Chapter Text
The road was awful. That was the first thing Ranboo noticed when they entered the latest town he’d be staying in. They’d just barrelled through the third pothole when he officially made the observation. The road was as almost as bumpy as his home life - or, sorry , his old home life.
As if sensing his sarcastic thoughts, the woman driving (someone working for Child Protective Services, who introduced herself as his case worker and nothing more) cleared her throat to get his attention. He hummed, if only to show he was listening, but she stayed silent. He knew what she wanted, but really didn’t want to give her that satisfaction. Or himself the headache. But he knew, from every other experience he had with her, that rebelling was more trouble than it was worth. So, biting his lip, he forced out the words, “Yeah?”
He could tell she was smiling, all pleased with herself for getting him to talk, and it made him glare at the telephone poles they were passing by. When he’d first commented on it during their two-hour long drive, the wires hanging above the trees instead of under the ground, his lovely chauffeur had muttered something about the ground being too wet, the sea being too close, and left it at that. She only wanted him to talk when she felt like talking, apparently.
“You remember the names I gave you, right?” She asked, making a sharp right and causing Ranboo to get slammed into the door. He sucked in a sharp breath, but she paid him no mind, and certainly no apologies. “For your next placement?”
He pursed his lips, staring harder out the window as he came up blank. “Uh, no. Sorry,” he mumbled, a bitter note sneaking into his voice. ‘Maybe, if the last house hadn’t thrown away my notebook, I’d be able to tell you.’ He only regretted his tone when the car screeched to a stop at the next traffic light. His grip on the leather seat tightened as he lurched forward, glancing wildly before settling on the road ahead of them.
The social worker huffed in frustration, slapping their hands on the steering wheel and turning in their seat. He tried to avoid eye contact by staring at the red light they’d stopped at, but the lady snapped for him to meet her eyes.
‘What am I, a dog?’ He frowned, biting back his remark as he reluctantly turned his head to her. She had a freckle right between her eyes, he noted, staring directly between her piercing stare.
“Listen, you know we’ve only got your best interest at heart, here,” she started her monologue with, even leaning in. Like being closer drove the point deeper.
He scoffed. It took him getting a rusted knife to the face for CPS to so much as glance at him before all of this foster nonsense. It took even longer for them to finally realize he was alone, none of his relatives fit or willing to take him in, and slide him right on into the system. They didn’t have the best interest of shit . Still, he kept his thoughts to himself as she carried on talking. The light had turned green, anyways.
“We can only help you if you accept it. You need to work with me here, okay?” She said, repeating the spiel she’d fed him the last three times she’d had to cart him from home to home. The car started rolling again at the loud insistence of the car behind them, much to Ranboo’s relief. The lady turned back to the road, but kept talking, anyways. “You aren’t going to get any home to take you in if you keep this behavior up. We’re just asking you to try , you know. You could at least pretend to put in the effort.”
He wanted to lash out. Scream at her, shout about how little she knew, maybe even jump out of the car and run as far as he could. He wanted to get angry.
But, instead, he nodded, turning his head back to the sidewalk they sped past. “Sorry. I’ll try.” It was an empty promise at best, and definitely not what she had wanted to hear, judging from the disappointed sigh coming from the other side of the car. He could tell, though, that she knew that was the best she was getting from him, lie or not.
The rest of the drive passed by in silence. He supposed she wasn’t going to be filling him in on what he’d forgotten, then. Shame. He’d have to ask the family itself, assuming they were willing to answer. Worst case scenario, he got hit on the first day, and he’d get to leave a house in record time. Like one of those stories from the other kids he only saw in passing, or in a waiting room - the stories that always managed to fuel his anxiety.
He was lulled into a stupor of sorts by the silence of the car, letting the world whirl by as the old Toyota powered down the beaten road. Staring blankly at the window and counting the different marks covering the glass. Smudes from grubby little fingers (probably from younger kids that shouldn’t even be in the passenger seat), streaking from the handful of rainstorms they’d experienced earlier in the week, dust from being generally uncared for. If there was one thing Ranboo didn’t want, it was to relate to a car window , but here he was. Wistfully glancing at his distorted and foggy reflection.
