Archive of Our Own

Tubbo darted ahead into the forest, heedless of the wet, spongy moss that flew apart beneath the heels of his sneakers.

"Whoa!" Tommy called after him, feet glued to the gravel shoulder. "Shouldn't we stay by the road?"

Tubbo peeked from behind one of the thick tree trunks.

"You're the one that wanted to make a break for it in the middle of nowhere. We might as well make sure we don't get seen by cops. We'll come back! I just want to explore."

Tommy glanced back at the empty road, glistening with condensation from the mist that hung low and shrouded everything. He adjusted the red straps of his backpack on his shoulders.

"Guess it could be fun," he muttered.

"City boy," Tubbo said, and stuck his tongue out.

"Mother fucker!" Tommy yelled, spurred into action. His shoes were worn, so he slipped and fell on his ass before he got far at all. Tubbo laughs at him. "Just because I didn't work on a farm doesn't mean I'm a city boy!"

"Whatever, keep up," Tubbo said, not even waiting around to help him up. Tommy grumbled and slapped dirt off his hands.

He ran after Tubbo.

Squirrels screamed from their perches in lush branches; birds fluttered overhead. Everything was a verdant green and drenched in mist.

"Holy shit! Tommy, come look at this!" Tubbo held up a fistful of slender, branching white flowers.

Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Congrats, Tubs. You found flowers."

"Not just any flowers! Honeysuckle! C'mere, try one." Tubbo ripped the stem from one and stuffed it in his mouth.

Tommy spat it out.

"Ew!" The sweetness hit him a moment later. "Oh!"

Tubbo laughed. He handed him more flowers.

The flowers served as their lunch, small as it may have been, and after they picked the bush clean they laid in the soft moss

"Okay," Tubbo said, eventually, when the light began to go red and gold. "Let's head back." He stood. He turned in a slow circle. "I think the road was that way," he said, pointing.

"Yeah, me too," Tommy agreed, relieved Tubbo knew. They retraced their steps, across familiar dead logs sprouting mushrooms and boulders coated in more moss.

They kept retracing their steps until they found themselves back at the clearing with the honeysuckle bush.

Tubbo cursed when he saw it.

Tommy's stomach dropped.

"Big men don't get lost," he said. "The road was, uh--that way." He chose a direction that wasn't the one they tried last time. Tubbo was starting to get that pale, nervous look he got when someone yelled at him, so Tommy squared his shoulders and led the way this time.

They didn't find the honeysuckle bush again.

They also didn't find the road.

The temperature dropped and the warm light went grey. The mist that was before a cool respite from the midday sun clung to his exposed arms and called up goosebumps.

Tommy's heart thundered.

"We're so lost," Tubbo said. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Tommy. You were right. We should've stayed by the road."

"Shut the fuck up. We're fine. I bet it's this way. I think I see headlights or something."

Tommy didn't see headlights. He didn't see jack shit; the trees that were so friendly in the daylight reached twisting fingers for him. The darkness was so all-encompassing, even with more stars than he'd ever seen before casting a gentle glow; it wasn't enough between the thick foliage.

Even the sweet, fresh smell of greenery had been replaced by the stench of rot, but that was Tommy's fear playing tricks on him.

"Tommy," Tubbo called, and he wasn't behind Tommy like he thought he was, but somewhere off to the right. "Where'd you go?"

"Fuck! I'm over here. Don't wander off! I'm coming." Tommy pushed through branches and bushes.

He slipped on wet moss and went down.

"Stupid nature," he hissed, wiping water from his hands.

The water was dark and tacky. It stuck between his palms and smeared across his pants without coming off.

He stared down at it.

He followed the puddle he sat in with his eyes.

What he thought were fallen branches when he stepped over them were the antlers of a deer. The snout stuck up to the sky, glistening with white bone.

The deer was split down the middle, legs to either side as if once it walked upright.

Steam curled from the exposed intestines.

Tommy screamed.

He launched away from the carnage, tripping and falling and scrabbling away on his knees. His pants were sticky with blood; his hands were stained with it.

He collided with something.

"-ommy! What happened?" Tubbo caught his shoulders and pulled him to his feet.

"There's a deer!" Tommy shouted. "It's all mutilated and dead!"

Tubbo bundled him away.

"I'm sure it was just a bear," he said.

"It wasn't a fucking bear! I saw its insides!" Tommy shrieked. He got blood all over Tubbo, but he refused to let go, instead looking over his shoulder at where the deer was already hidden by bushes.

Now that he knew about the carcass, the smell of rot was so much stronger, sweet and pungent where it stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Tubbo grabbed him and dragged, even as he said, voice shaky,

"It was just a bear. Let's get out of its territory."

Tommy whimpered and fisted a hand in the back of Tubbo's jacket so they wouldn't get separated a second time.

Whether they were going deeper into the forest or not, it got darker.

Tubbo stopped abruptly and gagged.

"God, is that you? It smells so bad."

"I fell into a fucking dead deer," Tommy hissed. "I touched it!"

Something moved.

He whirled around, shouldering Tubbo behind him.

Branches swayed in the breeze.

His eyes darted through the shadows.

There was nothing, just the stench of decay choking him. Tubbo yanked insistently at his arm.

"I think I see a light, c'mon," he said, and because there was nothing else for them to do, they stumbled blindly through the underbrush until they emerged into a clearing. A small, squat cabin shone with warm, inviting light. Tubbo headed for the front door but Tommy caught him and hauled him back.

"We don't know if it's safe!" he said.

"I don't want to get eaten by bears," Tubbo snarled. "It's safe enough."

The front door was unlocked. They knocked first--they did!--but when there was no shuffle from inside and no response, they elected to try the handle and found it turned.

"I'm sure they won't mind," Tubbo said, stepping in first.

"We're getting the cops called on us, for sure," Tommy said.

The cabin was as warm and inviting as it looked from the darkness of the trees. It wasn't big; there was a bathroom and what was probably a bedroom, and the main room was dominated by a wood stove. Tommy tested the tap and was relieved when water came out. He scrubbed his hands raw.

Tubbo locked the door and checked all the windows.

