cough syrup

by nightmare_rivulets (violetides)

Chapter 32: XXXII - one day you'll figure me out, i'll meet judgment by the hounds

Summary:

The hurricane continues to spiral. Somewhere, in a ground floor apartment building, seventeen years of sunlight fights to resurface.

Notes:

title from "i'm your man" by mitski.

please read the ending note.

content warnings: panic attacks, descriptions of psychotic/unreality episodes, depressive episodes, references to self-harm and violence (these are recurrent themes). references to alcohol and (lesser-so) other substances, suicidal ideations, emetophobia, references to childhood neglect.

this is a heavy chapter with a hopeful light, i hope. things get better from here. chapter summaries, if needed, will be provided at an undetermined point.

The entire apartment is submerged in darkness.

 

The sun fights somewhere past the curtains to shine along the hardwood, a virtuous effort punctuated by the faint whining that can be heard, swept along the wind yet unrelenting in its attempt. The sun will burn out someday, rotting this earth into darkness; in the interim, it fights to shine as often as it can, as long as it can. Despite the stalemate, it has found itself taking on the formidably pathetic opponent that is a ground floor apartment suite.

 

The temperature of the apartment is worryingly low. There’s a thermostat somewhere that can be tampered with, but the effort hardly feels worth it. It’s hard to feel much of a difference unless you make a conscious effort, and there’s not much in the world worth paying too much attention to. Certainly not the temperature. An intelligent move would be to shut the thing off entirely, spare the unwieldy heating bill, but when has wasting away been intelligent? When has any of this made any sense at all? The temperature stays as is– worryingly high for costs, worryingly low for comfort. 

 

The most activity that the dismal apartment gets is the tittering steps of a white cat, clever enough to scurrage food out of a cupboard that she isn’t meant to even know how to open. The water that sits in her bowl is lukewarm, repeatedly filled with half-filled bottles littered across the apartment, but she manages. At semi-regular intervals, she’s given a heap of attention– lazy scritches, a carry that lasts for a few moments, kisses along her heads, fervent apologies– before she is set back down, and she returns to wandering around her home, the most living part of the place considering her owners are respectively gone and… compromised.

 

It’s a weird word to use for the situation, objectively. It’s not like Ranboo is severely injured. Sure, the bruises and cuts suck and all, but he can still move . A little vertigo, but it’s possible. He feels tired enough most days that the dizziness is familiar, and were he any better of a person, he’d be more willing to face it. 

 

But he’s not what anyone would consider a good person. And he’s not injured terribly , sure, but he’s firmly given up, and in some larger-than-life altruistic sense, maybe those are equivocal. 

 

His legs are numb where they lay under the tangled blankets. On occasion, they’ll start to prickle, and he’ll wrinkle his nose and keep them still until all feeling escapes them again. His arms aren’t in quite the same state, but they are tired, and his phone is within reach but he feels so heavy and he’s stared at the weather forecast a million times, read all the news about the passing hurricane’s destruction, checked the Wikipedia article randomizer so mindlessly that he didn’t even notice when by sheer luck he got the same article twice, and grappled with himself about whether it’s wrong to answer spam callers. 

 

He guesses there’s no morality to something like that. And it’d be nice to hear another person’s voice again. But he’s a little scared that he’ll recognize the voice that comes over the other side, and then he’ll hear someone banging against the door, and everything will end for him.

 

There’s at least that. It’s not exactly like it’s good company, but he’s not all that picky at the minute. Every so often, he’ll hear the faint sounds of someone screaming out his name, banging on the front door, the kitchen cabinets, the bedroom walls. Sometimes, he thinks that he’s the one screaming, but that implies that he has much of a voice to him; when he tries to reply, it just comes out a pathetic rasp. 

 

He’s not really sure how much time has passed. He can see the date on his phone, sure, but what use is that if he can’t remember yesterday’s date? All he knows is that the 28th of December has come and passed, and New Year’s Day happened at some point, but everything after that is an intangible blur. It still seems like it's early January, but where was he on January 2nd? January 3rd? Why should the date of January 5th even remotely matter him if he can’t answer those questions?

 

The past, present, and future all feel equally bleak to him. The past is so blurred with his awful memory– he knows that Dream is dead, or in jail, or otherwise never coming back. He knows that Dream might still come back, seeing as someone keeps screaming at his door. Maybe that’s Sapnap or George. He just really hopes it isn’t Tommy, because it sounds a lot like him sometimes. All the time. 

 

He’s pretty sure Tommy’s been screaming for help outside his bedside door, dragging his bitten fingernails down the wood over and over again, and all Ranboo has done is shut his eyes a little more purposefully.

 

At some point, someone is going to break past the doors. It can’t be that difficult. Ranboo isn’t trying to make himself hidden; if anybody wanted to, they would come. The police could break in with barely any effort, and it’s not like Ranboo’s going to put up a fight. He wasted all his self preservation against Dream.

 

There’s something to be said about the fact that the police haven’t come yet, though. Or, for that matter, anybody else. The only person who texts him anymore is Tubbo, and he seems concerned, sure, but that’s it. Niki sometimes, too, but that’s different.

 

People are always concerned about Ranboo, so seeing their texts doesn’t surprise him. It’s not even about surprise, clearly, seeing as nothing seems to faze Ranboo anymore. It’s more… it’s more that Ranboo is upset, if he thinks about it, that it’s just concern and then it stops. Nobody is concerned enough to come back, nobody is concerned enough to end this, nobody is concerned enough to call, it’s like Ranboo decided to kill himself and everyone just let him , this is exactly how it’d look if he had just died , because for all intents and purposes he barely exists to the world anymore and yet nobody’s done anything.

 

He thinks about Schlatt’s funeral, sometimes. He tries not to, because that day isn’t really his to think about. He’s not the person who lost a relative to tragic causes and had to deal with the subsequent dichotomy of relief and grief. 

 

(He did lose Dream, though, which in a lot of ways feels similar, but not similar at all, because Dream got no elegy, Dream got no second chances, Dream evaded death and so did Ranboo and nobody mourns the living because in order to mourn someone, you have to love them, and since Ranboo and Dream haven’t died there’s not really anybody to love them, you only love post mortem, they don’t love, they don’t-)

 

That was the day he met Fundy, though. The day he saw Tubbo cry. The day that Quackity told him he’s not an adult, and Ranboo told him that he could give him a ride, and they both told each other to go away in the only words they knew. And that was the day where everything effectively went to hell, the reason Ranboo can’t even pretend like he knows what it means to exist anymore.

 

Ranboo wishes that Schlatt could die faster, honestly. The funeral is still haunting all of them; none of them have recovered from the effects of it. It’s such a weird thing, because for Ranboo, bad events have just disappeared from his life– he would literally forget them, as in they don’t matter, as in he’s just like this, and there’s nothing more to it– so having this nameable thing be this persistent of an issue is decidedly weird.

 

How do you kill something that’s already dead, though? 

 

Ranboo isn’t really sure. 

 

Maybe he should stop thinking about those kinds of things, though. That’s what a therapist would tell him, probably. Ranboo, you need to stop thinking about death all the time. You’re suicidal and homicidal and you’ve been suicidal and homicidal for a long time, and we’re going to have to sedate you. Well, he’s been sedated– he can’t feel his legs and his arms are all heavy and his brain is fog– so at least that’s one problem solved.

 

It’s not like you can stop thinking about death, though, once the floodgates have opened. There’s people screaming outside his door every few hours like they’re being killed, and sometimes he swears he sees a person standing in the corner of his room, watching him. His arm still aches from the murder attempt, and his shallow attempts at sleep take him back to the moment he lost consciousness– face in the backpack, back to the grass. Whichever memory it is, it’s something to do with his death– it’s haunting him.

 

What is the world going to do when Ranboo finally dies? He has nobody coming after him, nobody that came before him. The only legacy he really keeps is Dream, and he’s clearly gone, too, and nobody misses him anymore.

 

You have Niki, his mind reminds him. You have Techno, and Tubbo, and Fundy. They’re all your legacy. Tommy is your legacy.

 

Shut up, he tells himself. Where are they, if they’re my legacy? Niki is getting married. Techno is graduating soon. Tubbo is also graduating soon. Fundy is still going to call me his brother even if I’m dead. And my hand in Tommy’s life is done.

 

Then why is he screaming? his mind asks. Why are they all screaming?

 

Ranboo hates the back-and-forth of these conversations. His mind keeps asking these things of him: get yourself together, call your school, ask someone for help, stop going back to sleep. His mind wants to be out of this prison, because when Ranboo is with other people, his mind isn’t his anymore– it’s the mind of whatever is consuming Ranboo. The only reprieve it gets from Ranboo’s self pity is being consumed with the death of J Schlatt, but it wants more out of Ranboo. It wants people to spit off of. It wants to think about how it felt to dye Niki’s hair; it wants to think about the allusions Techno makes like it’s just a reflex; it wants to think about the way Tubbo looks at him when he calls him pretty; it wants to think about the spin of the discs that Fundy gave him years and days ago. 

 

But Ranboo knows that thinking of other people won’t end his pain. Niki’s hair isn’t ritually dyed so much that Ranboo will need be there to do it for her; Techno is going to start repeating the same phrases enough times that Ranboo will grow to expect it rather than anticipate it; Tubbo will never call him pretty again considering how much he’s destroyed himself by staying inside; Fundy will- Fundy will-

 

The concept of unconditional love has never exactly existed for Ranboo. This idea that someone would love another person no matter what happens or what either person does feels a little… off to him. If Niki killed someone, he’d probably care a lot, even if he still lived with xem. He’d care. And if Springerle ripped the apartment to shreds every single day, Ranboo would eventually get tired of it, and his temper would get shorter. 

 

And maybe he’s just- just not understanding the concept, really, but he’s pretty sure this is the way things are supposed to work. He doesn’t feel like anybody would love him if he did something egregiously awful, and he can say that fairly confidently considering he has done egregiously awful things, and people don’t love him. So that thinking just makes sense to him, actually.

 

(If anything, J Schlatt must have been proof of that. Or, proof of… something. 

 

Ranboo doesn’t know if Tubbo still loves him. He never got the chance to ask. It’s… different, in any case. Nobody’s going to think about Ranboo as much as any of them have thought of Schlatt.)

 

So he’s not sure why he’s so convinced that Fundy is going to care for him no matter what happens. He’s never fallen for those false lies before– or at the very least, he tries really hard not to– but something about Fundy makes his heart hurt a little because it feels like Fundy is going to stay this time, or at very least , he’s promising to. 

 

And promises can be broken.

 

Promises can be broken.

 

Ranboo might do well to remember that, but he’s not exactly known for his memory, anyway.

