Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His first day at school was going to go great.

He’d been trying to fall asleep all night, and yet it was now six forty in the morning, and his alarm was just about to ring, cursing him to a day with no sleep. At least the first days for transfer students were sort of easy. He slowly turned his body towards his bedside table and grabbed his phone just as it began to ring. As he stared at his screen with squinted, blurry eyes, he wondered why he’d decided to add a math problem to his alarm. After solving a simple multiplication problem that felt far too difficult, he tossed his phone onto his bed and shut his eyes, laying on his back stiffly and uncomfortably. He took a deep breath and hummed as his upper back popped at the simple action. His doctors said the popping was nothing to worry about, that it just meant he was more flexible than average (the universe had thought that was a funny joke, probably. No matter how flexible he was, or how much he stretched, the pain never faded).

He sat up slowly, twisting his neck this way and that, stretching his back and sighing as cracks resounded up and down his spine (it offered him nothing more than a few seconds of relief each time, and yet he always hoped it would do more). He hunched his back, then straightened it, then grimaced and hunched over again. Neither hurt more or less, and he didn’t have the energy to focus on sitting straight that day. He rubbed his legs, rotating his ankles and tensing and untensing his muscles. After a few minutes of this, he finally got out of bed, stumbling forward when he put too much weight on his worse foot, but hey, he didn’t fall, so that was a win. Not bothering to dress up (what was the point anyway? It was the first day of a new school, not the Oscars), he grabbed a Lemon Demon t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a hoodie before walking out of his room. He gripped the railing as he descended the stairs, probably indenting the wood with his fingernails. His knees shook and his arm trembled, everything felt so weak-the lack of sleep surely wasn’t helping either.

“Goodmorning, Ranboo, did you oversleep? You got down here late.” His mother hummed a greeting from the kitchen, where she was doing dishes before work. “No, sorry, just took too long getting ready, I guess.” He murmured. “I’ll get down faster next time.” Looks like he’ll have to set his alarm ten or so minutes earlier, if he wanted to get down before seven. He tried cracking his back one more time, praying for some kind of relief, but nothing lessened. He sighed and finished getting ready in a daze, hiding away in his own mind, which ran over his schedule multiple times, trying to ensure he didn’t forget it. The fact he had physical education first made him want to cry, but oh well, he was the one that turned down the modifications they offered (it would outcast him even more, he didn’t want that. He wanted to do everything just as everyone else, or not go at all, and the latter wasn’t approved by his doctor, so the former it was). He double checked his bag while slipping on his shoes, grabbed his mask and sunglasses (the principal had allowed him to wear it in school, bless her), took out his cane from the closet, and walked out the front door before he could start contemplating different ways to convince his mother to let him stay home. She joined him in the car after a few minutes, frowning not so inconspicuously at his cane, before driving out of the garage and into the world.

All too soon they arrived at the school building, which had three separate floors, with one entire floor being dedicated to music, drama, and art (he’d never believe that a high school existed that didn’t give everything it had to sports teams that never won). As his mother parked in front of the main entrance, he unfastened his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out carefully, and gripping the top of the car as he got out. He slung his backpack on, then grabbed his cane, and was off, sentenced to hell-again. “Bye, mom.” He waved. “Bye, sweetheart.” She smiled before driving away after the door was closed. He rubbed his neck, forever full of hatred for tiny vehicles. Not only did he have to deal with chronic pain, but he also had to deal with an annoying height that oftentimes made things worse than they had to be for him (even his cane felt a bit too small if he stood straight, his mother hadn’t spent more than she needed to on one, afterall). He pushed open one of the doors, wincing at the uncomfortably weak feeling in his arm as he stepped through.

