Chapter Text
“Yesterday, upon the stair, I saw a man that wasn’t there.”
It’s 2:49 in the morning.
The only thing lighting up the room he’s in is the faint light of the waxing crescent moon outside, leaking in through the broken windows, and the candles lit up in the circle.
He’s careful when it comes to the salt, though. It doesn’t sting his skin (as much as it used to) but he’s slow and methodical when it comes to outlining the circle. The last thing he needs is for anything bad to happen.
“Wow, man, you really know your stuff!” One of the boys inside the circle says. It’s not a sarcastic or demeaning tone, at least.
“Mhm.” Ranboo replies with a hum, finishing off the last of his salt. Damn it. At least the realtor who hired him was being very generous in payment.
Or, well. Ranboo might be scamming the dude a little bit. But business is business.
It was supposed to be a quick trip. A quick little haunt on the outside of town, something his Uncle trained him for, something he could do, all on his own. But then--
“So tell me, how’d you get into this business?” The brown-haired boy asks (Ranboo didn’t ask for his name, or the name of his friend, when they unfortunately stumbled into the haunted house that he was dealing with very fine, thank you very much.)
He kind of regrets not having enough duct tape on hand to cover up the bruet’s mouth. But it was probably the better option, because the blond boy in the red shirt looks like he’s foaming at the mouth, trying to wiggle out of his restraints.
Well, duct tape wasn’t the nicest thing to use-- he probably could’ve found rope somewhere in this old of a house-- but they refused to leave and kept getting in his way, so Ranboo resorted to… other methods.
Such as taping the two boys together and setting them up in a safe salt circle so he can go deal with the spirit.
“Ah, the strong, quiet type, huh?” The brunet snickers, before yelping as the blond’s wiggling, which had elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow, Jesus, stop squirming!”
Ranboo needs to give them names. Red and Green, he decides immediately. Easier than asking them, because by the end of the night, he probably won’t have to see them ever again.
Red squirms again, trying to get free of his restraints, but to no avail. Ranboo stands up and brushes the salt off his pants-- thank God he remembered gloves tonight-- and looks at the two boys he kind-of tied up in an abandoned house.
“I’m gonna go deal with the spirit. You two stay here, don’t do anything stupid.” He’s glad that the mask helps with his confidence. Or else maybe Red and Green would recognize him. He doesn’t recognize them, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that Red and Green are both definitely Ranboo’s age and both definitely go to Winter Creek High. “If I don’t die, I’ll come get you when I’m done.”
Hah, if he doesn’t die. Cruel fate, working her wonders.
He doesn’t look back at the duo when he ducks into the stairwell and heads up the stairs. The first one creaks the moment he puts his foot on it, and instinct has him slide closer to the wall. Even though the spirit-- he’s pretty sure it’s the standard sort of spirit, a ghost, a poor soul tormented endlessly by death-- will not only hear him, but can probably sense him in the same way he can sense them.
He pats down his utility belt. An old gift from his Uncle, when he was still around. It’s got a lot of pockets, most of which are full of salt, matches, candles-- or were, until Red and Green got involved in his hunt-- but one is different from the rest. A custom pocket that fits his dagger. He holds onto the handle as he makes his way up the final few steps and glances around.
Ranboo is glad he doesn’t need light to see in the dark anymore. He hears a crash downstairs, though, and that pushes him faster down the hall. He wouldn’t be surprised if Red and Green manage to find their way out of their bindings. He knows it’d be just his luck, of course. One of his first solo hunts after his--
There. The last door on the left of the house, and he feels the natural pull of the ghost on his soul. He kicks the door open and unsheaths his dagger, ready and on the defense.
The room is quiet for a second. It’s a small bedroom, or what remains of it. A crib is broken and decaying in the corner, and stuffed animals that may have once lined the wall are either fallen down, dirty and also in a state of decay, or only piles of stuffing leftover. The room is painted yellow-- not good, babies tend to cry more in yellow rooms, a voice in his head that sounds strikingly similar to his Uncle says-- and, by all counts, it looks like an old, abandoned, baby room.
But the spirit is here. And it only is quiet for a second before he sees it.
Spirits always vary in appearance. If Ranboo hadn’t already been predisposed to seeing supernatural shit since he was literally born, maybe the sight would’ve sent chills down his spine. The spirit was of a woman in a long, white dress from the 1960s, large skirt and all. Her hair was styled similarly to what he’d expect from the 60s, except it was thin and mangled.
The woman’ face is what caught him. Instead of what he had hoped was that of a beautiful young woman, it was of a rotting corpse. No eyes, blood trailing from her sockets and nose that looked like it should be dry but it wasn’t. Her entire form was semi-transparent, and if he squints for a second, he could see bones, but Ranboo can’t analyse her entire appearance before she rears back with a loud screech and charges into him, claws drawn.
Instead of the spirit passing through him, it hits Ranboo square in the chest and knocks him back a bit into the wall. Pain courses through his back, but he ignores it and draws his dagger up higher.
She screeches again.
Not a normal spirit, Ranboo thinks to himself as he dodges another attack from the spirit. It rears back and bares long teeth that seem to get longer the more he looks at them. A banshee. Wish I brought my crucifix, or at least a pair of earplugs.
Its next attack he dodges again, and the bassinet that was already in a state of decay bears the hit. It was way beyond repair now, not that Ranboo planned on dealing with anything.