 

He sighs, laying back in his bed and letting his eyes fall shut. His brain can’t scream at him louder than what he already hears, and the steps ahead seem so fuzzy. Calling the school requires some sense of an action plan, some idea of how he’s going to reassemble his life, but that is distinctly impossible. Getting out of bed for longer than what is needed to feed Springerle requires awareness that he’s now out of bed, and able to do things, and he has no idea what to do with that power. 

 

It is easy to decay. Ranboo has been decaying, steadily, every second he’s fought to keep himself clean, to wash the fungi and rot off of his fingers. But he is decaying, now, the way that a tree grows old and broken until it is unwanted, commemorated with a plaque and nothing more.

 

Ranboo belongs in an obituary, but he is not dead and he is not dying, so he belongs in a bed instead. This is a reasonable conclusion to make. He’s trying to be reasonable. He doesn’t have much else, but it’s difficult enough as is, when he can barely keep track of his own arguments.

 

In the silence between two bangs on his door, his phone vibrates on his bedside table. For a second, he thinks it must just be some text notification, but when he tries to let it go away, he realizes that it’s someone calling him. The world settles into some shaky rhythm: the banging, and the ringing.

 

It’s probably a spam caller , he reasons, because he’s trying to be reasonable, but he can’t keep himself from this uneasy music. He’s always flying back to the flame.

 

So when the vibrating pulses stop, he rolls over to see what random company was after him this time. 

 

Like a moth to the flame, he freezes. 

 

Because the person calling him was Fundy.

 

And, after Ranboo checks his phone app, it’s not only that. 

 

Fundy left a voicemail .

 

Promises can be broken. Promises can be broken. You can’t trust this, it’s another set-up, he has no reason to do this, no reason to call you, the promise must be broken. Promises have to be broken, right?

 

But what choice does he have? What can he do other than listen to the voicemail?

 

Even the most forsaken want another chance, right? Sinners want a Hell so they can hear someone, some entity, actually talk to them. That’s why there is a man screaming outside his door.

 

That’s why Ranboo clicks to listen to the voicemail.

 

“Hey Ranboo,” Fundy says into the receiver, sounding a little breathless. “Sorry, I just realized you’re at school. Hope I didn’t get you in trouble- ha, no, you’re a good kid. Uh. I don’t know how you’re liking it overall, but- but I hope it’s been good! I just, uh, wanted to call you and see how you’re doing, man, I was thinking about you. Uh, the two of us, being kids and everything. But, you know, also not being kids. If you ever want to hang out, we can drive somewhere- well, you’ll have to drive, I don’t… I don’t actually have my license. But. But! We can hang out and talk about shit whenever, alright? If you ever need, like, a distraction, I’ve been told I’m good at that kind of thing, sometimes, so yeah! Alright, I’ll leave you to it, Ran. Keep being good, call me back later. Uh, if you want to. If not, that’s okay too. Yeah. Bye.”

 

(Hope I didn’t get you in trouble - ha, no, you’re a good kid. 

 

Uh, the two of us, being kids and everything . But, you know , also not being kids.

 

If you ever need, like, a distraction , I’ve been told I’m good at that kind of thing , sometimes , so yeah! 

 

Keep being good, call me back later. Uh, if you want to. If not, that’s okay too .)

 

He called. Fundy called, and-

 

Ranboo’s fingers tense, as much as they can, around the phone.

 

( Keep being- Keep being good, good, call me back later. Call me back- call me back later. Uh, if you want to. If you want to! Call me back later, if you want to! If not, that’s okay too . That’s okay, too. That’s okay .)

 

Part of Ranboo wants to reach out and call back. The piece of his mind still in touch with the world screams at him to tell Fundy what happened. Because Ranboo is not at school, he is at home and spiraling into a state too convoluted to be regarded as depression, but maybe this is depression, like the big depression all the little ones were building up for, and he could call Fundy and ask him about that. They could drive around, and listen to music, and Ranboo could feel real.

 

(If you ever need, like, a distraction- if you ever need a distraction. I’ve been told I’m good at that kind of thing- if you ever need a distraction. I’ve been told I’m good, I’m good ! Sometimes , so yeah! Sometimes!)

 

But answering the call requires explaining. And explaining requires thinking about what happened. And that means talking to Niki, and the school, and getting into his car after everything that’s happened, and Ranboo can’t. 

 

(Yeah. Bye. Yeah. Bye. Yeah. Bye.)

 

He can’t. 

 

But he can’t let this go, either. 

 

He lays back, eyes unconsciously shutting, and he clicks the button that lets the voicemail replay. And he plays it, over and over and over again.

 

(Hey Ranboo.

 

Hey Ranboo.

 

Hey Ranboo.

 

Hey.)

 

–

 

When Ranboo wakes up, sunlight still fighting its way into his room– albeit a little paler– he makes the irrational decision to try and actually get dressed.

 

There’s no point in it. He’s not going to be able to show his face in school for a while, and the only thing that is keeping him from losing his job is the fact that he barely worked weekdays anyway, but still. Something about the sound of his voice– of Fundy’s voice…

 

…He can’t keep laying in bed forever, pressurized under the weight of everything, and even if nothing gets better and he’s stuck like this until the end of time– well, at least he’s not wearing faded pajamas that do nothing to shut out the cold. 

 

That has to be something, isn’t it? Enough of a reason to make that small step? He just doesn’t want to be cold. More than anything, he really, really doesn’t want to be cold.

 

It takes too much effort to get himself out of bed, since he’s definitely at least left it once or twice, probably, maybe, possibly? He had to have, for Springerle, but he can’t remember doing it, and his legs creak under him like it’s a car that won’t run trying to creak back to life. A lot in Ranboo’s life could have been avoided if a car never ran. If the car never ran.

 

But the car still runs, or it ran until it didn’t, but it still- Ranboo still walks over to his dresser with shaky legs and feels distinctly out of his body. Somewhere else, probably, maybe, possibly? But he still opens it, pulling on a sweatshirt that clings uncomfortably to his skin and the same jeans he wears most days. Except now, it feels off, because of course it does.

 

Of course it does.

 

The soft, almost imperceivable sound of his door opening prompts him to cast a stray look, slow and languid, and he watches as Springerle enters the room. She seems to be faring far better than he is, but Ranboo has to imagine the life of a cat is far less complex than everything he has going on.

 

“Hi, honey,” he says, quiet not by intent, but by proxy of his voice’s disuse. He kneels down to pet her, a beat out of rhythm. “I hope you’re doing okay. Maybe- maybe today’s the day where I get it together.”

 

Springerle meows, and Ranboo lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I know,” he says, standing up and sighing. “That isn’t- that isn’t going to happen, huh.”

 

He should probably go check on the amount of food Springerle has set up, and clean out the litter box. That entails going to the kitchen, which at least gets him out of his room, but he knows that once he leaves he will just want to go back in again. It’s not like Niki is here to keep him company– her texts are occasional and she’s not coming back anytime soon–, nor is there much in the neighborhood for him to do without risking scrutiny from the neighbors.

 

Then again, he already gets enough scrutiny from them, as does Niki. Him showing up, looking like a mess– and a recently attacked mess, at that– isn’t going to help their reputation. So he’ll just… stay inside. And maybe make himself tea or something.

 

Springerle leads the way to the kitchen once she gets the sense that’s where he’s going, and she watches him clean out the litter box and assess the amount of food she has before deeming it satisfactory. She goes to eat while Ranboo starts on making himself tea, just going off of whatever he has available. 

 

I wonder if Tubbo likes tea, Ranboo thinks, before promptly wincing. 

 

It’s… an irrelevant thought. A weird thought to have, considering everything. Considering that more than he doesn’t want to think about Dream, more than he doesn’t want to think about the police, more than he doesn’t want to think about Techno or Fundy or Tommy…

 

… he doesn’t want to think about him. About Tubbo.

 

Because the thought of everything else burns. When it’s Fundy, it’s a mixture of wanting and fearing, but with Tommy and Techno, it just hurts. But Tubbo…

 

Tubbo is comforting. He always is. The thought of Tubbo is comforting to Ranboo, more than it’s anything else.

 

…But he can’t have something comforting right now. It’ll only make everything worse.

 

“It’s just going to make things worse,” he tells himself, as he finishes stirring the tea. He sits up on the counter carefully, shaking his head to himself. “It’s going to make things worse. I can’t… I shouldn’t…”

 

He had called Tubbo, when everything had happened. He can’t remember the entire contents of the phone call, but he knows it must have not been good. Even still, Tubbo’s texts are seemingly normal, with a hint of concern throughout it all, of course. But Ranboo never wanted Tubbo to get involved in all his issues, and he went ahead and did just that to him.

 

He doesn’t have a right to reach out. This isn’t like Fundy– there’s no reason for it, no explanation for the part of him that feels like everything would be easier, if Tubbo was sitting on the counter beside him.

 

There is a reason though, of course. But it’s not a reason that Ranboo will allow himself, now or ever again, because Tubbo’s life is complicated enough and if everything falls apart- if everything is ruined - then Ranboo wants as few people involved as possible. 

 

It’s only natural that fate calls for the door clicking behind him.

 

Ranboo’s body tenses. He doesn’t move away from where he sits on the counter, head dipped low not to slam against the ceiling, but he holds off on drinking another sip as he waits for the intruder to come in. 

 

(Focusing too hard on his peripheral vision is causing his eyes to hurt. That might be the entire point of using peripheral vision, though, is to not focus on it. Maybe Ranboo’s eyes just hurt anyway, like how his tongue burns. Or maybe he’s just really, really bad at not looking his nightmares dead in the eye.)

 

What differentiates the person from the noises he’s been hearing isn’t anything strictly logical, but the acute gasp they let out that is oh-so-familiar to Ranboo. Niki isn’t usually the type to act so openly surprised, so Ranboo must look particularly awful for xem to respond in that way. 

 

“Hey, Niki,” Ranboo tries to say, but he coughs on the first syllable. His hands are shaking so badly that he decides to put his tea on the counter beside him before he spills it all over the kitchen tile. When did his hands start shaking this bad, anyway? When was his voice this raw with disuse? What happened, what happened, what happened? his mind echoes like a hollow tree trunk, as if he didn't just finish carving it out for some abstract display of vulnerability. Or something. Whatever kind of compulsion that drew him to drink tea he barely likes moments after his life ended.

 

Maybe he’s dead. Maybe that’s why Niki is staring at him like that.

 

The thought almost starts to make sense until Niki surges forward like the hurricane on the news, xeir hands immediately rising and freezing inches away from where Ranboo’s head injury is. 

 

At least his arm injuries aren’t within xeir line of sight. Without xem in the house, Ranboo didn’t exactly have the concealer laying around to cover anything up.

