Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As the four of them approached the haunted manor—with creaky wooden floorboards, windows boarded up with steel metal bars, and wallpaper that tore at the seams—, they all felt dread pool in the bottom of their stomachs, the way the shadows seemed to follow them, the high-pitched, playful giggles that rang throughout the woods when a particularly strong gust of wind brushed against their faces or through their hair.

“Are you guys sure this is really.. Safe? I mean.. Ghost hunting sounds fun. But, is the risk really worth it?” Ranboo muttered, body shivering as they trudged through the mucky puddles (When was the last time L’manburg got rain?).

Tubbo pranced up from his position as the very back of the group to “pat” Ranboo on the back(read: hit him violently). Ranboo sputtered as the force of the smack sent them forward, knocking the breath from their lungs.

“Calm it, big man. Who cares if it’s dangerous? Would Tommy want us to miss out on life experiences because there was a little looming danger?” He teased, ignoring the way Techno tensed up at the mention of Tommy. He was used to it at this point, Techno always avoided conversations about Tommy like the plague. The moment the blonde was mentioned, he always froze up or made some bullshit excuse as to why he had to go before bolting out of the room.

At first, they’d all found it weird, Tommy and Techno had always been the closest, much to Techno’s feigned dismay. None of them could remember a time before Tommy and Techno became Tommy and Techno, they were just attached at the hip. Wherever one was, the other would soon follow. When Tommy’s mental health had begun to deplete, Techno was the one who noticed. When Techno was ill, Tommy was the one to help, to place a rag on his head and make him tea. It’d always been like that.

Eventually, they grew used to it though, paid him no mind when his personality did a 180 at the mention of their deceased friend. It was probably some weird ass coping mechanism his therapist gave him (because ignoring problems was always a great thing to do).

Ranboo pursed their lips, biting their tongue. They curled their arms around themself and began muttering who knows what under their breath, probably trying to convince themself this would be fun, which it would be. Besides, it wasn’t like ghosts were actually real, they were just folktales old people told kids to scare ‘em away from graveyards.

All the four of them had to do was march in there, prove the nonexistence(or existence) of ghosts, and then they could be on their way. Get in, get out, and go back to their normal lives. They were only doing this because Tommy was a firm believer in spirits, human souls who hadn't finished all they wanted to and were thus, stuck on earth.

“Once we get out of here, I’m going back to ignoring you guys.” Techno muttered under his breath, although a bit too loud, as Wilbur heard him and shot a glare in the taller’s direction.

“I can live with that.” Wilbur hummed, a small grin pulling at the sides of his lips when Techno curled further into himself; as if he was happy to be hurting the person he’d once seen as a brother. Tubbo pretended to not feel a pang in his heart as he stared at the broken, estranged friend group. Their group was but a shell of its former glory, having been torn apart by the death of Tommy.

“Shove off, Wilbur. We get it, you miss Tommy, but it isn’t like Techno is to blame for it, asshole. He’s innocent, for fuck’s sake, man!” Tubbo threw his hands up, gesturing angrily. The tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife as Techno seemed to, somehow, curl into himself more.

“Never put ‘Techno’ and ‘innocent’ in the same statement. That goddamn pig is anything but.” Wilbur seethed.

“Right here, Wil.”

“That’s the point, asshole.”

Tubbo let out a shaky breath, steeling himself as Ranboo placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. The brunette melted into the comforting touch, a firm sense of security sat between them; even if this activity failed to bring them together, they’d have each other, at the very least.

As they neared the house’s porch, Techno visibly relaxed. Tubbo found himself relaxing, too. They just had to do this and then they could return to how it’d been, all past hope of returning the friend group to its former glory had been thrown out the window as soon as Tubbo witnessed one interaction between the two ex-friends (If they were being honest, all chance of fixing the group had died with Tommy, buried 6 feet below the soil and surrounded by long wilted alliums).

The staircase creaked eerily as they stepped hesitantly, one by one, up onto the porch, all cautious of the looming danger the unstable building held. The air grew chillier the closer they got to the door and, yeah, that totally wasn’t terrifying at all. Because ghosts weren’t real, definitely(the more time they spent in the area, the harder that was to believe).

“Seriously, why are we doing this again?” Ranboo muttered, picking at the scabs littering their arms. Their dual-toned bangs fell into their face, causing them to blow it away and glare at the sky, cursing it for the wind blowing into their hair.

“Because, it’s what Tommy would’ve wanted.” Tubbo replied, ignoring the way Wilbur chimed in with a ‘Well, Tommy’s dead!’ because Wilbur could go fuck himself.

“Yeah, I get that, but.. Why this house in particular, I know there are plenty of, quote-unquote, haunted locations around here that aren’t, you know… Falling apart?” They scrunch their nose, gesturing at the place around them as if their point needed proving.

“I was going through Tom’s stuff—”

“What the hell?! I thought we agreed none of us would touch his shit?”

“—And saw this address on his diary labeled ‘To Visit Once I Convince The Others’, the description of it said it was supposedly haunted. Only place in the book that wasn’t some weird ass tourist destination absolutely none of us would be interested in.” Tubbo explained, Ranboo hummed in acknowledgement, and Wilbur scoffed as his comment was ignored.

“Enough stalling. Let’s just knock this shit out so we can go home.” Wilbur hissed, pulling open the ornate doorway(ornate was an overstatement, it was more like… beauty made unrecognizable by water damage) and walking into the home.

“Amen,” replied Techno, who followed suit. The youngest two begrudgingly followed, even if this was their idea, it was clear the last thing they wanted was to be stuck in a house with Techno and Wilbur.

The house was… surprisingly boring, on the inside. Except for all the irreplaceable damage and unnatural chill, it seemed like any old regular house.

“Is this even really ghost hunting?” Ranboo cut through all of three thoughts, much to Wilbur’s dismay. Tubbo cocked a brow at the question, beckoning Ranboo to continue, “I mean… isn't ghost hunting supposed to be chasing paranormal activity with gear and stuff? In case you didn't notice, we have no gear and are definitely not here on account of paranormal activity.” Techno and Wilbur seemed to have realized the same thing and all three of them simultaneously leveled an unimpressed look in Tubbo’s direction.

Tubbo chuckled nervously, fiddling with his thumbs. In all honesty, this had been a ploy to get the four of them together again, not that he planned on telling any of them that.

“W-Well,” Tubbo started, “I was… I was thinking, we could just… I don't know, we could go sit in the center of the house and wait for the ghosts to come to us?” He tried.

“Yeah, because 4 full sized human beings sitting in the middle of a house that's falling apart is a genius idea, Tubbo.” Techno snapped, Tubbo reared back, not used to the taller getting aggressive like that.

“I-I actually think it wouldn't be too bad to try, if nothing else.” Ranboo defended, resting a gangly arm around Tubbo’s shoulder.

Surprisingly, Techno didn't retort, only sighing and walking further into the house, up the rickety staircase and towards the middle of the second floor.

“I’m giving you guys 20 minutes. I've already exhausted all the time I can stand to be around Techno.” Wilbur hissed, turning around to follow Techno up the stairs but being stopped by Tubbo.

“What even happened between you two?! Before Tommy died, you, Techno, and him were attached at the hip! Now you two want eachother dead?! Tommy wouldn't have wanted this of you two.”

Wilbur snorted, “As if you know what Tommy would've wanted. After what he did, he doesn't deserve what we used to have, Tommy would thank me for what I’m doing.” And it was left at that, the brunette turned on his heel and walked up the stairs, noticeably tenser.

A silence settled between Tubbo and Ranboo, not necessarily awkward, but not content either.

“We should probably follow them before they kill eachother, I don't think our group can take another death,” Ranboo joked, but it fell on deaf ears.

“Yeah. We should.”

————

“What do you want, Wilbur.” Techno demanded as the brunette in question entered the room. Even with his eyes clamped shut, the taller could tell who was walking in.

“How do you know I’m not just here because I want to be around you, brother?” Wilbur replied, sitting across from Techno.

The nickname felt like acid burning through his skin, before Tommy passed, Techno would've laughed and retorted something along the lines of ‘Alright, shove off, ya’ sap’. Now? Now, he simply sighed and laid his head in his hands

“We both know you wouldn't do that, not anymore.”

“Just shut up, pig. I don't want to talk to a murderer.”

“I told you, I didn't kill him, Wilbur.”

“Well you might as well have! You’re the most at fault for his death and you know it!” Wilbur hissed, nails digging into the palm of his hand.

Techno didn't reply, and the silence was anything but reassuring.

Tubbo stomped into the room, with Ranboo following silently behind. The brunette took a seat on Techno’s right, and the other took a seat on his left. As Techno rested his head against the wall, Tubbo started rambling on about anything and everything his mind came to.

Techno melted into the familiar environment, as Tubbo and Ranboo chatted idly, paying no mind to the elder two, it felt like he was back to 7 months ago. Back when Wilbur and Tommy were set on moving in with him the second they could. Back when Tubbo and Ranboo stole a pig from a local farm and named him Michael, only to sob when the farmer caught them, took Michael away, and they had to spend the night in community jail. Back when things were better.

One thing that kept him locked in the present, though, was the glare Wilbur had been leveling in his direction. The look of pure, unbridled hatred and rage etched into every curve of his expression.

“Charl13_Barley: This Hippie needs to look away from my homeboy fr🚿🚿”

Well, shit. chat.

“Turbowipes: is he goated with the sauce?🤔🤔🤔”

“cosmicflwrs: guys hes supposed emo rn stfu”

“Turbowipes: hahaha empblqde”

“cosmicflwrs: what the hell is an empblqde”

“Turbowipes: stfyu yriu keno thwat i mean”

“cosmicflwrs: WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN????”

“Ollie12: guys pls this is supposed to be dramatic😭🙏”

“homo_bread: this is like a horrible hallmark movie, bad commentary and dramatic scenes.”

“cosmicflwrs: literally die🤔”

“homo_bread: maybe i will🤔”

“cosmicflwrs: WAIT NO THAT SHIT KILLS😿😿”

“Ollie12: never would've guessed, ur so smart J̷̨̢̢̺͙̟͙͇̱̪͎̯͆̎͂̄͗̎̚͜o̸̟͔͉̫̞͌́ͅe̷̛̫̞̺͛̏͋̈́͋͐l̸̗̹͍̗͙̞̭͑̑̍̓̊͘ͅͅ”

“cosmicflwrs: ty ty”

“Chat, be quiet.” Techno hissed, he ignored the way Wilbur cocked a brow at him. They, for once, actually listened.

