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"You're delusional, Phil,"
"No, you're being a pratt!"
"Do you need me to find your glasses for you, old man? Because I think love has made you blind."
"That's it, you st–"
Ranboo grunts and disentangles himself from the sleep pile enough to sit up. Are Phil and Techno arguing? Not just arguing, yelling at each other loud enough to wake Ranboo at–he glances at the clock–6:30 am?!
"I'll not tolerate this kind of slander! You apologize!"
"I will not!"
By now the shouting has woken Tubbo and Tommy.
"What are they on about?" asks Tubbo, blinking sleepily.
Tommy groans into his pillow, or rather, Tubbo's shoulder. "Make them shut up."
It's too late, the sleep pile is disturbed and a series of clucks, whines, and a soft meow signal it's time for breakfast.
The six of them trudge down the stairs into the delightfully smelling kitchen.
"I'll kick you out if you say another word!"
"I'm on the lease!"
"I'll burn–"
Phil and Techno go silent as the boys walk in. They're braced on either side of the table, glaring at each other like opponents about to box.
"What the f***ing hell is going on down here?" Tommy asks accusingly.
Tubbo holds up his chicken. "You interrupted Henrietta's beauty rest."
"Are you all right?" Ranboo asks, looking between them.
Techno looks away. "We're fine," he grunts. "It's nothing."
Phil puffs up like an indignant crow. "Nothing, is it? What, not willing to say it to their faces?"
Tommy puffs up even bigger. "Say WHAT to our faces?!"
Techno crosses his arms. "You don't need to know."
"Like Hell we don't," Tubbo chimes in. "If it concerns us, we have to know!"
"Yeah," says Phil, uncharacteristically escalating the row. "They deserve to know exactly what you think of them!"
Tommy balls his fists. "What sh*t have you been talking, huh?"
Techno looks down his snout. "I said," he starts, pausing dramatically, "I don't think any of you are smart enough to pass even a basic high school test."
The effect is instantaneous.
"You motherfu–"
"Bitch! I could math circles arou–”
Ranboo throws his arms out to stop Tommy and Tubbo from launching themselves at Techno, but he can't stop Clementine from latching onto his pant leg and tugging viciously.
"See?" says Phil, looking altogether too smug. "They know you're wrong."
Techno tries to shake Clementine off him. "Oh yeah? Why don't they prove it then?"
"I'll prove it with a fist to your ugly tusks–" Tommy swings at him past Ranboo's safety arm.
Phil keeps going. "They can prove it! Name a time and place!"
"Yeah!" says Tubbo, shaking Henrietta threateningly at Techno. "I can pass anything, anytime!"
"Fine," Techno says, unfolding his arms and reaching for something on the counter behind him. "Today, 7am, at SMP prep." He throws a paper bag at each of them. Ranboo barely manages to catch his, and he has to release Tommy and Tubbo to do so. "You can eat breakfast on the way, I'll start the truck."
Tommy barrels ahead of Techno, forcefully opening the door. "I'll show you, you fart faced f***."
Tubbo races after them. "Yeah! You won't even know what hit you!"
Ranboo doesn't move, too busy trying to figure out what just happened. Did Techno challenge them to a math dual? If this was impromptu, why did he have breakfasts already packed?
Phil rests a hand on his shoulder, perfectly calm. "Don't worry, mate. You'll do great."
Techno doesn't give them time to figure out where they are, just a glimpse of an intimidating old stone exterior before he ushers them through double doors at the back. There's something familiar about the sharp squeak Tommy's shoes make on the worn linoleum tile in the hall, but of course, Ranboo can't remember why.
There's a door propped open halfway down the hall, and Techno ushers them through before Ranboo can read the sign taped in the window. Tommy stops so abruptly Ranboo bumps into him with an "oof".
"What the hell is this, Techno?"
What, indeed. There are three rows of monitors, each equipped with worn headphones.
Techno grunts. "A neutral location to prove you aren't dumb as a rock. Don't tell me you're chickening out?"
Tommy puffs up his chest, indignant. "You wish! I'll do so well your idiot pig brain will explode!"
"Who are they?" Tubbo asks, eyeing the handful of nervous looking kids already scattered amongst the desks.
"Control group," Techno answers, with barely a pause. "Sit down, shut up, and listen to the referee."
"Proctor," corrects a nasally voiced man at the front of the room.
"Whatever, just do as he says." He pushes Ranboo, using him as a plow to get Tommy and Tubbo fully in the room. "I'll be outside when you finish."
And just like that, he leaves them alone with a room of strangers.