 

“What happened?” Niki breathes out, and Ranboo can’t tell what emotion she’s feeling anymore. It was clearly shock before, but now she’s giving Ranboo the same facial expression she sometimes gives moments before she either sobs, screams, or breaks into uncomfortable laughter. 

 

Despite the tonal dissonance, the last option is probably better. Ranboo doesn’t want to make her cry.

 

So he should probably choose his words carefully, then. “Uh,” Ranboo starts off, ineloquently, but he lets out another cough before adding, “Hit my head on the ceiling, sitting up here. Y’know. Tall.”

 

In Ranboo’s eyes that’s an okay lie, but Niki mutters, “Bullshit,” seconds after he says it, her hand gently resting against his jaw as she scans over his face. Her voice is softer when she comments, “You look exhausted. And the bruise is several days old, I can tell. What happened? Ranboo, what happened, why are you at home?”

 

“It’s a day off,” Ranboo tries to lie again, but Niki shakes her head and he remembers that she’s best friends with Wilbur, who is the older brother of Tommy and Tubbo, and that has screwed up several of his lies shoot. “I just- I just wasn’t feeling well.”

 

“Did something happen?” Niki’s breathing is heavier than Ranboo’s, like she’s exerted herself severely. It should be flipped, really, but maybe it shouldn’t, because Ranboo is fine and Niki has no reason not to be, too. “Did someone hurt you?”

 

“I hit it against the ceiling,” Ranboo repeats. “And I just didn’t sleep well, think it- think it might have worsened my like, uh, immunity or something, and now I have a cold. That’s why- that’s why I’m drinking tea.”

 

“You don’t drink tea when you have a cold,” Niki tells him. “You drink hot chocolate. Or, well, you try to- you always would ask me to.”

 

Ranboo can’t remember asking anything of Niki less than the price of taking him in. Requests must cascade, though, down to the last drop. “Well, I changed my mind. Is that so hard to believe?”

 

“Yes, because you’re lying to me,” Niki asserts, and frustration is starting to bleed into xeir tone; xe has never been good at fighting it back. Neither has Ranboo. His head is bruised for a reason, and xeir head is dyed bright pink for the same. Rarely did these two facts cross each other, though. “You’re- you’re hiding something from me, Ranboo. And I’m worried.”

 

“Nothing happened,” Ranboo insists, lifting a hand to touch his injury sub-consciously and enunciating his words slowly in hopes to buy himself time for a lie. 

 

But Niki’s eyes have left Ranboo’s face, falling towards his sleeve. It takes Ranboo a second to realize his mistake, and motion slows around them as both their eyes go to his arm.

 

And then Niki is trying to hold onto his wrist at the same time that Ranboo is trying to propel himself off of the countertop, and the cup of tea goes flying beside him and shatters a few tiles down while Niki manages to catch him around the waist, and Springerle is running away while his hand instinctively reaches out to push xem away but Niki just grabs onto it, finger accidentally pressing into the deepest part of the cut, and all Ranboo can think of to do is thrust himself to the side and cause the both of them to stumble, causing Niki to let go of him and Ranboo to reach the bathroom door first and lock it before Niki can properly give chase.

 

She starts knocking soon enough, though, before Ranboo can take a breath. Her fist collides with the wood louder than Ranboo can hear his own heartbeat, hand clutching at his shoulders as he winces in pain. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Niki says, loud enough to be heard but not much louder than that. “I shouldn’t have- if I realized what they were, I wouldn’t have tried to grab it. I just wanted to check, but I- that was shitty and I shouldn’t have. Ranboo, unlock the door, please.”

 

Ranboo doesn’t reply, but the knocks start up again. “Ranboo, I’m exhausted and you’re exhausted and I’m not angry, I just need to make sure you’re not infected, okay?” Her voice cracks at too many places in that single sentence to count. “I’ll leave you alone if you want me to, promise, I just need you somewhere I can watch you.”

 

And something about that last sentence coaxes the words out of him, “I didn’t do this to myself.”

 

“Ranboo,” and xe doesn’t believe him, does xe? “It’s okay. It’s- it’s fine either way, just- just come out here, please.”

 

“I didn’t,” Ranboo clutches his shoulders harder. He can’t loosen his grip, or else- “Someone else- it was self defense. It was self defense. ”

 

“You were defending yourself?”

 

“No,” Ranboo thinks he might cry, “They were.”

 

“You wouldn’t attack someone,” Niki says, and Ranboo forgets, sometimes, how little they know about one another.

( You’re a good kid. )

 

“...Ranboo?”

 

“You don’t know,” Ranboo breathes out. There’s no way out of here. If he leaves, he’s with Niki and he doesn’t want to be near Niki at all. If he stays, nobody can hurt him, but then he’s stuck. And what if Dream breaks through the prison walls and crawls up the drain? He could kill him right now, easily, Ranboo needs to shut the drain with- with cinder or something. But there’s no cinder in here, and why is he talking, “have to get out, I can’t- he-”

 

“Please unlock the door.”

 

“I can’t,” his breathing is heavy and quick at once, taking everything out of him. “I can’t- I can’t go, I can’t- you don’t know-”

 

“You’re right,” Niki agrees. Agrees ? “I don’t know. And I need you to open the door, Ranboo, I-”

 

“Is it locked?” 

 

“The bathroom door? Yes, you locked it. The lock is right beside your head, please just-”

 

“No. No, the- other door.”

 

“What?”

 

“The other door, is it locked?” 

 

There’s a pause. “... Yes. Yes, I locked the front door.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I promise.”

 

“Check?”

 

“I’m not leaving you.”

 

“Please.”

 

“Ranboo, if you’re hurting yourself then I can’t-”

 

“ Please,” and Ranboo’s throat burns around the sob, convulsing as he tries to get it out, everything is hurting and he is in the drain and he is at their door- “Please check, Niki, please!”

 

There’s the sudden sound of footsteps, and Ranboo closes in tighter on himself because that’s him, that’s him and all his friends, they’re coming to get him, they’re going to finish what they started, and it lasts for twenty seconds he can count before he hears another sound that he can only barely hear so really it’s an inaccuracy to imply anything is cutting through the sound of his near death for a third time, “Ranboo, the door is locked. I checked. Please come out.”

 

“Please,” he gasps, “please, I’m sorry, I- don’t- no, no no no no no no- ”

 

“Ranboo-”

 

“ NO-” his throat is burning, they’re making him swallow acid, that’s what’s been in his eyes this entire time that’s the color it’s acid and photograph ink and it’s in his throat and he’s going to throw up on his own corpse- “ NO NO NO NO-” someone’s knocking against the wall, and he’s blindly pushing forward, who is he who is he who is he who is he, a bottle is poured down the drain and he can’t read the label but his hands are wet he must be bleeding this must be his own blood down the drain- “ STOP STOP I CAN’T- I CAN’T-”

 

he sees something moving out of the corner of his eye what is it what is it he can’t he can’t he can’t he CAN’T HE CAN’T HE CAN’T

 

It’s a piece of paper, and something is drawn- no no no written on it, but his eyes are full of acid and he can’t read, keeps blinking, knees against the tile as his throat closes up and he holds onto it, maybe it’s a ransom note maybe he already wrote one for him maybe but he can’t let go-

 

Ranboo it’s NIKI your sister please unlock the door nobody else is here 

 

Niki? Niki? Niki?

 

Ranboo doesn’t have a sister. He just has person that he hated no no no no no overprotective burden no no NO and and and and and who is this who is this bakery soft smile angry all the time Niki niki niki niki NIKI NIKI NIKI 

 

the paper is smeared in something soapy frothing his own blood acid? Tears are on it is he crying oh he is crying why is he crying where is Niki niki niki 

 

beside his knee he feels something jabbing like a knife sharp edge

 

Lock is on the door just push in and twist 

 

He reaches up to push but the soap blood acid slides down his arm and suddenly he can’t feel anything other than pain and he squints his eyes and tries to reach up there without seeing without feeling without hearing without anything just the scent of blood and something like rose and everything is falling around him and he’s silent and screaming at once and he pushes against something and twists and 

 

suddenly what was beside him is open and someone is kneeling in front of him and they’re saying things he can’t hear and something soft is being draped over him and he grabs it in his fingers and it’s softer in one direction than the other back and forth back and forth and his arm still hurts like hell but there’s more to it it’s not numb anymore.

 

Someone is saying something soft to him and the loud noises are starting to die down as he focuses on the blanket and he can’t remember who he is or where he is but there’s something soft and he holds onto it and he goes silent for what feels like forever.

 

After what feels like five seconds and maybe a millenia, the sounds around him start to cut through the fog, “It’s not so bad, it’s okay. I’ve done worse, haven’t I? Okay. There’s soap everywhere. That’s okay. We’ve done worse. No hair dye this time, okay. Okay.” 

 

“Okay,” he repeats back, because he likes the way it sounds in the mouth of his body even if he can’t feel it all.

 

“Oh, thank God.” For how reverently it escapes the person’s lips, it makes him think it must be someone he doesn’t know. Nobody he knows has a voice like that and still sings out to God. “Okay. Okay, fuck. Fuck. We’re okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

The person shifts a little, so that their lap is directly across from him. Their face probably is, too, but he can’t lift his head that high. “I’m so glad you like the blanket. Hey, is it okay if I borrow your hand for a second? I need to look at your arm and make sure it’s okay.”

 

“Okay.” It’s easy to say. It’s the only thing that works. Soft in his hands.

 

One of his arms gets lifted, and he feels something soft and spongy touch it. Different soft to the blanket, he thinks. “You got some soap in there, okay. It- it looks fine but we… shit. How did I do this the first time? You- can you tell me what happened?” 

 

What happened?

 

Soft blanket. Hands covered, soft and spongy touch. Soft and spongy touch equals skin? Hands covered in skin? No. Hands covered in… in…

 

“Hands,” he can’t really hear himself, but he feels the vocal cords of his body move to let the sound out. “Covered in…?”

 

“Soap,” they explain. “That’s soap. Do you remember why you opened the soap bottle?”

 

“Everywhere.”

 

“Yes. It’s everywhere. Do you remember why?”

 

“... No,” it’s very soft, but he can hear it.

 

“That’s okay. Can you say a few things that you’re feeling right now? You can feel your hand covered in soap, right? Can you say other things?”

 

He knows this. “Soap,” he starts, and then struggles, but he knows this. “Skin. Soft.”

 

“Is there anything else you can feel?”

 

He doesn’t know this. “Uh…” needs to form the words around. It’s- it’s like. It’s soft and skin and soap and- and- “Cold? Cold and- ‘nd. Um. Mm. Cold and… hot?” He can feel something burning. “Hot.”

 

“Where’s the hot parts?” 

 

It’s burning in one place. Ranboo lifts the part that hurts.

 

The other breathes. “Okay. Yes. Does that just feel hot to you?”