It went on like that for a while, Wilbur glaring daggers into him as Tubbo and Ranboo stayed in their own little world, before the temperature in the room both rose and plummeted at once. Techno swallowed thickly as he shot up from his half-laying down position. Tubbo shut up, eyes darting around the room. A clatter was heard from downstairs but before any of them could go check it out, a wave of nausea washed over them. The two with the weakest stomachs, Wilbur and Ranboo, were barely containing themselves from keeling over.

Then, as if nothing had happened at all, everything went back to normal. The four of them felt floaty, in a way, lightheaded. They felt as though they were being watched, the shadows moved when they looked at them, the walls taunting and malicious.

A translucent figure—with golden blonde hair drenched in blood, blue eyes that bored into their soul, and a bright smile that seemed to shine brighter than the sun itself—appeared in the middle of their makeshift circle, playful grin on his face as horror set into the other four’s features.

The first thing that came to Techno’s mind, however, wasn't, you know, “Oh my god, that's a fucking ghost”. No, the first thing that came to his mind was, “That kinda looks like Tommy.” Which was absurd and he knew it.

“Charl13_Barley: guys he knows”

“cosmicflwrs: no he doesnt stfu”

“Turbowipes: COME ON. ITS LITERALLY SO OBVIOUS THAT ITS— [message was deleted by a moderator]”

Tommy had always boasted about how he'd done all he ever wanted to, how his bucket list was entirely empty. So, how the hell could the spectre be him if that was true? And, while Techno understood the likelihood of Tommy having actually finished his business on earth was slim, he would give the deceased the benefit of the doubt until the day he died.

“Ayup,” The ghost said, voice all high pitched and giddy. How the hell did he(or Techno assumed it was a he, forgive him for assuming the gender of a rather masculine ghost. Don't cancel him on twitter) even manage to make his voice that high, the pitch was so shrill it pierced his eardrums, causing a dull ringing in the back of his mind.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Tubbo cried out, scrambling back from the spirit and closer to the wall.

The ghost snorted, rolling his eyes, “I could ask the same to you? I mean, waltzing on into my home and then sitting in my room? You alive folk got a lot of nerve,” He joked, floating just barely over the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, no, that's fair,” Ranboo laughed nervously, the spectre cackling in response, high pitched, replicating that of a small child. Techno couldn’t shake the similarities between the spirit and Tommy, the way he saw his best friend’s bright, toothy smile in the creases of their eyes.

“If you’re gonna stare, ya’ might as well take a picture, it’ll last longer,” The ghost threw his head back with shrill laughter. Techno’s cheeks flushed pink and he quickly averted his gaze, boring holes into the molding wooden floors.

“Say, I like you,” The spirit continued once the shrieking laughter seized, Techno tilted his head in response, “What’s your name?”

“Charl13_Barley: BEDROCK BROS. BEDROCK BROS. BEDROCK BROS”

What the hell is a bedrock bros??

Anyways, Techno was no paranormal expert, but all of the warning signs in his head were going off. Wasn’t there some rule on telling your name to spirits? Or, was it the fae? Siren? Maybe he wasn’t as prepared as he’d initially thought (he was never prepared, not in the slightest).

While Techno was off in his own world, Wilbur, like the asshole he is, introduced Techno for him, “His name’s Techno. Techno C. Blade, he never told us what the middle name was because he wanted to be mysterious or what the fuck ever,”

“Wilbur, that isn’t why and you know damn well it isn’t!” Techno shot back, throwing all the anger and venom he could muster(which wasn’t much, he couldn’t hate Wilbur if he tried) into the statement.

The spirit tilted his head confusedly, staring at the two of them, “Why are you two fighting? Aren't you friends?”

“We ar—”

“Were. We were.” Wilbur cut off, leveling a glare.

“Charl13_Barley: OH NO HE DIDNT….”

And ouch, if that didn't hurt. (Also shut up, chat)

“Yeah, yeah, we were.” Techno relented with a sigh. The ghost didn’t seem happy with their response, though.

“No. No, that won’t do. As long as you’re under my roof, you’re friends, got it?’ The spirit grinned cheekily, leaving all four of them speechless. Did this ghost have any clue how friendship worked?

“That's not how…” Techno trailed off, unsure himself of how he planned to continue that statement.

“Alright, our turn to ask the questions,” Wilbur scowled, the spectre rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright, ask away. But I’ve only got an… hour? I forgot how human time works, of time I can be visible.”

“cosmicflwrs: me when i lie☠️”

“Charl13_Barley: STOPP☠️☠️”

Techno held his head in his hands and attempted to will Chat to shut up, not that they’d listen to him(he chose to ignore earlier, that was the first and most likely only time they'd listen).

“Charl13_Barley: me when i finally reach acceptance”

“cosmicflwrs: so when is it revealed that— [message was deleted by a moderator]”

“Turbowipes: [message was deleted by a moderator]”

“Charl13_Barley: [message was deleted by a moderator]”

“vx_valzzz: u ever just— *goes emo*”

“cosmicflwrs: pov ur baghihwtgoydbfhy!techno:”

“Turbowipes: whyd dis yoy asd hrebw abbrbedvwusafion”

“cosmicflwrs: wth are u saying”

“kitten_whiskers_tallulah: i think they said like ‘why did you add the abbreviation’, or smth idk”

“cosmicflwrs: that makes sense ty ty”

“kitten_whiskers_tallulah: ofc pookie wookie”

“cosmicflwrs: never call me that again.”

“Charl13_Barley: never call him that again.”

“cosmicflwrs: rat says ‘my knife looks /real/ sharp. its great for stabbing. now please stfu”

Somehow, that actually managed to make them quiet. Techno was eternally grateful for whoever ‘rat’ was. He made a mental note to thank them later.

“Yo, pinkie,” The ghost waved in Techno’s face, startling him out of his trance.

“Hi, uhm, hi, sorry.” He greeted awkwardly.

“Your turn to ask a question, big man, the other 3 have.”

How long had he been zoned out?

“Oh, uhm, okay.” He frowned, thinking over his options for what to ask the spectre.

"How'd you die?" Techno asked, making a slightly disgusted expression at the display of translucent gore hanging from the spectre's left eye.

"Suicide?" The ghost replied, more of a question in itself than an answer. Tubbo cocked a brow at the response, "I think that's what it was, at least. I don't really remember, to be honest." He chuckled, leaning back against the chair he was pretending to sit in.

Wilbur's prior confidence faded as he asked the next question. "What's your name?”

Unlike with the other question, the ghost replied immediately, "Tommy Innit!"

Chapter Text

“Tommy Innit!”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the words sinking into them. The feeling of dread, guilt, longing, despair that clawed desperately at their conscious, sinking its teeth into their gut, clogging their minds. It felt like a misty fog had coated their thoughts, like the world itself had shifted off its axis.

Techno opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to form words or even a single coherent thought. The ghost’s words had felt like they were clogging his throat. Like thorny vines, snaking up through his lungs and sprouting roses in his vocal chords. Figuratively, of course.

Goosebumps coated his arms, making his body more shaky than it was on the regular. He gasped for air, or at least it felt like it. He felt like he was drowning, like water had filled up his lungs. Like hands had snaked up to his neck and squeezed. Every second he spent in the room felt like another stab to his heart.

Suddenly, everything was too much; overwhelming. The walls were closing in on him, the shadows were taunting, he couldn't breathe, his vision was cloudy, his hands were clammy, his ears were ringing.

He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't—

“Hey, pinkie, you with us?” The ghost snapped his fingers, he blinked a few times. He was back in the room. The walls weren't closing in, the room had a decent amount of natural light, he could breathe. He was okay. He was okay.

He was never okay.

All eyes were on him and it made his curl into himself more than he already had been.

“Yeah, uh— sorry, didn't mean to— uh— freak out like that.” He covered quickly, ignoring the way everyone seemed skeptical(Wilbur was skeptical, enraged, venomous. The other two were concerned).

“You weren't… freaking out?” Tubbo replied hesitantly, making air quotation marks at the ‘freaking out’ part. “You just kinda… zoned out? Like, nothing could snap you out of it. Freaky as fuck, if you ask me.” He shrugged, earning a light smack from Ranboo.

“Tubbo! You can’t just— say that!” They chided. Techno however? Well, Techno laughed. Like, had to put his hand over his mouth, eyes creased, bright laughter.

Tubbo joined in soon after and, for a moment, it was like nothing had happened. It seemed like Tommy hadn't died, and they hadn't discovered his ghost right fucking there.

Of course, nothing good ever lasts for Technoblade(and co). Soon after, Wilbur snapped his fingers and pointed towards the ghost impatiently, snapping the three out of their happy haze.

“Ahem, if you three are done being fucking idiots,” All three of them looked to Wilbur, properly affronted. “There's the ghost of my dead best friend here.”

“Our best friend, Wilbur.”

“After what you did? Absolutely not.”

Techno relented, unable to bring up a fight. He tried to ignore the way Wilbur faltered at this

Now that he thought of it, chat had been unusually quiet. Usually, chat would be shouting a series of ‘skill issue’ or ‘L’ at him, or insulting Wilbur.

He didn't have time to worry about that, however. Now, his attention needed to be on the situation at hand. Tubbo was grumbling something incoherent under his breath, probably something about Wilbur, and Ranboo was sat with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees and head placed neatly on his knees.

He looked to the middle to see the spectre—Tommy—babbling on about anything and everything. He couldn't help but melt into the familiarity.

For a second, it was almost like he could pretend this was the real Tommy, the alive one who had a bright smile and even brighter smile. The kid who walked into a room and didn't need to demand attention because all immediately averted to him. But this wasn't him, it wasn’t. Tommy was dead and gone, this was just some ghost pretending to be him

Techno snarled, averting his gaze from where the ghost sat in the middle, curling into himself, practically vibrating with anger. It was misdirected and he knew it, he was thinking irrationally. It wasn't the ghost’s fault he died, nor was it Tommy’s—Tommy Tommy, not his spirit, the husk of his past self.

Say, now that he thought of it—

“Why are you acting like you don't know us?” Techno blurted out, still refusing to meet the spectre’s stare. Tommy tilted his head.

“Because… I don't? I mean, I might have— I don't remember much from my life, like small bits and pieces but y’know— no faces.”

Techno felt his heart break yet again.

Wilbur looked pained, facial expression scrunched together. “Well, what do you remember, Tommy?”

“Well… I had two brothers, I think. I know I had two people who cared about me a-lot. I remember one of them used to dote on me and the other one was more subtle with their affection.”

Wilbur and Techno had looks of equal shock. He was talking about them. Tommy was talking about them. Holy fucking shit, Tommy remembered them—

Well, not them. But he remembered who they were, kind of. Not that the “brothers” were the two, but he knew he had them in his life.