"Just to be safe," he said, sheepishly, when he caught Tommy looking.

Tommy peeled his jacket off and swallowed bile when he realized there were pieces of hide and hair stuck to the back.

He scrubbed his soiled clothing and draped it over the lone kitchen chair to dry. He really hoped the homeowner didn't return and catch him pantless. Unless--

"Oh, fuck," he said. "You don't think whoever lives here got gutted like that deer, do you?"

"No, I'm sure they're fine," Tubbo said, mopping sweat off his forehead. "Local's intuition, or whatever."

Tommy would be more convinced if Tubbo didn't look seconds away from passing out.

As it was, he sat down next to him and kept watch out the window. The sway of the trees drew his eye; the imploring wave of leaves startled him; every shadow looked like a great, looming beast watching from just beyond the squares of window light.

His adrenaline could only snap him awake so many times. He fell asleep slumped against Tubbo and the windowsill.

He dreamed of the deer.

This time, when he fell, his hand landed squarely in the ribcage. The bones flexed and squished beneath his hand like gummy bear candy. He tried to withdraw but the intestines writhed and wrapped around his wrist. He screamed and tried to get free but this time Tubbo didn't come running. The trees closed in on him.

Everything was so dark, except the deer. It shone a raw, stark red.

The head, face ripped to expose the bone of its nose, turned to look at him. The tongue flopped from its mouth. Breath rattled through its mutilated throat.

Tommy jerked awake.

The rattling wasn't gone.

He jumped up, knocking Tubbo askew, sure the deer or whatever had killed it was right there.

The rattling was a shitty old truck winding up the driveway that hadn't been visible in the darkness.

"Oh, shit," Tommy said. He shook Tubbo like a ragdoll until he woke up properly. They crouched beneath the window, peering over the sill.

A freakishly tall kid around their age hopped from the bed of the truck and paused by the window.

"Thanks for picking me up, guys," he said, peeling off a chip of dark green paint and flicking it into the underbrush.

"Anytime, Ranboo," said one of the men in the cab, some scruffy blonde dude in a dumb hat.

The other one nodded and did not smile.

"You know we're here to help," he said.

Ranboo the hitchhiker, or whatever he was, beamed at them.

"I really appreciate that," he said, and stood watching the rust-bucket truck labor back down the driveway.

Tommy and Tubbo did too, but mostly because they were paralyzed with no exit but the one that Ranboo was approaching. He fiddled with the knob.

"At least I remembered to lock it," he said to himself, "but it would've been helpful if I remembered my keys."

Tommy and Tubbo exchanged a feral, wide-eyed look.

Tommy rushed to get his pants.

Tubbo, the lunatic, threw the door open.

"We can explain!" he said, holding his hands up. "We were lost in the woods and needed somewhere to go. I promise we didn't steal anything."

Ranboo stared at them with eyes as wide as saucers.

He peered around.

"I think this is my house," he whispered.

"I think it is too," Tommy said, forcefully, stepping up behind Tubbo. "So we'll just head out now."

Ranboo blinked.

"Wait, hold on. You're lost? Are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Nope," Tubbo said, cheerfully. "We'll just follow that road back to civilization."

Ranboo stepped out of their way, but his brow was furrowed.

"I don't want to tell you what to do, but I don't think you can walk to the nearest town," he said. "My neighbors come by to check on me every few days. They'd drive you. I don't mind hosting while you wait."

Tommy squinted suspiciously at him.

"We broke into your house," he said.

"You were lost," Ranboo said.

"We could've stolen all your valuables," Tubbo pointed out.

"You said you didn't," Ranboo said. He looked faintly embarrassed. "I also don't really have any valuables."

Tommy and Tubbo glanced at each other.

Tommy shoved his hand out.

"I'm Tommy," he said.

"My name's Ranboo," Ranboo said. Even though he was so tall even Tommy had to tilt his head back to look him in the face, his fingers were so frail in his grip that Tommy probably could've snapped them if he squeezed too hard.

Tubbo shook his hand too.

"Tubbo," he said.

"It's nice to meet you. Uh… So, are you going to stick around?"

Tommy shrugged.

"Might as well," Tubbo said.

"Oh good," Ranboo said, blowing out a relieved breath. "I really didn't want to be responsible for letting you guys wander into the middle of nowhere. A lot of weird stuff happens in these woods."

"Like deer getting fucking eviscerated?" Tommy asked with a shudder.

Ranboo shot him a suitably alarmed look.

"I was thinking going missing–what happened with a deer?"

"I tripped over it and it was all ripped up," Tommy said, holding his hands up as if the blood were still there for Ranboo to see. "It was fucking horrible." He scrubbed his hands on his jacket just to get rid of the phantom wetness.

"We have bears," Ranboo suggested.

"That's what I said," Tubbo told him.

"If that's what bears do," Tommy said, "I don't understand why anyone would live anywhere near them."

For all his confusion, Ranboo was obviously at home in the tiny cabin. He hung his coat up on the single hook and placed a small journal down on the counter. Tubbo and Tommy trailed him like ducklings.

He offered them breakfast, like a good host, though he bashfully explained that food would be somewhat scarce because--and he flipped through that little journal as if checking the date--he hadn't been shopping for a while.

He was odd and spacey but Tommy thought he was alright, especially because he set them up in his bedroom, which had a lock on the door. He set himself up in a makeshift bed in the living room and promised they could wake him up if they needed anything.

Tommy had a hard time falling asleep.

The dark felt physical, the presence of it pressing at the window and sinking into his chest until it was hard for his lungs to inflate.

Something whispered at the window.

Claws scraped against the sash and the plank siding.

Tommy froze. He was afraid to turn his head, but he strained his eyes to see outside into the night.

It's just a dumb bear, he told himself, when something panted against the glass.

That smell of rot was back. It forced him to breathe shallowly to keep the nausea at bay. Tubbo breathed evenly next to him, sleeping peacefully.

He lay still for so long that eventually, between one long blink and the next, gentle dawn light bathed the room and the smell was gone.

Tommy sat up.

He was panting and sweaty from what he was now realizing was a nightmare so intense it felt like he hadn't slept at all. He wiped his brow and forced himself to get up.