 

“Burning,” he explains.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“Mm. Uh. Okay.”

 

“Okay. So it hurts?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Does it feel nice?”

 

“No.”

 

“So it hurts?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.” They seem satisfied with that. “Can you tell me where you are?”

 

He blinks. Everything is white around him, some pale blue and black but mostly white. It could be a hospital, but he is on nothing soft— he’s on the floor. There’s- there’s no fire, just water, so- so a bathroom. A bathroom. “Uh. Bath… bath… bathroom.”

 

“Yep. Do you know why?”

 

The answer is there, but it’s fuzzy. He hates this feeling— his brain hiding things from him, taking the memories before he even knows what they are. Active process, action, process, did he come here? Run here? If he ran here, then… did he… when he came here, he… can’t remember. He can’t remember. 

 

He shakes his head. 

 

The person goes quiet for a while, then hisses in a breath. “I- shit. I need to… okay. What do you remember?”

 

He tries so hard to think of something, but everything is dulled out and he can’t think. He knows that the soap is all over him, he knows he’s in a bathroom, he knows that something feels like it’s burning, but that’s all. He doesn’t know why this is happening. He’s not sure which to start thinking about. What if he picks the wrong one? 

 

He tries to think. His arm burns, which means fire. So… there was a fire? No. No, that’s not right. But it… it burns and hurts. So not fire, but… pain. Okay. His arm is in pain, his arm is soapy, so the soap caused the pain? Yes, sort of. But not really. Is he even sure this is his arm? Okay, he is in the bathroom. Bathrooms like… they like water, and… and soap? So the soap is from the bathroom, and then… and then what? Was he always here? He…

 

… why is it so hard?

 

“Let’s do this,” the person suggests, “We get out of the bathroom, you lay down, and I figure out what to do. Does that sound good?”

 

“Okay.” He can’t really remember what’s outside of here.

 

The person doesn’t say anything else, though, which means he probably said the right thing. They offer him their hand, and he stands up very shakily to follow them outside of the room. He feels a little spacey, but he keeps walking with them at a very slow pace until they reach a door, which they open for him, and he steps in and,

 

something clicks. 

 

“Ranboo,” he hears as his knees buckle, and he’s held up around the waist as he’s overcome with the need to throw up, “okay, okay, it’s okay, shh. Shh. Shit. Do you know where you are?” 

 

He can’t be here. He’s not sure what here is, just processes the bed and the window and the plainness and is hit with the feeling of he can’t be here. He can’t. He’s going to- if he stays here- if they catch him- if he- if-

 

His lips are moving, but he can’t hear what he’s saying. Neither can the person, who says, “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Can you say that again?”

 

It takes him three tries before he hears what he’s saying: “He’s going to kill me.”

 

“Who?” the person- no, he knows this person, he- before they- Niki asks, “Who’s he?”

 

and Ranboo remembers.

 

How could he have forgotten?

 

Niki’s arms tighten around him, and how could he have forgotten? His body is far and indistinct, only burning and fuzziness and this nausea nestles up in his ribs, but he knows what’s causing it. Knows what’s marking up his skin, what’s swarming through his brain, knows what will happen if their front door opens-

 

Niki shoves a trash can in front of him before he can even process where they are, brain slow to catch up as everything blurs. He thinks he might throw up, once or twice or something like that, his arm still aching from the blood and the soap and everything. Niki isn’t supposed to be here, she’s supposed to be far away and in the dark, but her appearance means that Ranboo is just going to have to keep his mouth shut about this whole thing. 

 

He gags again, lips parted. 

 

“What are you feeling right now?” Niki asks, and it’s so blatantly apparent why Ranboo would have forgotten it was xem, actually. Because xeir voice sounds nothing like it usually does; it’s close to how a therapist sounds, and xe is clearly anything but. Definitely a roommate, but barely a sister and not at all a doctor. Nobody would know how to handle this situation, and Ranboo can’t pity xem. He can be upset, though.

 

He takes a few deep breaths through his nose, even though it does basically nothing to stop the hyperventilating. When the nausea ebbs, at the least, he says, “I think I panicked, and, uh, got the… soap. In my arms.”

 

“Yes. That’s- that is what happened, yes.” She seems almost relieved. “And those injuries, did they…”

 

For a brief second, Ranboo considers lying and saying they’re self-inflicted. That would fix the issue, take the focus off of anybody else other than Ranboo himself. 

 

The only problem is that Ranboo knows Niki would never believe that, not this far into the episode. 

 

“Not my fault,” Ranboo settles on, which is a complete and utter lie anyway, but probably more comforting than any real answer to her question. “I- I- I can’t say what caused them.”

 

“I think you can,” Niki responds, and Ranboo can hear the frustration in her voice. It doesn’t stay out of her voice for long, he’s noticing. It’s concern and it’s worry and Ranboo knows why it’s there, but he still hates that she cares enough to start on this. “You can… you can process what I’m saying. And so you should-”

 

“It has nothing to do with whether- with whether or not I can speak.” Because Ranboo can. Something is settling over him, the chemicals in his body dropping after exertion. He feels exhausted, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation. He wants to go back to his room and lay down and not think about what will happen to the both of them if someone finds him here. 

 

He can understand why Tubbo took him to the railroad tracks, now, what he saw in them. A way out. “I just can’t say it. I- I’m sorry, I-”

 

“Ranboo,” Niki interrupts. Her hair is dark pink, and she looks like she needs a drink, and her eyes are glossier with tears than they are dimmer with resignation. She looks angry and confused and hurt, and some mean part of Ranboo wonders where she got the idea to be so hurt over someone else’s pain.

 

The other part of Ranboo wants to steal all those unshed tears from her and let her have a nice afternoon, and that basically answers his question, doesn’t it? This , it runs reverse to inheritance, doesn’t it?

 

Ranboo sets the trash can away from him, aware enough to realize that they’re on his bedroom floor. Niki is knelt beside him, and Ranboo attempts to stretch his legs out while she starts talking, “I haven’t seen you in a few days, and when I do, you’re covered in- in cuts, and in bruises, and you- you- you had-” she takes a deep breath in, her chest heaving, like hyperventilating is another part of their retrograde genetics. “You were unresponsive for so long, and I was so worried, and now- and now you don’t want to explain anything? You have to- you can’t do this, Ranboo. Not to me and not to yourself. It isn’t fair. ”

 

For Ranboo, this all makes sense, actually. He can’t rationalize how any of this would be anything but fair; he’s lived the worst day imaginable and lived as the worst person possible, and the consequences are getting reaped. Niki’s collateral, which is a lot less fair, but if she wanted out she could always have turned around and left. 

 

There is nothing that keeps Niki here. Ranboo knows that, now, is in touch with the realization that Niki essentially adopted him when he was barely functioning as a person. A fifteen year old with no parents and no memories, with more scars than are currently concerning her right now. If she wanted to stop being the moon, repeatedly hit with asteroids and cosmic rock as Ranboo swallows the galaxy up, then she could just stop. 

 

It’s a full moon, now, with the two of them here. But eventually the phases will wane until it’s a new moon again, and Niki is gone. Planning a wedding, running a bakery, and realizing she shouldn’t have anything else to take care of.

 

Not that this is really Niki’s fault. She’s just trying to live, in her twenties and recovering from her own trauma. It’s not her fault, but Ranboo wonders how much more different his life would be if the first person to take him in was someone who could afford to. 

 

Maybe he would have been homeless for years, in search of that. But would it really matter, if he wouldn’t remember that time period anyway? 

 

“Look,” Niki finally says, voice low and decided. “I’m going to help clean out the cuts. I’m going to make you hot chocolate. And you’re going to talk to me, okay?” Her voice finally starts to tremble on the last word. She shuts her eyes and repeats, “You’re going to talk to me.” 

 

“Why won’t you let this go?” Ranboo asks, involuntarily. Because, well- he’s not trying to provoke Niki, it’s just. He really wants this to stop, wants to go back to a time in his life that never existed, wants to be baking with Niki and talking to Techno and sitting with Tubbo again. But he can’t, not now and not ever, and at the very least if he can’t have anything good, he wants to have everything except this conversation.

 

Niki opens xeir eyes and stares directly into Ranboo’s as xe replies, “Because I’m scared. I’m scared to death that something is going on, and that you- that you are going to get stubborn, and tell yourself you have to go through it alone. Ranboo, I’ve done that. I’ve done that, and I’ve lost so much.” Niki inhales, and for a second it feels like the only sound that Ranboo has ever heard in forever. “I won’t let you do what I did.”

 

“What did you do?” For once, Ranboo is grateful to the traitorous entity that is his vocal cords, because just behind his words was the reply, I’m nothing like you.

 

To his question, though, Niki only stands up and says, “I’m getting the hot chocolate. And- and we’re going to talk. And I can talk too, but you need to talk.” 

 

“Fine,” Ranboo says, mostly because Niki is a foot outside the bedroom already and there is only so much Ranboo can do, at that point. 

 

Niki comes back relatively quickly, which is a good thing. Not good, because it means the conversation has to happen now, but good because Ranboo is growing more and more uneasy the longer he stays conscious in his own bedroom. He would tell Niki that, but xe already went through the effort to grab the medical supplies and hot chocolate, so it’s not worth it. 

 

When Niki starts cleaning the wounds, only a few seconds pass before Ranboo has tears in his eyes. He tries to blink them away quickly, but Niki still notices and says, “It hurts like a bitch.” 

 

“It does,” Ranboo agrees. “I, uh. I haven’t- I haven’t really done this before. In a while.” 

 

Niki hums, and Ranboo realizes with the lieu of xeir response that he’s actually blatantly lying. He’s had to clean out his injuries recently, he- he just did that. He can’t remember when, though. Before the soap got into it, but- but beyond that, he has no idea. He’s not sure why he would lie about something like that, but he guesses that’s easier than saying nothing to Niki’s sympathy. 

 

“So- so, uh-” Ranboo fumbles, wanting to speak to distract himself from the pain in his arm, but not wanting to speak because that means he has to speak, or otherwise talk, and he wants to talk but not to talk and- and God, why is this so difficult? “So, what- what do I-”

 

Niki interrupts, “You said these weren’t self-inflicted.”

 

Ranboo takes a deep breath, hissing out his exhale. In some strange way, it feels both better and worse that Niki is the one doing this. When he’s trying to fix himself up on his own, he’s careless about it, but at least it’s still private. Niki’s hands are gentle and as careful as they can be, even if her eyes are steeled with something more intense than that. 

 

He’s not sure what is better. Neither are really comforting. 

 

“They- yeah, they, uh. They weren’t,” Ranboo admits.

 

“So someone did this, then.”