“Tommy, what did they look li—”

“They sound lovely, Tommy.” Techno cut in, shooting Wilbur a look that said ‘shut the hell up for once in your petty life’, which, surprisingly, Wilbur listened to; closing his mouth, but not without sticking his tongue out at Techno.

“I’m sure they were.” Tommy replied sadly, a small smile curving onto his lips. “Y’know, I feel like they have something to do with why I’m still here.” He continued, Techno had to swallow the bile growing in his throat to prevent himself from puking on the spot.

Everything that had happened today was too much. For the first time since Tommy died and Wilbur left, Techno had agreed to leave his home, only because Tubbo had threatened to spill some secrets that Techno was… less than eager to have out in the public (“How the hell do you know about that?” “I have my ways.” “Tommy told you.” “Tommy told me.”)

He left his house expecting to have a quick, get in, get out sort of thing, not whatever was going on. Wilbur hadn't insulted him in 20 minutes, Tommy was in the room with them, even if just as a ghost, chat wasn't talking, how much weirder could today get?

It could get so much weirder.

—---------------

“Say, Tommy, isn't your time almost up?” Wilbur asked, Tommy jumped.

“Fuck— Yeah, yeah it is.” He sighed sadly, pressing his translucent hand to where his heart should be. “Guess you all gotta go, make sure to come back soon!”

He waved them off and, albeit reluctantly, they exited the room.

“Hey, creepy spirit—”

“—Tommy—”

“—can we explore the house before we go?” Tubbo asked, hands folded neatly behind his back.

Tommy hummed thoughtfully. “I mean, I don't see why not.”

The brunette grinned, taking off down the stairs. Ranboo, who had been unusually quiet during the interaction with the ghost, sighed and leveled a stare at Tommy. “Is there anything you don't want leaving the home?”

“I don't think so, why—”

“Because Tubbo will most definitely rob you.” Ranboo deadpanned, Wilbur giggled at the affronted expression the spectre made.

“Fine, just— Don't let him take the record player.”

“Will do,” Ranboo nodded, following Tubbo down the staircase and immediately forgetting what Tommy had told him.

As soon as the two left, Tommy disappeared into thin air, but the two left in the room could tell he was still there. Watching, waiting, slinking through the shadows.

Wilbur grabbed Techno’s wrist and dragged him down the stairs and out of the house.

“Wilbur—”

“Shush. I’m still mad at you asshole.”

“Figured.”

“Now, let me speak, Techno.”

“Go on,” Techno cocked a brow.

"So ghosts have unfinished business on earth... right?" Wilbur asked. Even if Wilbur had always been the one more interested in the paranormal whils Techno preferred mythology, he wanted to double check with Techno (which was stupid, honestly).

"Yeah."

"And Tommy said his 'brothers' had something to do with why he's still here.."

"Yeah..?" Techno seemed to be picking up what Wilbur was putting down, but he didn't like it.

"So, I propose we don't tell him. If he doesn't know, he can't move on."

"You little fucker." Techno laughed, placing his head in his hand. “That's so stupid, I’m in.”

“Yeah? Well you look stupid, mr. The Blade.”

They both ignored how easy it was to fall back into the old banter. They couldn't get used to it, not again. After today, they’d all go home and then move on with their lives and forget about each other.

they could never forget each other.

—---------------

Tubbo explored through the manor; the kitchen, dining room, living room, bedrooms, bathrooms, the garden, backyard. All coming up empty handed.

It was as Tubbo was exiting the house that his eyes landed on an old record player with a new looking record on it, playing a broken melody. Without much of a second thought, he grabbed it and bolted out of the house after Ranboo.

What could he say, he wanted a souvenir.

If a certain ghost with a soul attached to a record titled ‘Mellohi’ followed Tubbo and Ranboo home that night, they were either too tired or just too unobservant to notice.

Chapter Text

When Tommy was visited by a group of young adults, the last thing he’d been expecting was to be dragged away from the manor; the only place he’d ever known, the only place he’d ever called a home.

When the golden blonde had died, for some reason his soul had latched onto an old, broken record. He couldn't go farther than a mile away from it and, whenever it was moved, Tommy moved with it.

So you can imagine his shock when he was just minding his own business and then he gets stolen away from the comfort of his own home by two teenagers(? They looked closer to 20-21 but, who was he to know).

Anyways, back to the present, Tommy was watching the duo chat idly as they walked home; the brunette seeming (playfully) annoyed and the other anxious, eyes darting around the forest. He tried to ignore the way his heart ached and a feeling of deja vu clung to his conscious.

“Come on, boo, you're so stuck up, loosen up a little, boss man.”

“I know, I know. But it's just creepy, man. I have this feeling that we’re being watched. It's the same thing that happened when we were on the way to the house.”

“So you're being overly anxious again?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Then we should walk faster and get the fuck out of these woods, don't ya’ think?” The brunette(Tubbo?) hummed, grabbing the man with dual-toned hair(Boo?) and bolting off. Tommy yelped as he was dragged along with them, the duo pretended to not notice.

—-----------

Tubbo swung the door to their 2 bedroom apartment open, panting. “Why Ranboo—”

—So the one with black and white hair is Ranboo? Tubbo and Ranboo, what odd names—

“—Why didn't we wait for Wilbur or Techno to drive us.” Tommy stifled a laugh as the brunette plopped onto his couch with sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Because, Tubbo. You ran out of the house while the two of them were having whatever talk they were having and you didn't wait for them to finish.”

Tubbo scoffed, Tommy failed to decipher if it was lighthearted or not. Given the relaxed body language, he assumed it was. But, then again, he knew nothing about these people or their mannerisms.

Surely, though, he’d be learning soon enough since he'd have no choice but to stay around them, even though he wanted solitude.

He didn't.

For the first time since being stolen from the manor, Tommy took a second to take in the environment he was in. It was a… cramped apartment, to say the least. With desks and chairs crammed wherever they could be fit, there was next to no room for walkspace.

Now, that wasn't really an issue for Tommy, with him being a spirit and all, but surely they’d need more than 6 inches of space to squeeze through(rough estimate, as he had no way of measurement).

Looking down the hallway, he saw 3 rooms, two bedrooms and one bathroom. He floated towards them, tilting his head at the bedroom to his right. The door was blocked by yellow police tape with a sign that read “DO NOT ENTER!!” in bold red lettering, seemingly hand written rather than printed onto the metal sign.

Floating through the doorway, Tommy entered the room even if the sign had told him not to. Entering the room sent a wave of nausea towards him (He didn't even know ghosts could have nausea)

Staring at the ceiling, the world came crashing into him. He had two voices screaming in his head; one sounded like the voices of his loved ones—Tubbo, Ranboo, Techno, Wilbur—and the other sounded like… himself. His friends shouted at him to not do it, and the one of himself slithered into his ear, whispering things he knew were true; even if he tried not to.

As Tommy’s tear glazed eyes reread over the note, he smiled. He stood up onto the chair, tying the rope around his neck tightly; in a way that would definitely leave rope burn if he were to survive.

The chair began rocking back and forth, unable to support his weight. Tommy let it fall.

Tommy choked as the resurfaced memory finished playing in his mind. He tried to grab onto the bedside table to support his translucent figure, even if he knew it ultimately wouldn't work. Questions wracked through his mind; why did he do it? What significance did this room have to have triggered such a memory? Who the fuck was Wilbur?

In his panic, he hadn't noticed his body had regained its opacity; he was no longer invisible to the human eye. As he frantically gripped the table—it slipped through his grip each time and it became increasingly clear how inhuman he really was—, he somehow knocked over a glass that had been sitting there for god knows how long; it was coated with cobwebs and it somehow fucking smelled musty(Tommy chose not to think about the logic behind him being unable to grab the table but somehow able to knock over a glass).

The sound of the glass shattering echoed through the hallways of the apartment, cutting off the conversation between the duo in the main room. Footsteps pounding through the hallways flooded his ears and he instinctively froze, shakily looking towards the doorway.

The door was shoved open after a few minutes of Tommy staring wide eyed at the wooden door.

Tubbo(That was his name, right?) gasped, rushing forward and bending down at Tommy’s side. Ranboo stared at them from the doorway.

“Why the hell are you here?! Did you follow us home—” Tubbo’s expression grew defensive.

“No. You think I’d come to this shithole willingly, big man?” Even in his panicked state, making fun of the duo’s horrible living conditions came easily to him, as did most things related to mocking. He tried to pretend he didn't notice the way Tubbo’s face scrunched up in pain when Tommy said ‘big man’.

Tubbo’s expression relaxed, though it seemed rather forced, and he snorted. “I hear ya, we’ve been trying to move out for a while but we just can't afford it, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Tommy didn't, he didn't get it at all. For his entire afterlife, he’d been living in the mansion he woke up in one day, with next to no memory of his life before death.

Ranboo’s eyes darted around the room, tears pricking their eyes as their breathing picked up; they gripped the doorframe through clammy hands. Tubbo pursed his lips.

“You— uh.. You good for me to, uh— go help Boo?” Tubbo asked, Tommy nodded. “Okay, well, uh— Don't think you're getting out of this conversation. I expect you to be in the living room in 10 minutes.” Tommy pretended he remembered the concept of time and nodded.

Tubbo stood up, attempting to pat Tommy in the back and wincing when his hand went through the translucent figure. The brunette walked over to Ranboo and gently guided the shaking figure out of the room, whispering hushed reassurances.

And Tommy was alone again. He was alone—

He didn't understand why being alone still hurt, he had been alone in almost every memory he had, he was alone in the mansion. So why did his heart still ache when Tubbo left the room, choosing to comfort Ranboo rather than him?

Of course Tubbo would choose Ranboo, they didn't even know the spirit. So what if he heard their voices in his memory, there was no way that actually happened. Because he would've remembered. His mind would've remembered the two if he had’ve known them while he was alive.

And why did being in this room hurt so much? He couldn't describe it; he didn't need to breathe, and yet he still found himself choking and gasping for air. His world felt like it was shifting on his axis over one “memory” that didn't even go on for 5 minutes.

He “stood” up and floated towards the main room, instantly feeling better the moment he left the space.

When he reached the duo, they were sitting on the couch; Ranboo sat normally, idly scrolling through what Tommy assumed what social media, Tubbo was half laying down, resting his feet in the other’s lap, half-lidded eyes staring up at the ceiling.

When Tommy entered the room with an awkward cough, attention turned to him. Ranboo tried desperately to feign normalcy but the spectre could see the underlying fear and disgust, Tubbo just shot him an easy smile.

