Chapter Text
Ranboo couldn’t block out the noise.
“I’ve had enough of your bullshit. You don’t respect me even after everything I’ve done for you and this family.”
Why are they so loud again this late in the night? He covered his ears with his pillow, anxiety clawing up his throat like a parasite. He swallows it down with difficulty, whimpering feebly into the bedsheets.
“After all you’ve done? Your contribution is nothing compared to the sacrifices I’ve made to keep this household together. Think about all the shit I’ve done for you and reconsider the way you speak to me.”
“Oh, is that so? Why am I even bothering to stay here with you if this is what I get? Working my ass off all day only to come home to someone who doesn’t even appreciate my efforts? Not to mention-”
The hybrid feels his tail curl comfortingly around his wrist and he lets it, fiddling with the soft tip. He would not be getting rest like this. His parents-- no, guardian’s voices echo throughout the halls, and he quickly rubs the sleep out of his eyes, half-formed tears stinging his skin.
The male stands, tail moving in wide arcs as he sways groggily, catching himself on the wall. He glances at his reflection in the mirror next to his closet, and his green and red eyes glow back at him.
Even in the dark, his current case of sleep deprivation could be seen in the darkening black circles under his eyes, especially on the ivory white side of his face. He looks away guiltily, unwilling to look back at his own image for much longer. A long arm reaches over, slinging the black bag sitting patiently on his desk over his shoulder. Ranboo then removes the screen as quietly as possible from his window and jumps out, landing on the wet grass of his front lawn. He always had a bag for when he needed to leave because sleepless nights happened more often than he liked to admit. His pupils widened to round ovals as his vision adjusted to the darkness, and his breaths turned to small puffs of vapor.
It was cold.
As it should be, at 2:43 am on a December night. He could never really get used to the cold-- not when his skin was ridden with goosebumps and his joints stiffened uncomfortably. Perhaps it was also part of his hybrid biology-- perhaps the enderman and whatever other mystery animal part of him despised the cold. He switched his backpack to his chest and rummaged around until he felt his tie-dye hoodie. His tail flicked in satisfaction as he tugged it out and pulled it over his head. His horns caught on the hood, and he huffed irritably, pulling it up and over them. He forgot they were there sometimes. His body heat started to build up right away and he sank into the soft fabric, relieved.
Ranboo continued to wander down the street, backpack in its original position until a familiar playground with a singular swingset came into view. His tail swung limply behind him, stiff in the low degrees of the night, and he stuffed it gently in his hoodie pocket. His phone showed “ 2:55 am Wednesday, December 12”, and he sighed. The third time this week that he had to get out of the house. He liked to tell himself that he didn’t care, but he knew otherwise. Admitting was acknowledging the problem, so he avoided the truth more often than not.
Speaking of problems, why was love so difficult for people like his parents? Love is a word, yet it has the ability to tear people apart and put them back together so seamlessly.
He didn’t see the latter very often.
The change from sidewalk to grass signaled he was nearing the playground. Streetlamps lit the space poorly, yet Ranboo found comfort in the dark. Woodchips crackled under his shoes and as he looked up, he observed that the swingset looked just as pathetic as it usually did.
This was ok.
He told his brain that familiarity was good. Familiar meant something expected, something predictable, something manageable. Ranboo didn’t handle change well-- he learned this lesson a long time ago.
The swing squeaked softly as he lowered himself onto it, and he sat still, staring up at the moon. Scrambled, uneasy thoughts came to him easily, and he felt his calm facade begin to crumble.
He needed to release.
A strangled, choked noise left his mouth as his eyes watered, and he let the tears fall into his lap. His vision blurred and he sucked in a tired breath, resting his head in his calloused hands. His claws raked through his dual-colored hair slowly, mussing the long black and white locks. He was a complete mess lately. The stress of school and his ‘parents’ had been overwhelming, and he knew he’s probably overreacting and there are kids out there who have it worse and he’s 17 and he should be able to handle it and--
Breathe, Ranboo.
