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Phil loves every one of his kids- and he has a lot, for someone in his early thirties.
The oldest are twins- Techno and Wilbur, born just minutes apart. Wilbur’s a little shit, but a sweetie at heart. And Techno seems distant, but he could tell the boy- or, man now, he was eighteen- has a lot of love for his siblings.
Tommy is his third and final biological child. It was a miracle both he and Kristin survived him being born. He’s a chaotic little fuck, always causing trouble and swearing at his siblings, but he has a good heart.
Tubbo’s just a few months older than Tommy- both of them being fifteen. Tubbo is like Tommy, only a bit more calculated in his chaos. He loves to pull pranks and get up when he knows everyone else is asleep to trash the house, things like that. But he’s kind, loves every kind of animal, especially bees- he remembers when Tubbo got stung by a wasp in primary school and only cried because he thought the wasp would die.
Ranboo’s the last child he had, and by “had” he means adopted. He’s the most recent addition to the chaos of the Watson household, older than Tommy and Tubbo but younger than Techno and Wilbur- the middle child. He has middle child energy to him too- he’s quiet, keeps to himself. He came from a pretty shitty foster home, he’d been in the system with his sister Niki- Niki had aged out a few years ago. They’d only adopted him a few months back, and before that they’d only had him a year. He’s smart, and he usually has this air of sadness around him that Phil can’t quite seem to break through no matter what he tries.
“So, you love them a lot then?”
Phil smiled. “I do. My kids are my world.”
His therapist- a lovely woman named Puffy- scribbled something down on her clipboard. Phil drummed his fingers against his knees.
“Are your kids why you’re here today?”
“Erm, sort of..” Phil hesitated. “I just- I’m worried about Ranboo, and I’m not sure what to do.”
“Your newest, yeah?”
“Yeah. I just.. worry about him sometimes. I’ve tried talking to people, but nobody’s known how to help. He’s already in therapy himself, god knows he needs it, but he hasn’t made a breakthrough in over a year. He just keeps himself locked up in his room half the time. And.. I’ve noticed some worrying things.”
“Could you elaborate?”
Phil nodded and cleared his throat. “I’ve found some things lying about in his room. Not bad, just.. strange. Proper strange. Beakers, children’s books, crayons- one time when I went in to wake him up I found a dummy on his bed. I just- I want to know what’s going on, and he won’t talk to me about it. I don’t know what it means. I thought it might be some sort of personal thing, I’m certainly not one to judge, but..” He trailed off. He wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d gotten most of it out.
Puffy set her clipboard down and folded her hands in her lap. “Mr Watson, are you familiar with the concept of ‘age regression?’”
“No, doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”
“I think your son- I think Ranboo may be using age regression as a coping mechanism.”
“What does that mean?”
Puffy cleared her throat a little. “Age regression is a coping mechanism- usually it’s a defense mechanism, a response to stress or trauma in some way. Following so far?”
“Yeah?”
“Some people use it for therapeutic reasons. It’s.. essentially it’s when you age backwards, in a sense. You return to a younger state of mind.”
“But why would he be doing it? Is it something I’ve done?”
Puffy chuckled. “Not likely, no. It’s probably something his therapist told him to try- or maybe he found it online. It’s likely he’s been regressing for a long time, and now he’s finally starting to reclaim that for himself.”
“Should I.. should I be worried? Is it something to be worried about?”
“Not usually, no. If he’s getting things like that for himself, he’s probably accepted it by now. Sometimes you can get caught up in the emotions and memories from childhood, that’s normal for anyone who went through childhood trauma.”
“So.. what should I do then?”
“Just be there for him. Let him know you support him no matter what he does. He might trust you with it someday.”
Phil nodded. He looked down at his lap. His hands were bunched up in the fabric of his jeans.
“Now, your wife, her name’s Kristin, yeah?”
.
.
.
Phil sank his hands into the sink of soapy water, sighing deeply.
“No, you’re wrong!”
“I’m not wrong!”
“Where’d you even hear that?”
“Shut up Techno! This is between me and Tubbs!”
“I’m telling you, you’re wrong!”
“And I’m telling you I’m not!”
He’d been dealing with this all day long- their bickering and squabbling. He had an inkling that one of them had failed a test or something at school.
“Daaaaad!”
All. Day. Long.
“Yeah Toms?”
“Tell Tubbo he’s wrong!”
He turned around, crossing damp arms over his sauce-stained apron. “What’re you bickering about this time?”
“Tommy’s saying bees are from Mars! Dad- tell him he’s wrong!”
He leaned back against the sink, an eyebrow quirked up. “Why do you think bees are from Mars?”
