Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Hey, Tech," Philza said, trying for casualness as he leaned against the doorjamb. Technoblade glanced up. "I have something to show you, and I don't want you to freak out."

He turned his tablet around; on it, one of his programs ground away, trying to find who had hacked their wristbands and who was maybe, possibly, probably tracking them at that exact moment.

Technoblade freaked out.

"Why are you standing there? Get your weapons--and take the tracker off!"

Philza watched his friend fly around the room like a hurricane, unearthing guns and ammunition. Both of them had a small armory tucked beneath their clothes at all times, but Techno was going for the big guns. Phil slid his band off his wrist and tossed it on the charging pad.

"Who is it, you think?" Phil asked, brisk in his own preparations but nowhere near as frantic as Technoblade.

"Could be anyone." Technoblade armed his concussive gun at a low level; he didn't want to knock walls down, just knock attackers out so he could interrogate them on his own terms.

Phil pulled his emergency pack out from under the couch. Most of his weapons were suited for the indoors, unlike Technoblade's. He pulled out his favorite katana and ran his thumb along the edge.

"When did our firewall go down?" Technoblade asked.

"I got the notification three minutes ago, but that doesn't mean our security was only just compromised."

Technoblade looked more stressed. Philza laughed.

"Don't laugh at me," Techno complained. "I was having a relaxing evening."

"You're telling me you're not excited to kill some overconfident goons?"

"Not in our apartment," Technoblade said.

The living room window shattered inward.

Philza threw his hand up to save his face from the glittering glass. Technoblade lunged across the couch to get between Philza and the attacker.

Technoblade was fast; the attacker was a match. He swung an unnaturally long arm at Technoblade, who blocked it with his own arm--and grunted at the pressure, stumbling back.

Philza jumped forward.

Their opponent zeroed in on him, pupils dilating and spinning; synthetic, then. Philza recognized some of the mods cobbled onto his body like a horror show, though he usually saw them on EndR androids.

Philza blocked the metal claws aimed for his face with a flick of his katana.

The EndR-man was unbelievably strong. Only Technoblade swinging a fist into the EndR-man's elbow saved Phil from his own blade being turned back on him.

The three sprang apart.

The EndR-man crouched low, tail whipping behind him with a threatening rattle.

Technoblade wasted precious moments turning the settings on his gun to the highest level, walls be damned. With a hiss of hydraulics, the EndR-man leapt for him, crashing feet-first into his chest.

Philza swung his blade for his neck--forget not aiming to kill--but his tail came up and blocked the blow. Bright white electricity sparked between the metal. Philza dropped his blade with a grunt, arm numb to the elbow, and retreated to grab another weapon.

Technoblade surged up, snout first, and caught the attacker under the jaw with the edge of a tusk. Flesh ripped and a mix of blood and synthetic oil sprayed across his face.

The EndR-man scrambled away. Metal plates screwed into the jawbone glinted among the gore of the wound.

He didn't even react to the blow beyond disengaging, not even a grimace or a falter. Purple glowed from his mouth.

Philza took aim and lanced his shoulder with a thick cable. He tossed the other end of the gun to Technoblade, who took the wire in his hands and yanked. The EndR-man caught the cable where it disappeared into his shoulder and tugged back, feet braced. The hiss of hydraulics was deafening over their strained breaths; Philza swore he could see the muscle fibers in the man's forearms snapping under the pressure.

Technoblade was engineered to be the strongest thing in the room no matter the opponent, and here was this asshole, giving him a run for his money.

Philza's second-favorite weapon was a simple thing. Sometimes the classics were the best, and a gun stuffed full of electrified buckshot was one of them; except as he centered the EndR-man's head in his sights for a killing shot, he couldn't help but notice how young he looked.

"Any second now," Technoblade grunted, audibly strained.

"Techno," Phil said, lowering his gun, "He's just some kid."

Technoblade looked over at him in disbelief.

The EndR-man wrenched the cable hook from his shoulder and lunged for Philza.

His right arm, which sported a sleek black plate, splintered apart, revealing a slim nozzle.

Philza didn't have to find out what it did.

A concussive blast from Technoblade's gun sent the EndR-man back through the window. Part of the window frame exploded with the force; cracks spiderwebbed up the wall.

Philza heard the wet crunch.

"Jesus," he said, running to the window and leaning out.

The EndR-man stumbled to his feet.

"What's wrong with you?" Technoblade demanded. He yanked him back by the collar.

"I couldn't, mate. He's gotta be, I don't know, fifteen."

"And too stupid to know better," Technoblade agreed, though he was unmoved, leaning gun-first out the window. Philza wrapped his palm around the muzzle.

"We need to reason with him," he said.

Technoblade looked at him like he was insane.

Maybe it was called for.

Rounds buried themselves in the ceiling, narrowly avoiding their heads; but only four before the gunfire cut out.

"Okay," Philza said, dragging Techno for the door, "We need to go."

The rounds sizzled and popped with miniature explosions that only rained plaster dust and wood splinters, but would have been instant death if they met their targets inside Phil or Techno.

Who would keep that kind of shit inside their body?

Even Technoblade, who had no say in his modifications, wasn't saddled with something so volatile inside him. That was for androids, weapons without lives to live, not for kids.

"We're not killing him," Philza said.

"Phil," Techno groaned.

Phil kicked the stairwell door open. The kid was nowhere to be seen.

Technoblade sighed and changed the settings on his gun before sliding it into the holster.

Philza swept the glass on the asphalt away with his foot. Blood and oil splattered the alley.

"Poor thing," he murmured.

"Come here, discount assassin," Technoblade coaxed, sticking close to Philza's side, on high alert.

"Ignore him," Philza told the impassive alley walls. "If you're still here, we can talk, no grudges."

Technoblade shoved him into the wall.

The EndR-man's claws sliced through the air where Phil's head had been a moment before, sinking deep into Technoblade's shoulder. He caught the kid's wrist and twisted his grip off, flipping him onto his back. One rubber-soled boot slammed onto his tail, the other rested on his chest and held him down.

Technoblade glanced at Phil for direction.

Formless babble fell from the kid's lips. His jaw unhinged, spilling weak purple light.

"Who sent you?" Philza asked, not expecting an answer and definitely not receiving one. "Do you work alone?"

The kid bucked and unbalanced Technoblade.

He flashed to his feet and sprinted for it.

"Godammit," Philza spat. "We need to cut him off before he gets wherever it is he's going."

These days, everyone was so focused on digital tracking they forgot the simpler solutions; the kid was easy to follow because he'd been tossed from a third story window and was bleeding everywhere. Philza led the way, following the occasional dark blot highlighted by the street lamps.

At first, the trail was straight and determined. There was no car or a rescuer, though, and eventually the pace faltered. The drops came thicker, closer together, in tiny puddles at the base of walls where the kid had stopped to rest. Eventually the destination changed altogether. The trail began to weave, through alleyways and back in on itself. Philza thought maybe the kid was trying to lose them, but that just made him kick up the pace--they were close.

They turned a corner, and there was the kid.

He stood underneath a flickering blue streetlamp, clutching his face, making these awful, wretched noises of pain and confusion.

Technoblade's gun dropped through no intervention on Philza's part, but he kept a tight hold on it when Philza approached slowly, ready to intervene.

"Hey," Philza said, softly.

The boy jolted and whirled.

His focus caught on Phil only briefly; he was much more concerned about the gun in Technoblade's hands.

"I-I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean--I'm just lost." It was like looking at a completely different person: his mouth no longer glowed with sickly purple light, and his eyes looked almost normal save for pinpoints of black in the sclera. Even his body was different. He hunched over to make himself smaller, and his limp ears kept falling into his eyes almost like too-long bangs, which he had none of because his hair was shorn short in a utilitarian buzzcut.

The worst of it was the lack of recognition in his eyes.

Philza's heart panged.

He held his hands up, palms out.

"It's alright," he promised. "We're here to help."

The boy looked at him in confusion.

"I'm sorry," he said, again. "I promise I can get out of your hair, I just--could you point me toward… um, toward…"

He was holding the flesh of his jaw together with one hand, and he thought Philza was going to let him stumble off alone?