“Glad to see you're alright, I almost went and checked on you,” Tubbo waved, his casual tone sending waves of relief through his body.

Ranboo nodded shakily, Tommy snorted and floated towards the two of them.

“So… You wanted to talk?” Tommy started awkwardly, fiddling with his sleeves.

Tubbo snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Come, sit down.” He invited, grinning. Tommy gave him an unimpressed look.

“I can't sit. I’m a ghost.”

“...Right.”

Tommy cackled at the expression on the brunette’s face. “I’ll sit to the best of my ability, don't worry.” He gave Tubbo a thumbs up, floating over to the chair across from the duo and levitating slightly over it. His hands were folded neatly in his lap as he waited for Tubbo to restart the conversation.

Tubbo, on the other hand, was waiting for Tommy to start it. He was so used to the alive blonde’s eccentric, outgoing self that he assumed the ghost would be the same way.

Ranboo sighed, they were never going anywhere with this, were they? Tubbo was autistic, Tommy probably was (unlike Tubbo, he’d never been diagnosed, but he met every requirement for autism). They decided to take the initiative for once and start the conversation himself.

“So, uh— Tommy,” They cleared their throat awkwardly, the spectre’s head snapped in their direction. “Why are you at our house.” The ghost had said he would never come to this—in his own words— ‘shithole’ willingly, so Ranboo couldn't help but wonder why the blonde was here.

“You took the record player.” Ranboo tilted his head. Yeah, Tubbo’d taken that but why would that make Tommy follow them home? “It's the one thing I told you not to take.” Tommy deadpanned, the taller winced.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot—” Ranboo deflated, Tubbo snorted. The golden blonde had a confused expression, why was the brunette laughing at memory issues? As someone who experienced amnesia, Tommy took great offense to that. (He really didn't, but he found feigning anger to be hilarious)

Or, Tommy thought he took great offense to that. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find himself even the slightest bit angry. Instead, laughter bubbled in his chest alongside the other two.

After the three of them had finished laughing, all easing out of it around the same time—as if they were spiritually connected somehow—, Tubbo finally started talking. “So, since you’re here, we might as well ask some more questions, I am curious as to how the hell ghost shit works.” Tommy groaned, he hated being questioned as, half of the time he didn’t even know himself.

“Only if I get to ask a question, too.’ Tommy bargained, Tubbo hummed thoughtfully, seemingly weighing out the pros and cons.

“I’ll ask boo.” He settled on, nodding towards the spectre before turning to Ranboo to exchange a series of hushed whispers. The golden blonde sighed dramatically, he hated being left out of things. It made this feeling of dread pool in his gut and he didn’t like it.

Puffy—a white-haired ghost with goat features who had stopped by the manor once and became Tommy’s temporary therapist before leaving again—had told him that his primal hatred for being alone probably had something to do with his life and how he died. “For example, I was a pirate in my lifetime, I died by drowning so now I hate water. I can’t go near it without everything in me screaming to run away.” She had said, it made sense, but what didn’t make sense was how the hatred for loneliness tied into his death and/or life.

Alive Tommy had people who cared about him. He had Tubbo and Ranboo and Wilbur and Techno. Now, Tommy knew next to nothing about his life but from the brief flashback to his death combined with how the group reacted to seeing the spectre, he could piece together that they cared for him.

Tommy whilst he was alive had everything his ghost counterpart wanted. He had a family, friends, a stable life; and yet, he still fucking tied the noose. Tommy didn’t understand why.

He didn’t understand why the four still cared about his alive self. He didn’t understand why alive Tommy was so fucking selfish. He was selfish selfish selfish selfishselfishselfish—

“Yo, ghostie,” He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of Tubbo snapping his fingers and speaking. “We’re in. We ask a question, you ask a question. We’re also able to opt out of answering the questions if we so please.”

“Can I also not answer the questions?” Tubbo nodded. Tommy was pleasantly surprised by the revelation, he was under the impression he’d have to answer all questions thrown his way, no matter how private they were. He smiled and nodded at the duo.

“Let’s do it.”

“Since we already asked one, you can start us off, Tom." Ranboo said with this stupid soft smile on their face that made Tommy feel all mushy inside and he didn’t understand why because he didn’t know them. His alive self did, sure, but Tommy was a ghost; a mere hollow shell of his past.

There were so many things he wanted to say; “Wipe that smirk off your face”, “Knock it off”, “Fuck off”, “He’s dead”, “I’m not him”.

“Alright.” He said instead. “Well, I think I know the answer because of context clues but… What are your names?” The spectre asked, he would feel horrible if he had been calling the two by the wrong names in his head.

“I’m Tubbo and he’s Ranboo.” The brunette replied, shooting Tommy a grin; Ranboo nodded along with him. The spirit’s shoulders sagged relievedly, he’d called them the right names.

Tubbo hummed thoughtfully, contemplating the questions he could ask the ghost. The more the brunette thought this over, the more Tommy found himself growing anxious. He wished he could just read minds, y’know? That way he wouldn’t have to worry about all the thoughts going through the mortals head.

“What do you remember?” Tubbo asked after a few moments. Tommy froze, before like 20 minutes ago, he would happily list everything he remembered, but now? Now, Tommy knew the details(not really, but you know what he means) of his death and it felt like his world had been turned on its head.

“I remember a few people. I think they were you two, my brother, and someone else. Someone named ‘Wilbur’ or something.” The two froze, Tommy kept talking. “He looked like a prick, if ya ask me. He would probably yell at someone because they painted his nails crimson instead of carmine even though they look almost the exact fucking same.”

“Also he looked fuckin’ bald.” Tommy snarked, rolling his eyes as he described the faint memory. When it came to people from his past, his brain felt foggy, misty, like he was so damn close to knowing who they were but then it was just fucking… snatched from right under his nose.

“I see,” Ranboo said, eyes darting over to Tubbo anxiously as if their eyes alone could convey a conversation. To Tommy’s surprise, Tubbo looked back at them with a reply. He hated when people were like this, so connected they could communicate with their eye language alone.

After at least 5 minutes of the duo communicating through furrowing their brows and aggressive blinking, they looked at Tommy.

“Alright, boss man, ask your next question.” Tubbo grinned, Tommy curled into himself at the gentleness in his voice. They were speaking to him like he was made of glass, like he’d disappear if they raised their voice even once, and he hated it.

“Alright. Well, uh— I was wondering,” He started, fiddling with his sleeve, Ranboo tilted his head patiently. “What was that room? The one you found me in. The bedroom with the police tape—”

The duo froze, Ranboo’s expression matched that of when they’d first stepped into the bedroom and found Tommy whilst Tubbo’s was filled with animosity; the change in tone took the blonde aback.

Tommy imagined that if he were a human, his skin would be paling right now. Tubbo took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“I would rather not answer that, it's none of your concern.” Ranboo answered, Tommy shrunk at the tone of voice, unused to that tone from the taller.

“In fact, I think it's time you go, Tommy,” Tubbo added on, Tommy gave him an unimpressed stare.

“I literally can't leave.” He deadpanned.

“Then go to your room or something!”

Usually, Tommy would've snarked back with ‘What are you, my mother?’ or something along those lines, but all he could think of at the moment was why the fuck had Tubbo said ‘your room’. Tommy didn't live here.

“My room?” He asked, tilting his head curiously. Tubbo blanched, swallowing thickly. A humorless laugh erupted from Ranboo’s vocal chords.

“You told him to leave and ended up answering his question in the process. You’re an idiot, Tubs,” Ranboo said fondly, earning a smack upside the head from Tubbo; they yelped. “The room with yellow tape was yours, Tommy. Before you died.” The taller explained, Tommy swallowed the bile growing in his throat(since when could ghosts have bile? Tommy was learning all kinds of shit about himself today). He’d wanted to know what the room was, so why did the answer hurt so much?

“Oh, alright.” Tommy said, he gave a bittersweet smile before “standing” up and floating back into the room with yellow tape.

He couldn't even stand to call it his room because it wasn't. It belonged to his alive self and the more time he spent with these people the more clear it became that he wasn't his alive self and he never would be.

His alive self was selfish, manipulative, and a shitty person. And the group couldn't even get that through their stupid, kind heads. Alive Tommy had killed himself even though he had everything he could ever want and yet his friends still thought he was a good person.

Chapter Text

"Forever!" Tubbo had said, staring gleefully into the eyes of his best friend. Golden haired, ocean blue eyed Tommy.

At the time, it'd really felt like it'd last forever. But everything's gotta come to an end eventually, every book has to close; every chapter must have its ending line.

It lasted forever, until it didn't.

Tubbo wasn't sure when it had happened, but one day he looked at his best friend and didn't see his best friend anymore. His eyes were swollen, cheeks sunken in; his eyes a thundering grey and hair a dull blonde. He hunched in on himself and tried to take up as little space as possible. Tommy bit his lip and fiddled with his sleeve or shirt collar every moment of every day. His eyes no longer beamed with the pride he felt for himself, instead darting around the room anxiously, looking for any judging eyes.

They had their accomplishments, their fights, their make ups, until they didn't. They used to do everything best friends do, but things change.

They both hated change, Tubbo knew that. But he changed, and Tommy changed, and they were no longer each-other's perfect match.

Tubbo found Ranboo, his other half, the quiet, timid, yet hilarious person who perfectly complimented his rambunctious personality. They fit like two peas in a pod; like the sun and the moon.

Tommy wasn't so lucky.

———————————–—————

Tubbo,staring at his best friend’s corpse, wasn't sure where he went wrong. Sure, he and Tommy had faded out of contact—going from texting each other at least once an hour to texting once a week, if they were lucky—, but that was a mutual ordeal. In fact, Tommy had been the one who stopped responding to his texts. So why was he at fault for their falling out? (He knew why.)

The burnette had always believed he was doing his best, that Tommy was fine; he believed his best friend was just going through another “emo arc”(as he liked to call them). But, as he read over the note for what felt like the millionth time, a nasty feeling settled in his stomach.

He couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was, it felt like every negative emotion to ever exist was caving in on him. As he stared at the hanging figure, he couldn't help but blame himself. How had he let it get so bad? How hadn't he noticed?

When Tubbo was 6—first introducing himself to Tommy on the kindergarten playground—, he never could've imagined he’d be standing by his best friend’s dead body. He especially didn't think he’d know, deep down, that it was his fault.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” He muttered, grasping Tommy’s too-cold hand. “I’m sorry I didn't try harder.”