He hears another crash downstairs and a cheer. Not what Green sounds like, either. His heart skips a beat. Gotta hurry it up, then.
The last thing he wants is two normal humans to get hurt from something they don’t know about.
In another world, Ranboo has time to figure out why the spirit is hurting. Figure out what happened, figure out their story. Ask questions, and then hunt-- something hunters aren’t really known for. It’s something he likes to do. Chronicle their stories, because if their death were really painful enough to create a ghost capable of causing harm, at the very least he should try and remember them.
But he doesn’t have the time. There are two humans kids downstairs who could get hurt. He swings his dagger out and gets the banshee in her shoulder. The runes engraved on the metal hilt begin to glow a soft white, and then lilac.
The horrible appearance of the banshee fades from view as it-- as she -- is enveloped in a calming, warm, light.
“You… Thank you.”
Ranboo nods, and the spirit fades away from the white light. Her soul is free. Not completely healed-- he might need to return to this house in a few years, he might not have gotten her soul completely cleaned, but it’s a start, at least, and he sheathes his knife back and looks at the door to the baby room, and sees Red and Green staring at him with wide eyes. One of them got that blasted video camera Ranboo put on one of the higher shelves, and it’s pointed directly at him.
Oh, come on.
“Come on, just a name, something, for the video?”
Ranboo shakes his head. He lowers his voice-- lower than he normally has it, trying to disguise it-- as he peaks. “No, I can’t.”
“C’mon, you’re like, the stuff of legends!” Red says. Green is holding the video camera now, and he’s too quick for Ranboo to catch. Of course. Ranboo hopes whatever footage they has corrupts because he knows that, while hunters are a reclusive sort, they do know how to use the internet. It’s how the realtor contacted Ranboo, anyway. “It’s so hard to even see a hunter in action, and you were so fuckin’ badass in there! And we didn’t even get the full fight you had with that thing, either, right, Tubbo?”
Green nods. Tubbo? “Probably not that much because your big ass head was in the fucking frame most of the time--”
“Ah, whatever, we probably got good enough footage for the vlog.” Red pronounces the word vlog incredibly wrong. Ranboo doesn’t want to comment on it. “But seriously, what was that? The bright light, the ghost, boom!” Red mimics an explosion, which is not at all what happened.
Ranboo blinks at him. Were it not for the goggles and the mask he wore over his face (for reason just like this ), the two would’ve seen him then roll his eyes.
“Just doing my job.” Ranboo replies. Tubbo. Why is the name so familiar?
Tubbo clicks off the video camera and slides it back into his bag. “Why do you wear that mask and goggles?”
“No-- no reason.” God, they keep following me. Why? He feels his heartbeat speed up a bit. He knows how easily he could disappear and lose them, but the familiarity of Tubbo is just on the tip of his tongue.
Oh.
Oh no.
Tubbo. Ranboo glances to Red-- Tommy.
They’re in his English class at Winter Creek High.
They worked on a project with him. One that he definitely flaked on them for absolutely valid reasons-- the death of his uncle, the man who raised him up to this point in life-- but flaked on them nonetheless. That’s why they looked familiar.
Shit.
He just needs to keep his breathing calm and pretend to be confident. Pretend to be a confident, adult hunter. It’s how he’s passed for a while, and Uncle helped him get his license right before he passed, so he can even just drop out of school and go full-time, but also he remembers the last words he heard from Uncle.
“Get your school work done, Ranboo.”
Not the best last words from anyone, or the most meaningful, but he has a year and a half left of schooling, so he might as well follow Uncle’s wishes through there. Maybe apply for college, but there’s no hunter colleges in existence, after all.
“Look, you two should just head home, alright? The hunt’s over, the banshee is gone--”
“The what?”
“-- the ghost .” Ranboo realizes that these two had no idea what they were going into when they stumbled in while Ranboo was making the safe spot he tied the two up in. He can see there’s a neat square of red, irritated skin around Tommy’s mouth, like the duct tape had been ripped off hastily.
Ranboo didn’t plan on leaving them there, though! He planned on getting the tape off them gently and letting them go, but they seemed to have other plans. And probably a hidden switchblade in one of their pockets.
Tubbo’s looking up at him with his brow furrowed, and it makes Ranboo 5% more nervous. He takes a deep, calm breath, and it feels like he hasn’t for a second because his lungs ache just a small bit. Remember to breathe, remember to blink--
“Do I know you?”
“No.” Ranboo lies.
“No, I think I do. You’re really familiar.”
“No, I’m not.” Ranboo feels his voice crack. “Anyway, don’t do anything stupid in the future cause you’ll get killed okay bye!”
He bolts. He absolutely books it, and with his long legs he’s unstoppable. Once he thinks he’s out of view, though, he ducks out even more and disappears into the night.
“When can I go on a hunt with you?”
“Not now, you gotta study for your test this Thursday, right?”
“I mean yeah but I can do both at once, Uncle!”
“I’m sure you can. But school’s important, Ranboo. Something better than the ol’ hunter’s life.”
“But I want to help!”
“... How’s about this? This summer, I’ll take you on a few hunts, closer to here. But I want you to focus on what else is out there in the world. You’re an incredibly amazing person, Ranboo. Don’t be like me and waste it killing the things in the dark.”
“...Okay. I won’t.”