The anxiety that had been sitting at the bottom of his lungs for most of the car ride began to steadily crawl up his spine as they got closer to wherever his new house is. He would probably know exactly where it is, beyond ‘it’s red, I think’ , if he still had his memory book. However, as previously mentioned, he didn’t , courtesy of his last stellar family. So, instead, he had to settle for getting unwarrantedly anxious every time a red house came into view, and getting infinitely more relieved when they passed it.
All good things must come to an end, though. The car started to slow down, and he panicked. They weren’t near a traffic light or stop sign. What they were was turning into a very neighborhood-looking street.
Oh, god damnit. They were going to near the house, soon, weren’t they? He’d have to pull himself back to reality and pretend he wanted to remember the houses members and infinite rules. And when he didn’t put the right name to the right face within the first five minutes, they’d assume he was being rude, and he’d have to pretend he’d never want to hurt their feelings on purpose, even as his pride coiled up in his stomach.
“You’ll be staying with the Minecraft family,” the lady suddenly told him, startling him out of his troubles. “One dad, three biological sons, the mother is out of the country. The father, Phil, has been a foster parent for a good while now, and fostered two other kids with the mother, Kristen.” Ranboo couldn’t stop the questioning noise that escaped him in lieu of the actual question sitting at his lips. Thankfully, the lady seemed to understand him fine. “The other two children did not stay with him. I’m not in the position to disclose any information about the two or why they left, but I can say there were no signs of the Minecraft family being a neglectful or abusive household.”
That did little to calm his nerves, but he nodded like it did, anyways. If anything, now he was anxious and curious ! Because, from what he’d just been told, it sounded like they were the ones to send the kids back - the kids weren’t ripped from their hands like some of the horror stories he’d heard before. Were they picky? Would they take one look at Ranboo and decide they didn’t want him anymore?
Obviously, he didn’t quite care for the families that believed he would be the perfect match, and tried to act like some ideal family whenever he was around, but still. It hurt to be turned away like that. Sometimes, he wished he’d been taken from a house with a hatred and a story to tell. Instead of the lingering disappointment coming from both his worker and himself.
He’d rather hate the world than think the world hated him.
The car was slowing. They were in a driveway. Oh. Oh, dang.
They were here. He was. Not ready. Shoot.
The lady was talking. Her voice droning on in the background, blending so well with the noise outside the car he didn’t even notice she was talking until now. “-of the kids should be around your age, now, actually. Hopefully you’ll be able to make friends with him.” He dumbly nodded along, not wanting to make her repeat herself (and also not wanting to hear what she had to say). “The father has already met with me a couple of times to go over your file, make sure he actually wanted you ,” she emphasized the word, like she wanted to make him feel worse about himself, which- honestly, she probably did, he gave her a lot of trouble, that was fair- “so I won’t be staying long. I’ve checked out the house, as well, beforehand.”
He glanced over to her, silently wondering how she had all that time. Then he remembered that, okay, yeah, he was the problem case, she probably wanted to get him out and keep him out as much as she could. If that was what made her find nice placements for him, though, then he’d keep it up. Totally not also out of spite.
“You know my number if you need it, and they have a landline-” he most certainly did not know her number, but okay, “-so if you need anything, or you want to talk, I’ll be right on the other end of the line.” Ah, she was doing her usual spiel, now. He knew from experience that she’d put him on hold for as long as ethically possible, and scold him if he dared to call outside of an emergency. “We’ll be meeting again in a week, then a month after that if you stay. Got that?”
He hummed, gathering his backpack (which was falling apart, since he’d gotten it over six years ago at one of his first placements and got to keep it) onto his lap and tugging it close to his chin. “Yeah, got it,” he muttered, eyes staring at the floor with minor disdain. There was chewed gum stuck to the mat at the bottom. Ew. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, knowing well that she couldn’t care less.
To her credit, she did give him a smile at that, patting him on the arm once she turned the car off. “Good,” she responded with a firm nod. “Now hurry on out of the car, we’ve got people to meet and papers to sign!”
She was being light-hearted, he knew that, but it wasn’t that funny to him. He didn’t grace her with a reply, silently grabbing his bag a bit tighter and pulling the handle of the car door. He nudged it open with the toe of his shoe, blinking hard at the burst of sunlight that immediately assaulted his eyes.
He frowned, staring down at the shells that made up the driveway. Weird design choice that he didn’t look forward to walking on. How much noise would his steps make? Too much, probably. He wasn’t looking forward to it.