He walked into the front office and sat down with Ms. Kristen, the principal. She spoke to him about his classes and took his doctor's note that gave him permission to use the elevator, promising to get it to the nurse. “If you have any problems, don’t hesitate to let me or your counselor know, okay?” She smiled. He nodded, waving and humming a quiet “bye, thank you” as he left. Luckily for him, the gyms weren’t too far. He checked the numbers by the doors, passing by the first gym once he concluded that it was the wrong one. Now, he didn’t think he was expected to be looking behind him while he walked, but maybe that was some unspoken rule in this gigantic high school building, because only second after he’d begun walking again, his cane thumping along silently in time with his left leg, a body came out of nowhere, crashing into him and sending his cane flying out of his hands and into a wall. He stumbled, and while any other person might have been able to stop from falling, he wasn’t so lucky. The second his left leg hit the ground, pain rocketed up his leg and his knee buckled, sending him crashing to the floor with a shocked shout. “Oh-shit-agh-Tommy, get back here!” Some kid shouted. Ranboo looked up at him, gripping his ankle as he thought about all the different minor inconveniences he could cause someone in life to make their days just slightly less than enjoyable (oh, and also the bruises that he was certain were going to form on his knees, it wasn’t his fault he bruised easily!). The kid was looking between another kid that had stopped at the other end of the hallway, and him. “Uh-sorry, man. Tommy’s a bit of an arse, no spacial awareness?” He laughed awkwardly. “You alright…”

“Ranboo.”

“You alright, Rainbow?”

“Ranboo.”

“Yeah, Ranbow.”

“Ran-ah, oh well. Yeah, I’m fine.” He sighed. “Stop con-spi-ring with the American, Tubbo! He’s a wrong’un!” Tubbo frowned and shouted after him. “You tripped him, I’m apologizing for your mistakes, you dick!” Tommy flipped him off and Tubbo flipped him off, and Ranboo suspected that this cycle wasn’t going to end anytime soon. He sighed and pushed his back against the wall, pushing himself up with one hand and gripping the wall best he could with the other, putting all his weight on his right leg. Tubbo’s attention snapped back over to him. “You want some help, big man?” He questioned, twirling a pencil between the fingers of his right hand all the while. “No, I’m good.” He grunted as he righted himself, testing out his left leg, and nope, it definitely wasn’t going to allow him to put much pressure on him, which meant he either hopped or crawled to his cane, and he wasn’t feeling very eager to do either, because both would be making a fool out of himself. While trying to figure out how he was going to get his cane, down the hallway and opposite him, Tubbo seemed to realize his dilemma and went to grab it for him. Ranboo had never in his life felt more relief than in that single moment. “Thanks.” He smiled behind his mask, and Tubbo nodded with a grin of his own. “Yeah, no problem. What’s wrong with you, though?”

“Tubbo, you don’t just ask someone that!” Another, higher pitched voice joined in and Ranboo just barely avoided a heart attack at the girl that stood to his left, with her hands on her hips, frowning at Tubbo. She was definitely not there three seconds ago. “What, it’s just a question!” The shorter-and confusing-boy whined. “That doesn’t mean it's not rude, that’s very insensitive to ask someone.” She chided before turning to Ranboo with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him, My name’s Niki, what’s yours?” Ranboo blinked. “Uh, Ranboo.” So many people in such a short period of time, someone save him. “Where are you from?” She smiled. “Germany, I moved to London when I was around ten though, and moved here last year with Tubbo, Tommy, and their families. “Tommy doesn’t like America, or Americans” Tubbo hummed. “He keeps asking if he can bomb America. Pretty sure one of these days he’s going to be arrested, cause he sounds like a terrorist.” All he wanted to do was find the right gym for his class. “Right.”

Tubbo was silent for a few seconds before something dawned on him and he gasped. “Oh-shit-I don’t think he pushed you on purpose though, he’s not, like, a jerk, he just hates Americans-but he wouldn’t push a disabled-er, uh-crippled-uhm, kid with a cane-”

“Tubbo, you're digging yourself into a hole here.” Ranboo probably should have taken offense to being called crippled, by how Tubbo was acting, and how movies always seemed to make that seem like the worst word to call a disabled person, but really, it was kind of funny. “This is actually kinda funny.” He hummed, instantly calming a frazzled Tubbo trying to stumble his way through an incoherent apology, and oh boy, he’d thought his first interaction with a person in this school was going to be negative, especially if they’d seen his cane. He didn’t picture anything going like this. Niki chuckled. “Alright, while this does seem like fun, I do have to go get changed for my class, so I need to go, bye!” She waved as she walked down the hall. “See you later, Niki! Have fun in dance!” Tubbo called after her, followed by a simple “bye” from Ranboo.