Shakily, he reached in the front pocket of his backpack to pull out his headphones, plugging the chord into his phone and pressing play on his Spotify playlist. Calming music filled his ears as he put the headphones on, and he looked up at the ink-black sky. He breathed rhythmically, focusing on regulating his breathing and nothing else.
In,
2,
3,
4…
Out,
2,
3,
4…
His tears still stuck stubbornly to his face, burning him, faint steam lines drifting into the crisp air. He left them as they were, letting the pain ground him to reality. This is…
Ok. It was ok. You’re fine. He told himself this-- confidently until a voice in his head said,
I’m not ok. We’re not ok. You know it.
Ranboo closed his eyes tight, taking in a short breath.
To the voice, or, rather, the realistic version of himself, he says, It’s ok... to not be ok.
And the voice answered, Ok.
Tubbo was awake, unsurprisingly.
After hours of tossing and turning for hours on end in a halfhearted attempt to sleep, he decided he needed to go out. Maybe he’d walk off some energy and exhaust himself so he could actually sleep for once. Or maybe that was a lie to just go out and do something. His long ears twitched in annoyance as he sat up abruptly, scowling at the ground.
He hated insomnia.
Not because he’s tired, but because of the fact that he wasn’t normal. He loved to fit in, to relate, to connect with people because it was easier for him and his personality. When he couldn’t sleep, it affected his mental health. He was irritable, snappy, and he felt so down on himself more than anything. Needless to say, his unfortunate condition eventually drove almost all his favorite people away. He didn’t have anyone but his best (and, basically, only) friend Tommy, but even he was a regular student for the most part.
He shook his head, frowning. Stay away from those thoughts, boss man.
The sheep hybrid drags his furred feet lightly over his carpet, removing an itchy eyelash from his eye. He gathers his furred coat into his arms from the back of his black desk chair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes only for them to fall back down. Sighing in defeat, he shrugs the coat on and walks out the door, slipping his phone into his pocket. His hooves click softly against the floor as he tiptoes across the kitchen and out the front door. His breath clouds the air as he walks, and a relaxed sigh comes from deep in his lungs.
The cold doesn’t bother Tubbo Underscore.
Instead, it made Tubbo feel... exhilarated. The heat dragged him down, muddled his senses, but the coolness of the winter air put an excited shiver up Tubbo’s spine. He figures it’s because of his hybrid biology or whatever, but he doesn’t care. Something about the thought of white snow blanketing the landscape brings him joy, and his small sheep tail wags.
His ears lift contentedly and his hand reaches up to fiddle with the short horns on his head. They grew a small amount every few weeks, and he had to take painkillers to alleviate the horrible migraine it gives him. Tubbo could handle the pain, but it was so damn distracting.
“Tubs.”
“Tubbo.”
“Toby!”
Tubbo jerked out of his mental bubble and into reality again, briefly disoriented. He turned to find Tommy waving his hand in front of his eyes, nervousness playing softly on his features. “Sorry Toms, my head is just so fuckin’ annoying right now.”
Tommy’s gaze softened, eyeing the ram hybrid with a concerned look in his blue eyes. “We can quit studying if you want, Tubbo.”
Tubbo studied the textbooks strewn across the floor and the papers stacked neatly on his desk, frowning. Tommy’s hair was slightly disheveled, and a can of zero-sugar coke rested comfortably in his left hand. “I think I’ll just get some painkillers… Thanks anyways, big man.”
Tubbo punched Tommy playfully, and he smiles in return. “Alright then. You better promise to pay attention next time you fuckin’ goat boy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tubbo says, smirking. He grunts as he sits up, pain pulsing through his temples. “Fuck puberty, man. Fuuuuuuck…” he whines, slumping against the wall.
Tommy bursts with laughter, setting his drink down to lean back on his hands. His body trembled with his giggles in that familiar, comforting way, and Tubbo couldn’t help but smile. Tommy caught his breath before facing his friend again. “Suck it up you baby, you’re finally becoming a man! Just like-”
“Like you?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m older than y-”
“Shut UP I am fully aware, Tubs. Go get your medicine or whatever,” he huffs, turning away in mock frustration. An honest, carefree laugh escapes Tubbo as he turns away, saluting him before walking out the door.