Ranboo was already awake.

"Is Tubbo up?" Ranboo whispered.

Tommy shook his head.

"I'll be quiet, then," Ranboo said, flipping the cap on the kettle spout up so it wouldn't whistle. Tommy didn't know how to help in such a small kitchen.

The journal was still sitting in that same spot on the counter.

While Ranboo stirred oatmeal balanced on the top of the wood stove, he flipped the front cover open.

Your name is Ranboo Beloved was written in large, shaky letters.

There was a birthdate, and several other identifying details.

Ranboo yanked the book away from him.

"Please don't read that," he said, sharply. He tapped the cover, which had Do Not Read carved inexpertly into the leather, hard to see with how faint it was.

"Sorry!" Tommy said, holding his hands up.

Ranboo curled over the journal.

"It just--I have a really bad memory, so I try to write everything important down," Ranboo said. "I don't like people reading it."

"I won't read it again, pinky swear," Tommy said, holding his hand out. Ranboo gave him a distrustful look but locked pinkies with him. "Sorry. I was a dick to snoop."

"It's okay," Ranboo said. "I shouldn't leave it lying around, anyway, or I'll lose it."

Tommy hesitated.

What he was about to say was rude, but when had that ever stopped him?

"I think your birthday is wrong, big R."

Ranboo checked the first page.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You can't be much older than us, there's no way you were born that long ago. I'd add ten years."

Ranboo frowned down at the book. He shuffled through several more pages, frowning, knuckles white where he gripped the cover hard enough to deform it.

"Maybe I'll ask Techno and Phil about it later," he said. "Sometimes I write things down wrong."

Tommy felt uneasy.

"I'm gonna go wake Tubbo up," he said, and escaped into the bedroom.

Tubbo rubbed at his eyes.

"I slept like shit," he said. "I had this fucking nightmare that I was stuck in this pit of corpses. It smelled so bad."

"I had a nightmare too," Tommy said, "but listen, I don't think we should stick around much longer. I'm getting weird vibes from this place."

Tubbo didn't seem too upset by the change of plans, and shouldered his own bag.

Before they could sneak out a window (for lack of a better plan), Ranboo knocked on the door.

"Hey, Techno and Phil are here," he said, through the thick wood.

"Already?" Tommy asked, pulling a face at Tubbo.

"Oh, yeah. Techno said he had a feeling he should come check on me--he's got incredible intuition. You ready to go?"

Very ready to go.

That dark green pile of rust sat in the front yard again. Apparently, the man driving the truck was named Philza--"Call me Phil, mate,"--and his companion was named Technoblade. Techno glared and didn't say a word.

Tubbo and Tommy piled into the truck bed with Ranboo, who thought it was best to catch a trip in for groceries.

The forest looked less inviting by daylight than it had two nights ago; every deep shadow between trees held some beast ready to mutilate him like that poor deer.

Tommy spent most of the trip studying his shoes and ignoring the scenery whipping by.

In town, Technoblade waylaid them before they could bolt out of sight without so much as a goodbye.

"You need bus fare for getting out of town?" he asked.

Phil guided Ranboo toward the grocery store, talking animatedly. One of his hands snaked into Ranboo's pocket.

"Oh, we're good, thanks," Tubbo said, with a polite smile. Technoblade didn't return it. He glowered at them and said,

"Whatever you do, I'd suggest not wandering the woods again. Do other stupid tourist things, instead."

"Shut up, dickhead," Tommy snapped, jerking his gaze away from Phil and puffing up. "We didn't mean to get lost."

Technoblade rolled his eyes.

"No one gets lost on purpose, genius."

"Don't be rude, Tech," Philza said, sounding more than amused. "Don't mind him--well, do mind the bit about being safe, but the insults I'm sure you can do without."

Tommy scoffed.

The leather-bound journal in Philza's hand caught his eye. He didn't slip it into his own pocket fast enough to keep Tommy from seeing it.

Tommy tried to pretend like he hadn't noticed anything.

"Thanks for helping us out," Tubbo said, "but we should get going."

Philza beamed.

"It was nice meeting you," he said, and waved them off.

Tommy towed Tubbo around the corner and stopped dead. He counted to five before poking his head back out.

"Uh, Tommy?" Tubbo asked.

Tommy shushed him aggressively.

Technoblade and Philza leaned against the side of the truck, heads bent together, deep in discussion. What had to be Ranboo's weird memory book sat open between them.

"Shit," Tommy hissed, and ducked away.

"You're being weird as fuck," Tubbo said.

"Ranboo has some weird memory journal, because he says he forgets things a lot, and I think Phil and Techno just stole it from him."

Tubbo could smell bullshit just as well as Tommy could. With a furrowed brow, he leaned out to spy on them as well.

They were erasing something on one of the pages, casting fervent glances back at the small grocery store Ranboo had vanished into.

"We should help him," Tommy said. He paused expectantly.

"Don't look at me," Tubbo said. "It's not like we have a very solid case for the police or anything."

"What if they're fucking with his head? He seems like a nice dude, I don't think we should just leave him to their mercy…"

Not once did Techno or Phil look Tommy and Tubbo's way, sure they'd already made their escape across town. Tommy felt indignant rage rise up in him, mostly because if he hadn't noticed the journal, they would already be long gone.

"We're going in there and talking to Ranboo," he said.

They marched down the sidewalk.

Phil noticed them, and even though his smile didn't look any different, Tommy still felt a nervous chill slide down his spine.

"Back so soon?" Phil asked.

"Forgot to say goodbye to Ranboo," Tommy said, tightly, brushing past and heading into the grocery store.

Ranboo stood in one of the aisles agonizing over the two types of pasta sauce the store offered.

"Ranboo," Tubbo said.

Tommy glanced over his shoulder.

Technoblade was watching through the glass, but neither he or Phil made any moves to follow them.

"Oh!" Ranboo said. "Hi. I thought you guys took off."

"We almost did, but look--do you know where your memory book is?" Tommy asked.

Ranboo checked his jacket pocket.

He checked every other pocket.

"I could've sworn I grabbed it," he said to himself.