“Alright, Tubbo. Who’s this bitch?”

If people didn’t stop sneaking up on Ranboo, he would walk into Area 51 and become a test subject for their very probable human experiments and convince them to install eyes into the back of his head.

Chapter Text

Ranboo was starting to regret his life choices. Maybe getting bullied would have been better than gym class on a Wednesday. The second he saw the heart rate monitors; he knew his life was over. His life was over, and this school was trying to kill him. He was cursed, and his story was to end in tragedy: a tragedy that would have him dying to falling on his face in his first class of the day.

The teacher called him up and assigned him a monitor, letting him know that this would be his first grade, and he would not have to take the test the class would be having Monday. “You can go to the gallery Monday, I’ll let the supervisor know.” He nodded and took the monitor and the band, leaving to the locker rooms to choose his locker and change into his newly acquired uniform. He walked back out and into the gym to see all the heart rates displayed on a screen for the entire class to see (his was already high enough for the monitor to register, just from his mild panic slowly rising in his chest, at least his time would be a few seconds higher). He shifted his weight, already feeling uncomfortably weak and unprotected without his cane. His left leg felt like jelly, and he was afraid it wouldn’t hold out when he ran. He was already trying to think of how to run fast enough to have his heart rate registered by the monitor, but also slow enough he didn’t have to lift his feet too much. “You don’t have your cane?” He flinched and turned quickly, losing his balance and nearly falling over (again) before a hand grabbed his upper arm and pulled him back upright, only letting him go when he seemed stable. He shook his head and turned to whomever had shown up. Tommy and Tubbo. “Huh?”

Tubbo pointed towards his left and Ranboo frowned, looking at his hand. “You don’t have your cane, and you’re in our class. Is it for ‘aesthetic?’” Silence. Tommy stared at Tubbo like he was an idiot, and Ranboo himself stared for approximately ten seconds (he counted, he had to make sure of the time, for dramatic effect) before responding. “No, it isn’t for aesthetics. I don’t have it because I can’t really run while using it?” “Why’re you in phys. ed though, man?” Tommy huffed with a frown. Ranboo hesitated. Images of a past friend flashed through his mind (he told them, he told them and ruined everything) and he shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, we all have the same requirements for graduation.” He stated simply, hoping they would leave it be.

The world must have taken pity on him for a brief two seconds, as the teacher announced that class would begin-a double edged sword, Tommy and Tubbo had to stop talking to him, but he had to start running-and they needed to begin walking around the gym and wait for her to tell them to start running. Ranboo curled his hands into fists as he began walking, steps slow, heavy, and uneven. His limp was very apparent (Was everyone staring at him? God, they were all staring, weren’t they? They definitely were). A short burst of panic flared through him as he watched Tommy and Tubbo get further ahead (they were friends, right? They were nice to him, was it just pity? No, no they were friends. They were friends, but they wanted a good grade, they couldn’t walk with him), quickly overshadowed by a sharp, stabbing pain that ran up his left leg and to his hip when he tried to catch up. His heart sank as he slowed down again, feeling the distance grow even further between him and everyone else-figuratively and literally.

The music started and the teacher shouted something that caused everyone to start jogging. A few kids sprinted around with their friends, and old wounds pulsed, jealousy festering and growing in a damaged soul. He was forced to focus back on himself when someone zipped by him, startling him but luckily not bumping into him. Pain was burning in his legs, nails digging into the soft skin of his palms and yet it could barely distract. He looked up at the screen and his heart rate seemed to be stuttering between too slow and just fast enough. Everyone else had two or three minutes, but he only had one and a half. He knew the gap would only grow further. He stared down at his legs beneath him, watching his feet swing back and forth, knees knocking against each other in a way they weren’t supposed to, feet turned too far in, and he knew he’d be feeling this worse later. He swallowed thickly and bit his tongue before forcing himself to speed up as much as he could bear while blinking back tears.

While pain shot up his legs with each step, and his knees bent a little too far and his body trembled with the effort of forcing it to stay up somehow, he wondered if he was being dramatic. Everything felt like so much, but his doctor said the exercise would be good for him. He was like any other student in this class, many of them looked tired at this point, he was nothing special. He wondered if he was a wimp, if anyone else would have been able to handle the throbbing pains and the aching stiffness that no amount of Advil or Ibuprofen could take away. Was this a form of torture? It sure felt like it, he was certain most of the teens in any high school would agree-gym was a form of mental and physical torture.