Who knew what damage the fall had caused. Clearly, his mods were extensive and durable enough to protect him from the worst of it, since he was walking and breathing, but he wasn't invincible.

"Toward a hospital?" Techno guessed. His finger sat off the trigger. He saw what Philza saw: a scared kid.

The kid's face twisted through a complicated set of emotions.

"I don't--I'm not sure. Do you--can you tell me where I am?"

Jesus.

"Mate, you don't look so good, and I know this is confusing, but I'd really like it if you would let us help you out," Phil said. He took a small step forward.

The boy cowered.

His eyes went to Technoblade's gun again.

Philza glanced at Technoblade. He could go get the car--Philza was more than capable of handling himself against this. Technoblade scowled back and didn't move.

"I'm okay," the boy said. "I just--um."

"You're not okay," Technoblade said, gruffly. "Let us help you."

"Who are you?" he asked in a desperate squeak.

"I'm Phil," Philza said, with a gentle smile. "That's Techno."

"I'm Ranboo," the kid said.

"Hi, Ranboo. Techno's gonna go get the car, and you and I are gonna stay here and wait for him, okay?" He risked another glance at Techno, whose glare could flay the flesh off a lesser man. He met it with a pleading expression of his own.

"That's right," Technoblade said. "You should sit down while you wait, huh, Ranboo?"

The kid blinked. He still looked disoriented and misplaced from reality.

"Right," he said. "Are you sure? I don't want to be any trouble--"

"We're sure," Phil interrupted, inching closer. Technoblade lingered only a second longer before turning on his heel and vanishing back the way they had come. The second he was out of earshot, Philza knew he would be sprinting.

Phil delicately supported Ranboo's elbow.

"Let's sit down," he said. "Easy now."

The kid folded to his knees.

"Sorry, I'm--the blood. I don't know what happened."

"That's okay. It must hurt."

The kid looked hopelessly lost.

"Not really," he whispered. "I don't think that's good."

Philza soothed a hand up and down his back. His spine was covered with unnatural bumps, and Phil felt the shift of wires under his palm.

"You're alright. Just hang tight."

Ranboo made an odd noise, almost a robotic beep, in the back of his throat.

Philza jerked back.

A fist buried itself in the brick right in front of his nose.

Philza was horrified at the crack and splinter of bone; the fingers hung crooked when Ranboo drew back for another punch.

He recognized Phil now, insomuch as an android could recognize a target.

"Shit!" Philza yelled, throwing himself backward. He knew better than to engage directly; if Ranboo could go head to head with Technoblade, Phil couldn't let him get a single hit in, or he'd be out for the count.

Luckily, he'd spent years sparring against Technoblade practicing, and years before that keeping himself alive without help.

He spun low, knocking Ranboo's legs out from under him, and that gave him the moment he needed to get his back away from the wall.

"Ranboo, easy, mate," he said, hands up, backing into the street. Ranboo bore down on him without responding. Philza didn't want to pull any of his weapons; the kid was already hurt enough. "You don't have to do this. When we said we wanted to help you, we meant it."

The timing was clever, waiting for Technoblade to leave before attacking again, but this wasn't Ranboo, no matter how impossible that was, Philza was sure of it. His face was entirely different, slack and fixated, where before it had been twisted up in distress. Even now, his mods hummed and clicked, where before there'd been the silence of a normal body.

Ranboo lunged.

Philza sidestepped and cracked his elbow down on the back of Ranboo's head. It probably hurt him more than it did the kid; there was definitely a metal plate where the wires disappeared into the base of his skull.

Philza shook his arm out and led Ranboo in circles; he couldn't leave here, or Technoblade would have a hard time finding him.

Why was Technoblade taking so long?

Ranboo caught the edge of Phil's coat with his claws and hauled him in, mouth opening wide. Philza twisted half out of his coat to avoid the bite. He kicked off the wall and flipped, twisting the sleeves of his coat around Ranboo's throat and kicking him in the back of the knees.

White-hot pain exploded in Phil's abdomen.

He released Ranboo and held himself up against the wall, every muscle twitching and turning to jelly from the aftershocks. The damn tail.

Philza, left with no other options, pulled his gun out.

Ranboo's face changed.

"Phil?" he asked, voice small and confused.

Technoblade's car slammed into him and sent him careening over the hood and onto the asphalt.

He crumpled, unconscious.

"I leave you alone for five minutes," Technoblade complained, slamming the car door. He ran to Phil and supported him under his elbows. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Just a little zap from his tail, I'm completely fine, mate." He forced Technoblade to help him over to Ranboo and knelt at his side. "I hope he's okay," he said, checking his pulse.

"I can't help but notice he was trying to kill you, again, two seconds ago," Technoblade said, miffed.

"No, it wasn't him. It was like a completely different person, mate, like I was looking at a fucking android."

Technoblade frowned down at Ranboo's limp body.

"Nothing we can do here," he said, and helped Phil to the car.

A hospital was out of the question. If Ranboo woke up again and tried to fight, it was too public a venue.

Luckily, for all his complaining, Technoblade had taken so long because he had unearthed one of their first aid kits, so the kid survived the journey back. Philza spread Ranboo out over the kitchen floor tile and began peeling off the emergency compression patches he'd applied to his shoulder so he could assess the damage.

"Leave him," Technoblade said, edging in the way with his massive bulk and a smaller first aid kit of his own, "You get priority treatment."

"I don't have a scratch on me, actually," Philza said, poking Technoblade right in the scratch on his shoulder. "Looks like you should take care of yourself instead."

"Ouch." Technoblade got out of the way. "You said he hit you with his tail."

"Yeah, tazed me, that's all."

Technoblade sighed, muttered something under his breath, and went to check Ranboo's legs for fractures. Phil knew that any scrape, any bruise, no matter how small, Techno would take care of it.

With all their little diagnostic gadgets on hand, Philza was confident Ranboo wasn't in danger of death. He was one tough fucker--had to be. His mods were tearing his body apart.

Technoblade got quiet and cagey after a while, obviously lost in memories. There was nothing Philza could do for him, only so much damage a hug could combat, so Philza left him to tend the flesh wounds, focusing on the damaged wiring himself.

Ranboo's mods were advanced, so advanced they were close to a madman's hack job, and Philza was having a hard time telling what had been disturbed and what hadn't.

He glanced up.

Ranboo's eyes were wide open.

"Hey, mate," he said, softly, leaning over the kid so he couldn't see much more than Philza and the ceiling. He gently wiped away blood and sweat from his forehead as Ranboo's eyes, terrified and confused, jumped around.

"Phil?" Ranboo asked, just like he had before Technoblade hit him with the car. "Where am I? What's happening?"

Phil exhaled in relief. It was the kid talking to him, not the ruthless assassin.

"You're pretty banged up," Phil said, applying careful pressure when Ranboo tried to sit up. "So we didn't quite make it to a hospital. But don't worry. We've essentially got a mini hospital right here."

He didn't want to say more; he didn't know how cognizant Ranboo was, how likely it was for that switch to flip again.

"Hospital?" Ranboo asked. He sounded just as disoriented as when they found him under the streetlamp--and more scared.

Philza wasn't stone cold, so he kept one hand hovering over Ranboo's shoulder that he could use as leverage and used the other to continue soothing across his temple. Technoblade was with him this time, so alert he wasn't even breathing, and the two of them could take on some poor, wounded fool any day of the week.

"You're okay. I need you to do something for me, okay? Can you tell me if you feel any pain anywhere?"

Ranboo's brow furrowed.

"I don't--everything hurts. I feel like I fell off a building."

Philza chuckled. At least Ranboo had a sense of humor. Ranboo looked bewildered, so he wiped the smile off his face and got back to business.

"I bet," he said, sympathetically. "Can you tell me where the pain is worst?"

"My shoulder. My head. My arms. My legs." Tears glittered in the corner of Ranboo's eyes. "I'm sorry. Everything hurts."