The proctor gestures to the desks. "Take a seat please, at least one desk between each of you."
With a grouchy grumble, Tommy picks the desk farthest from anyone, and Tubbo and Ranboo space themselves on either side of him.
"When we begin, you will use the key on your ticket to log in to the test. There are four sections," says the proctor. "You have half an hour to complete each section. You have unlimited skips, and you may go back at any point in the test." Ranboo's palms start to sweat. "If you press the f3 key, you will be provided with accomodation options."
Curious, Ranboo hits the key. His screen lights up with a list of options; languages, audio aids, subtitles, adaptive controls, etc. At the bottom is a dyslexia friendly fonts option. He's tempted to point it out to Tubbo, but the proctor is still talking.
"When you are finished, bring your ticket up to the front, and leave the room quietly." Ranboo looks at the key on his ticket. SMP452.
"Begin."
Ranboo jumps, not expecting the instructions to be over so soon. Carefully, he places the headphones over his ears and types the key.
The first section is Reading.
Ok, this is fine, you can do this.
There's a long, boring passage to read, and questions as to its meaning. Ranboo carefully scans the words and selects his answer with practiced ease.
Have I taken tests like this before?
It's possible. He would have been in school before Dream turned him into a weapon, right?
The next section is math.
Use the pythagorean theorem to find the length of the hypotenuse.
Suddenly, green overlay lines appear in Ranboo's vision.
Oh no.
The green lines zero in on the triangle, calculating.
Hypotenuse: 4.5 cm
The answer flashes across his vision, completely against his control.
Suddenly Ranboo wishes he hadn't eaten breakfast, because it's threatening to make a reappearance.
Did the proctor say anything about the use of mods? Is it cheating? If he asks now, will he get in trouble for not mentioning it at the beginning?
Ranboo clicks skip without typing in an answer.
Calculate the area of the trapezoid.
The green lines flash again.
No no no!
Area: 72 cm2
Rats.
Ranboo tries to keep his face from giving away his panic.
This isn't hard math, maybe he can ignore his mods?
He focuses on the problem.
Ok, the area of a trapezoid is the height times one half of base one plus base two…
Ranboo does his best, skipping any that he thinks he may have gotten wrong without his mods, and a few more, just in case.
He sighs in relief when he finishes the section and moves on to writing.
His mods don't seem to care about grammar.
Tubbo is the first to finish. He walks up to the proctor, shoulders hunched, and hands him his ticket before exiting without a backward glance.
"Sh*t," curses Tommy, earning a reproachful "hrng," from the proctor.
Ranboo focuses back on his test, now in the science portion.
What type of bond does a water molecule have?
Covalent bond
Oh for Henrietta's sake.
Tommy finishes next, throwing his ticket at the proctor with unwarranted aggression before slamming through the door.
Ranboo feels like he's going to pass out. Should he have finished by now? How much time is left?
He's almost done, but he hasn't gone back and double checked his answers yet.
One by one, the other students filter out, until Ranboo is the only one left. He should probably quit, but he can't help second guessing some of his answers. Has he been using a semicolon wrong his whole life?
Time is up.
His mouse freezes on the screen.
With a tremulous sigh, he replaces his headphones on the desk and stands, fumbling for the ticket. The proctor says nothing when he hands it in, so he goes through the door, suddenly irrationally afraid the others have gotten tired of waiting and left without him.
But of course not, they're in the hall, Techno leaning against the wall with arms folded while Tommy and Tubbo sit cross legged on the floor, sharing snacks.
Tubbo jumps up when Ranboo opens the door. "You ok, boss man?"
Ranboo nods, even though he's still trembling.
Techno's eyebrows furrow and he offers Ranboo a juice box from his enormous hand. Ranboo isn't sure he can stomach it, but he says thanks anyway and accepts it.
"Were you the last one?" asks Tommy.
Ranboo nods, unsure why the question makes him feel like he did something wrong.
"Good! Let's see who won," Tommy leaps up and heads for the door.
Techno grabs the back of his shirt. "That's not how it works. They have to be graded. You'll probably get the results back within a couple of days."
This seems perfectly reasonable to Ranboo, but the other two kick up a fuss.
"What? That's ages!"
"Are you trying to give yourself time to tamper with the results?"
Techno rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'll see what I can do." He enters the room, bodily blocking Tommy from joining him, and the three of them eavesdrop as he has a quiet conversation with the proctor.
They jump back as soon as the handle turns, feigning innocence.
Techno glares at them. "He's gonna grade your tests right now for us. You can watch if you keep quiet."