Tubbo’s whole body trembled harder with each passing second, as if it would cause Tommy to wake up. Both of his hands were clasped around the blonde’s, quavering without pause. He couldn't find a pulse, no matter how desperately he searched for it.

Tubbo had been the first to find Tommy’s body, Ranboo was at work and the other two were at home (It tore them all apart, knowing they were at home while the blonde took his own life).

A sob wrenched its way out of Tubbo’s throat. He’d never been a big crier, always opting to take his sadness out in other ways, but he couldn't hold it in. The raw despair was too much to handle.

Call him selfish, but he didn't tell the others. Not right away, at least. He sat by Tommy’s hanging corpse—grasping onto him like a lifeline—for what felt like an eternity, in search of any of that familiar warmth. He didn't wrench himself away to text the group or call the police. He knew once they found out, they’d take Tommy away from him.

They’d take him away and he’d be forced to accept the reality of the situation. He wasn't ready for that, yet. He’d stay in denial for a little while longer, just until Ranboo got home.

———————————–—————

As Ranboo walked the way to the little apartment on the east side of Lmanburg—where they lived with their two best friends (read: one best friend and an extra roommate)—, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The way the sky was dimmer despite the forecast saying today would have perfect weather, how people on the streets who would normally smile and greet them as they passed just stared forlornly at the ground. And, most prominently, the way he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched; that suspicion that made the hairs on your neck stand on edge.

As he neared the door to apartment 108, they could hear the faint sobs from within the home. Sobs that sounded suspiciously like Tubbo, but Tubbo never cried. That couldn't be.

They entered the home with a suspicious expression, eyes darting around their studio apartment. He mumbled out a “I’m home”, which the other inhabitants obviously didn't hear.

He slinked down the hallway, hands stuffed in their pockets. The closer they got, the louder the sobs were. They were at their loudest in Tommy’s room, which caused Ranboo to cock a brow.

They often awoke at night, or came home, to Tommy crying in his room, but this wasn't the sound of Tommy’s cries. This was undoubtedly Tubbo; which made Ranboo even more concerned than they already were.

They pushed open the door and what they saw shocked them to their very core. Tubbo sobbing on Tommy’s carpet flooring with two hands clasped around an impossibly pale one. As he looked up at the figure the pale hands belonged to, their breath caught in their throat. Tommy hanging from his ceiling fan with dull, lifeless eyes.

Ranboo had gotten used to Tommy’s anxiousness, once blue eyes now a dull grey, but this was nothing like that.

Funnily enough, this was the calmest Ranboo had ever seen the blonde. They liked to think Tommy was calm—maybe even happy—as he passed, even despite the tear tracks staining his too-pale skin.

Ranboo staggered toward Tubbo, clammy hand grasping their own arm to keep themself grounded. “Tubbo?” He muttered hesitantly, reaching a hand out to touch the brunette.

Tubbo’s eyes snapped towards the taller male, fear stricken and wide. Tears flowed freely down his face as he stared at Ranboo. “Boo? I thought you didn't get off work until six.” He blubbered, voice quavering.

“Yeah, Tubs. It's— It’s almost 7.” He knelt down beside Tubbo and wrapped his, larger, hands around Tubbo’s—and, in turn, around Tommy’s.

Tubbo didn't seem to believe him, shaking his head violently. He tried to speak but all that came out were whines and sobs.

“Tubbo, when did you find Tommy.” He asked, much more forceful than they’d intended. The burnette froze, looking up at Ranboo with glazed eyes.

“When I got home,” He said through sobs, Ranboo stilled.

“You found him three hours ago?!” They exclaimed, staring at Tubbo incredulously; they weren't mad at Tubbo—they couldn't be, even if he tried. “You found Tommy’s body three hours ago and you didn't tell anybody? You didn't even try to, I don't know, call the police?!”

“No— If— If I did, they would take him away!” Tubbo tried to explain, desperation and sorrow seeping through his voice. “We just got him back, Ranboo, I couldn't lose him again.” Ranboo chose not to reminisce on the last time this happened.

The taller sighed, wrenching his hand from Tubbo’s. “I’m calling 911, then I’m texting the other two that they need to go to the hospital, ‘kay?” Tubbo nodded, wiping his teary eyes.

Ranboo stepped out of the room, choosing to not make Tubbo listen to the phone call out of (platonic) love for the shorter.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

———————————–—————

When Wilbur received the text, he’d brushed it off as some kind of crude, late april fools joke. What had they expected him to think? Texting him “Tommy’s in the hospital. Come quick” in a chat where they never said anything serious.

He responded with a simple “☠️” and moved on with his day. He’d spent the whole day binging “Esempee”, some cringe children’s tv show Tommy was obsessed with; the blonde had practically begged him to watch it. Wilbur pretended to be pissed about it, but he watched it nonetheless.

After a few minutes, though, both Tubbo and Ranboo began frantically calling him. He rolled his eyes but answered the phone anyway. He couldn't shake the dread that pooled in his gut the longer the phone rang and rang.

He picked it up with a sigh. “Hey, Ran.” Wilbur hummed, watching the TV.

“Hey, you got my text, right?”

“Yeah, the one about Tommy in the hospital or whatever?”

Tubbo, who Wilbur presumed was in the background, exhaled sharply. “Wilbur, we're at the hospital waiting for you and Techno.”

Something about his tone of voice worried the brunette. “Okay, what's going on? Did Tommy fall down the stairs again, or—”

“Tubbo found him hanging from his ceiling fan.” Wilbur’s breath hitched, suddenly his attention had been diverted entirely to the phone.

“No— No, not again. He just— he just got back. You’re lying.” Wilbur sputtered, mind racing. He was already up and frantically searching for his keys.

The silence he received in return was anything but reassuring.

“I’ll be there in 20.” He said, before ending the phone call. He grabbed his keys off the counter and sprinted out the door.

———————————–—————

The drive to the hospital was suffocating, the walls of the car were caving in on him and he couldn’t breathe. They’d just gone through this not even 3 weeks ago, he couldn't be doing this again.

A random podcast droned on in the background, some DnD one about 3 pirates—a fish person, a human boy and a human girl—, he hadn't been paying much attention. But, how could he? His mind was currently panicking and he couldn't focus on anything, let alone some dumb podcast that Tommy had recommended to him.

Why was it always Tommy? Wilbur was beginning to think everything in his life revolved around his best friend. Tommy recommended a show, he’d subconsciously put on said show when he didn't know what to watch. Tommy was interested in a game, Wilbur would buy it just to hear Tommy talk about it.

Wilbur’s Tommy, the blonde haired, blue eyed, loud mouthed child. Oh gods, he was just a child. He was just a child, not even out of highschool yet. He shouldn't be going through what he’s gone through. None of them should’ve. They were all just kids, really. Even as Wilbur approached the age to be able to drink, he never emotionally matured past 12.

Trauma worked in funny ways. Wilbur and Techno went through scarily similar ordeals, yet their brains reacted entirely differently. Wilbur’s emotions stayed as that of an 8 year old, while Techno developed a mind far too old for his young figure; eyes filled with too much hurt.

Wilbur’s eyes glazed over, mind going into autopilot as he turned on his blinker to single the turn. The burnette had picked up dissociation during his time there. The less— well, there, he was, the less of it he’d remember.

His mind had always been his safe space, just like music, poetry, and—

And Tommy.

It all circled back to Tommy, didn't it? How poetic.

———————————–—————

Wilbur rushed through the hospital doors and over to the front desk. His expression was a mix of animosity and desperation, it evidently unnerved the lady at the desk.

“Uhm, hello?” She started awkwardly, hand reaching over to the phone to call Security. For all she knew, this was an insane person.

“Yes, hello. Uh, I need to see someone— my brother, best friends, whatever— Tommy Innit? He was admitted here for, uh..” His wide eyes darted around the room before the continued, “suicide?”

The secretary nodded solemnly, “The emergency room is to your left, please stay quiet, sir.” Wilbur gave a quick thumbs up before speed walking in the direction the lady had led him.

When he opened the doors, he wasn't shocked to find that there weren't many people in the waiting room—it was pretty late at night, after all. There were only a few elderly people, himself, and the two people he was looking for; Tubbo and Ranboo.

As soon as he spotted them, he practically bolted over to where they sat. They seemed to hear him and they snapped their heads in his direction.

“Hi, sorry I’m a little later than I said— Traffic and all that.” He said breathily, sitting in front of the shorter brunette. “What's the update with Tommy? He’s gonna be okay, right?”

“We— We haven't gotten an update, yet. We aren't allowed in the room and someone,” Ranboo shot a glare at Tubbo, the shorter shrunk into himself. “Didn’t tell anyone he had attempted and left him there for a while. He— He probably won't make it, Wilbur.”

Wilbur inhaled sharply, eyes going impossibly wider. He shook his head in disbelief, this wasn't happening. This couldn’t be happening. Just yesterday, he’d taken Tommy to the mall and his best friend had been fine. Tommy had smiled and laughed, there were no signs that he was planning this. How did Wilbur not notice?

The white walls of the emergency room taunted him, he couldn't breathe. He needed to leave, but he also needed to stay; for Tommy. He would stay in that goddamn hospital until the end of time if it meant Tommy could live. He’d do anything if it meant Tommy could live.

If Wilbur had the ability, he’d change the world for Tommy.

———————————–—————

“Is he okay?”

The doctor exhaled slowly, making eye contact with Wilbur.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

———————————–—————

When Techno hadn't heard from Wilbur or Tommy in 2 days, he’d begun to get worried. He couldn’t really blame Tommy, as Techno had, admittedly, said some cruel things during their argument; but Wilbur not texting or calling him was a new kind of odd.

Which was why he was now driving to Tommy’s apartment to apologize for what he’d said. It was eating him up inside knowing he hadn't apologized the day after, but he knew how Tommy was. Tommy always had a tendency to act irrationally, he would get angry when apologies happened the day of or day after.

So, Techno had chosen to wait.

The drive to the apartment was rather calm, if you ignored the way his gut told him something was wrong and voices screamed at him to go back. He’d learned better than to listen to them, though, and he carried on the drive.

He hummed along to the song playing from his playlist, “Exitlude” by The Killers. It was some song from a band Wilbur liked, so he made sure to include it in all of his playlists. Most of his playlists, honestly, consisted of songs recommended to him by Wilbur or Tommy.

In fact, now that he thought of it, most things he enjoyed were recommended by his two best friends. He wasn’t quite sure if he enjoyed the media or enjoyed listening to them talk about it. Either way, he was content with how his life was going. He quite enjoyed having others discover things for him and make decisions for him, he’d never been one for that.