“I saw it in a duck-yu-men-tree, so it has to be true.”
Techno was shaking his head, and Wilbur was banging his head against the table. Phil suppressed a laugh.
“Aliens don’t exist stupid, and your documentary was wrong.”
“They do exist! Where d’you think earthquakes come from? It’s aliens crashing down on Earth!”
At that, Phil actually laughed out loud.
“Tommy, please tell me you’re not being serious,” Techno deadpanned.
Wilbur groaned from beside him. “You three are giving me a headache, can you stop?”
“It’s true though!”
“Tommy, mate-” Phil burst out between bewildered bouts of laughter- “Have you ever heard of tectonic plates?”
“Tectra-who? Ranboo, back me up! C’mon man, don’t let me down! One of you’s gotta believe me!”
Phil turned to Ranboo, who was so intently focused on putting plates back in the cupboard he’d apparently forgotten about his bickering brothers behind him.
“Ranboo,” Phil nudged him with his foot.
Ranboo startled, nearly banging his head against the cabinet. “Hm?”
“Y’alright mate?”
“Fine, must have zoned out.” He blinked, rubbing at his head. Funny, he hadn’t even hit his head. “What’re you talking about?”
“Tell Tubbo and Techno I’m right!”
“About.. what?”
“He thinks aliens are real and cause earthquakes, and that bees are aliens from Mars,” Wilbur groaned, refusing to lift his head up.”
“Uh, sure, yeah.”
“YES!!”
“Oh my god, you’re both idiots.”
“I WAS RIGHT!!”
Ranboo was still rubbing absently at his head. “Um, is it okay if I don’t finish? I’m kinda tired..”
“Hm? Oh yeah, go ahead, nearly done anyways. Tommy can do the rest.”
“Oi!”
“Thanks Phil.”
“Mhm. Tommy, stop moaning.”
“But Daaaad!”
Phil turned back around and started scrubbing at another pot. He looked up and caught Kristin’s eye. She put her rag down and pointedly looked at Ranboo’s rapidly-retreating figure.
So, in other words: “Go see what’s wrong.”
Phil sighed. “Tubbo, you can wash the rest of the dishes.”
“Oi! It’s not my night!”
“It is now, punishment for giving Wil a headache.”
Tubbo groaned and dragged himself out of his chair. Phil handed him the sponge as he passed by, winking.
He smirked. “Have fun you two!”
Tommy slapped him upside the head.
Rubbing his head, Phil made his way up the stairs and down the hall. They’d given Ranboo the old guest room, and it was really nice to see the life his newest son gave to it. It’d been so bland before, just a place for visiting relatives and friends to sleep on the rare occasions they stayed overnight, but Ranboo had turned it into an actual room with evidence of someone actually living in it. It made his heart warm a little just thinking about it.
“Ranboo?” He knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”
There was no response.
He knocked again. “Boo? C’mon bud. You asleep in there?”
Again, no answer. Maybe he was too quiet to be heard- that tended to happen sometimes. But more than likely he was just plugged into his music and didn’t hear him.
He sighed and decided to just risk it and open the door. Usually he’d leave him be if he didn’t respond, but he really wanted to see what was up.
“Okay, I’m coming in, make sure you’re decent.
He gave the boy all of ten seconds before he opened the door. His face softened at the sight of Ranboo sitting on his bed, clutching his stuffed octopus to his chest.
“Hey there,” he smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed, “can we talk?”
Ranboo used his feet to push himself back, bonking his back against the headboard. His arms tightened around his plush.
Phil reached out to place a hand on his knee, but pulled away when Ranboo flinched. “Okay, no touching,” he said, and he rested his hand on his lap instead. “But I really want to talk about dinner, yeah? You looked a bit out of it and I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Ranboo looked down.
“Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me if it’s not, right?”
He shrugged. Phil frowned- as shy as his son was sometimes, this certainly wasn’t typical behaviour.
“Are you feeling sick?”
A head shake.
“Can you talk?”
Another shrug. “Lil bit,” he whispered, then shoved his face into his stuffed animal.
“Okay, that’s good, thank you for talking.” He inhaled deeply. “Are you having an episode right now?”
Ranboo brought his knees up to his chest and mumbled something.
“Could you speak up a bit, bud?”
“Said I dunno.”
“You don’t know how you feel? That’s okay, you don’t have to know.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“Feel scared.”
Phil furrowed his brow. This was just getting weirder and weirder. “Okay, you’re scared, but you don’t know how you feel?”
Ranboo kicked his feet against the duvet. “No, said I feel scared.”
“I don’t understand. Could you explain for me?”