"You did. Phil stole it, and he and Techno messed with it." Tommy checked over his shoulder again. Technoblade was still watching, and this time, their eyes met. He whipped back around.

Ranboo's brow furrowed.

"Why would they do that?"

"What do you mean, why?" Tubbo demanded.

"They're my friends," Ranboo said. "They help me when I forget things--they're the whole reason I can buy groceries! They pay me for odd jobs around their property."

Tubbo cringed.

"You're financially dependent on them, too?" Tommy said, in horror. "This is worse than I thought. You should come with us."

"What? No!" Ranboo cried.

"They're gonna murder you or something, man," Tubbo said.

Ranboo shook his head.

"I've lived here for years," he said. "I think I'm okay."

The bell over the door jingled.

"Everything okay?" Phil asked.

"We thought we might hang around a bit longer," Tommy said.

"Uh--" Ranboo started.

"Ranboo needs some friends, and hey, we don't have anywhere to be." As soon as he added that, he regretted it. Nice going, telling the axe murderer no one would notice he and Tubbo were missing for a while. "Do you hunt deer in your spare time?"

"I–what?" Phil laughed, but out of confusion more than anything else.

Ranboo opened his mouth, probably to point out that he'd never invited them, but Tommy steam-rolled over him.

"Groceries are on us. What's on your list?"

Thanks to Tommy's brilliant plan, which amounted to 'don't leave Ranboo alone', Tommy and Tubbo ended up right back in the bed of the truck they had been so desperate to escape from not an hour earlier. Each of them protected a grocery bag or two between their legs.

Phil had pointed out Ranboo's memory book, laying innocently in the bed of the truck as they loaded up, and suggested he had dropped it. That was enough to make Ranboo hesitate, but clearly he didn't see the light yet, because he asked over the wind,

"Are you sure you want to stick around? It's kind've isolated out here."

"Precisely," Tommy said.

"We've got your back," Tubbo agreed.

"You don't even know me," Ranboo said, confused. "I--not that I don't want to be friends, or anything."

Tommy shrugged.

"You're a cool dude, and we're not heartless. We're gonna figure a way out of this fucked up situation for you."

"I really think you're overreacting," Ranboo said.

"I doubt it," Tommy said, accidentally catching Technoblade's eyes again from where he watched through the rearview mirror. His stomach overturned. Techno's eyes were dark like the dead deer's, lifeless. Tommy could feel them drilling into him even when he looked away.

At Ranboo's cabin, Technoblade and Phil both hopped out of the truck.

"Let me help with the bags, mate," Phil said.

"I've got to check on something," Technoblade said, vanishing around the side of the house. Tommy and Tubbo exchanged a significant look. Ranboo seemed blissfully oblivious, busy thanking Phil for his assistance.

When Technoblade returned, Tommy asked,

"Find what you were looking for?" because no matter how big and intimidating Technoblade was, Tommy was a bigger man and wasn't afraid of him.

"No," Technoblade said, shortly, slamming the truck door in Tommy's face.

"See you later," Phil said. "You know where to find us if anything comes up. We'll check on you soon."

The three of them watched the truck trundle down the drive.

The second it was out of sight, Tommy sprinted around the back of the house. He expected a massive bear trap, or another dead deer, but for a moment there was nothing for him to notice.

Until he spotted the sigil smeared into the scratched windowsill.

He leaned forward to examine it.

The symbol was in red-brown paint, and simple, reminiscent of a flower. Tommy leaned forward.

Just as he poked it, he realized what it was.

He jerked his hand back with a howl.

"What?" Tubbo demanded, crowding up behind him.

Ranboo stood back, wringing his hands.

"You've got the fucking mark of the Blood God on your house!" Tommy screeched.

It wasn't paint, it was blood, soaked up by the wood and halfway to dry already. And Tommy had touched it.

"Oh, shit," Tubbo said, peering close to confirm for himself. "I knew that Technoblade guy was creepy. He's part of a freaky cult, isn't he?"

"Uh," Ranboo said. "We're part of a thing called the Syndicate, but I really don't think it's a cult… Technoblade calls it more of a bookclub."

Tommy and Tubbo backed away from him.

"Was this an elaborate trap? You pretend to be helpless and lull us into a false sense of security, then you indoctrinate us into your murder cult?" Tommy asked.

"No?" Ranboo said, sounding unsure. "You guys asked to stay with me, not the other way around, so…"

"So you tricked us into thinking it was our idea!" Tommy said. He leveled a finger at Ranboo. "Prove you don't worship the Blood God."

"I don't know what the Blood God is…" Ranboo said, which was a convincing argument.

Tubbo and Tommy shared a glance. Ranboo really did seem harmless and well-intentioned, just the kind of person that made easy prey for a fucking cult, especially with his memory problems.

Stories about the cult of the Blood God's rise to power had been told during the dark hours of sleepovers, scary enough to make Tommy have nightmares when he was a preteen, but he'd mostly gotten over his fear. The Blood God had never really taken hold, not when worship involved murder, so he'd always told himself there weren't any active members.

Now here he was, staring at a symbol his school friends used to draw on his and Tubbo's papers just to spook them.

He was very much not over his fear anymore.

"The Blood God makes people fucking kill other people," Tommy said, at a loss for a better way to explain it.

Tubbo nodded furiously.

"The Blood God literally wriggles into your brain and tells you to kill people," he said. "I heard that the more people you kill, the more voices you hear, until you're not even you anymore."

"Which is just code for the insanity plea," Tommy said. "The Blood God isn't real but let me tell you, fucking murderers are, and I'm pretty sure your neighbors are murderers."

"Look," Ranboo said. "I know they're a bit intimidating but they're really nice! They're the whole reason I can buy groceries. They pay me for odd jobs around their property."

"You've told us that already, big man," Tubbo said.

"I have?" Ranboo asked.

"You should write 'Tommy and Tubbo think your buddies are murderers, and are fucking right, and I should move out ASAP,' into your memory book," Tommy suggested.

At the mention of it, Ranboo pulled his journal from his pocket and rifled through it with a furrowed brow.

"That's weird," he muttered. "I forgot to write down that I met you both."