Tubbo wandered for a while down the street, reminiscing in old memories with Tommy. The moon looks extra full today, he noted, looking up at the sky. He reached his hand up towards the white circle, curling his fingers around the shape. Silence pressed closely on his ears, and he frowned. He never liked silence. Although he was very introverted, he still enjoyed the presence of people.
His gaze lowered to a small playground coming up ahead, and he froze when he heard a small sob emit from the general area. So much for the silence. His ears pricked up cautiously, and he straightened up to get a better view. A tall, lanky figure was sitting alone on the swingset, head in his hands. He looked to be having some sort of… mental breakdown or something.
Why is someone here so late at night?
Quickly, he ran to duck behind the small play structure to investigate. He peered between the openings, his heart beating fast and hard against his throat. Sobs were racking their way through the individual’s body and pity stabbed Tubbo in the chest. He nearly jumped when the boy (or he seemed to be one anyways) lifted his head to look up again. His irises glowed a soft, yet intimidating purple in the dark, pupils narrowed to slits. His body was divided into two colors, white on the left and black on the right.
Tubbo had never seen someone so unique in his life.
The sheep hybrid was mesmerized by the taller’s body structure. The hybrid studied the thick horns growing beautifully from the top of his hairline, and he touched his own out of habit. He saw a vague outline of a tail wrapped in the pocket of the hoodie, furred tip poking out of the other side. A small, golden hairpin in the shape of a crown was clipped on a lock of hair on the side, and small purple specks began to form in the air surrounding him. Steam drifted at a steady pace into the air from the other’s face, increasing Tubbo’s curiosity even more. What kind of hybrid is this dude… He’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before. Glancing again at the purple particles and the steam, it suddenly hit him. The steam must be from the tears hitting his sensitive skin, and the purple--
This boy was an enderman hybrid.
Weren’t enderman hybrids really rare? What was one doing here, out of all places? Tubbo’s gaze dropped to his lap, frantic, yet intrigued thoughts coming to him all at once. The boy’s tall height made sense to him now-- must be genetic from his enderman side. But still, the horns and the tail went unexplained… He must be a mix of something else as well, he guessed.
Tubbo frowned as he continued to think, but when he looked up, the boy was gone. His neck whipped around, searching for the subject of his curiosity, but when he walked to the spot where he sat, all that was left was purple particles floating in the air.
Ah, that’s right. I forgot the most important part about endermen.
Tubbo would have one hell of a story to tell Tommy at school tomorrow.
Ranboo couldn’t contain it anymore. He could feel his enderman instincts taking over, energy pulsing in his veins as his anxiety reached his peak.
Please, please not right now. No, no, no, no. This can’t-- not again please, he begged, although he already knew it was futile to resist. He’s tried before. His breaths began to grow more quick and frantic, and knots twisted themselves tighter in his stomach. His ears flattened themselves to his skull, and his tail shuddered anxiously against his stomach. One last look as his claws and his vision grew hazy with purple, thoughts coming to a halt. This was the only benefit of the teleportation process. Some primal instinct within him told him you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe and he listened, accepting the inevitable.
His long limbs grow cold as he was pulled through whatever void or dimension that allows him to teleport, stiffening with fear until his feet hit solid ground once more. The purple matter materializes every time he teleports dissipates into the air once more, no doubt lying in wait somewhere for the next episode. Gasping and in control of his own body once again, glances around until he realizes he’s back in his room. The yelling had finished by now, and he was relieved to hear the silence pressing on him once more. Nausea hit him like a wave and he groaned quietly, closing his eyes to alleviate the churning of his internal organs. Scoffing halfheartedly at his enderian instincts, he shakily takes off his shoes and sets them down before crawling under the covers. This place was not safe-- in relation to his mental health anyway. It may be where he currently lives, but it’s far from being considered a home. He doesn’t belong here, he doesn’t feel welcome, he doesn’t feel--
Ranboo Beloved doesn’t feel…
He whispers to his bedroom ceiling, hands clenching into sad, frustrated fists.
“Loved.”