Chapter Text
Ranboo is well aware that he’s not normal.
Not when he has streaks of white in his black hair, not when one of his eyes is a bright red, so he has to wear one singular green contact, not when he’s a whopping six foot seven inches tall, not when he can see strange things in the day, like creatures crawling up walls and odd skeletons in subway stations.
He’ll see things like giant, truck-sized black dogs bounding through the streets, while nobody else batted an eye, or giant snake-people slithering on the ground.
Thankfully, if Ranboo concentrates really hard, the hyper-realistic hallucinations will disappear, although he always gets super exhausted afterwards, so he only does it when something’s bothering him a lot. However, he hasn’t had to do that much recently, although he imagines it’s some sort of psychological response to… something or other.
It doesn’t really matter all too much.
Something’s wrong with his mind, Ranboo is certain, because nobody else around him seems to see these things. It’s best to just ignore and adapt to what everyone else sees. After all, he doesn’t want to be seen as crazy.
Ranboo has lived his whole life almost like he’s floating. No friends, no family, just wake up at the orphanage, eat, go to school, go to the orphanage, study, sleep, and repeat.
The “sleep” part, however, is a bit subjective, as Ranboo doesn’t like his dreams. Gaping caves, looming rolls of fog, lone shacks on top of barren hills… it’s all strange things, and he doesn’t like it. It estranges him from making friends, from people who have such trivial matters like family issues and where they’re going out to dinner.
Maybe, objectively, Ranboo should try and find a way to ground himself, to not live in this strange foggy sheen of life, but it’s really all he can do. Why spend time wallowing in his own sadness, becoming paranoid of his terrifying dreams and weird hallucinations, when he can just… not be present?
Ranboo’s stopped writing in his notebook, but he doesn’t know if class is over yet. Maybe he should keep writing? Something about the crossover of mythological deities, trickery of the mind, boring stuff that he really doesn’t want to think about, for some odd reason.
A gentle hand lays on Ranboo’s shoulder, and he startles, violently thrown into reality with a twisted jerk of his body. Oh, right, he’s in a classroom. Which class? What’s his homework again? Everything’s easier in the fog, it’s better to run on auto-pilot.
Mr. Craft, the long-term sub for the normal history teacher, smiles warmly at Ranboo. It’s comforting—not the fog, but not the fear of the real world, either. Like a gentle, warm presence. Something itches at Ranboo’s fingertips when he looks at Mr. Craft’s blue eyes.
Ranboo’s throat goes dry when he sees an enormous pair of shiny black wings extending out of Mr. Craft’s back. Great, he’s seeing things again—best not to mention it, or else he’ll get called insane. Maybe he thinks Mr. Craft is some sort of guardian angel?
He doesn’t like thinking.
“Oh, mate, you don’t look so well. Do you want me to take you to the nurse? Maybe call your parents?” Mr. Craft’s gaze is heavy, focusing all of his attention on Ranboo. It’s weird, he doesn’t know if he likes it or not.
Ha, parents. That’s a faraway concept, the idea of family. Ranboo thinks he might have once been jealous of people with families, even ones who argued all the time, because at least they were a little wanted. Being wanted would be nice, right?
Ranboo doesn’t have to think about being wanted when he’s floating like this, even if it feels like he’s floating against his will.
Careful not to look at Mr. Craft’s wings, or how his eyes seem to look like the open sky, Ranboo avoids eye contact and stands up on shaking legs, hunching over to appear smaller. “Sorry, Mr. Craft, I just… lost track of time,” he murmurs quietly, voice hoarse from rarely speaking.
“Do you need any help?”
The question catches him off-guard at first. What? Help? He’s constantly living outside of his own body, not working towards anything, withering away inside of an orphanage until the day he turns eighteen and is thrown out into the real world with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
What leaves Ranboo’s mouth, however, is the exact opposite of what he wants to say. “Oh, no thank you, sir, the content is easy to understand.”
Mr. Craft opens his mouth to say something else when the door to the classroom slams open, revealing a man with long pink hair in an intricate braid, thin glasses, and a white button-down. Maybe some sort of teacher’s assistant?
“Phil, you better have found that half-blood soon, because the campers are starting to—”
The man pauses upon seeing Ranboo, and then immediately scowls. If looks could kill, Ranboo would probably be a smoking pile of ash by now. “Oh, good, you found him. Come on, let’s get out of here, Fundy said there might be a basilisk nearby.”