"Or Phil erased it," Tommy said.

"He wouldn't do that," Ranboo dismissed.

"Then why was it 'dropped' in the truck?" Tubbo asked, making air quotes. "Would you really forget something so important?"

Ranboo looked nervous and embarrassed.

"My memory loss isn't really selective, I just forget," he said.

Tommy huffed.

"Okay, fine, don't believe us."

"I haven't known you that long," Ranboo pointed out, reasonably. "I think if you gave them a chance, you'd trust them."

"Cult," Tubbo said, pointing at the sigil.

Ranboo finally came to investigate, and for all that he insisted on doubting them, he was reluctant to get too close to the symbol, hugging himself while he inspected it.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he said, backing away. He swallowed thickly and shook his worry off. "Since you're going to be sticking around, let me give you the rundown."

He described the path to Philza and Technoblade's cabin on foot for emergencies, showed them where he stored food that would keep for extended time, and--at their insistence--sat down to write everything they'd told him into his journal.

Tommy tried to peer at the pages as he wrote, but he hunched protectively over the book.

"You wrote us down, right?" Tubbo asked. "You should write fun facts about us, maybe it will make us more memorable. I like goats." He elbowed Tommy.

"Ow! Fine. I like red, or whatever."

Ranboo smiled down at his book.

"I've never written fun facts about people down before," he said. "I like that."

“What’s a fun fact about you?” Tubbo asked, leaning forward.

Ranboo hesitated. A smile crept over his face, but an embarrassed flush came with it.

“I don’t really know,” he said. He flipped through his book. “Maybe I have something written down.”

“Hmm, maybe you could write down your favorite color, just to start. We can always find you one, if you don’t have one,” Tubbo suggested.

“I have fun fact ideas,” Tommy said, with a big grin. “You should write down that you’re ugly. Oooh, or that you’re-” Tubbo elbowed him again. “Ow, you motherfucker.”

Ranboo laughed.

The evening passed in peace. Ranboo settled on green as his favorite color, because almost everything in the environment was brown except the leaves. Tommy bullied him about being basic. Tubbo bullied Tommy right back, when Ranboo was too shy to do so.

That night, Tubbo shifted around and poked Tommy.

“Are you awake?” he asked.

Tommy grumbled and huddled under the covers.

“Why’d you ask if you were just gonna stab me with your boney finger?”

“I was thinking about Ranboo,” Tubbo said. “He doesn’t even remember his favorite color. Do you think he forgets his own name?”

Tommy swallowed, thinking about the first page of the book.

“I think he does, yeah,” he whispered. “And all it would take was someone erasing it to completely obliterate his identity.”

“Like Phil or Techno,” Tubbo realized.

Tommy woke up just in time to roll and retch over the side of the bed. He clamped a hand over his mouth. He expected to see dead animals strewn across the floor, the smell of rotting flesh was so strong, but there was nothing but shadows cast through the window. He rolled over, afraid to find Tubbo a bloated corpse next to him.

Tubbo was awake too, shirt collar over his mouth and nose. He pointed toward the door.

Something panted wolfishly at the crack.

Long claws like spider legs quested under the door, leaving gouges in the floor when they withdrew.

Tommy tumbled back off the bed with a thump.

Whatever was on the other side warbled. The door cracked under a powerful blow.

Tubbo dove after Tommy and fumbled the window open. They dove through, backpacks forgotten, and sprinted into the woods.

"What about Ranboo?" Tommy cried, glancing over his shoulder when there was a mighty shriek. He saw a too-large shadow writhe away from the sigil on the windowsill with a pulse of crimson energy.

"Nothing we can do for him now," Tubbo gasped out, grabbing his hand and leading him in a sharp turn toward the road. The slap of their feet was too loud in the silence that followed the cry.

Tommy cast another glance over his shoulder, hoping that Ranboo would miraculously burst through the rapidly receding front door--but he didn't.

Whatever had broken their door down, whatever had eaten Ranboo--it didn't catch up to them. Tommy and Tubbo weren't stupid enough to slow down, except to scoop up a massive branch as a makeshift weapon.

Gravel turned to two ruts in the road.

"Is that the path?" Tubbo asked, pointing to a narrow gap in the trees lined with trampled weeds.

"I fucking hope so," Tommy said, leading the charge. The path was barely visible with the tangle of branches overhead hiding the moon from sight, forcing them to slow to a tripping, tumbling jog.

An opening in the trees offered a respite from the overwhelming dark. Wild and untamed, prickly bushes snagged at Tubbo and Tommy as they slowed to an exhausted walk.

Two unpolished gravestones pushed through the branches.

Tommy jumped back, feet burning at the thought of standing over a corpse. The ground was all uneven as if the graves had been dug and filled in a hurry, even though the grass had long regrown. He swore he could smell the decomposition despite the visible age.

"Oh, shit," Tubbo wheezed, bending over to catch his breath.

The night sky packed enough stars and a round moon, so Tommy could read the headstones.

Wilbur Soot, one read, with a death date almost a decade past. Beloved son.

The other one's original name had been violently chiseled away, leaving a gouge under which The Blood Prince had been inexpertly carved into the stone.

Tommy's stomach clenched in fear.

Were they being chased into the den of more monsters? Would Technoblade and Phil sacrifice them to whatever stalked the woods? Except murderers didn't usually mark the graves of their victims, did they?

"We took a wrong turn," Tubbo said, forcing himself up. "Ranboo didn't say anything about a graveyard."

"Unless he forgot the way," Tommy said, fervently checking their surroundings.

One of the trees flexed the long, boney fingers of its hand and blinked at him with glowing purple eyes.

Half the body was as white as the bleached birchwood it stood beside; the other sank into the cobbled shadows. The creature's skin hung ragged over prominent ribs. Antlers twisted from its head and blended with the branches.

Tommy wheezed, unable to scream. He fumbled for Tubbo's shoulder, desperate to draw his attention.

The beast smiled at him; its mouth cracked the cheeks back to the hinge of the jaw. Blood oozed.

Tommy found it in himself to scream, then, shrieking and backpedaling, hauling Tubbo with him by the collar.