Phil leaned down to wipe the tears away, and that was his mistake. Ranboo's arms closed around him in a crushing vice. Ranboo rolled--but his attack didn't get much farther than that. Technoblade caught him and wrenched him off. With Phil's help, he pinned Ranboo against the floor with pressure on his throat. His legs kicked uselessly. His tail hissed with electricity where it remained trapped under his body.

"Ranboo," Philza said, trying to walk the line between gentle and stern, "I'm not sure what's going on but you need to work with us. Do you even understand me? We want to help, I promise."

Ranboo bared his teeth at Technoblade and struggled harder.

"C'mon," Technoblade said, teeth clenched, still struggling to withstand Ranboo's modified strength. "Listen to him. Phil is a real bleeding heart. It ruins my life constantly."

Ranboo's tail wormed free and whipped up.

Technoblade caught it beneath the tuft-like end as if stopping a snake, but his arm went limp, and he grunted in surprise. He leaned back to avoid the first strike to his torso.

"That's it," he said, and in one swift move, he replaced his hand on Ranboo's throat with his knee and pressed Philza's gun, discarded, between his eyes.

Ranboo made that odd beeping noise again.

His tail went limp. His ears drooped lifeless.

Philza couldn't help it; he settled a hand over Technoblade' wrist, asking for him to stay his hand, even though Technoblade would have already pulled the trigger if he had the intention to.

"That's predictable," Technoblade said, scowling down at Ranboo.

Ranboo made a terrible sound; a whimper of pure terror half-caught in his throat.

Philza's heart twisted and he grimaced. Slowly, gently, so Ranboo could predict what he was doing, he re-seated the bandage holding the gash on his jaw closed.

"We're just trying to help," he assured.

Ranboo was too terrified to talk. He let out a high-pitched whimper.

Technoblade huffed, nervous and upset, though based on the way Ranboo shrunk back against the floor he thought it was an angry sound. Phil could tell by the way Technoblade kept adjusting his grip on the gun that he didn't know what to do. The problem was, Philza didn't know what to do either. He squeezed Technobade's wrist and withdrew.

"Here's what we're going to do," he said. He cast around for the rest of the sentence, as if he would spot inspiration on their kitchen counter or beneath the fridge.

"We're going to let you up," Technoblade continued for him, "and you're going to go very, very far away and never bother us again."

Philza shot him a betrayed look. Didn't he see? Ranboo wasn't attacking them, at least not cognizantly.

Ranboo nodded like a bobblehead.

Technoblade and Philza both backed away. The gun stayed up.

Ranboo scrambled away from them on his elbows, slipping on the slick tile. His arms shook with the effort of holding him up and he rolled to push himself to his knees. When he tried to get up, one of his legs collapsed under him. He caught himself on the edge of the table. Phil refused to let himself step forward to help.

"Sorry," Ranboo said, voice shaking. "I'm trying to go, I swear."

"It's okay," Philza said, gently. "Take your time."

Ranboo wasn't comforted. His breaths came shallow and quick. Blood was dripping through the bandage on his shoulder; talking had lifted the edge of the one on his jaw as well, rendering it useless again.

He got to his feet, but only just so; he staggered and sagged.

Philza couldn't do it.

He jumped forward and caught Ranboo just as he started to collapse.

He grunted at the weight.

"I'm sorry," Ranboo squeaked, trying to stand on his own two feet, cowering away from Philza's grip as if it wasn't the only thing keeping him up.

"Phil," Technoblade said. He'd moved to keep a clear sight-line. He gestured Phil over with a tilt of his head.

Phil lowered Ranboo to his knees and traded places with Technoblade, keeping the gun on Ranboo even as Technoblade helped him back to his feet and tried to get him stable.

"This would be a lot easier if you wouldn't fight us," Technoblade grumbled.

"I'm not trying to," Ranboo gasped, clutching at his wounded shoulder. His voice was ragged with pain.

Phil hated this. He just wanted to help.

If that had been Wilbur--in over his head, too hurt to crawl away--Phil would want someone to help. Not to mention, Ranboo had to be younger than Wilbur was.

"Not what I meant," Techno said. He gave up on helping Ranboo up and knelt with him on the tile, offering his chest as a backrest. He tested the flex of one of Ranboo's arms, causing him to let out a yelp. "Sorry. Where'd you get these mods, anyway? They're pretty fucked up."

"I-I-" Ranboo stuttered. He didn't get any more words out. His voice was stolen by great pants as he began to hyperventilate.

Technoblade looked to Phil in alarm.

"Okay," Phil said, kneeling in front of Ranboo. He kept the gun ready--whoever or whatever was making Ranboo switch between the scared child and the emotionless assassin, they clearly didn’t want his brains blown out. "I need you to look at me. That's right, good job. Inhale, now, yes, hold for one-two-three-four and let it out. Just like that. You're doing so well. Everything's going to be alright."

Ranboo was trying to follow his directions, but he was failing, and Philza and Technoblade were forced to watch in horror as he panicked so hard his eyes rolled up in his skull and he passed out.

The second he was out, Technoblade and Philza rearranged him and checked for emergent damage on his lungs or heart.

"Should we take him to a hospital?" Phil asked, exchanging the bandage on his jaw for a fresh one.

"I don't know if it's safe. Besides, with his mods…" Technoblade trailed off, jaw clenching. Philza gave his uninjured shoulder a quick, comforting squeeze.

"You're probably right, but I don't--his mods have shredded him, not to mention the damage we did. I have no idea what to do," Philza said.

"Me neither. I don't want him here, not if he's going to try and keep killing us, but he's a mess."

‘A mess’ was an understatement.

"You see it too, right? His mods--he doesn't want to hurt us. He's just some kid."

Techno grunted. That was the closest thing to agreement Philza was going to get.

"Maybe we can just keep an eye on him, mate. Until he's well," he wheedled.

Technoblade, pointedly, agreed, "Until then."

Once every wound was stitched or restitched, and every bruise brushed with salve, there was the problem of where to put someone taller than Technoblade.

"Why do I have to give up my bed?" Technoblade complained.

"I'm not squishing him on the couch, not when he's all banged up!" Phil said, turning the covers down.

"Then you can give up your bed." Technoblade settled Ranboo, still unconscious and floppy, on the mattress and Phil tenderly tucked the blankets around him.

"He'll dangle off the end."

"So will I! I won't fit anywhere but my own bed!"

"You're not actively bleeding."

Technoblade flexed his wounded arm and said,

"I could be."

"Oh my god," Philza groaned, and it was a relief to laugh, some of the tension falling from his shoulders. Technoblade grinned.

"Do you want the first shift?" Technoblade asked.

Philza nodded. He'd keep an eye on Ranboo, both for threats to them or to the boy's health; it would be easy enough to stay awake the rest of the night, probably, with all the adrenaline pumping through him.

When Phil snapped awake, Technoblade was sitting across from him, reading. Ranboo lay motionless between them. His brow was creased even in unconsciousness. Phil sat up straight, wincing, and rubbed the knots out of his neck.

"So much for keeping an eye out," he said, chuckling, noticing the light slanting through the windows.

Technoblade waved him off.

"I couldn't sleep. He hasn't done much, anyway. I even had time to fix the window." At Philza's curious eyebrow, he said, "Well, I put a blanket over it."

"I was wondering about Ranboo, mate," Phil clarified, with a slantwise smile.

"Oh. He woke up once--but he didn't cause any problems, so I gave him more painkillers and managed to get him back to sleep." Technoblade frowned in concern down at Ranboo. "He seemed really confused. I don't know how his mods could make him go all Jekyll and Hyde but…"

"Yeah." Phil stared down at him too. Such a difficult situation; Philza wasn't willing to endanger himself or Technoblade, but it was obvious that Ranboo was a puppet on someone's strings. Philza needed only one look into his eyes--and the terrified green ones, not the ones that glowed red and held no soul--to know that.

Philza and Technoblade preferred to rip the heart out of competing organizations, not cull the helpless lackeys; not that they were as active as they'd once been.

Which raised the question: who sent him?

Who did they need to kill?

"He's due for breakfast," Philza said. He cracked his back when he stood up and groaned. "And I'm due to get out of that damn chair."