 

For a moment, Ranboo has the insane idea to try and pin this on Springerle. Then he realizes that is not only completely unbelievable, but also kind of a bad thing to do. Maybe honesty is the best plan here. Just… in small doses, ideally. 

 

So, in that case- “Yeah.” 

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

Alright. Forget the whole idea of small doses, then. God.

 

“I… uh, so,” Ranboo starts, his voice coming out so forced that it’s audibly cracking at the edges. “So I, uh, got into a fight with- with someone. And we both kind of, uh, hurt each other. That’s… that’s it.”

 

“And this person brought a knife to the fight?”

 

“Yeah. I, uh,” his voice fades, slightly, “I guess so.”

 

“Who was this person, then?” Niki’s face looks impassive, but only at a first glance. Ranboo can clearly read the anger in xeir eyes, the fact that xe is not going to let this go whether Ranboo says it or not. It’s the kind of thing that makes xem an incredible friend and an awful sister.

 

Not that Ranboo’s one to talk. Or criticize. 

 

Xe’s dressing his wounds, isn’t xe?

 

“It was, um, it-” Hoo. Okay. Lying time. “It was um, a- a friend. Or, I guess not- not a friend, but- but, uh, a school- a school friend. Yeah.” 

 

For a second, Ranboo thinks that Niki is going to immediately catch onto his lie and force him to elaborate. 

 

Instead, she says something much worse, so easily. “Was it Tommy?”

 

Ranboo blinks. “What?”

 

“Tommy,” Niki repeats. “I- you two got into a fight recently, didn’t you?”

 

“We-” Ranboo was not expecting the conversation to go in this direction. Jesus Christ, okay. “We got into a fight, like, like several months ago. When, uh, when Schlatt died. Like, that same day, we- we fought, but that- that was it, he… he didn’t stab me, Tommy wouldn’t- he wouldn’t stab anyone.”

 

“Slash might be more accurate,” Niki clarifies. Maybe there’s some significance to it, but Ranboo is still caught up on the part where Niki thought he got into a physical altercation with her best friend’s little brother. “I was hoping it wasn’t him, but, well- Wilbur’s told me that things have been kind of difficult with all of them. And I remembered you and Tommy had fought, though I didn’t know it was so long ago. I was worried.”

 

“Yeah, well, he definitely didn’t do this.” Isn’t that what all these wounds mean, anyway? That Ranboo is diametrically different to everything that Tommy stands for, which is why he nearly died a few days ago in the car, or in a stranger’s apartment, or in a forest, while Tommy was neatly tucked up in a hospital bed? Doctors putting him back together, while Ranboo is sitting here with someone he could best describe as a sister first and a stranger second, going wild with the peroxide like either of them are experienced at this?

 

The idea that Tommy could do this kind of damage to anyone is absolutely absurd. The idea that anyone in that family could be this violent is nonsensical. There are only two people in the world capable of this, and Ranboo is one of them.

 

“So,” Niki says, bringing Ranboo back, “this was a random classmate?”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

“Was it a hate crime?”

 

Ranboo could very realistically say yes. Because that would make perfect sense, really, saying that he was bullied because of being transgender, or heavily scarred, or something like that. But then that would probably get Niki to call the school, and Ranboo would have to give a name, and there really aren’t people in his school who have done that to him, and he would just be wrongly accusing someone. 

 

But, at the same time, the only other option from here is to either make up a random classmate who doesn’t exist and convict them of something else, or admit to the truth. And Ranboo is not going to do that. 

 

“Kind of?” He starts, which is a horrible way to start a sentence when he has no idea of where to take it. “It was- I was upset, and they had just- just started talking to me, and I was irritated, so I- I got angry. And they got angry about- about me being, uh, like- like, um. Well, they were- they were upset, so then they started, uh, hitting me, and then I hit them and- and then I got slashed and- and that kind of stopped it.” 

 

Niki falls quiet for a moment, carefully wrapping up the injury. She brushes her fingers along Ranboo’s forehead before briefly standing up and leaving the room, returning quickly with an ice pack. Without instructing him, she hands it to him, and he gently rests it over the injury. It isn’t really helping, but Niki isn’t really saying anything, and it at least gives him something to do. 

 

Eventually, after Ranboo had long started listening to the thrumming of the lights above him, Niki says, “I used to get into fights as a high schooler.”

 

Ranboo tries to picture it. Takes in the full image of Niki: the soft-spoken, sweet baker who is fiercely loyal to her friends. The kind of person to own a white cat named after a pastry from her childhood. The kind of person to take in a stranger. Ranboo takes all of that in, soaks in it, and then tries to envision that kind of person being violent. 

 

It’s hard to envision. Frustrated, yes, and angry too, but not violent. 

 

But then again, maybe Ranboo framed the picture wrong. Maybe he forgot to get in all the details. 

 

Either way, Niki continues, “My childhood was… difficult. There was a lot of abandonment, a lot of neglect. I… I felt like I was this horrible person that nobody would stay for, because nobody had. I was- I was lonely, and scared, and- and things got better when I met Wil, but the rest didn’t- the rest hadn’t changed.” 

 

She sighs softly, her eyes glazed over with reminiscence and resentment. “I was a good student. I studied a lot, did well on most of my tests, I- I’ve always been a hard worker. I remember, when I was… sixteen, I think? I was so angry, and tired, and sick of being so lonely. Everyone I met, I hated. Even- even Wil, I- I saw him, and everything he was going through, and I was so angry. Because even in his worst moments, he had people. There was always somebody, and I never had anyone, just friends who were all having an awful time.” Her eyes glisten, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “We were all so sick, Ranboo.”

 

“Yeah,” he whispers.

 

“I was argumentative. Over time, that ended up making me stronger, but at the time it would get me into bad situations.” Niki’s finger starts tracing the bed sheets, drawing small flowers over and over again. “The first person I fought was someone who dealt out cigarettes. I remember Wil taking one, and I was pissed, because they acted like best friends. I thought I was being replaced . So, one day after school, I cornered him and started hitting him.” 

 

“What did he do?” Ranboo asks.

 

“Hit me back, obviously,” Niki laughs bitterly. “Really hard, over and over. I felt awful, I missed school the next day. Wilbur hated me, but I felt alive. And so I kept doing it, over and over again. My parents never cared. They never cared about that or anything. I would keep getting in trouble, I even got suspended once, but they just ignored it. Nobody took me to counseling. I cried in the guidance counselor’s office the one time someone seriously asked me if I was doing okay, and then they sent me back to class and nobody checked back in. So it just got worse and worse.” 

 

“I felt like I was evil,” Niki admits, “and then, I felt like I was justified for it. Sometimes, I felt like I was God, just- just making people atone for- for hating me. And it took Wilbur and our friends forcing me to talk to them for everything to come spilling out. All the hurt I caused other people. All the hurt I caused myself. And slowly, I started to stop.”

 

“Did you feel better?” Ranboo says before he can stop himself. His heart is racing in his chest, up his throat. His hands are tensed around the ice pack. “When you stopped?”

 

“Not at first,” Niki says, a small, rueful smile across her face. “At first, I felt even worse. I wasn’t God, I wasn’t evil, I wasn’t good. I was just nothing. I was nothing, and everyone hated me, and I thought so many times, maybe this won’t change anything. Maybe I will always be like this.”

 

There’s a pause for a few seconds, where the room falls into complete and utter silence.

 

And then Ranboo breaks.

 

“Ranboo?” Niki says, a little panicked, when Ranboo bursts into tears. “Ranboo, are you- are you okay? I- please don’t worry, the- this was in the past. I’m better now! Or, are you crying because-”

 

“I lied,” Ranboo sobs out. His brain is screaming at him don’t do this shit, don’t do this, you don’t have to do this, but something in him cracked in his chest when Niki said those words, and he feels like he’s dying oh God, he feels like he’s dying. Like- like Niki said, that- that nothing is going to- 

 

“That’s okay,” Niki tries to reassure, but Ranboo just shakes his head. The ice pack burns his hand, and one arm wraps around his shoulder to comfort him, and he feels sick again, God, he’s so tired of being sick-

 

I was so angry, and tired, and sick of being so lonely- 

 

“I- I did- I- I- I did some-something- something bad,” Ranboo struggles to say, his throat choking on every word. His throat hurts, his arm hurts, everything hurts, when will it stop hurting, so it just got worse and worse- “I- I didn’t-”

 

“Take a deep breath for me.” Her voice is more solid and grounding, and Ranboo does his best to breathe in, even though it burns down his throat, through his chest, into the lungs that shouldn’t be breathing anymore- “I’m sorry for pushing you, Ranboo, I- it doesn’t matter. You’re okay, you’re safe now, just keep breathing.”

 

For a few minutes, Ranboo says nothing, sobbing between every breath he tries to draw in. Niki rubs his shoulder softly, and he tries to focus on that sensation, the only thing that doesn’t hurt. Eventually, he still feels the pain and his breathing is still scattered, but he’s able to speak more clearly, enough to say, “I can’t say it. I can’t, Niki, I…”

 

When it’s clear he won’t be elaborating, Niki just nods. There’s something sad in her eyes, her voice, her everything. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, I- I know that this is hurting you.” For a moment, Ranboo dares to hope that’s the end of it, but then she says, “Please, just tell me who did this. I- I know that this is terrifying, and I’m sorry, I wish I had done this better. I will never stop being sorry, but as your guardian, I have to make sure you’re safe. Ranboo, whoever did this, they stabbed you in the arm-”

 

“Slashed,” Ranboo corrects. 

 

Niki looks at him, utterly confused, but regains control and continues speaking a few seconds later, “Yes, slashed your arm. I don’t- please know I am not trying to scare you, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Ranboo, and if this person is dangerous- which they clearly are- then… then something really awful might happen.”

 

“I won’t tell anybody,” she promises, “I won’t go up to this person and scream at them, even if I wish I could. I know that doesn’t help. I just need to know if this is someone who can do this again to you. I just-” and Ranboo watches as tears fall down Niki’s face, faster than the ones sluggishly carving paths down Ranboo’s, and Niki whispers brokenly, “I just don’t want to lose you.” 

 

Ranboo thinks about Niki, young with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, offering friendship to her own parents that was denied, over and over again. He thinks about bracelet beads underneath her, broken promises causing her to stumble over and over again, desperate to find people that will love her. He thinks about how she held the peroxide bottle, strong and yet desperate, like a girl who got beaten up over and over just so that someone would ask her if she was okay. 

 

Ranboo has spent so much time doubting Niki’s feelings towards him, convinced that this sibling-like relationship was a thin guise for Niki’s altruistic behavior towards a stranger. Overthinking every kind thing she did, doubting that she would care about anything that happened to him, so deeply invested in the concept that Niki won’t care for as long as she has promised to.