He heard the crunch of the lady’s shoes stepping on the tiny shells, and sucked in a quick breath, following suit. His footsteps...did not make as much noise as hers, though that could be attributed to his worn out sneakers (that were built to last man, holy crap) and her tappy-tap toed dress shoes.
The house was like any other house, only a bit secluded. Glancing around the street, while he still could, he noticed just how far this house was from any neighbors. A chill ran down his spine, mind already working up a thousand unsavory reasons for that, but he shook it out. No reason to panic if the past reports were to be trusted. These people never laid a finger on their previous fosters.
As far as you know .
He shook his head at the sudden thought, berating his mind for coming up with it. This was fine, he was fine, everything was fine .
The house was normal, apart from the fact that it was painted a sickeningly bright green. It was beyond lime - it was nearly radioactive. It hurt his eyes to look at. It was trying way too hard to be happy. It was actively ruining his already poor mood.
He looked down to the door. A white door, behind a glass door. Why did they have two doors? Wasn’t one enough? Apparently not, said the double stacked doors he had to walk up to. Did they need that much sound proofing? Maybe someone played in a band.
Or- Maybe. Someone. Played in. A band.
At least the path was nice. The cobbled stones leading up to the front door were arranged in a neat yet disorderly way, that Ranboo had to appreciate. It was a nice place to avert his eyes to while he continued to ignore the reality around him.
His feet were moving (and he was usually so proud of them for taking him places, except for right now) and the lady was talking. He didn’t even bother trying to tune back in, knowing he’d heard all there was to hear, by now. There was nothing else she could say that she hadn’t already. He just kept walking alongside her, until they reached the door.
And they did, unfortunately, reach the door. It wasn’t like he expected otherwise. It would be weird if it took longer to reach the door. But he still wished it had. He would have liked the extra time. Though it wouldn’t be enough to prepare him.
A fist on hard wood. The lady was knocking on the door. His frown tugged further at the corners of his mouth, and he ducked his head to hide it. Not like they could see it anyways.
The door opened, and his heart, already in his stomach, dropped to his feet. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready, wasn’t rea-
“Ah, hello!” A friendly sounding voice cut through his thoughts. His eyes narrowed a the jovial tone, not trusting it for a second. “Ms. Kelly, I presume?” The lady at his side nodded, and he considered making a mental note of her name, but deemed it useless information. He wouldn’t remember it, anyways. “And this must be Ranboo!”
He sounded happy to see him. It was so fake, it made his fingers itch. Still, he mutely nodded, his eyes cast off to the side. He didn’t feel like getting scolded for being rude just yet, especially not right off the bat. He was grabbed by an arm wrapping around his shoulder, pulling him into a semi-hug with Ms. Kelly. A semi-hug he did not want or appreciate.
She squeezed his shoulder, jostling him a bit where he was forcibly leaned against her, and laughed. He grimaced, keeping his head down while she pretended to care about him. “Right you are, Mr. Minecraft!” He could smell the tuna she’d eaten for lunch in the car in her breath, and he turned his face away in an effort to escape it. “I’m just here to drop him off, seeing as we already went over all the legal jargon. He’s got all his stuff with him, too, no need for multiple trips to the car.”
‘Mr. Minecraft’ got a weird look in his eyes at that, his eyes moving a bit to where Ranboo assumed the car was parked in the man’s driveway. It disappeared before he could put a label on it, though, so he ignored the brief experience.
The man stepped aside, allowing them view of the interior from the door, and Ranboo was finally released from Ms. Kelly’s side. He breathed a short sigh of relief before he was nudged forward by the woman. He looked back at her, and met her eyes, despite how uncomfortable it made him. She frowned minutely, as Mr. Minecraft was still watching, and nodded her head towards the house.
He stilled. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to. Once he stepped in, once she left, he was on his own again. A single seal in shark-infested waters.
She pushed him again, either unable to read his pleading expression or uncaring, and he stumbled across the threshold and into the house. She laughed her shrill, painful laugh, and turned away from him. He didn’t bother trying to watch her leave, knowing it would fail to offer him any comfort. She wouldn’t even wave back, probably. He was a paycheck to her before he was a person.
(He didn’t know that for sure, obviously, but he wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t raised to be particularly optimistic about the world.)