"That's how I feel after sleeping on the couch," Technoblade said, sullenly. Philza rolled his eyes.

In the kitchen, he stared at the contents of their fridge, at a loss for what to make.

Ranboo was so skinny.

When Wilbur was sick, Philza always made him smoothies; so he made one this time, keeping an ear out for the sound of a scuffle coming from the bedroom. When he returned, he wasn't surprised to see Ranboo up and awake, not after the noise the blender made. He was staring wide-eyed at Technoblade, face devoid of color. The bandage on his shoulder was stained a dull brown and black with blood and synthetic oil.

"Hey, mate," Philza said, gently. His eyes snapped over. "I brought you breakfast." Ranboo's hand trembled when he took it, but his grip was strong. "How're you feeling?"

"Good," Ranboo answered, on autopilot. "How are you?" He held the cup to his chest and didn't drink.

Phil ignored the way his heart twisted and laughed.

"Doing alright. Go ahead and drink some of that, a little food will probably make you feel less like shit."

Obediently, Ranboo took a sip.

Phil locked eyes with Technoblade over his head.

Neither of them had their weapons openly primed, but they were both on edge--a state hard to maintain when Ranboo was so downtrodden, drowning in a fluffy comforter and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane wind. Philza had to remind himself Ranboo was technically a threat. Based on Technoblade's tight expression, he was hoping Philza wouldn't need any hands-on reminders in the form of another fight.

"Here's the plan," Philza said, sitting in his chair. "We'll help you out until you're well, and then we can go from there," and maybe kill whatever bastard did this, whatever it is, to you. He paused. Ranboo stared down at his smoothie. His shoulders were so hunched they almost brushed his ears. "How's that sound?" he prompted, when the silence stretched too long.

"R-right," Ranboo said.

Technoblade and Philza tried to leave him be, without leaving him alone over the next several days.

They kept the door wide open, passed by it often under the guise of fetching things from other corners of the apartment, catching him either hunched over panicking or trying to explore his space without leaving the bed. He was treating the room like a prison, but Technoblade couldn't be persuaded to change that. He did bring the kid a softcover book to read, though, and didn't even complain to Phil when he saw the way he nervously cracked the spine and creased the pages.

All in all, Ranboo was a painfully polite guest, and his mods did nothing but lay limply.

Until workers came to fix the window.

Technoblade retreated to the bedroom to hide from strangers while insisting it was to keep an eye on Ranboo, and Phil thought nothing of it; until, beneath the hum of tools, he heard the squeal of metal and a grunt.

He smiled beautifically at the workers and started inane, unwelcome chatter just to cover up the whisperings of a fight in the next room. He trusted Technoblade to take care of himself.

The second the window was fixed, stinking of glue and wood varnish, he shooed the workers away and sprinted to the bedroom with his gun drawn.

Technoblade was knelt over an unconscious Ranboo.

He looked up at Phil with eyes blown wide.

"We have to take him to a hospital right now. I hit him too hard."

"What the fuck happened, mate?"

"I saw it," Technoblade said. "We were talking about the book and then he was coming at me, just like that." Phil helped him lift Ranboo into his arms.

He wasn't unconscious. His eyes were open, unseeing, and he twitched oddly as if his mods were malfunctioning. Synthetic oil leaked from his ear and nose, another sign modifications in his head were breaking or broken.

"Jesus christ," Phil said, dabbing at the drip in his ear and only breaking the surface tension and causing it to flow freely down the side of his head and neck, "how hard did you hit him?"

"I couldn't figure out how to stop him. I didn't have my gun." Technoblade hesitated, struggling to articulate the guilt Phil could see closing his throat, and finished lamely, "He seems like a nice guy when he's not trying to murder us."

Philza laughed and wiped the oil off on his pant leg. At least there was no blood.

"I know, mate. It's okay. I know you didn't want to hurt him."

Technoblade's frown didn't ease.

At the hospital, it got worse, with him looming behind Philza's shoulder when the nurses and doctors reported back--worried, but managing to make every single one of them stammer nervously under the assumption he was angry.

Ranboo was dangerously underweight, severely dehydrated, with numerous muscle tears and miniscule bone fractures from the fight and his modifications; his modifications were far out of the hospitals expertise, but they tried their best to repair them, and after a long day of waiting and worrying Technoblade and Phil were allowed to see him.

It was a grisly sight, Ranboo hooked up to so many tubes and wires.

Phil and Technoblade took up their newly customary spots in chairs on either side of his bed.

Technoblade reached out first, smoothing down the scratchy hospital blankets and checking Ranboo for signs of wakefulness. His eyes opened to slits, but when he opened his mouth, weak purple light spilled out and he slurred out an unrecognizable string of syllables.

Philza reached out and took one of his hands, careful of the IV, and hoped it offered a modicum of comfort as Ranboo sank back into unconsciousness.

"You've still got that cabin, don't you? The one up north?" he asked.

Technoblade gave him a suspicious (but knowing) look.

"I do. I've kept it maintained, too," he said, and didn't dig or offer more, forcing Phil to out himself by saying,

"It might be good to take him out somewhere quiet to recover."

"Really? You want to take some baby assassin out to the middle of the woods? That's a great way to never get our bodies found."

"Oh, come on, he's harmless."

Technoblade shook his head.

"Not until we figure out what's really going on."

They'd discussed it while he was in surgery; how quickly he could go from docile, fearful boy to single-minded killer. It was as if two separate people inhabited his body. There was no documentation of fucking mind-control; that just wasn't how modifications worked. There wasn't another explanation, though.

"Maybe if we can figure out the triggers…" Phil said.

Technoblade looked grim.

"Might not be triggered on our end; whoever did this to him, they're more creative than--you know.” It was difficult for him to say; his voice dropped to a murmur. “The people who gave me my mods."

Ranboo's body modifications, which injured him about as much as Techno and Philza had, combined with his suicide mission… It read a little too close to Technoblade's past experiences, was all.

"We'll see what happens when he wakes up," Phil said.

"Right," Technoblade said, all droopy and sad despite insisting he had no soft spot for the kid, "waiting around. Our specialty."

"Well you didn't think the cabin was a good idea. This is my plan B."

"I didn't say it was a bad idea! I'm just saying, you have a habit of--" Technoblade paused, gathering his thoughts into a neat package. "You're like one of those cats that adopts a puppy into the litter," he finally said.

"What? What's that supposed to mean?" Phil asked, cracking up.

"It means that you see anything vaguely son-shaped and you immediately get attached," Technoblade said, and Phil felt the smile fade from his face.

He didn't mean to do that--but everyday the spot beneath his ribs that housed his heart ached with sorrow for his son.

Depositing Wilbur into the foster system was one of the biggest regrets of Philza's life, even if it'd been the correct choice at the time. He'd walked in on Technoblade teaching him to shoot a gun--in self defense, Techno said later, when trying to defend himself from Phil's wrath--and Phil had known. He couldn't keep Wil. Phil was some dumb kid too young to raise a child, busy competing in a world of crime, and he hadn't wanted his son to live that kind of life.

There were no second chances for him.

It didn't matter all the ways he surreptitiously checked up on Wilbur Soot, the name that popped up in articles about school talent shows and later in Dream city exposé; it wasn't the same as being there, and the foster workers had warned him to never reestablish contact.

Ranboo, though, Phil could help him just like he'd helped Technoblade.

He'd been silent for too long.

Technoblade said, "Sorry," while avoiding looking at him in favor of fussing over Ranboo's blanket as if any wrinkles would prolong his recovery, "but I'm right."

Phil rolled his eyes.

"Do you want to help him?" he asked.

Technoblade shrugged.

"He can't be more destructive than when Wil was a toddler, and I helped with that."

"Oh, come on. He was not that bad."

Technoblade scrunched his nose up.

"He was," he said.

"Was not."

Technoblade raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll help you, Phil. I made a promise years ago. If that means dealing with toddlers and discount assassins, then that's what it means."

Phil groaned and scrubbed his hands down his face.

"I just don't know. We were going to retire."

"I was going to retire," Technoblade corrected. "You were too young for Wil, now you're too old for this. Make up your mind, old man."