One long hand reached and reached for them, further than Tommy could comprehend.

Tubbo kicked out at the frail-looking hand.

Like a viper, the hand struck. The fingers closed one after the other over his ankle like the beast was playing a piano scale, but with each finger came the snap and crunch of bone. Tubbo howled in agony. The beast swept him off his feet and dragged him across the ground toward its wide, waiting mouth.

The bright scent of blood mixed with the stomach-turning stench of rot.

Tommy leapt forward and brought his branch down on the arm like a stake, piercing through dry skin and glancing off bone.

The beast warbled but didn't let go.

Tommy brought the branch down again and again, sobbing desperately as they were reeled closer and closer to the beast.

A shiny axe covered in bloody symbols slammed onto the arm.

The beast let go.

Technoblade stood between them and the beast, already hefting the axe again to fend off a vicious blow of retribution.

The creature hunched over and bounded forward so fast Tommy saw the movement in a single flash between blinks.

Technoblade struck it hard enough to shatter a shard of antler before it could get to Tubbo.

"Tommy, stop standing there and help," Phil snapped.

Tommy whirled.

Phil took Tubbo by the armpits and lifted him with a grunt, dragging him backwards toward the shelter of the headstones.

Tommy ran to help, lifting his legs so the wounded foot wouldn't drag across the ground.

The bellows of the monster and the thunk of Technoblade's axe drowned out Tubbo’s whimpers.

Phil smeared Tubbo's blood across the defaced headstone, and along the ground in a circle around where Tubbo lay collapsed, symbol after symbol thrumming to life with energy upon completion. Tommy curled protectively over Tubbo, wiping away the sweat on his forehead.

"What the fuck are you doing outside?" Phil demanded, as if they were foolish kids missing curfew, not prey run ragged.

"What the fuck is that thing?" Tommy yelled back.

"The reason you should've left when we drove you into town. What the fuck is wrong with you kids?"

"What's wrong with us? What's wrong with you?"

"Shut the fuck up," Tubbo ordered through clenched teeth, clutching his leg. "Help me."

Tommy shut up.

He stared down at the mess of Tubbo's ankle. The skin was purpled with bruises, and his ankle bone was mashed into viscera, white bone peaking through the red. Just like the deer from his dream, the moonlight made it too bright when everything else was still shrouded in shadow.

Tommy's stomach made a bid for freedom.

The smell of blood was awful, especially mixed with the death stuck in his mouth and nose.

Phil gathered more of Tubbo's blood into his palm.

Technoblade dove across the blood line, sans axe. Phil splashed blood in the beast’s open mouth. The mark of the Blood God in the dirt pulsed with malignant energy as the beast slammed against an invisible barrier, claws squealing over nothing.

As quickly as it raged, it turned and vanished among the trees, leaving an eerie and stinking silence in its wake.

Technoblade wiped blood away from a cut on his face.

"You owe me lunch. I told you they wouldn't last a day," he told Phil, as if Tubbo and Tommy were not huddled at his feet.

"You sick fuck!" Tommy yelled.

Phil chuckled tiredly. He knelt by Tubbo and examined his ankle.

Tommy heard panting at his back, and swore breath stirred the hairs on his nape.

He jerked around.

Nothing but trees, and the headstone.

"There's not much we can do for this right now, mate," Phil told Tubbo, with that same gentle smile. "We'll wrap it up and make do until morning."

"Morning?" Tommy demanded. "Your truck's nearby, isn’t it?"

Technoblade pointed out into the stifling darkness.

"Ranboo's waiting for us, even if you can't see him. You really want to risk it just to die?" he asked.

Blood pounded in Tommy's ears.

"Ranboo?" he echoed.

Technoblade and Philza exchanged a look.

"Yes, Ranboo," Phil said. "You're lucky you got close enough for us to hear you scream, or you'd be like that deer."

"He'd skin you and make a jacket," Technoblade said, baring his teeth in something much too unsettling to be a grin. Tommy shuffled to the furthest side of the circle and dragged Tubbo with him.

"Don't ruin the runes or step outside the circle," Philza warned them.

"That's not Ranboo," Tommy said. "You're not pinning that on him. That thing isn't human. It probably fucking ate him as an appetizer before coming for us! We know what we saw!"

Technoblade rolled his eyes.

"Fine, then, your beloved Ranboo is locked away inside the Blood Prince until morning. Happy?"

"No," Tubbo gasped out, whimpering as Phil pulled an ornate dagger from a sheath at his hip. He cut away Tubbo’s pant leg, pulling it from where blood and crushed flesh held fast, and used it to wrap up the wound. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Phil sighed.

"The thing that chased you is Ranboo--I suppose if we're going to be stuck here until he's gone, I might as well explain."

Phil settled back on his knees.

"Yeah, you better explain!" Tommy said, but his voice shook, all the false bravado rendered useless.

Technoblade sat down with a resigned expression.

"I used to have a son," Philza began. "His name was Wilbur. That's his grave, right there outside the circle."

A decade or so prior…

The graves were fresh.

The smell of turned soil blanketed everything. Phil felt the dirt on his hands even days later.

The headstones weren't much; Philza had wanted to get them up sooner rather than later. He didn't want his son and Technoblade's protégé laid to rest in unmarked graves for too long. Technoblade called it superstition, but he was the one who hauled ass to pick the headstones up, he was the one dripping blood onto their graves as if the offering meant anything now their souls were collected.

Phil knelt by Wilbur's grave and placed a hand on the cold stone.

"You stupid boy," he whispered. "Why did you have to draw the Blood God's attention?" All his efforts to keep Wilbur away from the Syndicate's dealings proved pointless when Wilbur grew jealous of the power Ranboo was promised, and the scene of the failed ritual would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The pulse of power was enough to draw both Philza and Technoblade to the source at a sprint. He'd seen the sigils first, then the drained body of the sacrifice--and then Wilbur. Flat on his back, eyes open in shock as if he'd been blown off his feet by an unexpected gale. Philza ran to him, thinking that his cheeks were still rosy with blood, thinking that his chest was moving and surely his eyelids would flutter any moment.