Turning on his blinker to single the turn, he tapped his finger on the wheel to the beat of the song. It was a habit he’d caught from all of the long car rides with Wilbur driving, where Tommy would scream lyrics at the top of his lungs and try to get the other two to sing along; Wilbur would just laugh goodnaturedly and Techno would feign anger but smile all the same.

He smiled at the memory as he turned on the road of the apartment. It was a dingy old thing, so much so that Techno was genuinely surprised it hadn't been shut down by the city inspectors.

He pulled off the road, parking parallelly in front of the building. Techno inhaled deeply and mentally prepared himself to apologize. He opened the car door, staring up at the building.

He readjusted his jacket and sighed, shutting the car door. Dread pooled in his gut as he approached the door. Techno never usually felt so unnerved by the building, even if the place always gave him the creeps. Everything in him screamed to get the hell away, but he pushed it down—as he did with most emotions—and continued his trek to the doorway.

Techno pushed open the wooden doorway—complete with water stains and chipping paint—, expecting to see some horrific sight in the lobby. But, rather anticlimactically, all he saw was the same sight he was met with every time he entered the dingy building.

He waved at the lady at the front desk, who just rolled her eyes and returned to whatever she was doing on her phone. Techno scowled, wow. Rude.

Techno approached the staircase, wincing as he noticed it hadn't been fixed since the last time he’d been here (nearly 6 months ago). The thing was falling apart and looked like it’d cave in at any given moment.

He walked up the stairs, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. There was this looming fear that just clung to his skin, making his hairs stand on edge.

He reached the top of the stairwell and turned his head towards the direction of Tommy’s apartment, a path Techno had walked down many times before. He stopped in front of the door, swallowing thickly. He adjusted his jacket once more and knocked on the wooden lattice.

Rather than the bright, infectious smile from Tommy he’d been expecting, he was greeted with a Tubbo, eyes red and puffy as though he’d been crying.

“Hey, uh— Is Tommy home?” Techno fiddled with his sleeve. Tubbo exhaled sharply, leveling a glare at Techno.

“No, he’s not home.” Techno tilted his head, where else would Tommy be at 11:32pm on a Sunday?

“Well— Do you know where he is?” This question seemed to trigger something in Tubbo, because the brunette was suddenly livid.

There was a lapse of conversation as Tubbo glared daggers into Techno, with the taller not knowing what he did to upset him. After a few moments of this, Ranboo appeared from behind the corner.

“Hey, Tubs, who was at the— Techno.” They scowled, the raw animosity taking Techno off guard. He shrunk under the weight of the stares.

Techno gave a nervous smile and shy wave. He didn't understand what he’d done wrong, but he wanted to try and make it right.

And if he didn't, at least he’d still have Wilbur.

‘Charl13_Barley: well that's awkward’
‘Turbowipes: BROOO☠️☠️’

Techno couldn't bother with finding it in himself to care about what chat had to say.

“You should go—”

“Come inside, Techno. We need to have a talk with you,” Ranboo interrupted, smiling fakely.

Techno nodded, stepping into the apartment, doing his best to avoid the glares he received and the voices in his head screaming at him to get away. Chat was usually annoying, don't get him wrong, but never like this. He’d never seen them so persistent on one thing, but he still refused to trust them. They’d hurt him many times in the past and he refused to let them do it again.

He walked through the dingy, old apartment, trying his hardest to keep in all of the bad thoughts about their living conditions. Something told him this wasn't the best time to insult such a thing, even if in a joking manner.

Techno sat on the mustard yellow couch, wincing as it creaked below him. Tommy had had this couch for as long as Techno had known him and longer. It was one of the only things the blonde was insistent on bringing with him when he moved in (Techno wouldn't admit it to him, but there was no way he was letting that thing into his house).

Tubbo and Ranboo sat in the two chairs parallel to the couch, Tubbo in a wooden one presumably from the dining hall and Ranboo in the recliner. The taller of the two folded his hands gently in his lap, feigning a calm demeanor. Tubbo, on the other hand, had his hands in his hair, leg bouncing up and down.

Techno found himself growing weary at the sight of the two. Usually, Tubbo was the calm one and Ranboo was anxious. Then again, usually he wouldn't be treated with malice when he came to their house.

Unlike Wilbur—who often fought with Tubbo and at one point caused a “no wilburs” sign to be put on the apartment door—, Techno was usually a welcome guest at the home. Tubbo liked how he listened when the brunette ranted and Ranboo enjoyed reading in silence with him.

So, you might be able to imagine his surprise when he was treated with such animosity by the duo. Was this about how he had to cancel on Tommy a few days ago? Wait, no. It was probably about the fight. Why had Techno thought Tommy wouldn’t tell the duo what happened?

Techno gulped, fiddling with his thumbs. His eyes darted around the room—anything to not have to stare at the two in front of him—, because there was nothing Techno hated more than eye contact; especially when it was with people who were clearly upset with him.

If he ignored it, he could pretend he couldn't feel the weight of the stares. Making eye contact would be like admitting defeat and Techno was nothing if not a fighter.

Ranboo cleared his throat, snapping Techno out of his thoughts. He snapped his head up towards the taller one. Techno straightened out his back so he’d look less nervous, though it was ultimately fruitless.

“Techno,” Ranboo greeted, voice scarily even; Techno only waved nervously in response. “If you don't mind me asking, where were you yesterday?”

“Uh, At— At home?” He responded, voice quavering. Tubbo’s scowl deepened; Techno shrunk, unsure of what he did wrong.

Techno had always tried to be a peacekeeper, even when committing less-than-legal acts with Tommy and Wilbur; he hated people being angry with him and in general. The fight he’d had with Tommy had been the first time Techno had fought with anyone and it’d been eating him alive since. The two days he’d given to Tommy to allow the blonde to blow off steam had easily been the first two days of his life (he chose to not count moments before he met Wilbur because, before Wilbur, was he even really living?).

So, understandably, he was panicking when his response invoked anger in the duo. Was there something he was supposed to do yesterday? Sure, he was aware he should've apologized, but he knew Tommy's wouldn't have accepted it the day after.

“Did you receive any texts?” Ranboo continued his questioning, voice growing slightly more strained as anger grew in him. Techno cocked a brow, he didn't get notifications from any of them.

“No, I don't think so? Why?” The man replied, talking in a gentler tone, as if the duo were made of glass and would simply shatter if he acted anything but. Even with his gentle tone, however, Tubbo fumed.

“Did you not.. see the text to the group chat?” Shit.

He’d forgotten he had that chat muted. The notifications had grown overwhelming after receiving thousands and thousands a day, so he eventually just had to mute the messages, because he didn't have the heart to tell them to slow down the chatting. After a while, he’d just forgotten the chat existed and thus, forgotten he’d muted it.

Now, his words choked up in his throat because, if he explained why he had muted it, they'd say he was venting rather than just explaining himself and get even more angry. He hated when people were angry at him.

“No, I— Uh, was on do not disturb. All day,” He lied quickly, moreso a half truth. He hadn't been on do not disturb all day, but he had spent a good portion of time on that mode.

Ranboo grimaced, like they were holding a large secret and it was painful for them to have to say it. Techno, having never seen the man like this, was rightfully confused and, though he’d never admit it, afraid.

There was a lapse of conversation as Ranboo was seemingly stuck in his own head, weighing out pros and cons. Techno wasn't able to zone out and think about what was going on with the glare Tubbo was sending him; he wasn't sure whether to be thankful or not for the brunette keeping him grounded.

Techno bit his lip so hard it drew blood, trying anything to stop himself from caving in at the anxiety from this situation. They were in a stalemate, with both of them waiting for the other to continue the conversation; Techno had no plans on doing it in the first place and Tubbo wouldn't speak without Ranboo there too.

Tubbo finally pulled his judgemental eyes away from Techno to look concernedly at Ranboo, who hadn’t moved a muscle in almost ten minutes. They had a tendency to zone out, but they usually snapped themself out of it fairly quickly. Right now, they were just… sitting there, staring blankly at the floor.

The brunette looked over Ranboo, brows knit together. Neither of them were doing well mentally—it’d take a fool to fail to recognize that—but Tubbo hadn't realized it’d been this emotionally taxing on his best friend.

Tubbo took a deep breath, rubbing a comforting hand over Ranboo’s back. The two clearly cared so deeply for each other, it warmed Techno’s heart. Even despite the grief that clung to the air, suffocatingly, they stuck together. Truly, it was an admirable bond. The brunette looked over to the man parallel to him, frowning.

“He's dead, Techno.” He said quietly, voice cracking as tears glazed in his eyes. Techno frowned confusedly, his nails digging into his skin.

“Who?”

“Tommy.” Tubbo quavered, voice brittle and fragile sounding. He was suddenly gentle, a stark contrast to just moments before. Techno would've been relieved that they were not actually mad at him if it weren't for the bombshell that’d just been dropped onto him.

His breath hitched, words catching in his throat. He couldn't breathe, it felt like his lungs weren't working. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, attempting to speak but all that came out was a series of low whines and pathetic sounds of disbelief.

Ranboo, seemingly snapped out of his haze, eyed Techno with concern; all malice gone from his expression. All the shorter could see, however, was judgment because he was weak. How could he let himself get weak enough to be attached to someone so much their death hurt him? How could he fail to protect said person?

Even worse, how could he have let himself be the cause of something like this? They fought, he didn't apologize and say he didn't mean it, and now Tommy’s dead.

Tommy was probably so heartbroken after their fight that, on the drive home from Techno’s house, he got in a wreck. Or maybe, his lack of a left eye caused him to not see an oncoming attack and he was murdered—

Or, maybe— no. Tommy wouldn't have—

But he already tried.

Tears now flowed freely down his face as he held himself, nails digging into his skin and drawing blood. His expression was laced with a mix of craze and disbelief. Hurt filled his voice as he whispered a series of “I’m sorry”s and “I didn't mean it”s to himself.

The duo shot each other anxious glances, unsure of what to do. Neither of them had ever seen Techno like this. Usually, Wilbur was the emotional one, who could never seem to hold anything in and screamed and cried and fought so hard for what he cared about. But Wilbur’s fits were nothing on the shitshow display infront of them.

The raw agony and bereavement made them both want to cry along with him. Techno was the type of crier to cry so hard everyone around him felt his pain. The man had never cried in front of the duo before now, but it was suddenly clear as day to see.

Both Wilbur and Techno were emotional, they both just coped with that in different ways. Techno seemingly bottled it up until it all overflowed—as he was doing now—, while Wilbur just let his emotions flow freely; letting them out in smaller, more controllable doses.