"Fuck off," Philza said. He lobbed a receipt from his pocket at Technoblade's head just as a nurse walked in. She gave them both a disapproving look.

"I'd say Ranboo here needs some undisturbed rest," she said, and they both fled with their tails between their legs.

The next time Ranboo woke up, Phil was slumped half-asleep against his bed, and it was only the barest flex of the hand held in his that alerted him. He sat up.

"Hey, mate," he whispered, trying to avoid waking up Technoblade, not that it worked; Technoblade snuffled and blinked awake. "How're you feeling?"

Ranboo stared hard at him and made a broken, metallic sound. His tail twisted and thrashed beneath the covers. It brushed against the wire leading from his pulse monitor. Electricity snapped. The machine beeped wildly, flashing warning lights.

"Ah, shit," Philza hissed. He tried to restrain Ranboo by his shoulders.

A nurse rushed in.

"Stay there," Technoblade growled, staying them with a hand, ready to fend off an attack.

Ranboo twisted around, shorting out another machine, but he didn't leap up to strike them. His eyes flickered between a dull red and human green.

"Something's not right with his mods," Phil said.

Ranboo mumbled some more gibberish and sagged back into the thin, shitty hospital pillows.

His tail twitched back and forth.

Philza unclipped the pulse monitor from Ranboo with two cautious fingers, wincing at the zap that went clear to his elbow.

The nurse forced past Technoblade and stopped the high-pitched beeping of the pulse monitor.

"I want to get that back on him," they said.

"Give him a second," Technoblade said, circling the bed.

Ranboo was already falling unconscious again.

The three of them watched grimly as his eyes rolled up and his mods went limp.

The nurse clipped the monitor back on and checked on his IV. Philza fixed the pillow behind his head and lifted the blanket back up to beneath his chin.

"I'll contact the on-call physician," the nurse said, and vanished back out the door.

Philza sank back into his chair.

Technoblade dug the surgery notes out of his bag and hunched over them, looking for new answers.

"I am too old for this," Philza realized, in a whisper.

Technoblade snorted.

Ranboo was not an easy hospital patient; he came to in flashes, half the time spitting purple light and shocking the machines around him into setting off alarms with his tail just like that first night. Those were the manageable moments, because despite bracing for an attack, one never came.

When he woke up semi-coherent, that was when it was miserable.

Ranboo sat bolt upright and clawed at his IV, unseating it and causing blood to bead up underneath the tape.

Philza dropped his phone and lunged forward to help, but Technoblade got there first.

"Please," Ranboo said, when Technoblade caught his hands. Real words and not gibberish, this time, and Philza was so surprised he stood there like an idiot. "Please don't."

Ranboo kicked out, feet tangled in his blankets, and tried to twist free. Tears dropped freely from his eyes, splashing across the bedspread as he thrashed. Techno held him fast.

"Please, let me go, I don't want to, please," he whimpered, words garbled together between sobs.

Technoblade dropped his hands.

He tore the IV clear out.

Philza squeezed in and grabbed him by the elbows. He was half as strong, tail immobile, but it was still a feat to hold him when he was driven by pure adrenaline.

Technoblade stood frozen with his hands suspended.

"You're okay," he said, anxiety poorly concealed by his monotone. "Uh. You're in the hospital. A good one. Great reviews. Five stars all around."

Ranboo made a wretched sound and tried to get away from them.

"Help me, here," Philza said, casting around for something to stop the bleeding.

Technoblade didn't move.

"No, no, no," Ranboo wailed.

He gave a particularly mighty tug and broke free, scuttling to the head of the bed.

"Fucking shit," Philza hissed. He placed himself between Ranboo and the door, but all Ranboo did was curl in on himself and cover his ears with his hands and cry.

Hours, it took hours to calm him down, and only when a nurse volunteered their precious free time to sit with Ranboo did Technoblade and Philza stumble away for a break.

"You okay?" he asked, sipping from the tea he desperately needed to stay awake. Technoblade, who was half-asleep against the elevator wall, roused just enough to dump more coffee in his mouth and then grumble,

"I'm having a blast. This is the best week I've ever had. I love hospitals and I love malfunctioning mods."

"Aw, mate," Philza said. He reached out and looped an arm through Technoblade's, which was about as close to a hug as he would tolerate. Technoblade leaned his weight into him. He let out a long exhale through his snout. Philza could feel the tension coiled in his muscles ease the slightest bit.

"The cabin's sounding very nice, right about now," Technoblade said.

Philza couldn't agree more.

He was ready to blow this joint.

Their apartment was packed as quickly as possible, thanks to the security breach Ranboo represented, into a trailer. Technoblade sat in the car, idling out front, while Philza helped Ranboo take the stairs at a snail's pace. Outside the car, he paused and said,

"We can drop you off somewhere else. If you have somewhere to go."

He already knew the answer, but he let Ranboo pause to consider the offer anyway.

His brow knit together.

"I'm not sure I have somewhere else to go," he admitted.

"Then we'll help you get on your feet," Phil said, with a smile. "C'mon, into the car."

He exchanged a look with Technoblade when he slid into the passenger seat.

Attempting to track down who had sent Ranboo had proven fruitless during their stay in the hospital, especially when Ranboo, high on pain meds, had politely told them he was very sorry he didn't remember their names (let alone anyone else's).

Philza scrolled idly through his phone, occasionally looking up to check on Ranboo or enjoy the scenery when they left the city proper.

His thumb paused over a new bounty.

The Dream Team was dropping a hefty amount of money looking for a runaway recruit, who they wanted returned alive. Not normally the business Technoblade and Philza dealt in; they preferred high profile assassinations. Still, Philza tapped it--and there on the screen was a description of the exhausted kid asleep in the backseat.

Philza glanced back to check he was truly asleep before leaning over to whisper,

"Found who sent him. Looks like it was Dream, the fucker."

Technoblade looked bewildered.

"We're on good terms," he said. "I haven't even talked to the guy in ages."

"Yeah, well, they want Ranboo returned like a lost puppy, and for a lot of money."

Technoblade's expression shuttered.

"I bet they do," he growled. "They want a return on their investment."

Philza tilted his head.

"Do we need to turn around? I've got some real estate in Dream's city, I'm sure I could find a vacant apartment to use as a base."

Taking out the Dream Team would be a challenge, and Philza liked the idea of one last, grand stand before dropping into the obscurity of history. Add taking revenge for Ranboo on top and he wouldn't even have to feel uneasy about the morality of it all.

Technoblade glanced in the rear-view mirror.

"No," he said. "He was created in violence. He needs a break."

Philza went quiet.

It didn't sound like Technoblade was only talking about Ranboo. Technoblade saw the necessity in violence where words failed, but he'd never enjoyed it the way Philza did, even though he was excellent at it. Technoblade preferred curling up on the couch and reading gardening guides and sappy novels about moving to the seaside. He threatened retirement when a job went on too long. Philza had never thought anything of it.

Until now.

"Okay," he said, gently, and withdrew to his side of the car to investigate more on his own.

Philza pushed the cabin door open. He coughed and waved away the dust drifting through the air.

"We might have to clean it out, first," he said over his shoulder.

Technoblade groaned.

Ranboo limped along, pale and dripping sweat, and Technoblade settled him on the couch.

There were only two doors off the main room, so Philza took a guess.

"Wrong one," Technoblade said, helpfully, only after he had opened the door to the bathroom. He snorted and opened the other one, pushing aside long-expired cleaning products to get at a broom whose bristles were half broken, half missing.

"Get to work," he said, tossing it to Technoblade. The loft bed was the priority, for Ranboo to crawl into before he fell unconscious. The poor kid was dead on his feet. He stared blankly at the cold wood stove visible from where he sat.

Phil dug up musty linens and shook them out on the front porch.

He'd gotten way too used to luxury; this was gross.

When he stepped back inside, Ranboo was up, hovering nervously by the linen closet.

"What can I do to help?" he asked.

"You can sit down," Philza said, and steered him back to the couch. The cushions sagged in the middle where there had clearly been a favorite sitting spot for many years, but it would have to do. "Your bed will be ready in a second."