A hand clapped on his shoulder, jerking him away from his strife and making him tense up. It wasn’t like he’d flinched - he was fine with touch, honestly, all of his less than stellar physical memories included weapons or shouting - but the hand disappeared as soon as he showed a negative reaction to it. Part of him curled up at that ( he wasn’t made of glass, man ) but he refused to show any more reaction to this man.
“So, Ranboo Belveed, was it?” The man asked, eyes shining with an excitement Ranboo discovered he heavily disliked. Not for any specific reason - he just couldn’t figure out what it was for. The government check? Some sort of savior complex? It was never a good thing. He actually preferred the houses that couldn’t look less interested in him, even if they never lasted long.
They were temporary places to stay, more often than not.
“Just Ranboo,” he mumbled, taking a step away from him. The man seemed to light up more at his response, if that was even possible, but he stomped it down quick with, “You said my last name wrong.”
He heard a snort come from somewhere to his right and jumped in his skin, whipping around to see what was there. A boy, older than him, no doubt, but definitely not an adult yet, was sat on the stairs, his head propped up on his palm. Pink hair, messy and thick, sat at his shoulders in tangled bunches. Ranboo assumed he’d just woken up: both from the hair, and the fact that the older boy was dressed in pig-themed pajamas that did not match his incredibly intimidating face.
It was. Concerning, if Ranboo wanted to put a word to it. It was, after all, one in the afternoon. Most would be awake at this point, and at least have their hair brushed. But this guy’s hair (more like a mane ) was a sight to behold.
“Good to see you join the land of the living, Techno,” the man said, a playful grin on his face as if Ranboo was no longer there. He felt himself melt to the background as the newest arrival stood up from his spot on the stairs. He was tall. Ranboo was taller.
He still felt intimidated.
“Wanted to beat Wil and Tommy to meeting the latest foster,” the boy, Techno apparently, replied. His voice was deep. “‘d rather not scare the kid off instantly. Since we all know how friendly they’ll be.” The sarcasm made Ranboo shiver, his already high nerves spiking dangerously.
“Um,” he so eloquently muttered, glancing between Techno and the still-unnamed man with unbridled anxiety. His nervousness rolled off in waves, and both parties held back a laugh, one a little more successfully than the other. He frowned in Techno’s direction, but he only raised an eyebrow in return.
“Ranboo,” Mr. No-Name started, clearing his throat with a strained-looking smile, “this is my son, Technoblade. Yes, that is his real name, my wife picked it out.” Ranboo wasn’t going to doubt him or ask about it, considering his own name, but decided to keep that to himself, seeing as the man was already moving on. “The two he mentioned are his brothers, Wilbur and Tommy. Wil is-”
Ranboo cut in, taking the risk to ask, “Can I write this down?” There was a pause at his question, and he raced to fill the dangerous silence with ramblings. “I have a bad memory, uh, I went to a therapist in one house and he said it was a mental thing? But a doctor said it was a physical thing, so I really don’t know what’s up with that, but, you know, I forget. A lot. Very quickly. So, uh, I usually write things down, but I don’t have my book, and I-”
“Okay.”
“-would have written your names down befo- huh?” He stopped in his tracks, looking the man in the eyes in surprise. It took a few seconds to process the simple word, but it still made him confused. “Okay, as in…?”
The man chuckled, turning and walking over to a small side table by a chair. He opened the drawer under the tabletop and pulled out a small notebook that, Ranboo supposed, had just been lying around. “Okay, as in you can write things down. Thank you for stopping me, I wouldn’t have remembered - ha - that your file had mentioned poor memory.” He held the notebook out, and Ranboo took it, already taking his own pen out of his bag.
He looked down at the sleek, black book, running his thumb along the thin spine. It wouldn’t last him long, but it would do for now. “Oh, uh, thank you,” he said shyly, gently opening the book to the first page and clicking his pen. He scribbled his name on the first line, not bothering to ask for the date to write it down, and waited for them to continue talking. “Uh, so…”
The man startled back to life (why was he just staring at him like that?). “Ah, right! So, Wilbur, W-I-L-B-U-R, and Tommy are my sons, along with Technoblade here,” he gestured to the boy who had, by now, stood up, and was making his way down the rest of the stairs, “spelled T-E-C-”
“I, uh. I think I got it,” Ranboo quietly interrupted again, seeing as he had yet to get yelled at for doing so. The trend continued as the two only laughed at his bluntness, making him a bit irritated, but relieved nonetheless.