Ranboo isn’t exactly processing any of this, his brain is starting to get fuzzy again. Mr. Craft frowns upon seeing Ranboo again, and then he turns to glare at the man in the door. “Seriously, Techno? I was just starting to ward off the effects, and you come in and ruin it?” he complains, but it’s good-natured. Maybe.
Mr. Craft then turns to Ranboo and clasps his hands in his own. Ranboo blinks a few times, his vision making it hard to focus. “There you go—hey, mate. Let’s get you out of your head, yeah?” his voice is soft and gentle, like a summer’s breeze.
“I don’t…”
The world forces itself into focus when the entire front wall of the classroom explodes, sending all three of them flying into the back. Ranboo groans at the pain, and when he looks back up, the pink-haired man, Techno, seems completely unscathed, while Mr. Craft is patting his shirt down.
In the hole in the wall, there’s a giant…
Is this another one of Ranboo’s hallucinations? Like, some sort of shared illusion or something?
There’s a giant, scaled creature in the hole, and it hisses loudly, fangs getting dangerous close to Techno, who rolls out of the way with surprising expertise. Mr. Craft’s wings flutter, and he seems to pull a bow and arrow out of thin air.
A loud woosh of air sends the creature blasting backwards, and Mr. Craft just narrowly avoids large fangs, nocking an arrow into his bow. It all looks so real… maybe Ranboo should see someone about this. Maybe, in just a few moments, he’ll wake up after having napped in class.
But he doesn’t have the haze at the edge of his mind when he’s asleep, does he? No, those are his moments of clarity, when his brain is resting. When he doesn’t want it to sleep.
The creature lets out a feral screech when an arrow pierces its hide, thick black blood oozing out of it, before Techno slices its head off in one fell swoop with a shiny bronze—or maybe golden—sword. The head rolls down until it reaches Ranboo’s feet, unseeing eyes focusing on nothing.
The black blood drips onto Ranboo’s shoes, staining them. Can hallucinations stain? Ranboo isn’t sure, but this is feeling a little too realistic for his liking.
The fog starts to enter Ranboo’s mind again, blurring his vision and whiting out any background noise. For a moment, the monster fades out of his vision, and he’s wondering if maybe he has more control over his hallucinations.
Then, Mr. Craft’s hand is on his shoulder, and the head comes back into focus, crystal-clear, and Mr. Craft makes a noise of confusion. “How in the world did you…” his voice is breathless, like somehow Ranboo is a bigger deal than the giant snake-monster he just slaughtered with practiced ease.
Techno slides his sword into a sheath, and how in the world did Ranboo not notice that, putting bloodied hands on his hips while glaring at Mr. Craft. “Come on, Phil, let’s go back—you’ve shocked the poor kid half to death!” he seems less out-of-his-mind and more mildly irritated, like the monster was some sort of minor inconvenience.
All of a sudden, a wave of dizziness overcomes Ranboo, like he’s somehow completely exhausted himself, and he collapses towards the floor. Luckily, Mr. Craft grabs onto him, but there isn’t really much to be done, as Ranboo finds himself blacking out immediately.
-
A woman sits by a pool, bored hands dipping into the water, fogging it up until the bottom is invisible. This is for the best, she reasons, one can never be too careful.
Especially not with someone this powerful, someone with an endless abyss of magic at the very edges of his fingertips. He is dangerous, he will easily be swayed down the wrong path, the path of darkness and vile. Is the red eye not enough of an omen?
The woman knows that his mother is probably still searching, the foolish goddess, always looking for her son. It reminds her, with a touch of amusement, of how Demeter once searched far and wide for Persephone. Except, this case, he’s right under her nose.
She isn’t one for deceit or trickery, normally, but this is for the sake of everyone else.
So, when the water starts clearing up, despite her hands being in it, it’s a little shocking. Just how powerful is this person, to be able to ward off her blessing from Dolos, a mix of both his powers and her own? It’s both admirable and alarming, and she finds herself a little bit worried.
After all, if Ranboo was able to ward off her powers, a literal goddess, without any training, how easy will it be to steer him down the wrong path?
It’s only a matter of time before his mother finds and claims him, and only a little time after that before she makes the connections to her. She needs to leave, to hide somewhere, to lay low and run away for a little bit.
As she stands up and leaves, the pool of water clears up entirely, crystal clear, free of any meddling interventions.