The very instant it was prepared, Technoblade was half-carrying Ranboo up the ladder. He dumped him into the bed and Philza helped him get comfortable on the pillows.

"We'll try to be quiet. Just shout if you need anything."

Downstairs, he helped Technoblade fold out the couch bed, not that he was particularly tired after such a long drive; out of the two of them, Technoblade would probably be the one to crash, after so much time in a hospital.

He made tea in the dented kettle and stepped outside to drink it.

Technoblade followed and sat with him on the steps. One of his folded ears was tilted back to catch any noises from inside.

"You're sure you don't want to go after Dream?" Phil asked.

Technoblade picked at a weed growing through one of the boards.

Phil blew on his cup during the interim.

"No," Technoblade said. After a moment, he elaborated, "I'm not sure."

"Let me in on that thought process of yours," Phil suggested.

Technoblade scowled.

"I don't want to go after him yet. We'll save it for later. We'll ease Ranboo into everything. Obviously, there's no tracker on him, or they'd have come for him already. We've got time."

Technoblade and Philza were forced to share the fold out bed in the living room, which at least meant he had someone at his back when, in the middle of the night, a looming figure woke him up by bending close over him.

Faint purple light permeated the room.

He kicked Technoblade awake before the fact that it was Ranboo forced through the fog of sleep.

He was just standing.

Still, Philza braced himself.

Technoblade made a confused, disgruntled noise and sat upright.

Ranboo straightened and stepped backwards, eyes on Technoblade now.

He stood with none of the pain Ranboo had displayed earlier in the day--or yesterday, according to the stove clock Philza could only just see. His tail swished lazily. His ears twitched at the cackle of coyotes outside.

"Considering murdering us?" asked Technoblade. "Because I gotta say, this would be the best time to do it."

Ranboo mumbled nonsense.

"Maybe the connection's broken," Philza said. He stood, carefully, and crossed to the lightswitch.

Even when the room was washed with yellow light, Ranboo didn't react.

"Okay, then," Philza said. "Back to bed, mate."

He took one clawed hand in his much smaller one and led Ranboo up the ladder.

He tucked him back into bed.

Ranboo didn't seem bothered, though he didn't seem tired either. He stared at the ceiling without blinking.

The next morning, Ranboo was exhausted and sore, though he didn't complain. He moved gingerly, taking a good three minutes just to lever himself down the ladder, and he didn't look like he slept a wink, though when questioned he told them with confusing candor that he'd slept the night through.

Technoblade handed him his phone.

"We're going to get some better stuff for this place. Call if you need anything," he said.

In the car, he squinted at Philza and said,

"What're you smiling for?"

"Just like Wilbur," he said, "you big softy."

"Watch it, that's my reputation and my pride you're damaging."

They texted Ranboo updates, including requests for input on what food or clothing he liked. He was frustratingly agreeable, so it went exactly nowhere, and maybe Technoblade and Philza had a bit too much fun putting together ridiculous outfits for him.

"A suit?" Philza said. "Really?"

"You got him a neon unicorn hoodie. I'm bringing balance to the universe."

"He'll like my picks better," Philza said, and was proven very wrong.

Ranboo insisted vehemently he was equally grateful for everything they'd given him, but the suit was clearly his favorite.

Technoblade shot him a smug look over breakfast when Ranboo came down wearing it yet again, and Philza flipped him off.

"Can I ask a question?" Ranboo asked.

He was abnormally folded in on himself, sitting almost as short as Phil even though he'd be taller than Technoblade if he ever sat up straight.

"Of course, mate," Philza said, with an encouraging smile.

"Did you guys come for my bounty?"

Technoblade stared at him in panicked silence.

Philza went, "Uh," and couldn't get another word out.

Ranboo picked nervously at the edges of his sleeves and said,

"I saw it. When you let me borrow your phone."

Well, shit.

"What do you remember?" Phil asked. "About when we found you."

"Not much," Ranboo said. "Nothing, really. I remember waking up in the hospital and, uh, freaking out."

Technoblade exchanged a look with Philza.

Ranboo was really missing all that time?

"We found you on the street and took you to the hospital," Philza said. "We were after your bounty initially, but when we realized you were just some kid, plans changed."

Technoblade drilled a hole through Philza's head. He avoided looking at him by concentrating on Ranboo, who had wilted further in on himself.

"We won't let the people who set the bounty get anywhere near you," Technoblade said, at length. That was the truth. Philza could feel the promise of a long conversation later, but that was for later.

Here, right now? This was damage control.

"What else do you want to know?" Philza asked.

"Why'd they set a bounty on me?" Ranboo whispered. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Philza and Technoblade said, at the same time.

"Then why--"

"Because they're bad people," Technoblade interrupted, stubbornly.

Ranboo swallowed.

"What if I am too? I don't remember much. I don't know why I'm here, or how I ended up like this." He stared down at his hands and flexed them. His claws shone dully in the warm light from the windows, black and silver-white. "Maybe there's a good reason there's a bounty on me."

Phil leaned forward. He offered his hand, palm up, in the middle of the table. "Tell me this," he said. "You want to hurt us? You want to hurt other people?"

"Of course not. But I--"

"It's a yes or no question," Technoblade said, before Ranboo could talk himself in a circle.

"And your answer is no," Phil said. "No matter what happened before the bounty, think of this as your fresh start."

As long as whatever fragile peace they'd found, wasn't broken by some grand plan on Dream's part; but Philza thought it best to neglect mentioning that caveat.

Technoblade was ice cold on their morning walk, obviously thinking, so Philza let himself enjoy the warm orange sunrise peeking through the trees.

"We need to call Dream," Technoblade said.

Phil paused.

"Well, that wasn't what I was expecting you to say," he said.

Technoblade glared at him.

"Believe me, I'm not happy with you lying to Ranboo," he gritted out. "Imagine if you did that when you first found me. How would I have trusted you? I would have killed you for it."

"That's more what I was expecting. Murder talk," Philza said, mouth quirking up. His attempt to lighten the mood didn't land.

"We've got to tell him the truth eventually," Techno said, with a shake of his head. "But I want to deal with Dream first."

"By… calling him?" Phil clarified, doubtfully.

Technoblade huffed.

"I'd like to drown him in his own blood," he said, "but I was thinking about it and that won't solve Ranboo's problem. It was easy with me. We just killed the supplier and the buyer, and were done, but we don't know who made Ranboo. More importantly, we don't know what they did to him. We need to talk to Dream."

"He sent an assassin after us. Even if it was a shitty one, I don't think he's going to
be interested in sitting down and talking to us."

Philza turned out to be wrong.

"It's nice talking to you again, Technoblade--and Phil!" Dream said, sounding just as confident and amiable over the phone as he always did. As if they were friends, as if he hadn't sent some poor boy to try (and fail) to kill them.

"We found something you misplaced," Philza said, when it became clear Technoblade's jaw was locked closed by a vicious scowl.

"Oh," Dream said. "If you bring him back in one piece I'll pay full price, but I know how Techno is. I guess I could pay something for parts."

"You 'know how I am'," Technoblade echoed, "but you still sent him."

Phil jabbed Techno in the side, but it was too late.

Dream sounded curious when he said,

"So he's not dead?"

"So you did send him," Philza said.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know, I heard George and Sapnap moved to a nice, expensive high-rise with all their friends, recently," Phil said. "Right downtown."

"It's a nice place," Dream said. There was no tightening of his voice, no acknowledgement of their threat. "Nestled right in the heart of my city. You know, recently I've been working really closely with the Badlands bounty hunters, and I've given them apartments too. I'm really building up a good community here."

Technoblade exchanged a look with Phil. His eyes were ablaze.

The Badlands bounty hunters, spearheaded by the affable Badboyhalo, were on good terms with Technoblade and Philza. It paid to keep in the good graces of such skilled individuals.

That was the problem.

They were very skilled, and they outnumbered Technoblade and Philza several times over.

Combine them with the Dream Team…

Goddammit, Dream had turned the threat back on Phil.

"Real cute community, I'm sure," Technoblade said. "We'll buy the kid from you."

