot Wilbur and nearly got Niki as well.” 

Tommy thought back to years prior when he’d sat beside Wilbur’s bed and rambled about everything and anything that crossed his mind. Whenever he's asked how he’d injured his shoulder, and what his perspective of the incident was like, he has always changed the topic. No matter how many times Tommy pressed for answers he was always met with the same response. Eventually, Tommy lost interest and gave up.

“I had Niki and Wilbur split up and run, and although I stood my ground, even I wasn’t a match for five armed individuals, not then—if that was now, I doubt I’d find it hard.” 

“Your ego is getting too big, man. You need it deflated.” Tommy said sagely. 

“But it’s not hubris if it’s the truth, Tommy.” Techno says, not without a hint of smugness. “Moving on—” Tommy rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother arguing— Techno is the strongest person he knows, and the admiration he holds for Techno isn’t limited to his childhood days. 

It’s strange to imagine though. Techno has always been the strongest person Tommy knows. Even Phil couldn’t beat Techno for that title (though he’s sure their father doesn’t mind.) The mere prospect that there was a battle Techno hadn’t been able to handle with ease…Tommy would be lying if he didn’t admit he found it a little unnerving. 

“Some of them slipped past me and went after Niki and Wilbur. From what they’ve told me, however, they lead them to a group of guards who promptly fought and arrested them. That still left me with two of them to fight though. They weren’t super hard opponents, but…”

“But what?” Tommy presses, though it is not harshly. Techno nods to the illustrated figure.

“He was persistent. Kept trying to go after Niki and Wilbur, and kept making these snappy remarks. I’ll admit…I’m not proud of what I’m about to confide in you, Tommy. But,” Techno adds. “I would do it again— without hesitation. I don’t regret it, even if that makes me a bad person.” Tommy remains silent, morbid curiosity silencing any other thoughts he has. 

“I knocked out the other attacker, leaving just me and him. And while we were fighting…he sliced off my braid.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, eyes wide. 

“It sorta…tipped me over the edge. Wilbur was shot, I had not even the slightest clue if Wilbur and Niki had made it to safety, let alone you and Ranboo. And all the while he was thwarting me from finding out, wasting my time and cracking jokes all the while. I don’t even know if he meant to do it, or whether it was an accident, but it was my tipping point. In the simplest terms, I saw red.”

“I picked up my sword and tore right through his face.” Techno says, and Tommy feels his mouth go dry. 

“You killed him?” He asks finally, to which he receives a frown. 

“Well, that’s the thing…I’m not sure...?”

“Sorry, what? How can you not be sure whether he died!?” Tommy shouts, and Techno gives a long-suffering sigh. 

“I don’t know, because when I did that he collapsed to the ground. I left him there in order to find Niki and Wilbur and make sure they were safe. When I came back with some other guards to arrest them, they had disappeared.”

“Wait, how? You’re saying this guy took a sword to the face, collapsed and escaped? No blood trail, no passed out body, not a single clue to track him down?” 

“Well there was a blood trail but he must have found a way to stop it because it didn’t lead anywhere. So theoretically he’s still out there.” 

“Do you think he’s the assassin!?” Tommy exclaimed. 

“Uh, no. Not only would he be too old to fit the description you gave of our current…problem, but he was also an avian hybrid.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, not without a bit of disappointment lacing his tone. Techno awkwardly pats his shoulder, almost unsurely. 

“What we do think is that the two incidents are connected. Once Niki was officially instated, a lot of focus went into cracking down on the organized crime of the kingdom. We never found the exact group behind it, but at the same time we never found any trace of them taking action at all.” Techno sighs. 

“I think at some point we just wanted to let the past lie dead and assumed they had been taken care of by an outside force.” Tommy remains silent at the confession, but his mind is nothing the same. 

It’s a shockingly tackless resolution. Neither Queen Niki nor his brothers are people he can imagine simply letting an issue go because time had passed. Perhaps Phil would no more, having been captain at the time. Still…was the assassin really linked to all of this? Organized crime, coordinated attacks…the thought that the assassin who attacked Ranboo appeared to be his age persists more uncomfortably in the back of the knight's mind.

Ranboo’s hiding something from him.

At first, Tommy believed it was him wanting to distance himself after having to bear with Tommy’s paranoia. Sure, it might have—slightly, only slightly!—hurt him, but Tommy understood that. So he didn’t bring it up when he was with Ranboo, made an effort to give the enderman hybrid a bit of space to breathe. 

He was preoccupied with his own business, anyways. But after his late night confrontation with Techno, the findings he’d found in regards to unraveling this gigantic mess, he’d realized something. 

Days went by following that night with Techno, and yet despite that, he hadn't once divulged the information he’d discovered with Ranboo. And it was not for lack of trying. But the prince was nowhere to be found. Anytime Tommy searched for him away from the others, he was missing. 

Tommy hadn’t realized it until now, too distracted with the idea of hunting down the assassin on the prowl, but Ranboo and him have not spent time hanging out in…well, a while. Sue him if he can’t remember the exact amount of time!

It was unimportant, anyways. 

Tommy is Ranboo’s guard, but he is also his friend. He can tell by the way Ranboo rubs the palm of his hand repetitively, soothingly, that Ranboo is hiding something, preventing a secret from spilling from his tongue. There are moments where Tommy catches the prince with his mouth half open, on the verge of admitting something and yet never saying a word.

And perhaps normally, Tommy wouldn’t have given it a passing thought, would’ve teased Ranboo over his hesitancy and related it back to some inappropriate joke that would leave Ranboo scrambling to defend himself from Tommy’s impish accusations. 

But it has been a stressful few months. How many times in the span of a few weeks did Tommy watch his friend nearly die at the hands of an assassin— one who he’s continuously failed to detain? 

He doesn’t understand . He’s failed his duty, he knows that, goddamnit! But Ranboo never ignored him like this, so why the sudden change in heart?

Is he overreacting? Has the whole situation muddled his judgment, caused his mind to believe the shadows on the wall were more than just that? That there was a deeper issue taking root, one he was unaware of until this moment? 

And Tommy, for once, doesn’t know how to confront his friend. The words sit delicately on the tip of his tongue when he stands diligently next to Ranboo, while they all eat dinner in the dining hall, even when he stands guard outside of Ranboo’s bedroom door. 

Each time he tries to voice his new findings, his mouth dries and his throat seems to stop working, unable to communicate while his apprehension and suspicion weighs him down. Ranboo seems unaware of it all, but he can sense how Techno’s gaze rests on them both every so often. 

Tommy catches him staring, eyes asking him the question silently. And every time, Tommy will shake his head wordlessly. 

So he makes an effort to try and spend time with his friend once more. If the issue here is truly that Ranboo felt a sense of entrapment due to their behavior, then both Tommy and the assassin must have left him alone long enough to know that he won’t make excuses. 

Atleast, that is what Tommy reasons to himself as he walks over to the prince’s room, footsteps quietly echoing through the grand hallways. It was Ranboo’s life that had been put on the line after all- surely no matter what possible degree of irritation he harbored for Tommy, it was stronger for the assassin? He would want to see him on trial for his actions, to hear his motives. 

(And if Tommy pondered the prospect of helping the assassin find a new path in life, one that wouldn’t make him scoff and question the purpose of honor and decency, that was for him alone to know.)

He was determined to turn what had caused a momentary catastrophe into a path to reconciliation and justice.