Tommy elbows his way past Techno. "Good. I can make sure he doesn't mess with my excellent score."
Ranboo and Tubbo follow, though Ranboo really wouldn't mind waiting a few days if it means he can leave here.
The proctor prints each test and goes over them, page by page. It's nerve wracking.
He doesn't say anything past the occasional judgmental "hrng" or "uh-huh". At one point he definitely glances at Tommy with a scowl.
Eventually, he finishes and hands Techno the three results.
Tommy leaps for his, but Techno holds it above his reach. "We'll go over them with Phil at home."
When they get home, Techno makes a point of sitting them all down with lunch before handing Phil the papers. Ranboo is feeling much better now that the ordeal is over, and bites into his sandwich eagerly.
Phil looks over the tests, an eyebrow inching higher and higher towards his hat.
"Oh come on, Phil," Tommy whines through a mouthful of food. "Who won?"
"Congratulations," Phil says. "You all passed!"
"Yeah!" Tommy pounds a celebratory fist on the table. "Take that Techno! We're smart and YOU LOSE!"
Techno seems altogether too pleased to have lost. "I guess you three aren't as dumb as I thought."
"I wouldn't be so sure," says Phil. "Tommy, in what universe is 'f*** you' an appropriate answer to a math question?"
Tommy makes a face. "The only log I should have to deal with is one I make myself in the loo."
Ranboo inhales his drink and starts coughing. Tubbo obligingly smacks his back until the fit subsides.
"Thank goodness your reading and writing skills are up to snuff, or you may have been in trouble," Phil continues, switching papers. "Tubbo, you did fantastic in the math and science sections, which of course we knew you would." The praise causes a flush to bloom on Tubbo's cheeks.
"And Ranboo," Ranboo flinches, somehow having already forgotten about his own results. "Looks like you did well all around. Good job mate!"
Ranboo lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.
Phil beams at them all. "Looks like you all did well enough to squeeze into 11th grade. Well done! That will mean far less bribing to get you enrolled."
Wait. Enrolled?
Three pairs of adolescent eyes narrow at the adults. Techno suddenly finds it prudent to start gathering the empty plates.
"We," says Phil carefully, with a pointed look at Techno, "think it's time you guys start going to school again."
All hell breaks loose.
First Day of School.
"Okay, gameplan," Philza says as they pile out of the SUV. "Techno, you make sure they get to Homeroom without escaping, and I'll take Fundy to the K-3 suite."
Tommy groans. "Yeah, what a great way to look cool in front of the other teens, being escorted to class by a nursemaid."
"Can I at least pretend you're our parole officer?" Tubbo asks, shouldering his bookbag. "Make it look like we're dangerous criminals?"
"You are dangerous criminals," Techno grunts, herding them forward like a flock of gangly ducks. "Get a move on."
Phil smiles and takes Fundy's hand in his. "You ready then, little fox?"
Fundy nods with all the grim determination of a soldier ready to cross enemy lines.
Brave boy.
Fundy's classroom is a riot of sound and color. On one side is a circle of low tables covered in crayons and glitter, on the other are neat rows of VR education systems.
Fundy hesitates as if the clamor is a physical barrier. Phil tugs him closer to his side. "What's the matter, kiddo?"
Fundy eyes the kindergarten tables. "He's staring at me."
Sure enough, a child with green skin and a blue t-shirt stares at them, eyes wide and unblinking. His "Hello, my name is" badge reads Zom B.
"Aw, he looks like he wants to be friends! Why don't you go say hello?"
Fundy makes a face. "He's practically a baby."
Phil makes his own face. "So? Tommy thinks you're a baby, but you two are friends, right?" Fundy still looks doubtful. "Here, I'll show you."
He lets go of Fundy's hand and walks confidently over to the little boy, kneeling down to be nearer his eye level. "Hey there little buddy, what's you–JESUS CHRIST!" The child's teeth lock onto Phil's arm so tightly that it takes a full ten seconds of wild flailing to shake him off.
Phil slinks back to Fundy, proverbial tail tucked tightly between his legs. He doesn't need to look at his grandson's face to see the 'I told you so' in his expression.
"Let's go find your desk, yeah?"
Once Fundy was safely at his desk in the 2nd grade section (as far away from the kindergarten tables as possible), Phil makes a hasty retreat. He should make sure Techno got the older boys to class ok, but suddenly it feels hard to breathe.
This is the first time he's done this, dropping a kid off at school.
He didn't get the chance to send Wil to a proper classroom, not when they were always on the move, driving from one hit to the next. His son had to learn to read from road signs whizzing by, and learn numbers watching Phil count out ammunition.