Techno’s shoulders shook with each sniffle and sob, he cried so violently he threw himself into a fit of coughs. Tubbo and Ranboo stared at him with pity, he hated it. He hated pity, he wasn't weak, so why were they treating him like he was?

They looked at him like he was made of glass, so fragile he’d shatter the second they hardened their gaze (he would). He hated it, he wasn't weak. He hadn't gone through hell and back just to be deemed weak.

Techno was a fighter, born and raised (he wasn't, he hadn't been for a long time). So why did it hurt so much? He shouldn't be this hurt over something as trivial as the loss of a loved one. He should be stronger than bereavement. His brain just didn't get the memo.

He wasn't weak. He wasn't weak. He wasn't weak. He wasn't—

He pulled himself into a standing position, grabbing the couch cushion so he didn't topple over. He looked at the duo with tear glazed eyes and smiled gently.

“I should really get going. Thank you for telling me, but I need to— to go see Wilbur. There's something I need to talk to him about.” He sniffled, turning on his heel and walking towards the door.

Tubbo tried to get up and follow him, urge him to stay until he was emotionally better; they couldn't lose another friend and the danger of a wreck was especially prominent. Ranboo grabbed his hand when he tried to rise, shaking their head. Tubbo relented with a huff, but worry still showed in his knitted brows.

Techno shakily put his hand on the doorknob, lip quavering. He turned the handle with tears still streaming down his cheeks. He tried to pretend he couldn't feel Tubbo and Ranboo staring at his back; pretended he couldn't feel their judgmental gaze. After how weak they'd just seen him, there was no way they'd ever be seen with him.

Besides, at least he still had Wilbur.

He shut the door behind him and began his walk back to his car. He walked down the creaking stairway—not being able to find it in himself to care how unsafe it was—, through the lobby with the cranky(most likely teenage) secretary, and to his red Rolls Royce.

He pressed on his keys and the vehicle unlocked with a honk. Tears still flowing freely, he opened the car door and sat on the leather seat. He slammed the door shut and promptly had another, objectively worse, breakdown.

He tried to speak, to say anything, but his words broke up and all he could get out were stuttering sounds. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he squeezed his eyelids shut in the hope his tears would stop. His choppy breathing and watery eyes remained for quite some time, and he sat there unmoving, except for the way his sobs wracked his body.

He stayed like that for a while, at least 20 minutes, before he found it in himself to calm down. He wiped his tears and pulled out his phone.

“Thevnurbalde: im on my way.
Whimbldur hoot: ok see u soon”

Techno smiled to himself at the name and the rather dry texting he’d come to acknowledge as Wilbur’s. He stuck the key in the car, sighing to himself as it roared to life.

He pulled out of the parking space and began his drive to Wilbur’s house. His eyes kept trained on the road, but his mind was anywhere but. His head was in the clouds as memories of him and Tommy and Wilbur; ones that should've been positive but now left an ill taste in mouth.

Techno swallowed back bile, attempting to push the memories into the back of his mind but ultimately failing, rather miserably. They played on repeat in his head as he drove through the city in the dead of night.

Very few windows displayed light and he passed next to no cars, which was both usual and very odd for the large city of L’manburg. His knee bounced up and down as he sped through the city.

Rather ironically in Techno’s humble opinion, the sky was the clearest they'd seen it in weeks. In movies, death was followed by cloudy skies and endless rain. It almost angered him, why wasn't it raining? Why wasn't the sky opening its mouth and pouring for the loss of Tommy?

Tommy had been like the sun; the light of both his and others’ lives. He’d given Techno a reason to stay around, along with Wilbur. He really hadn’t noticed how great having Tommy was until he no longer did.

He flicked on his blinker as he turned onto Wilbur’s street. The brunette was staying in a nice hotel right in the heart of the city whilst his home was being renovated; he was going on 3 months in the hotel. To be honest, he didn't even know you could stay in a hotel for that long. Techno had always wondered why he chose one that was always surrounded by traffic, there was no way he didn't struggle to get out of the parking garage in the morning.

He pulled into the parking garage, pleasantly surprised when he spotted a parking spot right on the first level. Usually, he had to circle the garage a few times to find one. It didn't really bother him to do it, just slightly inconvenient when he tried to visit his brother best friend.

Techno parked his car in the first spot he could find, which was luckily rather close to the exit. He turned off the car and exited the vehicle, making sure to lock it once he shut the door.

He walked through the garage exit and into the apartment building, where he was greeted by a kind old woman at the front. He smiled and waved to her, which she returned. He always liked when secretaries were kind. He never really understood why people were unkind in the first place.

Techno hummed as he stepped through the empty hallways, stopping at the staircase. In contrast to the one at Tubbo and Ranboo’s apartment, it was well kept and pristine—with plush carpets and shiny rails lining the sides.

He walked up the stairs a lot quicker than he had the ones at the duo’s, due to the lack of broken and creaking steps. He approached the door and frowned to himself, suddenly growing weary at the door. Tubbo and Ranboo hadn't taken well to him not being there when Tommy was… you know, so how would Wilbur?

The brunette’s reply to his text had seemed kind, a bit dry but that was just Wilbur. But, then again, you never knew with him.

Techno swallowed thickly and knocked on the door, readjusting his crimson jacket. It was one Tommy had given him, it had a sword, pig, and guitar embroidered onto it.

(“It's to represent all of us!!!”

“Why are you a pig, Toms?”

“Oi! That's you dickhead!”

“Nah, I’m the sword obviously.”

“Shut up american.”

“Woah there buster, what's with the ameriphobia?”

“The what.”)

The man smiled at the memory, running a finger along the embroidery as he waited for Wilbur to open the door.

After what felt like an eternity, his calls were answered and the door opened with a creak. He was greeted with the face of a familiar brunette, but very much different. His hair was frazzled and messy, much different to his usual, oddly well kept hair. His eyes were red and puffy, but they still held such fondness and had this stupid soft look that Techno didn't deserve after what he’d done.

At first, Wilbur looked annoyed, perturbed that anyone would bother him (had Wilbur forgotten he was coming over?), but when he spotted Techno, his face lit up. He wrapped his arms around the Taller, taking said man aback.

“Oh gods, Techno, are you okay? You took so long to get here and after not talking to me for 2 days, I thought— I thought I’d lost you too— god damn it—” He frowned as he wiped at the tears pooling in his eyes. Techno felt even more guilt pool in his gut.

Techno placed his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, which was a lot for the man; he usually despised touch of any kind. “Yeah, sorry about that. I— Uh. I had the chat muted and I didn't hear about Tommy— You know..”

“Killing himself?”

Ouch. They weren't lying when they said the truth hurts. He’s known about what happened to Tommy but there was something about the verbal confirmation of it, especially from someone as close to him as Wilbur, that just added salt to the freshly opened wound.

Techno swallowed thickly, nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah. Killing himself.” He confirmed, running an anxious hand through his hair.

Wilbut stepped out of the way, removing his arms from where they were holding Techno in place. He motioned for Techno to come inside the room. “Come on in, Tech. No point in you just staying out here, y’know?”

Techno nodded, entering the hotel room. He smiled at the familiar environment, everything here was exactly how he’d last seen it. Even if Wilbur was a mess, he’d managed to prevent his living space from being one. Which, honestly, was very impressive.

Wilbur took his hand and led him to the couch, Techno rolled his eyes endearingly and allowed him. The taller was easily the stronger of the two and could most definitely resist the brunette’s hold if he wanted to, but he’d allow Wilbur to have this.

Wilbur plopped on the couch, Techno sitting on the floor in front of him. He knew how this would go, the brunette always liked to braid his hair when upset or anxious. Techno never had the motivation to braid it himself, always wearing his long, dusty pink hair down. So, it really benefited them both.

He relaxed as Wilbur ran his fingers through his hair, gently combing through knots and preparing to braid. The brunette started telling random stories as he braided through the silky pink hair.

When he was done, Wilbur urged Techno to sit beside him, which the older obliged to. Guilt gnawed at his conscience, he’d come here for a reason. But, he could tell Wilbur needed a distraction from what was going on, and Techno had no problem with avoiding the problem for a little while longer. Because avoiding issues never did any wrong, right?

Wilbur rested his head on Techno’s shoulder, humming gently. Techno smiled fondly, trying to push off the feeling of looming danger, like a predator stalking its prey.

He hated confrontation, everyone knew this; it was common knowledge. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and Techno C. Blade hated confrontation. He also hated admitting he'd done something wrong.

By telling Wilbur what happened, he’d be doing both things he despised. So, he was willing to put it off, just for a little, for both Wilbur’s and his own sake.

Wilbur wrapped his arms around Techno, beginning to doze off, the taller shook him every two or three minutes to prevent him from doing so. As much as Techno was trying to avoid telling Wilbur to enjoy time with him, letting the brunette sleep on him was too guilt inducing. He didn't deserve such luxury, no matter how much he desperately wanted it.

So, Techno denied the tiredness seeping into his bones, the relaxation he’d grown so used to when around Wilbur.

Techno sank into the couch beside Wilbur, guilt overtaking him as his pseudo-brother muttered soft praise.

He swallowed thickly, pushing the brunette off of him. Wilbur whined in response. "I— uh, I didn't come here for no reason."

"What's up?" Wilbur asked, all fond and soft and in a way that Techno didn't deserve.

The taller took a deep breath and prepared himself to speak, steeling himself.

"I need to tell you something."

———————————–—————

“Get out.”

“Wait, Wil— Please, I can explain—”

“Get. Out.” He repeated, voice scarily even.

“Wilbur, please—”

“Get out!” He seethed, punching the table.

———————————–—————

After 3 days of hearing nothing from Techno—despite the promise of the older telling them how Wilbur was doing—, Tubbo and Ranboo had begun to grow worried. What if it hadn't gone well and now the friendship was irreparable? Or, what if Techno— No. Tubbo refused to spiral down that rabbit hole today.

“That's it, I’m going to see him.” Tubbo frowned, standing up and cutting through the tense silence.

Ranboo stood up calmly, exhaling deeply. “I won't stop you, but I’m coming along.” He said matter-of-factly, making it clear they wouldn't take any counter arguments. Tubbo frowned, but nodded his head relentingly.

The brunette sighed. “Alright, then get your shoes on because we're leaving. I’ll get the car ready.”

“You can't drive! And where’d you get the car from—”

“Legally. I can’t drive legally,” Tubbo pointed out, smiling slyly. Ranboo held his head in his hands and muttered “we’re gonne die” repeatedly. “And we don't need to talk about where I got the car from.”

Ranboo gave Tubbo a look of absolute, utter terror. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide. Tubbo cackled, throwing his head back.