 

Now, Ranboo looks at Niki, crying her eyes out, unable to wipe the tears off without letting go of Ranboo, and realizes how terrified she is of losing him to the same thing that nearly took her.

 

How terrified Ranboo has been, all this time, of somehow losing Niki by having her in the first place.

 

He shuts his eyes, tears still rolling down his sullen cheeks, and finally, finally says, “Dream.”

 

Xeir arms tighten around Ranboo a few seconds after the word escapes his mouth, and xe asks, “That’s… not a common name. Was he about my age?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh my God,” Niki breathes out. 

 

Ranboo lets out a laugh, feeling sick to his stomach and so, so tired. “It’s okay,” he says, even though nothing is for either of them, “He’s in jail. DUI.”

 

“Did that happen when-”

 

“Yeah,” Ranboo knows what xe is going to ask. He watches the images of that day play out in the back of his eyelids. For once, it’s clear. For the first time in his life, he’s remembering more than he’s able to forget. Maybe it’s because Niki’s arms are around him. And slowly, I started to stop. “I tried to kill both of us. I didn’t- well, I didn’t succeed, obviously.”

 

“Why did you-” Niki cuts xemself off, instead just asking, “Why?”

 

Ranboo witnesses the moment Dream forced him to suffocate, and he opens his eyes. He finds Niki’s image blurry. Everything feels so far away. He wants to sleep, wants to stop thinking, wants to… oh, but Niki asked a question, didn’t xe? 

 

“For two years, he has been trying to kill me.” So, one day after school, I cornered him and started hitting him. “His last attempt was going to be on the 2nd. He… he didn’t succeed, either.” 

 

“What was he going to do to you?” That voice, Niki’s voice, is rid of everything except abject horror.

 

“I don’t know,” Ranboo replies. And then he starts to feel his throat burn, strangely, and repeats in a more strangled tone, “I don’t know, Niki, I don’t, I-”

 

Niki pulls him to her chest the moment that he feels he can’t speak anymore. How many times has he done this already? How many times will he try to explain the situation, only to falter under the weight of the implications behind his own words? It was days ago, and Dream is gone, and Ranboo has to get over this, his voice has to learn to tell its story, but he still feels so afraid. 

 

Niki seems unable to handle the reality that has been presented to xem. Xeir arms shake around Ranboo, and when he tries to trace back the sound of sobbing, he realizes he had falsely attributed it to himself at first. The actual crying is coming from Niki, and Ranboo would give anything to understand xeir grief, to have even the slightest clue as to the depth of the horror xe is experiencing. 

 

For a long time, xe seems frozen in thought. When xeir words come, it’s slow and unstable and entirely connected to the thread of spiraling that Ranboo helped unravel. 

 

“Two years,” xe whispers. “Two years, I- I haven’t even… even known you- Ranboo, Ranboo, two years, that’s-” a choked sob cuts of xeir repetition, breathing shaky in his ear, “I- I should have, why did I never- never ask, I- Ranboo, you-”

 

“I just,” Ranboo says, feeling calm and disembodied and panicked all at once, “wanted to be safe. I- I thought- Niki, I thought- I-”

 

“I know.” Niki holds him tighter, “I know, Ranboo, I-I know.”

 

Ranboo buries his face against xeir neck, feeling xeir tears fall down the back of his neck. Could xeir crying heal the injuries? If he moves, could he place the rivulets along his head, use it like some false-baptism, cure himself of every nightmare with the strength of Niki’s love? 

 

In a sense, the impossibility writes itself: the mars and injuries across his body had come from love, too. A depraved sense only existing in his head, but love nevertheless.

 

“He was my earliest memory,” Ranboo tells Niki. “The earliest memory that- that feels real. The start of everything, and it- it was going to be the- the-” 

 

The beginning of the end. The end of the beginning. 

 

Ranboo’s life has only ever been a prologue or an epilogue. No progression, no understanding, only an ominous prelude to another person’s world, or a mournful ending desperately trying to prolong itself before its existence concludes with the last page of a book. With Dream gone, part of him wonders if he will have the chance to explore the inner narrative, but he is starting to believe it’s never going to work that way. 

 

Dream shaped him twice, in the absence of any concrete identity. Ranboo has no sense of self, no understanding of what his world has to be past its obligations. He could never be a story, because there is no narrator, no protagonist, no antagonist. There’s no hero’s journey to follow, just an anti-hero preserved in vitro, destined to surrender until the end of time.

 

Outside the glass, he thinks of Tubbo again. He understands what Tubbo had meant, now, when the two of them were in the parking lot of that church. 

 

Except, maybe this is less of a story in which God abandons him. Rather, this is what happens after a person so thoroughly exiles God from their life, with no way to reconcile their differences with the divine. 

 

Ranboo was stupid to think that he was God, back in the car moments before his near death. God must have been in the bottle that Dream drank before driving, if nothing at all. And God must have gone down his throat and rotted in that prison and now there is nothing anywhere. 

 

There are a lot of ways Ranboo can express it, but in the end, it’s only ever been one thought.

 

Maybe I will always be like this.

 

At what point does this all finally mean something?

 

Above and around him, Niki’s cries begin to fade. Soon enough, her tears start to slow, and Ranboo leaves her embrace to follow her to the kitchen. Tea burns on his tongue before he can even process that the two of them are standing there, drinking tea, like nothing ever happened.

 

“I’m sorry,” Niki says eventually. “I’m sorry I never did- I’m sorry I- I’m so sorry.”

 

“I never told you,” Ranboo replies quietly, not forgiveness and not rejection. Never, ever blame. I was just nothing.

 

“I know,” Niki argues, “I know, but I…” her voice trails off, and when she speaks again, she sounds more calm. Ranboo knows what that must mean, that Niki is going to blame herself for this all over again later, but both of them are so desperate for stability that Ranboo won’t deny her anything.

 

“You’re taking leave off of work,” Niki says, almost authoritatively, “and you’re staying home from school.”

 

“Okay.” Ranboo can’t go back to school, anyway, doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to imagine what it’d be like, around familiar faces when he feels nothing, like some ghost. It’s too soon for him to return to a graveyard.

 

Niki stares at him for a few seconds, thinking, before slowly asking, “Should I take you to a hospital?”

 

“No,” Ranboo answers immediately, almost cutting off xeir words. “No. No, no, I’m fine, I-”

 

“Okay,” xe acquiesces. “Okay.” 

 

There’s an echo in xeir voice, a tentative sense of is this it, then? Ranboo hadn’t considered what it would be like, to have to scramble together some way to move on past Dream. He has never considered that possible, but watching Niki’s expression shift into varying stages of tragedy, he wonders if he should have had some sort of plan. How his past self could have been naive enough to not have a plan.

 

“Do you want to see your friends?” Niki asks. “Maybe- maybe we can invite them over, Tubbo and…”

 

“No.”

 

“... or Fundy, even, Fundy! He’s called, asking-”

 

“ No. ”

 

Niki looks at Ranboo, the excitement dying on her face. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Okay, that’s- that’s fine.”

 

Ranboo looks down at his rapidly cooling tea. He was so cold, this morning. Is he still? 

 

“Fundy, um,” he mumbles. “He… left me a voicemail. Earlier. So… maybe I should call him.”

 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Ranboo,” Niki tells him, gently. 

 

“I don’t know what I want to do,” he admits. “I don’t… I didn’t think I’d have to know.”

 

“It’s okay,” Niki says, “it’s okay to not know.”

 

She’s not understanding, and Ranboo doesn’t know how to make her understand, and- “It’s not- it’s not that, it’s- it’s-”

 

It’s okay-

 

“Dream was supposed to tell me,” Ranboo blurts out. Niki freezes, and he continues, words falling out faster than he can keep up with. “He was supposed to tell me what to do next. He was supposed to help me. How- what am I supposed to do now? I don’t have anything- I don’t- I’m not anything.” 

 

Niki shakily leans against their refrigerator, and Ranboo watches her brain try to switch to therapist mode, or big sister mode, or someone who knows what the fuck to do mode. From the tension in her face, it doesn’t seem successful.

 

“What are your interests, Ranboo?” xe asks. “Your goals, your hobbies?”

 

“I like photography,” Ranboo states, “but- but that was the thing, I did that with Dream, that’s- that’s what I was doing. And… and I like reading, I guess, but I can’t- I can’t focus, sometimes, and I… I don’t…” He wraps his arms around his torso, trying to think. “I… I guess I… well, it’s- I don’t… I don’t know.”

 

Niki sets her tea down beside her, wringing her hands. “Okay. That’s okay. What do you want to do right now? What do you want to do right now, not worrying about tomorrow, or- or anything else?”

 

Isn’t it possible to read the future in a teacup? Ranboo had heard about that before, but as he looks down into his own tea, he can’t see anything. Does that mean he doesn’t have a future? Does that mean he’s not good enough to find out? Does that mean he should drink this down, quickly, and let the lukewarmness burn his throat?

 

He tries to focus on Niki’s question. What does he want to do right now? 

 

He wants to not think about it. To not think about anything. He wants to sleep, maybe, if he sleeps he doesn’t think, but sometimes he dreams, and he doesn’t want to dream. Doesn’t tea make you dream more vividly? Or was it the opposite? 

 

How can he avoid thinking about anything? He could text Tubbo, maybe, but Tubbo might ask. Because he called Tubbo, he saw the call that he gave Tubbo, and he doesn’t want to listen to his voicemails, or read his texts too closely. He doesn’t want to think about what he could have possibly said, because he knows if he does, he’d never be able to deny that it wasn’t the truth.

 

So he doesn’t want to text Tubbo.

 

He could… text Tommy. And apologize. That’s something he doesn’t have to think about.

 

But then he’d have to talk about Dream, and he doesn’t- he doesn’t want to-

 

But maybe it’d be nice, he thinks, to talk to someone about Dream, when that person already knows you’re as bad as him? When the person doesn’t see you as a victim? 

 

Maybe he should talk to Tommy. Maybe he should tie this all off with a bow, so he’ll never have to do anything again.

 

“I think,” he says out loud. “I want to… to go to my room. And call someone, I think.”

 

“Who?” Niki asks. 

 

Xe must be worried. “... Tommy. I think.”

 

“Okay,” Niki agrees. “Okay. Do you want to take the tea with you?”

 

“I think so,” Ranboo says.

 

Niki nods again, then abruptly says, “I- Ranboo?”

 

Ranboo stills. “What?”

 

Niki stares at the tile for a few seconds. Then, she looks back up and gives Ranboo a weak smile. “It’s nothing. I… it was nothing.” Ranboo doesn’t have the energy to question it. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” he replies, and he means it. He tries to make it sound like he means it.

 

If Niki has any other concerns, she doesn’t show it. 

 

She just turns around, really slowly, and stares out the window.