He stared at the projection on the wall again and his heart fell, he slowed down, hope slowly fading. He had tried so hard to get a better time, and yet he was seven minutes behind the highest time, seventeen minutes and-oh, now eighteen. He slowed down with the thought that it wouldn’t matter anymore anyway. Three or so minutes were left of the twenty, and he was tired. That jealousy he normally clung to for motivation grew ugly as he pulled away from it, feeling sick to his stomach.

He shouldn’t feel so jealous of that top time. He shouldn’t feel so jealous of Tommy, of Tubbo, who followed just behind him, of the duo that had lapped him many times over already. He shouldn’t feel jealous. He barely knew them, why did they have to matter more than everyone else? They had just been polite to him for a few minutes, and yet Ranboo felt attached to them already. He shook his head, coming to a stop just as the teacher called out and turned off the obnoxiously loud music that was definitely from a Top Hits playlist.

He managed to hide himself in a corner for the rest of the class while all the kids that hadn’t made it to the twenty minutes kept running and the ones that had got out volleyballs and basketballs, splitting off in their little friend groups towards different areas of the gym and claiming different hoops. Ranboo watched, massaging his lower legs and rolling his ankles, grimacing as he tentatively stood, putting his weight onto tired, broken legs-because that’s what they were, broken. His legs were wrong, they didn’t work like they were supposed to.

He couldn’t help thinking back to when he was younger. He thought about when he wasn’t in so much pain, when things were forgettable on the good days, and mildly inconveniencing on the bad days, and taken away with a pill on a terrible day. He remembered playing on the playground during classes with his class, involved and having fun. He never using the monkey bars (he tried once, he couldn’t get up for five or so minutes when he fell right onto his left leg), but the swings were his favorite by far. He could reach high up and feel the wind all around him as he went up and down. He remembered when it did start hurting, but he didn’t want to look wrong, so he avoided using the boots he’d had made to support his ankles. He tried using them when he ran for his sport, but they cut into his skin and didn’t allow him full mobility (that was the point) so he took them off. He remembered falling and scraping his knees during practice. He remembered losing feeling in them during races. He remembered sprinting the final distance and falling, unable to get up again without help, he remembered retching into the trees because the pain was so much, but he finished the season. He finished the season, using his tears and pain as fuel because eventually the pain became expected, and even if he could never beat anyone on his team (having bad lungs would not help his time either) other than the ones that never tried, he still never came in last in races. He finished every race, and even if he had to stifle his crying at night after he finally laid down and couldn’t sleep because of the pain, it was worth it.

(It wasn’t worth it to put himself through a second year though, so he tucked away memories of cross country in the back of his mind, next to the tennis racket collecting dust.)

“Oi dick’ead, class ended.” A voice he really didn’t want to hear wormed its way through his thoughts and forced him out of the numb safety of his mind. The throbbing he’d kind of forgotten about for a few seconds seeped back to the forefront of his thoughts as he turned his head to see Tommy standing to his left, Tubbo standing to his right. “You alright, bossman?” The latter asked, tilting his head. Ranboo nodded and stood, steadying himself with a hand against the wall. “I’m good, thanks.” He began walking towards one of the sets of double doors on either end of the gym, glad he’d found a hidden corner relatively near the set closest to the locker room door. Tommy and Tubbo followed, muttering with each other for a few moments before falling into step with Ranboo. Everyone else was already out of the gym. The tallest of the trio felt guilt leech onto his heart with each step he took. Tommy and Tubbo were walking slowly with him. He was going to make them late to their next class. According to the clock on the wall, there were four minutes left until the bell rang. “You guys can go ahead.” After speaking, he immediately felt arrogant and dumb for thinking everything was about him. “Nah, I’m tired.” Tubbo shrugged. Tommy seemed to think for a second, debating something in his head, and Ranboo waited to see if he’d share what he was thinking. “I think I’ll go on ahead, actually. Mrs. Jones is a fuckin’ witch, she’ll curse me if I’m late.” Ranboo nodded. “Alright, see ya.” Tubbo waved and shouted “bye” as he ran across the gym and into the hall.