“Um, scared cus, cus um, not a’posa be, um, um, in here.”
“Whaddyou mean? This is your house, of course you’re allowed to be here.”
Ranboo made a frustrated noise into his stuffed animal.
“Okay okay,” Phil said, waving his hands a bit, “why don’t we backtrack a bit? Could you tell me why you’re feeling scared?”
“Said cus I’m not-”
“You are allowed to be here.”
“But I’m not!”
“Alright, alright, I get it. Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Ranboo took a shaky breath, then let it out.
“Good, good. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
Ranboo huffed. “Go ‘way.”
“Sorry?”
“Go ‘way!”
“Ranboo-”
“No! Go ‘way! Please go ‘way, please!”
“Ranboo, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you on your own right now.”
“I said go!”
Ranboo threw his plushie at Phil and buried his head into his pillow, letting out a frustrated scream. The stuffed animal bounced off harmlessly, but that didn’t mean Ranboo was out of the clear.
“Ranboo! I understand you’re frustrated, but that doesn’t mean you get to throw things at me!”
“Go ‘way!” Ranboo kicked his legs back, nailing Phil right in the thigh.
“I want to help, but you’re acting like a child-”
He stopped.
“Mr Watson, are you familiar with the concept of ‘age regression?’”
He softened his voice and scooted closer. “Ranboo, bud, how old are you right now?”
Finally Ranboo stopped kicking and peeked his head out a little.
“Free.”
Phil inhaled. Okay, he could do this. Just treat him like a regular kid.
“Wow, you’re pretty big huh?”
“Uh huh.” Ranboo sniffled and sat up. “Daddy says I’m the biggest boy!”
Huh?
“Yeah! You are the biggest boy.”
He was under the assumption that Ranboo didn’t have a caregiver, but maybe that assumption was wrong. Maybe one of his friends or brothers looked after him. If they did, they did a very good job keeping it hidden.
“Mhm.” Ranboo hummed and rocked from side to side.
“And who’s Daddy? Is that Wilbur?”
Ranboo laughed. “No! I dunno any Wilbur! Daddy’s name’s um, um, it’s Fool-ish!”
Phil furrowed his brow. He didn’t know anyone named Foolish.
“Yeah? And where’s Foolish now?”
“Is Daddy,” he corrected, then pointed to his head. “Up here!”
“You’re thinking about him?” he was guessing blindly at this point.
“No!” Ranboo laughed again. “Daddy’s in here!”
“Daddy’s.. in your head?”
“Uh huh.”
Okay, now this was just weird. Maybe it was some game of pretend he just wasn’t understanding. Maybe he’d understand more if he went along with it.
“Mhm, and what does Daddy do up there?”
“Um, he comes out and makes me snacks, and he gets my stuff, and he gives me lotsa cuddles if I’m sad.” He nodded his head.
“Daddy comes out?”
“Yeah!”
“What does that mean? Do you mean you pretend to be him?”
“No, silly! Daddy comes out like I’m out now!”
“I don’t understand. Could you maybe explain?”
Ranboo huffed, like Phil was supposed to understand his nonsense. Well, he was a toddler at the moment, and toddlers were the definition of nonsense. “In here!” he pointed at his chest. “Daddy’s up here-” he pointed to his head- “but sometimes he comes in here-” another point to his chest- “when he needa take care me.”
Okay, Phil was officially lost.
“You don’ un’ers’and!” Ranboo huffed, “Boo says you’re ‘posa be smart!”
“But you’re Boo?”
“No am not! I’m Fun’y!”
“You’re funny?”
“No! Fun-dee! Fun’y!”
“Your name’s Fundy?”
He nodded.
“Is that the name you use when you’re little?”
“No! Am always lil!”
“Alright, alright, just hold on, yeah?”
Ranboo- Fundy- whatever he was going by- huffed again and crossed his arms over his chest, muttering to himself. Phil elected to ignore him and began to text Techno- the only one who wasn’t preoccupied with a crippling migraine or currently cleaning up after dinner.
Dadza: Can you come up to Ranboo’s room?
Thing 1: ye sure. why?
Dadza: Hard to explain, just come here.
Thing 1: alr.
Dadza: ^-^
Seconds later, someone knocked on the doorframe, then let themselves in.
“Yeah?” Techno entered the room and leaned against the wall. “What’s up?”
“Ranboo’s not making any sense,” he looked pleadingly at his son, “could you maybe-?”
Techno grunted and moved to the bed, sitting next to Phil on the opposite side. “Alright squirt, what’s up?”
“P’il’s bein’ stupid!” He complained, kicking his feet against the mattress.