"What?" Phil and Dream said at the same time.

"I'm sorry, you'll buy him from me?" Dream continued. "I really didn't peg you as the type, Techno."

"I could say the same about you," Techno growled.

Dream hummed.

"I don't know. I think I'd prefer it if you gave him back. I'll pay you!"

"I don't care. Take the offer or I'll gut you," Technoblade said.

"That's not how negotiations work."

Phil said, just loud enough that the phone would only barely pick it up,

"He doesn't want to take you in another one-on-one fight. He's afraid he'll lose again."

Predictably, Dream spluttered,

"I heard that! That's not what this is about."

"Sure, mate," Phil said.

"It's not!"

"Then why won't you fight me?" Technoblade said. "I know last time was a humiliating defeat, so I get that your ego can't take another bruising--"

"Fuck off! Fine. We'll meet at a neutral location and work this out, peacefully. Happy? Bring the kid."

Phil hung up.

"What the hell, Techno."

Technoblade looked properly embarrassed, though anger still clung to him.

"I panicked," he defended. "I could take the Dream Team or the Badlands but I don't think I could take both, sue me."

"So your solution was buying a human person?"

"If I don't get the paperwork then Dream will hound him for the rest of his life! Remember how hard it was to get me a fresh identity?"

"But we did it--"

"Against someone a quarter as good as Dream. I don't want that sort of thing hanging over the beanpole's head. Besides, maybe we can learn more about what they did to him."

Phil couldn't help but soften.

"And you said you'd leave him out in the woods the next time he did his weird sleepwalking thing," he cooed.

Technoblade didn't dignify that with a response. He turned on his heel and marched back to the cabin.

The logistics weren't easy.

For obvious reasons, they would not be bringing Ranboo along, as that was barely better than handing him over in exchange for the bounty. Instead, Philza set up several traps along the edges of the property and Technoblade gave Ranboo a long-winded lecture about safety before gifting him a gun.

The gun was comically small in Ranboo's long, slender fingers. Phil couldn't help but laugh.

"You and Techno make everything look small," he said. "C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"Fashionably late," Technoblade said, but headed for the car.

Philza paused at the door.

"We'll be back soon," he said. "Be safe."

The 'neutral location' was a nondescript office building on the edge of the Badlands. Technoblade and Philza checked over their weapons in the car before stepping inside.

Dream's mask smiled for him. Behind him, the Dream Team lounged against the wall and a great portion of the Badlands stood at attention.

"Wow," Technoblade said. "This is more people than I was expecting. You wanted a big audience again, huh?"

"Come on," Dream groaned. "We're not fighting--and if we did, I would win."

"Based on what evidence?" Technoblade asked, taking a polite seat at the table even while Dream refused to sit. Philza decided he might as well stay standing, if everyone else was going to insist on playing at that game, one hand settled comfortably at the weapon on his belt.

"That was--that won't happen again. Stop distracting me! Where's the kid?"

"We are not stupid enough to bring him in here, mate," Philza said.

"That was part of the deal!"

Technoblade snorted.

"We haven't made a deal yet. Where are the papers?"

Dream huffed, but gestured to a man in a gas mask, who stepped forward and shuffled a thick stack of papers onto the table. Technoblade hunched over them and began to read.

Several pages in, Dream dropped into a seat with an incredulous huff.

"Are you going to read all of that?" he asked.

"Yep," Technoblade said, shooting him a glare. Painstakingly, he turned back to the first page. "You made me lose my spot."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"And you've done it again," Technoblade sighed. "How many times will I have to start over?"

Philza tried to keep his laugh in his mouth with one hand.

The careful discipline of the team at Dream's back shattered. Sapnap and George bent close together and argued over their phones. Half the Badlands bounty hunters slipped through the doors. The only one who stayed at attention was the man with the gas mask.

"I'm Phil," Philza said. "I don't think we've met before."

"Awesamedude," the man replied, curt. His expression was inscrutable behind his mask, but if Phil had to guess, he'd say those weren't the most welcoming eyebrows he'd ever seen.

"Ah, maybe I've heard of you. You're a real tech whiz, aren't you?"

Awesamedude hummed.

"You know, I never would have expected you and Techno to be part of a deal like this," he said, flexing the thick gloves over his hands. "I've heard a lot about your work, dismantling corrupt governments and groups; stopping people who did this."

Phil ignored the ice in his stomach.

"Can't help but notice you're in the same room," he said.

"Can't a guy get some peace and quiet to read around here?" Technoblade complained. "Your signature's all over these pages, Awe-sam-dude. Cut the act."

"What I did was advancement, with a volunteer. What you're doing is--"

Technoblade growled. The rumble rolled through the room and caught everyone's attention. Dream reached for his axe.

"What Dream's doing," he said. "Which reminds me. As a little insurance that we won't have any trouble with this deal, I'll be paying everyone here a stack of cash, under the agreement that no one try to take Ranboo back."

Dream's shock was evident in his sudden stillness.

Unfortunately, Phil was also shocked. They had enough money for that stunt, sure, but they wouldn't have any left afterward.

"Now let me read," Technoblade continued, that boarish snort-and-rumble still evident in the back of his throat. "Blame yourselves for making the documents so long."

Technoblade combed through every word.

He pulled a sheet from the middle of the stack and crumpled it up, tossing it into a corner.

Philza peeked over his shoulder, even though he knew he'd get to read this all later; Technoblade was the best man for the job, when it came to this particular situation, but Phil still wanted to be involved. Especially when Technoblade snorted in poorly hidden frustration and hid the shake of his hands between the flip of pages.

Technoblade finished the last page and sat back to crack his neck and back.

"Seems okay, now," he said. "Let's get this over with."

"Now hang on," Dream said.

"Is no one getting paid?" Phil said, affecting disappointment as his heart rate sped up in anticipation of a fight. "'Cause we're only paying out if you uphold the deal."

George and Sapnap looked to Dream, but several members of the Badlands shuffled and murmured.

"I think maybe we should go over it a little more," Dream said. "We worked very hard on it--him."

"I can still tell," Technoblade said, abruptly. He gestured to his own face. "Where I broke your mask last time. You did a good job at repairing it but nothing erases that kind of damage. Everytime you open your mouth, I'm starting to hear 'break it again.' You're practically begging me, here."

"I've been training a lot," Dream said, "I don't know if you'd beat me."

Technoblade leered.

"You want to test that?" he asked.

Dream hesitated.

The room held its breath.

"Alright, Techno," Dream said, yanking the papers toward him and signing them. Technoblade checked them over again, to ensure Dream had signed everywhere he needed to, before signing his own name. Philza added his signatures.

Payment was metered out to everyone.

Philza held out his hand when everything was done.

"Torture doing business with you," Dream said, pumping his hand once with a too-tight grip. He gestured to his team and they filed out the doors.

Technoblade and Philza took their leave in the opposite direction. Philza kept a hand on his weapon, eyes and ears peeled.

"I would've loved it if you'd talked that over with me beforehand," he said, sliding into the passenger seat.

Technoblade grunted. Phil had a feeling that was all he had the capacity for at that moment so he shelved his reproval for another day. If this worked, the money would be worth it, anyway.

They spent several hours circling through the city streets until Phil was confident they'd pinpointed their tail; then they gunned it down the backroads and pulled off around a sharp bend. Philza got out and knelt with one of Technoblade's rifles on his shoulder.

The same car that had been following them drove around the bend.

He shot; two tires popped and the car listed to the side. He exploded one of the back windows for good measure, uncaring if he hit a passenger.

Though the windows were tinted, he flipped the bird.

"Go on. Limp back and tell him to fuck off!" he called across the asphalt. "The next person he sends won't be lucky enough to be the messenger, like you!"

He slid back into their car.

Technoblade drove back from where they came.

"I hope that's all of them," he said, lowly. "I want to stick around the cabin for a while longer."

Philza nodded.

"It'll be good for Ranboo," he said. "And you. This could be your retirement!"

Techno huffed.

"Can't retire with no money," he said, gloomily.

Phil patted his arm.

"We'll make it back, mate."