“Y’know, I think you were in one of my dreams.”

“Huh?” Ranboo had just met this boy, he probably just saw someone similar. With his mask and glasses on barely any of his face was visible anyway-what was visible was very generic.

“Yeah! I was sacrificing you to a cult!”

Chapter Text

Sitting in his second hour class (algebra, who has algebra so early in the day), he was struggling to pay attention. Maybe his grades were just average because of how difficult it was to concentrate. Maybe he’d have better grades if he wasn’t constantly rolling his shoulders and stretching his back and rubbing his neck, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable tightness in his back and limbs, trying to ignore his stiff fingers and wrists throbbing with a dull pain. His pencil felt wrong in his hand, his writing was clumsy and his penmanship was usually barely legible even to him. He wished he’d gotten sleep, sleep made everything hurt a little less (well, sometimes. Sometimes it helped his back not hurt so much, but usually it only helped his memories feel a little less foggy) and made his body move a little better. He glanced up at the clock desperately, praying that class would end soon, and-wow, so much time had passed, there were only five minutes left. His mind felt hazy, the slight fuzziness interrupted by bouts of sharp pain that made him bite his lip behind his mask and curl his fingers tighter around his pencil until nails dug into wood and his whole arm trembled. “Are you okay?” The teacher was right next to his desk, and there was only a minute left, why did she speak up? He smiled and nodded, throat tight and cheeks burning as everyone turned to him, pausing packing their bags to stare at the kid with a cane. The kid that had just been called out in front of the whole class because something is wrong with him, why did she ask if he is okay? What is wrong with him? He wondered if anyone thought he was going to be rushed to the hospital any moment, because obviously something must be very bad if he's already 'sickly' and being asked if he was alright.

The teacher went to say something again, but the bell cut her off and Ranboo’s arm jerked as he moved it a little too violently to grab his things. His homework was nearly finished, and so he wrote down the answer for the last problem and handed it to his teacher who was still stood next to his desk. He gripped his cane and pulled himself up, leveraging himself against the desk with his other hand. A sharp stab in his left ankle cleared his blurry mind for one blissful second, before suddenly he was in the hallway, walking towards his class without thinking. His mind felt foggy and unreachable. He kept losing track of time, how did he get to the hallway? And how was he already getting out of the elevator, and-

“Oi!” Tommy? Ranboo turned in the direction he heard the loud boy from, furrowing his brows as he tried to discreetly figure out if he was talking to him. With how he was approaching him with flat, quick footfalls, Ranboo would say he’s probably shouting at him. “Where’re you going?” Ranboo blinked, his mind processing the question for probably a few seconds too long, before responding. “Oh, uh, English?”

“With who?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? It’s A107 though.” Tommy nodded, humming thoughtfully. He moved to Ranboo’s right and grabbed his wrist. It didn’t feel tight, but his wrist panged all the same. Ranboo told his pain receptors to shut up and be normal for once (they didn’t hear him). Tommy led him down the hall, having let go of his wrist almost immediately after he grabbed it. “...my dad, which fuckin’ sucks, cause he doesn’t let me get away with anything.”

“Huh?” Ranboo asked, entirely lost after having tuned in. Tommy paused, and Ranboo was going to apologize for not listening. He never got the chance, though-not when Tommy started up again, probably repeating himself. “Mr. Craft is my dad-he’s our teacher for English.” Tommy hummed. “He makes us take a lot of shit notes.” Ranboo’s stomach churned. Well, that sucked. “By hand or digitally?”

“Hand, he’s all old fashioned.” Ranboo nodded, feeling his hand cramping up in protest already. “Does he grade the notes?” Tommy looked at him incredulously. “Did your old school grade your notes?” Ranboo nodded. “They wanted to know we were paying attention.” Tommy fell into his seat, gesturing for Ranboo to take the one at the table next to him. He made a face at the news and shook his head. “Nah, he isn’t evil-well, not entirely. He does give you extra credit for any notes you do, though. That usually is why people actually care.” Tommy shrugged. Everyone began filing in, all going to tables around the room, though no one came to sit at theirs. “Why doesn’t anyone else sit here?”