He'd laid his hand on a chest that never inflated again, pressed his fingers to a still pulse point.

His son lay dead in his arms, blood trickling lazily from tear ducts and mouth and nose and ears, sizzling into nothing when it hit the ground as the Blood God took what it saw fit for payment.

Philza had never been closer to renouncing his faith.

Technobade left Ranboo's body where it lay and drew Philza, now his single sole concern, away.

Similarly, Techno closed a hand over Philza's and pulled him from the gravestone he'd hunched over for he didn't know how long.

"I have an idea," Technoblade said.

Philza grunted, not caring much. Wilbur and Ranboo were dead because of him. He should have renounced the Blood God.

Even as he thought it, the voices in his head whispered and hissed and clawed at the edges of his mind until his head hurt.

Technoblade squeezed his hand and brought him back to the present.

"Technically, the blood they paid was enough for one person," Technoblade said. "That means one of them is an acolyte of the Blood God. Our God always wants more worshippers, so maybe if we offer him enough, he'll bring Wilbur back."

Phil finally looked at him.

"You think it'll work?" he asked hoarsely.

Technoblade's answer didn't matter, not really; Philza would try anything for the chance to resurrect Wilbur.

He spared a moment to press an apology into Ranboo's gravestone before following Technoblade back home to begin preparations.

Technoblade had volumes upon volumes scratched out in blood, everything the Blood God had whispered to him over the years written down; Technoblade and Philza poured over the pages, and prayed, and offered up animals to whet the God's appetite.

The voices whispered and hissed in their ears.

The Blood Prince, some crooned. Blood for the Blood God! others called. Most begged for carnage of any magnitude.

Eventually, Philza and Technoblade were ready.

Another sacrifice was in order, so Philza plucked a hitchhiker from the highway to do the job. He sliced their neck over Wilbur's grave and watered the ground. Technoblade coated his fingers in blood and traced runes into Wil's headstone.

"Please bless your new worshipper, who sacrificed in your name," Philza chanted. "Please release him from your hold and offer him your influence instead." He tried every invocation he could think of.

The voices in his head increased tenfold, a hundredfold, until all he heard was a crushing chatter. Energy oozed from the symbols and the lifeless corpse in his hold.

The noise cut out.

He heard a confused, wretched whimper muffled by dirt.

He dove for Wilbur's grave and frantically dug with his hands. Technoblade caught him and pressed a shovel into his grip.

He tore apart Wilbur's coffin the second the planks were visible.

"Wilbur, I'm coming, it's okay," he said, wrenching wood away from his face.

Wilbur didn't reply. He lay still and bloated with decay.

Phil heard another muffled, desperate keen of terror.

He lifted himself over the lip of his son's grave. Technoblade was already standing over Ranboo's grave, staring in bafflement as the dirt was stirred and a hand pushed through the soil to scrabble for purchase.

Philza swore the voices laughed at him.

For your disloyalty, one snickered. Your little baby was too cowardly to do the ritual properly, another informed him, so Ranboo did the killing for him.

Philza took hold of the hand and helped unearth Ranboo, Technoblade' sweet protégé they'd assumed was too soft to ever make anything of himself.

Our Blood Prince, the voices sang when they managed to pull him from the dirt.

Ranboo saw his own headstone before anything else, and dragged himself away from it, spitting dirt and incoherent babbles of terror. His screams echoed off the trees.

Technoblade lifted him into his arms, and with a sympathetic look in Philza's direction, carried him home.

Philza filled in Wilbur's grave.

Standing over the disturbed dirt, he stared down at the shovel in his hands.

With a howl of rage, he brought it down on Ranboo’s headstone. The shovel should have shattered at the handle, but instead the stone gave way. Philza smashed at it again and again, until Ranboo’s name was entirely chipped away.

The voices screamed and babbled in his head, the noise a physical pressure. You’re not done, one of them said. Hands trembling, he did their bidding, using the shovel to channel the Blood God’s power and carve The Blood Prince into the stone.

After the last letter, his fingers lost their strength and he dropped the shovel.

He dragged himself home.

"Where's Wil?" Ranboo was slurring, when he stepped inside, too drained to even tap the grave dirt off his boots.

"That doesn't matter," Technoblade said, pushing him back into the chair and continuing to wipe dirt and blood off him.

"I was trying to help him," Ranboo said, voice high. He was clearly disoriented. Who wouldn't be, after being resurrected? "I think something went wrong. Is he okay?"

Technoblade glanced at Phil.

"I'm sure you were helpful," he said, side-stepping the question.

Philza steeled himself.

"Wil's just fine, mate," Phil said. "Why don't you tell us what happened?"

Ranboo talked until the sun began to set and he exhausted himself.

The voices, who had been a loud and pounding presence since the ritual, rose to a crescendo.

Put him outside or get eaten, they sang.

Technoblade must have heard the same thing. As if without conscious thought, he was already scooping Ranboo up and depositing him out the front door. Philza cut a slice in his arm and used the blood to draw protective marks on the front door. At the voices' behest, he drew a strong protective barrier for him and Technoblade to settle inside as the mountains swallowed the sun.

Outside, something took Ranboo's place. It whispered and panted at their door, and dragged long claws through their siding.

Come morning, animal corpses would dot the forest, torn up and half-devoured.

Back in the present…

"Failed ritual, failed resurrection, got it," Tommy said, hiding his shaking hands behind Tubbo. He could see the shape of what Philza had omitted in his story, and he didn't much like it. Even the few allusions to the Blood God's meal of choice (dead fucking bodies) had sent chills of terror down his back.

At least Ranboo was absolved of guilt. He'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, Philza said.

Fuck, why was he trusting him?

No matter how mournful and regretful Philza looked, the magic he practiced was malignant, and Tommy couldn't let himself forget that.

"What's with his gravestone?" Tubbo asked through gritted teeth, jerking a thumb back at the headstone Tommy had him propped against. He'd begun to sweat and shiver through the pain.

Technoblade shrugged.

"A bit hard to explain away a grave with his name on it," he said.

"Why'd you lie to him?" Tommy demanded, rearranging Tubbo to be more comfortable where he lay across his lap. "If he already knew about the Blood God, I mean."