 

Ranboo leaves as fast as he can.

 

He… has a call to make.

 

–

 

“... Hi there, Tommy- no, no, fuck, that doesn’t- can you restart voice… nope , you can’t. Okay. Sorry, let me- let me try again. Um, I didn’t- I don’t know exactly what to say so that’s why I uh- yeah, sorry. Just…

 

“Hey, Tommy! Uh. I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now? And I promise after this I’ll, uh, never contact you again, if you don’t want me to. I just- I ask that you listen to this, at least? You don’t have to, but, um, I thought- maybe I have information that- that you’d care about? Maybe ? I don’t know.

 

“... I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, I… I didn’t know. When we were, uh, arguing, after Schlatt had died– I didn’t know. About… about all the stuff he’d done. I think… I don’t know, I don’t think you know this, maybe, but I don’t… no, that’s irrelevant. I just hadn’t realized yet, that’s what I mean. The important bit is that I hadn’t known. He was… he wasn’t great to me, but I only just kind of figured that out because he, uh. Well. I don’t know how voicemails get recorded, but it’s kind of- I’m kind of trying to keep that information hidden because, um. Police. Though… maybe that’s already happened.

 

“The point is he, uh, wasn’t great to me. But I didn’t know. He had a way of, uh, making you not know that. You know, you- he was probably a lot worse with you. I don’t think I’ve fully processed everything yet, but… okay, no, it was pretty- it was pretty bad. It was really- it’s- we don’t need to talk about that. If we do, it’d have to be in person, and you probably never want to see me again so it’s fine, you don’t- it’s a lot of information you don’t need to know. Um. Sorry. 

 

“I… this is- I should have opened with this, this is the actual important part. So I, uh, me and Dream had a… things got bad, I guess, and I ended up sleeping um, after it. Or maybe I was unconscious, ha. That’s not funny. That’s really not funny, I- sorry. Um. Anyway, I went to try and uh, find him? I thought something happened to him and so I kind of, uh, went into his apartment? I thought he was… uh, dead, but it turns out he got arrested? I… I think for, uh, a DUI? He was driving when I- uh, I shouldn’t say that. Um. I didn’t… realize he was under the influence, but I think maybe it… makes sense… if he was… so. Yeah. He got arrested.

 

“I know it would be a good thing to, uh, tell the police about what happened with me and him. Niki wants me to do that, I think, maybe, but, uh. I… kind of can’t? I haven’t actually asked her about the… police part. Anyway. I- I’m sorry, I- you knew this, this is why we got into a fight, uh, but I’m not innocent either? I mean I didn’t do any of the kinds of things he’s been doing, that’s all really, really bad. But, uh, just the- the incident specifically might be. Uh. You know what? Don’t worry about it.

 

“I should cut this off soon I’m just- I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry, if I had- if I had just been less stupid , I would have noticed all the things he was doing. But I just- I just had to go with him. I didn’t think I had another option, he was in my house. He was in my house , and I- and I couldn’t have left , there was- I wouldn’t have been able to- and… and I couldn’t focus, it was so cold, I’m just remembering how cold it was, and- God, I didn’t think it’d be so cold. I- God. I’m sorry, I just… this all just happened and I’m a little overwhelmed, I think. I- I should have waited, but I wanted you to know. That he’s, um, gone. And maybe I should help get him put away longer, even if that means I go to jail, because- because that’d be good, right? But I don’t know. I don’t know. 

 

“I wish I never met him. I wish I never… it’s my fault. What happened, it was my fault. I started all this, so maybe I should end it. That’s only fair, right? What- what isn’t fair is what happened to you. And if you want to send this to the police that’s- that’s okay, that’s deserved. I deserve it, but just- I don’t- don’t go visit him, just. If you need more information, I can get it for you, I can- I think they might kill me if I see them again, actually, ha, but I- I can just- I don’t know. Maybe it’s worth it. I’ll make it up to you, then. Maybe.

 

“Sorry. I rambled a lot, you can- you can ignore all of that. I’m sorry, Tommy, I’m so, so sorry. I know you don’t need pity but I just- I messed up. I messed up really, really bad, and I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe I don’t need to fix it. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But Niki didn’t think this was a bad idea, and I thought it was a good idea in my head, but now I’m talking and maybe it was a bad idea this whole time. I don’t know.

 

“I hope school has been fine, and everything’s been fine. Uh. I’m- you- you don’t have to say this, I won’t make you say it, it’s not- it’s not your responsibility, uh, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry to… to your whole family. I should have never gotten you all involved, with you and- and Techno, and Wilbur that first day, and- and- and Tubbo… I never told him, but- but I think he knew. I… the call, it’s- God . I’m sorry about everything, I shouldn’t have been there when Schlatt died, I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have been there when- when- I just, I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. 

 

“I… that’s it, I think. That’s everything. I, uh, don’t think I’ll ever see you again. I have… things, now, maybe, to do? I don’t know. I need to come back to school eventually, but we don’t have to talk, it’ll- I’ll just, I can stay away. From you and… and Tubbo, if that’ll keep you both- I don’t want you involved. If something happens, I don’t… I’m seventeen, I’ve never done legal stuff before but I think- I think if something happens, you two shouldn’t be involved. I don’t want to do that to you, so you can, um, delete this now. Now that you’ve listened to it. Or- you can do whatever you want with it, I guess, but, um. Just. You can let me know.

 

“... I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

 

“Well. That’s… everything, so…

 

“Bye, Tommy. I… I guess… I wish you didn’t come outside, when Schlatt died. I… I really wish you didn’t invite me over at all.”

 

–

 

Ranboo doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, arms around his knees and phone absently placed in front of him, when Niki knocks on the door again.

 

It’s a delicate knock, one that makes it distinctively hers– as if Ranboo needed to guess, anyway. There’s nobody else here. There… was another person, a few days ago, but…

 

Leaving the voicemail to Tommy made it click in Ranboo’s head. He knew he’d done something bad, that this was all his fault from the beginning, but the more he thinks about it the more he realizes that this is… really bad. Because if he wants Dream in jail- if Tommy wants Dream in jail- then Ranboo is going to have to report the details of their incident. Accident? 

 

… Incident. And Ranboo doesn’t even know if that’s the one where Dream was drunk, or if it was after he had taken Ranboo back home– he doesn’t know. He’ll be a faulty witness, he can’t remember anything. 

 

And he… tried to kill Dream. He physically hurt Dream, and brought a knife to his apartment after.

 

Ranboo tried to kill someone.

 

God, he actually tried to kill someone.

 

It’s been replaying in his head, over and over again, when Niki knocks on the door.

 

He tried to kill someone. “Come in.”

 

Niki, hearing his mumbling or just deciding to enter anyway, opens the door and closes it behind her. There’s nobody else here, no reason for doing that, but… maybe it’s a sentiment, or something. Maybe it’s supposed to make Ranboo feel safe. Maybe it actually does, a little.

 

“How did the call go?” xe asks, carefully.

 

“He didn’t pick up,” Ranboo replies, because that’s the easiest thing to start with. “So I, uh, left a voicemail. Hopefully he listens to it.”

 

Xeir lip lifts up, briefly, in a twisted sort of smile. “I think he will.”

 

Ranboo shrugs, and says nothing else.

 

After a minute of silence, Niki abruptly stands up. Ranboo anticipates that xe’s leaving, but instead, xe moves to open up his closet. Xe stares at it for a few lingering seconds, long enough that Ranboo eventually asks, “Uh, what are you doing?”

 

“I was thinking about our conversation earlier,” xe says. “And, I know this is the last thing you need to be thinking about. Right now, with everything that you’re going through, it’s the last thing . But… we were talking about what’s next. We started talking about it. There’s a lot more we need to talk about, things that are far more severe, but I don’t know where to start and so I tried to say it. I tried to ask, but I didn’t, but I think… maybe…”

 

Ranboo’s heart rate picks up. He has no idea what this is going to turn into, or why any of it would have to do with the clothes in his closet. “... What is it?”

 

She turns away from the closet and looks at Ranboo, something indescribable across her face. “You don’t have to answer this,” she warns. “You don’t owe me anything, and… and I’m just hoping that this topic can lead to things. That it will lead to positive things.” 

 

The unspoken I don’t know what else to do lingers there, and maybe that’s the only reason Ranboo hasn’t run out of the room.

 

I don’t know what else to do, and maybe… I don’t want nobody to ask you until it’s too late, if you’re- if you-

 

She takes a deep breath. “The last time I saw you really, really happy, you were wearing a skirt.” 

 

Ranboo freezes. 

 

If you’re… 

 

“I don’t know if it would make you feel better, now, but I just hope it doesn’t make anything worse. Ranboo, I…”

 

Her eyes fall on Ranboo’s, and Ranboo feels his heartbeat skip as she asks, gently, “... Who do you want to be?”

 

There is a knee-jerk reaction, in Ranboo, to say hey, I’m Ranboo, I use he/him pronouns because I am a boy, and I’ve always been a boy, even when the birth certificates disagree. He wants to press it into her, to end this discussion at its core, because she’s right. This doesn’t have anything to do with Dream, or with any of the things going on. The really, really serious things going on.

 

… But, that’s only the initial response. Once Ranboo takes a second to consider what she’s asking, 

 

he remembers the 28th.

 

That memory is a safe place for him, one that he doesn’t want to think about right now, with everything awful happening, but he can’t help it. Tubbo, in the diner. Tubbo, beside him on the train tracks. Tubbo, when the sun had set, looking brighter than any star out there.

 

The 28th. Where Ranboo wore the skirt, and Tubbo called him pretty,

 

and when Ranboo asked Niki for the skirt, and Niki asked him to let her help,

 

and when Ranboo looked in the mirror, and felt euphoric. 

 

He’s supposed to be a boy. That’s supposed to be the end of this. He is a boy and he made that decision years ago, he transitioned, he’s supposed to be done. People don’t change their minds, he doesn’t know anyone who’s changed their minds.

 

… But maybe it’s just that. Ranboo doesn’t know anyone who’s changed their minds.

 

That doesn’t mean that people aren’t. It just means that Ranboo doesn’t really know that many people, does he?

 

Does she? 

 

Misgendering had felt bad, once. It’s supposed to. He’d get called a girl by adults with scowls on their faces, tried to use the men’s bathroom once and got told to leave. It was always said with a scowl, never with a smile. Because if someone called him she while smiling, just by mistake… 

 

… he didn’t care. 

 

It felt awkward, of course, because he knew he was supposed to correct them. And he hated doing that, because it’s so awkward, and it ruins the interaction, and he wants to compliment the cashier’s earrings but he’s already so nervous and now he’s just a girl to them so maybe that cashier never got a compliment on the earrings, and maybe that’s his fault for failing to pass so extraordinarily.