“Probably my fault, whoops.” Ranboo’s heart was going to give out before he left school that day, and the school was going to face a lawsuit for causing his death, then his parents would become rich and buy a mansion with a private beach on the coast of Florida or something. He calmed his breathing before turning as Tommy greeted the man behind them. “Eyyyyy, Techno, my man!!” ‘Techno’ nodded to Tommy and turned to Ranboo, who instantly stopped trying to get Tommy’s attention to ask if this was another student. “You’re new.” Ranboo nodded mutely, cheeks once again heating up as the silence dragged on. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke up. “I’m Ranboo, I transferred from out of town.” He explained, suddenly glad for all those times he’d rehearsed saying that in the mirror, praying for friends to introduce himself to. “That sounds rehearsed.” Any relief he felt was instantly washed away by embarrassment. “I, uh, have to say it sort of a lot. Teachers and, uh, others.” He stammered out awkwardly, only noticing how tense he was when pain ran up his spine to cover his shoulders like a cloak, creeping up his neck like a popped up collar, forcing him to relax before it got worse. Techno hummed, obviously not falling for his terrible cover up. Tommy was snacking on a cookie he’d pulled out of his bag, watching the conversation with rapt eyes.

“Uh, who’re you?” Ranboo finally asked. Techno shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Tommy, you better finish that before Phil gets here, and I’m the student teacher. I’ll be here until the end of the month.” He explained, sitting down across from the duo and flipping his chair to face the front of the room, just as another, older man came in. He had a warm smile, square glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and blond hair tied back in a bun. He wore a green polo with black dress pants with a few manilla folders and binders tucked under an arm as his other hand held a mug of coffee. “Sorry I’m late, I had to get some coffee before dealing with you lot.” A few kids smiled, others laughed, and the few with their heads down raised them up as soon as they heard his voice, backs straightening and pencils coming out of pockets and zipped up pouches.

Ranboo guessed this was the teacher, Mr. Craft. He seemed very easy going and not at all like any other teachers he’d ever had. He’d never seen a full class of students giving their entire attention to the teacher. He hoped this class could be a bit of a reprieve for him. “Mr. Blyd will be instructing today.” He announced. The class all looked excited, cheering excitedly and whispering between their friends, while Techno groaned and rose from his seat seemingly reluctantly. “Why’d you do this to me, Phil?” He grumbled. Tommy finished his cookie, saying something, though it was incomprehensible. Ranboo wrinkled his nose. “Gross.” Tommy flipped him off, taking out a notebook and opening it up to a blank page. “He never listens to Dadza’s lesson plans. He usually tells us a bunch of different myths, or sometimes has us research our own and write about it.” Tommy murmured excitedly. Techno was just beginning to talk, and Ranboo was sifting through his bag for his English notebook when Mr. Craft approached, causing Ranboo to pause and stare with wide eyes behind his glasses, nervousness shaking his body as Phil spoke.

“Hey, mate. Can we talk outside?” Ranboo hesitated. He had no choice, obviously, but still. Tommy frowned. “Huh? What about Techno’s lesson?” He complained, curiosity present in his voice. Mr. Craft shook his head. “It’ll be quick, promise.” He smiled again and Ranboo finally nodded, hands drawing out of his bag to grip his cane again. M. Craft hummed. “We can go through the door in the back of the room, so we don’t need to walk through the whole classroom.” He offered, moving as Ranboo nodded once again. He followed, cane thumping beside him silently, a reassuring comfort in his hand.

They stepped into the hallway, and Mr. Craft waited until the door had shut behind him before speaking up. “So, Ms. Kristin talked to the teachers about what the school knows of your situation.” Ranboo nodded. He remembers that he’d sent an email asking her to explain what they’d told the school to his teachers so he didn’t have to. It was unnecessary stress-or, it was supposed to be unnecessary. “I just wanted to ask if there’s anything else I should know for this specific class, if you need any accommodations to feel more welcome, and comfortable. I want to make my class as enjoyable as possible to all my students.” Again, with that smile. Ranboo thought through everything in his head. He thought about the notes, about writing by hand and his shaky fingers. He thought about how his brain can get fuzzy, and how he’s always tired, no matter how much sleep he gets. He thought about deadlines, and the pains that slowed him down. He thought about the aches and the pain and the doctors appointments and just how much work he would miss. “I don’t think there’s anything else, Mr. Craft.” Ranboo shifted his grip on his cane, already feeling so tired of standing. He prayed this was the end of the conversation.