Philza sighed.

"He started forgetting things. Even the Blood God has his limits, and there's only so much soul you can salvage from the void of death. We tried to have the conversation with him many times, believe me. There were only so many times I could tell him before it became too hard to see his face every time. He's a good kid, you know? He's got a good heart. He doesn't want to go around slaughtering for no reason."

Tommy's throat clicked when he swallowed.

"Has he ever killed anyone?"

Phil was already shaking his head.

"We keep him isolated out here, mate, it's only animals he gets to. He doesn't have a big range away from his grave, as far as we can tell."

Perhaps Ranboo, or whatever pieces of him remained in the beast, knew he was being talked about. The choking smell of rotted corpses grew tenfold and a groaning reminiscent of a tree ready to fall echoed from every direction. Tommy froze solid at the sight of those eerie glowing eyes peering at him through the branches.

Ribbons of flesh and flags of deerhide hung from Ranboo's antlers. Dark blood dripped into his eyes but he didn't even blink.

Tubbo muffled his scream behind his palm. Tommy clutched him close.

Technoblade watched impassively, but Philza crooned as if to a child,

"You can find blood elsewhere, can't you? Go back to hunting."

Ranboo didn't listen.

Ranboo stood and watched.

Tommy and Tubbo held their breath, expecting him to explode through what was, to them, empty air. They expected him to scoop them up in his hands and dump them into his waiting maw.

Unfortunately, eventually their lungs and muscles screamed for relief. Tommy was the first one to break, letting out a tremulous,

"Phil?"

Phil reached out and patted his knee reassuringly.

"He won't go past the wards. It'd be against his nature, to violate the magic of the Blood God when he's the closest thing we have to a priest."

Tommy looked at him with newfound horror, but it was Tubbo who whimpered,

"You don't--kill people for him, or whatever, do you?"

Technoblade huffed.

"We drag you out of trouble and this is the thanks we get?"

"You worship the Blood God!" Tommy yelled. Ranboo twitched at the noise, like a ripple of static in the corner of Tommy's eye. He shut the fuck up and hunched down, resuming his vigilant watch. He continued in a whisper, "Forgive us for not having a death wish."

Technoblade snorted.

"Could've fooled me."

Tommy flipped him off with extreme prejudice.

Tubbo grunted as he sat up. He clutched his leg but forged ahead anyway, saying,

"You've got to give his identity back. You stole it when you resurrected him then fucked with his headstone. I'm telling you, if you do that, you'll fix him."

"I don't think it's that simple, mate," Phil said.

Tubbo scowled.

"Did you ever try? Or did you write Ranboo off the second you saw whatever's outside?"

Phil opened his mouth, but after a moment of silence he closed it and glanced out at where Ranboo’s outline was only just visible silhouetted against the night sky and tree branches.

He sighed.

“Exactly,” Tubbo said. “What’s his full name?”

“Ranboo Beloved,” Technoblade offered, impassivity making way for something like curiosity, as if he didn’t believe Tubbo but still wanted to see where his idea took him.

Tubbo reached out a trembling hand and gathered his own blood from where it had soaked through the makeshift bandage. He twisted around and laboriously traced out an R.

He hesitated.

“How do I spell his name?” he asked.

Tommy saw what he was trying to do, and even though he didn’t really think it would work either, he used a featherlight touch to dab Tubbo’s blood on his fingers and took over as Philza spelled Ranboo’s name out.

With each new letter, Ranboo drew closer. He peeled his mouth open impossible wide and warbled so low Tommy’s teeth rattled. He grunted and covered his ears. Once Ranboo quieted, he continued to trace out Ranboo’s name in blood, desperately panting through his mouth in an effort to ignore the smell of death and of his best friend’s blood.

Ranboo slunk along the edge of the circle. Tommy’s hands shook violently but he forged on, ignoring the sigils protecting them even as each pulsed. A mirage-like shimmer distorted Ranboo as he leaned close, peering at Tommy from behind the headstone as he completed the final letter in his name.

The world exploded.

The force blew Tommy and Tubbo backwards.

Tubbo hollered in pain, but it was far outweighed by a deafening crack.

Splinters showered from nearby trees as their branches blew apart. The sigils snuffed out.

Tommy groaned at the pain in his head.

Someone else groaned nearby.

"What's going on?" Ranboo asked.

"Holy shit," Philza gasped, vaulting over Tommy and Tubbo and catching Ranboo by the shoulders. He bundled him into a hug. "You're you! At night!"

Technoblade peered to the east as if suspicious of a sunrise several hours early.

Ranboo groaned again, cradling his head.

"I--yeah. Everything is so fuzzy. I don't feel so good," he said, slurring slightly.

Tubbo laughed hysterically.

"I can't believe that worked."

Tommy rolled over to punch him in the shoulder.

"What do you mean, you didn't think it would work?" he demanded.

"I had a feeling," Tubbo said.

Tommy growled in frustration, even though the terror in his chest had burst like a blown bubble.

"I’ll give you this win, just this once,," he said, helping Tubbo up.

Ranboo blinked up at them owlishly.

"I--thank you," he said.

Tommy scoffed.

Tubbo beamed, happy despite the pain of his ankle.

"Now that we've figured that shit out," Tommy said. "We need to take Tubbo to a hospital. And you too, Ranboo, you look like a fucking corpse."

Ranboo chuckled weakly.

"If I'm remembering right, I might be."

"Oh, mate, you remember?" Philza asked, pushing Ranboo's hair from his forehead.

Ranboo nodded.

"Hospital," Tommy intoned.

He bumped into Technoblade, standing behind them. Technoblade plucked Tubbo from his grip.

He pulled him away by the throat.

Tubbo gurgled in terror.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy screamed, reaching out.

Technoblade lifted Tubbo high enough his feet kicked uselessly and squeezed his throat.

Tommy froze.

"Sorry, mates," Philza said. "You’ve served your purpose, and we can't exactly let you leave and tell people what you saw, now can we?"

"We promise not to tell anyone," Tommy said, raising his hands.

"Promises won't cut it,” Technoblade growled.