It was easy to banter with each other, even through all the stress in their lives currently. It assured Tubbo of something. Through it all, Ranboo was a constant in his life. He’d thought Tommy was, too, but he supposed not all things were meant to be.

Ranboo opened his mouth like he was going to say something but the brunette sprinted out of the apartment, down the steps, and out of the building before they even got the chance. The person sighed and walked into their shared bedroom to put his shoes on.

They quickly slid the shoes onto their feet and left the apartment. They could clearly see where Tubbo had stepped on the broken stairwell, which was definitely a health hazard and shouldn't have been capable of being seen at all. He shook their head and made sure to walk on the other side of the staircase, albeit much slower than the brunette had.

When they reached the end of the staircase, they began walking down the short hallway to the front desk. He waved at the front desk lady, who rolled her eyes rudely; they scowled, what a bitch.

Ranboo walked out the front door, shivering as a gust of frosty air whacked him in the face, sending goosebumps down his spine. He didn’t see a car—that didn’t belong to one of their neighbors—around, which worried them even more.

Someone beeped a horn at Ranboo and a Rolls Royce pulls up in front of them, blinding the person with the headlights. The driver's window is rolled down, revealing Tubbo wearing sunglasses, even though it was like 11pm.

"Get in loser." He demands, fake confidence laden in his voice. Ranboo’s face plummets.

Tubbo threw his head back with a cackle, hands on the wheel in a way that showed he clearly had no idea how to drive.

“Oh, prime, save my soul.” Ranboo murmured, approaching the vehicle.

———————————–—————

After 45 long minutes and Tubbo almost crashing the car at least a dozen times, they approached Techno's house, their conversation ended abruptly, replaced by an awkward silence. Ranboo swallowed thickly, readjusting his half-black, half-white face mask.

Tubbo slowed the car, flicking on his blinker to signal he was about to turn onto Techno’s street. Turning the wheel, he got onto the street rather easily, if you ignored his shouts of struggle; they were both beginning to regret letting someone with no experience drive (neither of them could legally drive, but they both knew Ranboo had more experience).

Tubbo pulled into Techno’s driveway, the car came to an abrupt stop that sent them both flying forward. Tubbo managed to catch himself before his head collided with the wheel, Ranboo, on the other hand… did not.

Tubbo cackled loudly when Ranboo’s face made contact with the console, a loud bang resounding from the impact (They were honestly concerned, were cars supposed to make that sound??). Ranboo groaned and opened the car door, shooting a half-hearted glare in Tubbo’s direction.

Tubbo grinned cheekily and hopped out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He locked the car with a click of a button and walked down the driveway.

“Do we know what we plan to talk to him about?” Ranboo asked, having realized he’d never wondered what they were going to do once they actually made it to Techno’s house. Tubbo paled, seemingly realizing he didn't have a plan whatsoever.

He brushed it off, humming idly. “We’ll figure it out as we go. We're mostly just here to check up on him. I’m sure Tommy’s death hit him hard. Maybe even harder than it did us.”

Ranboo nodded, although they didn't seem to agree with the last sentence. Techno had always been rather apathetic, to everything, really. They wouldn't doubt it hit Techno incredibly hard—especially knowing how close the two were—, but they highly doubted the man was more affected than the two of them.

Tubbo latched his hand onto Ranboo’s, dragging the taller one to the door. Ranboo yelped, taken aback by Tubbo’s strength. Somehow, the strength possessed by the shorter always startled them, no matter how many times they experienced it firsthand.

Tubbo knocked(read: pounded) on Techno’s door for a solid 10 minutes before the man they were looking for finally opened the damn door.

“For the last time, Niki, stop barging in at 1am with cookies, I’m allergic to chocola—” He said monotonously, but paused when he spotted the duo rather than a certain pink-haired baker. He sighed, grip tightening on the doorknob. “What do you two want.” He demanded, in a harshness he rarely used on anyone, let alone them.

Tubbo frowned, opening his mouth to say something—most likely something he’d regret later—but being stopped by Ranboo. “We came to check up on you. You said you were going to visit Wilbur, then went completely M. I. A.” They hummed.

“You look like shit, by the way.” Tubbo chimed in, smiling innocently.

“Yeah, you do.” Ranboo replied honestly, frowning apologetically. Techno wilted, stepping out of the doorway; he’d always been the clean freak of their group, so it was understandable he was ashamed of being seen in a way outside of his norm.

Techno ushered them inside, which equally surprised the both of them; they’d come into this with the expectations of being stopped at the door. The two of them had, honestly, been expecting a quick ‘How are you’, ‘I’m good, thanks’, ‘Ok, bye’ interaction; not that they were opposed to a longer talk.

They walked inside the home—Tubbo in front with Ranboo being dragged behind—, albeit hesitantly. Techno quietly shut the door behind them, locking it with a soft ‘click’. Tubbo approached the couch, where he’d been expecting them to converse, but Ranboo tapped his shoulder and pointed towards the staircase, where Techno was walking up.

He shot Ranboo a glance, hesitating to follow. The second floor of the house was the one place they’d never been allowed in, something about them dirtying it or whatever.

Techno looked at them amusedly and furrowed his brows. “You comin’ or d’ ya’ j’st wanna stare at me like ‘m crazy?” He snorted, motioning them to follow him. Tubbo gave Ranboo one more wary glance before stepping towards the stairs.

When they reached the top of the stairwell, Techno was waiting for them with the same, blank stare they’d grown accustomed to when around him. He nodded to the duo and ambled down the hallway, urging them to follow, which they did.

Techno’s room was at the very end of the hallway, with a bright red door and a paper sign that read ‘blad man’s rom.” with the handwriting of a maybe-five year old.

Tubbo snorted. “Blad man?” He attempted a mocking tone, albeit it was very weak. The aura in the air was a big dampener on his usual attitude.

Techno clenched his fists. “Wilbur made it for me when we were kids.” Was all he said before he opened the door and led them inside. Tubbo frowned, why was Wilbur suddenly a sensitive subject?

Techno’s room was fairly normal, save for a few usual decorative choices. The walls were a creme, off white, color, with a few designs painted here and there. Posters coated the ceiling and various old-timey weapons were lined along the walls. A desk was shoved into the corner, covered in lined paper, books, and an open computer (Why Techno was looking up the tale of Philza was anyone’s guess). His bed had— Lightning McQueen bed sheets. Odd choice, especially for someone who had seemingly no interest in animated movies in general, let alone the Cars™️ series; but okay. You do you, he supposed.

Techno sat down on his bed, patting the place beside him to signal them to join him. Ranboo frowned, but sat on the end of the bed nonetheless. Tubbo sat at the edge of Techno’s bed, and he stared out the window without focus. For some reason, being in the room seemed to bring the reality of the situation crashing down on him.

Ranboo would have been concerned if not for knowing what had happened to their group. They were much like Tubbo, sitting on the same side of the bed, a good distance apart from whom the room belonged to. Their eyes would often dart to the floor, then to the ceiling, around the room, and back to the floor, but they would never look at Techno or Tubbo. They feared that if they did, he wouldn't be able to keep their emotions at bay.

They sat in silence for a while, none of them really knowing what to say. Eventually, though, Techno spoke up.

"How did he look?" He asked with a hushed tone, fiddling with his thumbs.

It took the both of them a while to respond.

"When I got home?" Tubbo’s brows furrowed confusedly.

"Yeah." Techno looked down. Tubbo let out a half-assed grunt and continued to stare forward.

"Pale. Sick. Dead."

It took Techno a long while to form his next reply, words getting choked up in his throat. His usual, blank, expression was cracking with each passing second; he was desperate, it was clear to anyone with eyes.

"How did you know he wasn't... There, anymore?"

This time, it was Ranboo who’d answered. Tubbo didn't seem like he was capable of forming a coherent sentence at the moment. "When I got home, Tubbo was knelt down by his hanging corpse. And, I guess I knew from that moment on."

Techno swallowed thickly and nodded, fiddling with his thumbs nervously. Silence lapsed through the conversation as guilt, longing, and regret hung heavy in the air.

This time, Techno was the one to grunt, the sound coming from deep within his chest. Tubbo opened and closed his mouth a few times, he was slow and nervous to speak up again, but did either way.

"Are you going to his funeral?"

"No." The answer came so much more quickly than Tubbo thought it would. It shocked him more as Techno continued. "I refuse to go. My last memory of Tommy will not be of him in a casket and surrounded by a countless amount of people who did not care for him enough to remember his name until the day they heard about his death. My last memory of Tommy is already with me, and it will die along with me."

Techno’s voice was monotonous, but Tubbo and Ranboo didn't fail to detect the venom that lined each word prior to his last sentence. He swallowed thickly, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times to regain composure.

“You should go.” He said flatly, but if they listened closely, they could hear the way his voice quavered ever so slightly. When neither of them got up, he brought his hands together as his leg bounced up and down repeatedly. “I said; you should go.” He repeated, firmer this time.

Tubbo swallowed thickly but nodded, standing up and tugging at Ranboo to follow. Ranboo hummed sympathetically, staring at Techno with an apologetic look.

“Alright, but we're here for you, man. We're just a call or a text away.” Ranboo smiled gently, and Techno scowled. The taller wilted and followed behind Tubbo; he should've known there was no way Techno would reach out to them, but he wanted to hold onto the fragile hope he had any sense of self preservation left in his brain.

Tubbo dragged Ranboo through the hallway, down the stairwell, and out the door. He shut the door behind them, and they could faintly hear Techno locking the door once they were out.

Now on the porch, it was time for them to unpack all that just happened. They glanced at each other, neither knowing what the hell to say after the ride they just went through.

Tubbo cleared his throat, eying up at Ranboo. “So, that was… Something.” He started awkwardly, he’d never seen Techno tbat tense, defensive, or rude; like, ever. Sure, Techno had never been the nicest person out there, but he was never outright rude; especially to anyone in their little circle. To be fair, though, it was pretty idiotic of him to assume Techno would be normal after the loss of his pseudo-little brother.

Ranboo snorted. “Understatement of the century right there.” He smiled tiredly, eyes half lidded. Tubbo wanted to make fun of them but he was honestly just fucking tired. Interacting with Techno had drained all the energy out of him and made him just want to fall asleep.

“... Let's go home. We can talk about it tomorrow. I’ll drive.” Ranboo hummed sympathetically, guiding Tubbo to the car.

They hopped into the front seat, Tubbo dozing off in the passenger. They had absolutely no idea what they were doing, but it's not like they had time to worry about that. They had places to be.

And, more importantly, they had a funeral to plan.