“Okay, just let me know if anything changes, or tell Tommy. If you don’t want to tell me directly, you can let him know and he’ll get the message to me.” Ranboo nodded. He wouldn’t be doing that, he hadn’t even known Tommy for a day, even if it was longer, there was no way he’d dump his problems on him. Mr. Craft smiled and opened the door, holding it open for Ranboo as he walked through. When he sat back down, Tommy was staring intently at his paper, copying down what Techno was writing on the whiteboard. He was explaining the story of a Greek titan, Atlas. Ranboo distantly remembered his story, and pulled out his notebook to write everything down like Tommy was doing.

Chapter Text

Techno wrote a lot, and quickly too. Once class had ended, Ranboo’s hand felt absolutely useless. He flexed the muscles, twisted his wrist. He focused on the muted pride behind the pain, pushing that forcefully to the forefront of his mind. He had copied everything down. He’d left class without rushing to get the last few sentences in. He wasn’t hanging his head because his notes weren’t nearly enough, and he should have done better. He let his accomplishment carry him through as much as he could, until the taste of it grew sour with the fact that he shouldn't have to be proud of that, that being proud of something so small and normal was stupid.

~~~

The rest of the day passed in a blur, the pain becoming background noise after his fourth class. At the end of the day, he sat on a bench outside the school to wait for his mother to pick him up, rubbing his right wrist, trying to think about anything other than the homework that awaited him. He wasn't the greatest at ignoring those sorts of things, even if he wanted to, every action that he took, every thought in his mind, every word he spoke, was all dependent on the pain in his life, and what would make the constant aches worse.

Would a long conversation right now cause a headache?

Is it a good idea to go for a walk?

Why is everything so sharp right now?

How much can I get done before it hurts too much?

Why can't I handle this better?

He saw his mother stop in front of the school and stood up, adjusting his grip on his cane before making his way over to her. He took two steps before the doors behind him opened. “Ranboo!” Someone yelled. He turned his head and came to a stop. Tommy exited from one of the building doors and took a few, long strides to catch up to Ranboo. “You never gave us your number, man!” Tommy sounded offended. Ranboo felt as though he were buffering.

It took far too long for him to respond. “Oh.” The surprise and confusion wasn’t fading. Tommy stood by, patiently waiting. Ranboo eventually broke out of his spell and recited his number, watching as Tommy entered it into his phone.

“Sick, mind if I give Tubbo your number?”

Ranboo shook his head. “Sure.”

Tommy said a quick goodbye before running back to the door and pounding on the glass. Screaming at someone to let him in. Ranboo turned away and finished his walk back to his mother’s car.

“Who was that?” His mother didn’t waste any time asking him about Tommy once he was seated.

“A new friend. I think.” He mumbled, tilting his head back and adjusting his seat so he could lean back further. His mother hummed and began driving. It wasn’t long before she turned down the radio and began talking about her day at work. He didn’t necessarily mind, sometimes it was a lot, but it was fine. At least she didn’t take too many pauses. He responded when necessary, and listened quietly otherwise.

They stopped at the chiropractor and Ranboo lifted the seat again before getting out. Many people didn’t agree with chiropractors and their practices, but it helped him. Momentarily, anyway. It helped him when he legitimately couldn’t move his neck, so he trusted his chiropractor more than he did the doctors who told him to find a shrink.

(i’ll be using they/them for ranboo from here on, I will edit the rest when I have the time)

They waited in the corner while their mother signed them in. The chiropractor was already in the doorway waiting. “Come on in.” She waved them in and they followed their mother to her room. They walked over to her table and laid against it as she lowered it so they were laying down. She cracked their back, which offered some relief. “How’s school going, you transferred, right? Was today your first day?”

Ranboo hummed. “It’s going. It was my first day. I have homework already.”

“Well, that’s school for you.” She began raising the table again, and soon Ranboo was able to step away from it. They sat down in a chair next to the table and she readjusted their neck. They rubbed it afterwards and winced. It always hurt, but it at least helped a little. Until they had an alternative method available, they would continue coming to their chiropractor for help.