When Phil carried Wilbur home from the hospital, a precious little bundle, he was weighed down by grief and panic. He didn't know how to take care of a kid at nineteen, certainly not without his wife.

He'd shown up at his best friend's doorstep a blubbering mess. And Technoblade--who was too young to deal with it all too, who was nursing new mods and old wounds, who hated kids with a passion--he took one look at Wilbur, screaming himself red in the face, and told Phil,

"We'll figure it out."

With Ranboo, Phil had the opportunity to experience what it was like to be the level-headed one.

"He's fine," Phil said, from Ranboo's other side.

"You call this fine?" Technoblade demanded.

Ranboo stared silently ahead, tail swishing gently behind him. Phil could almost be fooled into thinking he was birdwatching, but his eyes didn't track anything.

"There's not much we can do," Phil said. "His mods are outside of my expertise."

Technoblade grunted.

"I still don't understand how they did this to him. I've read the documentation a thousand times but Awesamedude was not forthcoming. I want to kill him."

"I know," Phil said, because they'd had this conversation a thousand times. "I'm not sure the information we have is enough to fix anything, though."

"All we need to do is stabilize him. Stop this from happening." Technoblade waved his hand in front of Ranboo's face. Ranboo looked at him and warbled nonsense.

"We'll have to talk to him about it, then," Phil said, and that was enough to dissuade Technoblade, who fell into a stressed silence. Ranboo knew about his… absences, though Technoblade and Phil had neglected to tell him their origin. He wasn't attacking them anymore, so everything was ancient history, and in Phil's opinion he didn't need to know when it would only upset him.

He could barely stomach the thought of someone using Ranboo like he wasn't a sentient being; he couldn't imagine the terror that would inspire in Ranboo.

They sat out in the forest for a while longer, until Ranboo came back.

He looked around with that familiar confusion, expression faintly embarrassed as he opened his mouth to ask. Phil didn't make him wait.

"You've been out a little over an hour," he said. "You went on a surprise stroll so we tagged along."

"Right," Ranboo said, scratching at the metal port at the base of his skull. Blood welled up underneath his claws, but he didn't seem to notice. Phil gently caught his hand and held it hostage.

"We've got to talk to you," Technoblade said, sounding nauseated.

Ranboo's shoulders curled in.

"Yeah, go ahead. Uh, if you meant now. I don't know if you--"

"Now," Phil reassured him, firmly.

"It may be worth working on your mods," Technoblade said. "Surgically, I mean."

Phil felt the full-body tremble through Ranboo's hand. He gave it a squeeze.

"You don't have to," he said. "But it might help."

"I-I--I should," Ranboo said, fumbling his words. He rallied. "I want to try. Can I know more? What kind of surgery?"

Technoblade and Phil started small. They sat Ranboo down on the sagging couch they had yet to replace and gave him a blanket to squeeze and told him that under no uncertain circumstances was he to stay quiet about discomfort or pain.

Ranboo stayed stiff as a board through the process.

Phil and Techno worked together to adjust wires and smooth out thin sheets of metal, watchful as they did. No blood or oil welled up. Ranboo's teeth slowly unclenched. When they were done and unsure whether they'd changed anything at all, Ranboo slumped down and said,

"That wasn't so bad."

After that, their progress moved faster. His enderwalks, as Ranboo took to calling them, weren't eliminated, but their work got them under control. He spent more time conscious and awake.

They pushed their luck too far.

Another test, more intensive, with the tools dug deep into an open panel, proved to be the breaking point.

Electricity zapped across Phil's tool tip and he pulled back, but it was too late. Ranboo yelped and jerked back.

"Oh, mate, I'm so sorry," Phil said, reaching out to soothe him.

Ranboo scrambled backwards and fell off the kitchen chair.

"Stop it, stop it," he whimpered. "I don't want to do this. Let me go."

Cold washed over Phil.

He stayed right where he was, tool abandoned on the table, and lifted his hands so Ranboo could see they were empty.

"That's alright," he said, voice soft. "We're done whenever you say so."

Ranboo's eyes were wide and wild. He looked at Phil without seeing him.

"Let me go," Ranboo repeated, voice rising.

Technoblade appeared from the living room, already moving slow, hands out. He crouched down to Ranboo's level. Ranboo scooted away from him, hitting his head on the cabinets. He looked around wildly. His chest heaved.

"I think he's having a flashback or something," Phil whispered. "Like you used to."

Technoblade shot him a nervous glance but nodded firmly anyway.

"Hey, Ranboo. You're in the cabin. I'm Techno, and that's Phil. Do you know where you are? Do you know who we are?"

Ranboo shook his head. His hair was only just beginning to grow out, but sweat still plastered the strands to his forehead.

"Please, please stop," he begged. "Let me go."

"Everything's okay, Ranboo," Phil cut in, because he could see Technoblade seizing up. "We're not going to do anything. Why don't we name some things we can see? I can see the cutting board, and the bread on it, and the silly tuft of fur on Techno's head he can't get to lay flat." Even though Ranboo was not in the state of mind to follow along with the exercise, Phil still walked through it. He could see Technoblade following along out of the corner of his eye.

Ranboo curled up against the cabinets and heaved through his terror.

Eventually, with their soft voices to draw him out, he calmed down.

He pressed a hand over his mouth.

"I'm so sorry," he blubbered. "I don't know where that came from. I have--I have no idea what I was talking about."

"That's okay," Phil said, relieved he could finally approach and give Ranboo a proper hug. He cradled Ranboo's head against his chest and pet over his hair. "You're okay." He reached down and cautiously slid the open panel on his arm closed.

Technoblade and Phil exchanged a grim look over Ranboo's head.

Sure, they'd known Ranboo's memory was fractured, but to the extent that he had a panic attack over a memory he no longer had?

"I've got something important to tell you," Technoblade said. Phil grimaced. Time for the truth, then.

Ranboo looked up at him with massive, watery eyes.

"Uh, maybe let's go somewhere more comfortable," Technoblade suggested, and bundled Ranboo into the living room. Phil tucked a blanket around him. For once, Ranboo didn't awkwardly object to their worry. He pulled the blanket close and leaned on his knees.

Technoblade cleared his throat.

"Right," he said.

Ranboo wiped several leftover tears away. He looked young, downtrodden, and scared. Phil didn't know how anyone could look at him and hurt him without regret--and Phil had killed so many goddamn people, he had a high tolerance for pitiful displays. Most didn't move him.

Ranboo, however, was a sweet kid with his heart on his sleeve, trying his best.

"I did something bad, didn't I?" Ranboo asked, when Technoblade was quiet for too long.

"What?" Phil said, caught off guard.

"I just--I can't think of anything else," Ranboo said. "I can't think of any reason I'd have these mods if I weren't--weren't trying to hurt people."

"Ranboo," Techno said. "You didn't do a single thing."

"Remember that spider the other day?" Phil said, trying to keep his tone encouraging. "I was just going to kill it, but you caught it in a cup and let it loose outside, even though you were pretty sure it was venomous."

"Yeah," Technoblade said, grasping onto the thread of conversation. "You won't kill bugs, you really think you want to hurt people? I know this is a hard situation, but I have experience with people who want to modify whoever they can get their hands on. They don't care if it makes your muscles cramp, or bends your bones, or makes you forget. They care about what they want.

"You didn't do this to yourself. You were made to be a weapon, and that does not mean you're a bad person and it certainly doesn't mean you have to be what they wanted you to be."

Ranboo didn't look encouraged, or comforted. He looked shattered.

"I--who would do that? Why would anyone do that?"

"Bad people do bad things," Techno growled.

He crouched down so he could catch Ranboo's eyes even with his head bowed.

"I understand what you're going through and I am here for you."

Ranboo nodded.

"I--thank you. Thank you for not being like them, whoever they are," he said. "Thank you for treating me like a person when I'm--this."

Phil's mouth felt glued shut.

The papers did paint a bad picture, but surely if they explained. He glanced at Techno.

Techno did not look back. He was staring at Ranboo, eyes blown wide, face twisted.

"Of course, Ranboo," Techno said, voice strangled. "We'd never do anything like what they did."