“Wilbur is the oldest, Tommy’s the youngest,” the father(?) said.
Ranboo looked over to Technoblade, who had walked over to where they were still standing by the door. “How, um…?” He trailed off, unsure of how to ask.
Techno seemed to get what he was asking, though, which his awkwardness thanked him endlessly for. “Older than you, younger than Wilbur. Not by much, only 2 years.” He puffed out an amused breath. “Still the same grade as him, of course. Can’t get caught lackin’.”
Ranboo nodded, slowly, not really getting it but not wanting to say so. “Right…” he said, always the pleaser. “Of course.”
He got an approving nod in return, so he assumed he went about the interaction correctly. “I like you. Your room’s right across from mine, just knock if ya need somethin’.” With that, Technoblade turned around and walked back upstairs, leaving Ranboo confused and…a little proud of himself? That was an odd way of meeting someone, but if it went well, it went well. At least one of the kids was okay with him being there.
Now there were just two more to survive.
“He’s a good kid, really. Just...got a weird way of talking. He says he gets it from me, but I digress,” Phil said, scaring Ranboo with the reminder of his existence. “Welcome to the home, Ranboo. I’ll show you to your room and leave you to get settled in. Does that sound alright?”
He blinked, not expecting to be asked his opinion. He shrugged, not seeing any other way to go about it, and Phil gestured to the stairs. He folded his hands awkwardly in front of himself and lowered his head, stepping forward. Despite not knowing the layout of the house one bit, he was in front of Phil as they walked, leading like a prisoner being carted off to court. Did Phil think he’d run away or something, if he took his eye off him for a second? He didn’t have any record, he had no clue why the man would possibly think that. He found himself recounting how many times he’d called the house ‘weird’ thus far, and added another tally to the list.
He stepped back and waited for Phil once he reached the top of the stairs, having no idea of where to go. Phil chuckled at the behavior, and he scowled a bit, reaching up to tug at the mask covering half his face. A sort of nervous habit.
“Your room is right here,” Phil said, turning the handle of the door closest to the stairs. Huh. “Techno’s is right across, like he said-” he gestured to the door standing opposite to his, with a simple sign hanging from the handle reading ‘ knock ’, “-and the other two share a room, next to you.” The door that was just next to his was covered in posters and signs, ranging from various bands and musicians to posters of old game releases that Ranboo had only heard about.
He looked further down the hall, trying to find Phil’s room, but the only door left was open, showing off a bathroom inside. He turned back to the man, with a puzzled face, and eh laughed again. He did that a lot more than Ranboo liked. He was not a big fan of how laid-back this whole thing seemed to be to him. “Mine and Kristen’s room is downstairs, next to the living room. It’s to the left when you first walk in the house,” he explained, having a special way of making Ranboo feel stupid.
He knew it was unintentional, and he knew the man probably meant well, but he was starting to get a little ticked off by his care-free approach. “Right,” he said, his words clipped to prevent any anger from seeping in. He stepped forward, into the room, not paying Phil any more attention as the man backed off to the side to let him in.
“Well, I’ll let you get unpack-” Phil hadn’t even finished his sentence by the time Ranboo shut the door in his face, eager to have some time to himself. He didn’t hesitate the second he believed he was allowed to close himself in, though he did pause afterwards. He stayed still, waiting for a shout or scolding at his behavior, but nothing of the sort followed. Instead, he heard laughing. Actual, honest-to-god laughter on the other side of the door. He took a deep breath as his latest foster spoke again. “Dinner’s at six, come down whenever you’d like. No eating upstairs, though. We don’t want ants.”
Ranboo didn’t reply, waiting with baited breath for anything else. But he didn’t continue talking. Phil’s footsteps tapped the few steps between Ranboo’s door and the railing, and started down the stairs. He let out a heavy sigh, tossing his bag to the side and collapsing onto the bed.
It was nice. The sheets were cleaned recently, he could tell by the smell of them. Fresh. His heart warmed a bit at the effort, even if it wouldn’t last long.
This wouldn’t be the worst house. He probably wouldn’t get to stay for long, considering how nice they’d been so far. Patience only lasted so long. He frowned against the white sheets underneath him, pulling his mask off and taking the first breath of unrestrained air he’d had in a while.
Maybe he’d try, this time.