~~~

The rest of their day went how they expected. When they went home, Ranboo emptied the dishwasher, dried the dishes, put them away, dusted the two front rooms, played with their dog, ate dinner, and went to bed. That day was bad enough that they had to ask their mother for a bottle of Benadryl. They took two. With the help from the meds, they fell asleep within forty five minutes, and completely forgot about their English assignment.

~~~

When they woke up the next morning, it was with a sense of dread. At first, they didn’t know why. They’d completed all their chores the day before, and their alarms hadn’t even gone off yet. They had clean clothes, and-oh, yeah they forgot about their homework. They swallowed back a lump in their throat. That was probably it. As soon as it was finished, they’d be able to calm down. They took a deep breath and pulled their body into a seated position. They’d finish the homework in Algebra. They stretched their body out, preparing themself to stand, when their alarms finally went off. They nearly jumped out of their skin. Ranboo reached for their phone and then… forgot simple addition. It took them far too long to remember how to solve 3 plus 6, and once their alarm was dismissed, they were completely awake.

They stood up and grabbed whatever clothes they could find. A plain blue t-shirt, black jeans, red socks, and a forest green hoodie. They were the pinnacle of fashion. They grabbed their book bag and laptop before heading downstairs. Their mother was busy loading the dishwasher, but still looked over and smiled when she saw them. “Hello, sweetheart. How’d you sleep?”

“Okay, I think.” Ranboo replied as they set their things down before heading to the bathroom. They started their morning routine. They washed their face, combed their hair, pulled it back into a short ponytail, and went to get breakfast. That morning nothing looked appetizing. They opened the fridge and settled on old rice; it was simple, and probably wouldn’t kill them even though it was really old. They scooped some of the rice into a plate before shoving it in the microwave. A minute later, it beeped, and they took it out. They grabbed a fork and sat down at the table to eat. Ranboo absentmindedly took to scrolling through their phone as they ate, minding the time. There was about 25 minutes left before they had to leave when Ranboo stood up, placed their dishes in the sink, made their lunch, and started brushing their teeth. Around 16 minutes were left when they put on their shoes, and 15 minutes were left when they realized their cane was missing. The sinking feeling came back. “Mom, do you know where I put my cane?” They threw the question over their shoulder hesitantly. They heard footsteps, and suddenly his mom was in the room with him, at the table, gathering her own things. She seemed unfazed. He felt like time was slowing down.

You need to stop relying on that cane so much!

Why do you use that cane so much?

If you use it this often, you’re going to hurt yourself!

Don’t take your cane today.

You need to rely on your own strength sometimes.

Don’t use it every day!

You’re only hurting yourself more!

You’re making yourself weaker!

This is why you can’t stand on your own!

Learn to walk without it!

This is unhealthy.

Oh god.

“I took it.” Ranboo felt as though they were going to throw up.

“Why?”

“You were using it too much, it was unhealthy. I was making you worse. I didn’t get you the cane so that you could hurt yourself.”

“I was using it when I needed it!” Ranboo retorted. Their voice was shrill. They were panicking. “You said that was a present! You can’t just take it, it was helping-” Their eyes widened. It took a moment to process that their mother was standing in front of them. She was angry, and their cheek stung. Oh. Their mouth clamped shut and every word they were thinking died in their throat. He inhaled shakily.

“Do not give me that attitude. I tried to do something nice for you, and you never listened when I told you something to do with that damn cane! I am your mother, not one of your subjects.” Their mouth felt dry. What did she mean? Her words felt cruel. Subjects? What was that supposed to mean? They nodded and mumbled out a quick sorry. She walked out the door and they followed with their head down and mask already secured around their ears. They put their sunglasses on to shield their teary eyes. Neither of them said anything until they reached the school. “I love you.” Their mother stated. It didn’t sound very full of love. Ranboo’s body tensed. They stepped out of the car. They clenched their jaw. Their mother didn’t drive away. “I love you.” She repeated.

“I love you too, mom.” His voice didn’t sound any more loving than her’s did.