“Er- do you know what age reg-”
“Yes, I know,” Techno interrupted. “Phil tends to do that sometimes.”
“Oi!”
“Could you tell me why he’s bein’ stupid?”
“Said am not makin’ sense!”
“He said his name’s Fundy, and that his dad lives in his head,” Phil summarised.
Techno made an “ah” sound.
“Well hello Fundy,” he said, sticking out a hand, “I’m Techno.”
“Boo said aaaaall bout you!” Ranboo- Fundy- bounced on the bed. He took the offered hand and shook it wildly.
“Mhm? What’s Boo said about me?”
“Um, um, said you’re smaaart, and you love love love stories! And you’re big ‘n strong!”
“I am, you’re right.” Techno sounded softer than he’d ever heard him be before. “Now, can you tell me if you know what a system is?”
“Ummm, yeah! Daddy says we’re a system.”
“Mhm, Daddy’s very smart, isn’t he?”
“Uh huh! The mostest!”
“And Phil’s a big dumb nerd, yeah?”
“Uh huh!”
“I don’t understand?” Phil looked between Fundy and Techno, uncaring that they’d both just insulted him. “What are you talking about?”
Techno sighed. “Do you know what Dissociative Identity Disorder is?”
“I do!” Fundy cheered, bouncing again.
“I know you do,” Techno chuckled, “you’re pretty smart. I was asking Phil. Phil?”
“Uh, I’ve heard it in passing. Isn’t that the, erm, the one with multiple personalities?”
“Not personalities, but you’ve got the right idea.” Techno sighed. “It’s when someone’s normal development gets interrupted by trauma. Instead of forming into one big personality, they form multiple states of identity called alters. Alters are like- think of them as separate individuals. Technically they’re all parts of a whole, but they have their own sense of identity, yeah?”
Phil could tell he was dumbing it down a bit, but he couldn’t tell whether that was for Fundy or for him.
“I think I understand? So, Fundy’s an alter?”
“Mhm, and his dad too.”
“What’s Ranboo then? Is he like, the main alter?”
“No, there’s no ‘main alter.’ I’m guessing he’s the host- the one who’s out in the body the most often.”
“Uh huh!” Fundy chimed in, “Daddy says Boo’s a host!”
“He’s an alter too,” Techno added, “he just takes on the appearance of being the only one. It’s a masking thing- systems usually have to appear normal on the outside to survive.”
“I think that makes sense. So.. Ranboo’s an alter and he has Disassociative Identity Disorder, which means he has multiple people that live in his head.”
“Yep, basically. Except it’s dissociative, not disassociative.”
“Ah. That’s confusing.”
“A bit yeah,” Techno hummed. “Now, Fundy, what do you usually do when you’re out?”
“Um! Can, um, can I do colouring please?”
“Of course you can. Where do you keep your colouring stuff?”
Fundy leapt off the bed, grabbing his octopus plush. He knelt down and reached under his bed, then pulled out a plastic box and some colouring books. He opened the lid, scooting over to let Techno sit beside him. Phil stayed on the bed and leaned over a bit to watch.
He pushed the lid back under the bed and Phil got to see everything in the box- an assortment of heavily-used crayons, some paintbrushes, two containers of paint in various shades, a few coloured pencils, a pencil sharpener, and a few sheets of stickers, from what he could see. There was probably more underneath the top layer, but that was what Phil could see from his position.
“Which book you gonna use?”
“Superheroes!” Fundy pulled a colouring book from the stack and shoved the rest back under his bed. He flipped open the book to a random page and bent himself in half to start colouring.
“Superheroes are pretty cool, huh?”
“Uh huh!”
“Which is your favourite?”
“Um, B’ack Widow! Cus she’s super strong and beats everyone up!”
“She is pretty cool. I like Captain America the best. Phil, how ‘bout you?”
“Uhhhh..” he had to pause and think it over. “Hawkeye I think. Been a few years.”
He was still struggling a bit to wrap his head around everything that had happened and was still happening. In the span of less than fifteen minutes he’d gone from knowing his son as an individual living with a few mental illnesses to a collection of different personalities- or alters, rather- living in one body. It was hard to process. He almost found himself doubting that it was real.
But looking down at his oldest and his now-youngest talking about superheroes while colouring, he found his doubts being laid to rest.
Whatever his son was going through and whatever disorders he had, Phil loved him all the same. He was still his son at the end of the day.
And hey, now this meant Phil had a bundle of new children. He’d always loved the prospect of taking care of a bunch of kids, and he missed the few short years when his kids were young.
Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.
“P’iiiil, I got crayon on the floor!”
Well- at least he didn’t have to change diapers again.