 

He cares a lot more about that, actually. Passing. As in, he wants to look like a boy to other people, because he is a boy- he maybe is a boy, and that’s easier, anyway. It makes sense. He made his bed, he laid in it. 

 

And he likes being a boy. He really, really likes being a boy.

 

… But, when he was wearing that skirt to go and see Tubbo, he didn’t feel like a boy.

 

He didn’t feel like a girl, either. 

 

He felt like neither. He felt like… both. Both and neither. Neither and both. 

 

Is that even possible?

 

Ranboo looks at Niki, and he sees the softness in her eyes. Someone who has accepted him no matter what, even after all this, even after everything he’s put her through. Someone who lended him her skirt, someone who opened up about her own experiences, both in the past and with gender…

 

Someone who is entirely unequipped to handle this, but is less afraid of what he’s done than she is afraid of failing him.

 

He exhales, and his shoulders are still tense but a little less painful when he says, “Niki?”

 

“Yes?” 

 

“I don’t think I’m a boy,” he confesses.

 

“Okay. Okay, that’s-”

 

“But I don’t think I’m a girl, either.”

 

Niki pauses, and then nods. She doesn’t make to say anything else, so Ranboo continues. “I can’t tell if that means I’m neither, though, or… or if I’m both of them? I don’t know if you can do that, but… maybe that’s it? I don’t know.”

 

“There are a lot of ways to be nonbinary, Ranboo,” Niki says.

 

“I don’t want to stop being a boy, though.”

 

“Some people are bigender,” xe explains. “They identify as a boy and a girl. Other times it’s fluid, so a man sometimes, a woman sometimes, and neither sometimes. Or… some people are apathetic to it, where anything is fine for them.”

 

“It doesn’t feel like I’m apathetic,” Ranboo tries to explain. “It feels bad when someone calls me a girl, but… only when they’re hostile about it, I think. And I felt good wearing a skirt, but I feel good wearing pants, too. I just… but I don’t like what my body looks like, like my actual, um, parts. But I like being a boy and I like being a girl, I think I just-” oh. Oh, is it maybe that…

 

“Ranboo?”

 

“I think I just… like it when people know,” he says. “That I’m both. That… that I want people to know I’m a guy, but that maybe I’m… a girl, too.”

 

“That makes sense,” Niki agrees. “That makes perfect sense.”

 

“Maybe I’m a girl, too,” Ranboo repeats, a little quieter, more incredulously.

 

“These next couple of days, we have a lot to talk about,” Niki says. “There’s a lot we have to do to keep you safe, and to make sure we go over everything and take care of everything. That being said, I think… I think maybe you and I deserve to go on a little shopping trip.”

 

“A… a shopping trip?”

 

“Yes.” A smile forms on Niki’s face, larger than Ranboo’s seen the entirety of today. And far, far more genuine. “We are definitely different skirt sizes, after all.”

 

“Oh,” Ranboo lets out, not really intending to, but he feels something… warm, in his chest, all of a sudden. He hasn’t felt warm since… since everything happened, but… this feels like before. On the 28th, looking at himself in the mirror, in the skirt, and… “We’re going to get me skirts?”

 

“Among other things, I think,” Niki begins listing. “You need shirts to match, and more jewelry, and maybe a dress…”

 

“I don’t think I like dresses,” Ranboo says, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling so much, but it doesn’t hurt, and he probably looks really stupid but he’s smiling because- because- 

 

Because even if he has to go to jail after all of this, and even if his life falls apart, and even if he never recovers from anything and he has to get sent into a psych ward, even if the worst possible thing aside from the worst possible thing that just happened happens, 

 

someone wants to see him, Ranboo Beloved, and stay.

 

“So we won’t get you dresses,” Niki agrees, eyes watching the way Ranboo’s face brightens. “I think skirts will look nice on you, anyway. We can buy a few of different sizes, or, we’ll want to thrift them, and decide-”

 

Ranboo barely feels his legs when he gets up and wraps his arms around Niki, almost collapsing against her. She lets out a surprised sound, her face now buried against his arm, and she had been in the middle of saying something-

 

-but she wraps her arms around him, so tight it almost hurts, and she keeps holding him even when Ranboo starts to shake, whispering over and over again, “Thank you.”

 

“Ranboo,” xe says, fondly, “you don’t have to thank me for this. For you, anything, always. Always .”

 

“Should this even be happening?” Ranboo asks, filter decaying at the edges. “After everything, Niki, I tried to-”

 

“Because of everything, in spite of everything, since everything that has happened has happened…” Niki sighs, and holds him tighter. “... you deserve this. It’s going to take a very long time, Ranboo, to sort everything out, and it’s going to be hard, but. You deserve for someone to see you the way you want to be seen.”

 

And in the arms of someone who wants him to be okay, someone who can guide him ahead without the bruising force of the man who would have sooner ruined him than seen him achieve this level of happiness…

 

… Ranboo finds himself wanting to try , even if it’s just for a minute longer- a second longer- than he wished for himself, in the throes of calling Tommy, in the throes of losing Dream.

 

Ranboo finds himself wanting to be here, in this moment, even if it’s just for a second.

 

And steadily, the sun peeks through the window blinds, and the apartment fills itself with light.

Notes:

Hiya. It’s been a bit, huh? Let's have a little chat, about this, about everything.

Firstly, there’s something ironic about the fact that this fic takes place during Ranboo and Tubbo’s senior year, and I specifically didn’t upload through the entirety of MY senior year.

I have a lot of reasons for that, but ultimately they just boil down to it being a Big Year. A lot of shit happened! But I also feel like I got this true kind of happiness during it. And I was busy, so so busy. But hell, I’m in college now— so now I’m like, ACTUALLY busy. Uploading this shit during midterms week rn. But college has been wonderful, and I’m running the odds and there’s a CHANCE one of you reading this goes to my university, huh? That’d be pretty fucked up. I want to make some kind of obscure clue but I feel like I’ll just dox myself, so I’ll workshop that. (As of typing this, I have informed my roommates vaguely about CS. So if they're seeing this... log the fuck off and write your philosophy paper <3.)

There was another reason I didn’t upload though, more obviously, if you look at my AO3. I have moved fandoms! I don’t really care about the DSMP anymore. It has a very fond place in my heart, and I still enjoy fanart and whatnot, and my friends love it and I love their love for it, right? But it’s just not my interest. I’m into Ace Attorney now, and I’m going to work on multi chapters and stuff for that.

But you’re NOT getting rid of me. It might take me 15 years, hopefully way less than that, but this fic will get finished. With hopefully way less depressing chapters? I tried to make this one hopeful, since it's my "one year hiatus return" chapter. The end is a little rushed. I tried my best.

Also, FUCK cc!Dream! And his whole crew. I really don’t watch any CCs anymore but Dream is a horrible damn person. And another reason I kept from uploading was that I wanted to figure out what to do about that. I was getting actively triggered by so much of the discussion and I didn’t want to cope with that by writing a fic where even though I’m EXPLICITLY and OBVIOUSLY talking about a character here, I still had to reconcile that. But conveniently, I wrapped up his role in the story for the most part. (If you want more of my thoughts on this, I'm happy to discuss it elsewhere where I'm not running out of characters.)

I don’t want to be a DSMP writer anymore. But CS is important to me. And dare I say, it’s about a hell of a lot more than role-play to me now. Though for the record this isn’t me shitting on your interest in DSMP, mama we’re ALL sitting here rn, but just my mentality.

I remember, over the last year, I’ve drafted SO many ending notes. I felt like I had to really capture something so delicately. I felt/feel a lot of guilt, because, y’all, I received SO much fanart within this last year. There were asks and people rereading it, I received comments all the time. I was hanging out with my best friend on my birthday and xe went onto TikTok and we found a CS cosplayer I literally never knew about (shoutout to pointlessly.complicated. I wanted to comment w/ xeir account, but the character limit was too short. Thank you so much, your talent is unreal.) The support this fic has received is actually astronomical, I can’t fucking comprehend it.

I don’t have an update schedule planned. I want to enjoy college, and stay on top of my work, and experience the happiness and hope college has already given me. And like, most of all, I want these chapters to be good. I want them to be worth your love and care and dedication. So I’m going to take my time, but I’m going to try and make them good. I’m sorry that this chapter is a little rusty. I know it is. It's been a long time since I've had a chat with cs!Ranboo; he'd understand, I think.

This fic deals with a lot of dark topics, and I used to find catharsis in that. And I know many of you did/do too. So, if you’re still reading this… you’re still here. You’re still on this earth. And I’m so glad you’re here. It’s been a brutal eighteen years, but I’ve found that there is love here, too. This fic is about love, from me to you, me to the world, these two queer kids, together.

Thank you for all the fan creations. I can’t link them all, but on my Tumblr, elytrafemme, you can find them in the nightmare.cs.fanart tag. I’ll reply to the comments, this time, no matter how long or short or ramble-y or succinct they are. There are too many people I have to thank for supporting me all this time, but you know who you are. I will thank Holly re-bi-vebur specifically, though, for helping me edit this and being there for me for so long.

I'm scared to death, but you all have made me braver.

Thank you for reading this. I’ve missed you.

Until next time,

Mare (@elytrafemme)

Notes:

chapter title is from "sweet hibiscus tea" by penelope scott. the fanfiction title is partly inspired off of the song "cough syrup" by young the giant, but was also inspired off of cough syrup itself. make that what you will.

-

hello everyone! this is the first chapter of my high school au, which has been in the works over this past summer! and holy shit, am i excited to share this!

this fanfiction will, ideally, be updated weekly, as i have about five of the next chapters written and have been working at a fairly consistent pace. i will attempt to post them on the same day of the week, but posting the first chapter today was a very big impulse decision (thought process: last day of summer. am bored. Fuck It.), so it may be moved to a day that is not tuesday. we will see!

i'm really, really excited to write this. high school AUs have become one of my favorite things at the moment, and reading so many lovely fics in that setting has motivated me to write my own! c!beeduo is one of my favorite character relationships in any media, so i'm excited to get to ramble on about them in this fic. they're really, really important to me.

i want to give a BIG thank you to my friend holly for beta-ing this chapter for me!!! they're one of the most supportive people i know and have had to put up with SO much rambling from me about this concept. any future chapters that have technoblade are dedicated to them as well <3

apologies in advance if the chapter titles / summaries / technical details get moved around a bit. i'm trying to add tags with each new chapter so i can best remember all of them, and it took me an hour alone to find a song lyric for this, so it's a bit hectic. my bad :c

other than all that, i'm not sure if i have much else to say!!! my tumblr is @nightmare-rivulets if you want to come and say hi, i talk a lot there. thank you for reading, and i suppose i'll see you in a week from now!!!

until next time <3