He wasn't a proper father to Wil, so really, it's his fault Wil isn't a proper father to Fundy.
He doesn't realize he's standing still, leaning against the wall, until Techno gently says his name.
"Phil?"
He jumps. "Oh, hi mate. Didn't hear you show up. Did the boys make it to class without causing a calamity?"
Techno frowns at him, eyebrows drawn down in sympathy as though he knows what Phil was just thinking. Graciously, he doesn't push the issue. "Fortunately, their first class is science. Tommy went in without a fuss once Tubbo saw the microscopes."
Fondness blossoms in Phil's chest. Wonderful Tommy. He'd never deny Tubbo the chance to explore something that interests him, even if it means going to school.
"Glad to hear it. Do you still have a first aid kit in the SUV?"
Techno raises an eyebrow. "They have one in the classroom, I checked. And a fire extinguisher. If Tubbo explodes something, the teacher can handle it."
Phil laughs. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. But I was asking for me, actually."
Now Techno just looks confused. "You're planning on blowing something up?" Phil holds up his arm. "Jesus, Phil, I left you alone for fifteen minutes! Did you get savaged by the class pet?"
Phil reddens a little. "Something like that. Come on, let's go." Before the little sh*t comes back for the rest of my arm.
Techno follows him without protest and they make their way back to the front entrance. Just outside the doors, they pass two other parents deep in conversation.
"... since she became PTA president she acts like she owns the school. Did you know she got Foolish kicked off the team just because Puffy questioned her bake sale menu?"
Phil and Techno slow, trying to be inconspicuous as they eavesdrop.
"I know!" the other parent pipes up. "Nothing we do or say makes a difference. I don't know how Charlie's going to get ahead when all the teachers are too afraid of her to rank them fairly!"
It seems every community has a Dream, no matter how small.
"I was supposed to be at a doctor appointment today, but I had to cancel in order to be here for the 'emergency meeting'. Do you even know what the emergency is?"
Phil vaguely remembers getting an email from the Parent Teacher Association this morning, but he'd been too focused on convincing Tubbo to take Henrietta out of his backpack to read the message.
"Who knows? She probably wants to publicly flog one of us for not signing one of her petitions."
Vaguely, he realizes they've stopped walking, engrossed in the gossip.
"The stress is literally giving me hives. Isn't there any way we can impeach her?"
"Maybe, if she were just the president, but she's reached dictator status. Someone needs to be brave enough to lead a full-on rebellion if we're going to have any hope of freedom."
Beside him, Techno squares his shoulders. "Phil, do you think you can take a cab home?"
Phil raises an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, where are you going?"
Techno smiles a wicked smile, tusks gleaming in the morning sun. "I have a meeting to attend. I'll meet you at home with the kids when school's out." He turns around, addressing the parents. "Excuse me, can you tell me where the meeting is being held? I'm afraid I missed that info in the email."
The parents, looking terrified by Techno's warlike appearance, cower for a moment before meekly providing directions.
Phil shakes his head despairingly as he pulls out his phone to summon a taxi.
That PTA president is about to find out what happens when you try to bully a retired bounty hunter.
He hopes there's still pieces of her left when Techno's through.
Science Class.
Tubbo presses his eye to the lense, watching his tardigrade amble around it's watery habitat, not unlike a large bumblebee wandering around for flowers.
It's one of the cutest things he's ever seen.
"Right, now that we have the strawberry DNA isolated, we need to isolate the color phenotype alleles," says Jack.
Jack Manifold is Tubbo's assigned lab partner.
No amount of arguing or loud complaints had convinced their instructor, a short man sporting a green tweed suit and bowtie, to let him, Tommy, and Ranboo be a partnership of three. In fact, their protests had made the instructor so angry he literally began to hiss through his teeth as though about to explode.
An unfortunate round of rock paper scissors had selected Tubbo as the third wheel and landed him with Jack.
Which wasn't all bad. Jack seems friendly enough, and after a dubious look through the microscope at the creepy crawlies, he'd generously allowed Tubbo to take over finding the tardigrades while he isolated genetic material from a boring strawberry.
"They're so adorable Jack!" He keeps his eye on the creature, watching it try to make friends with another shapeless micro-organism.
Jack gives him a horrified look through the red and blue lenses of his mods. Tubbo suspects the lenses and microphone are external mods, little more than add-ons that can be safely installed and removed without damaging the natural tissues. Not as impressive as Techno or Ranboo's mods, but he still made Tubbo laugh when he'd activated a voice modulator and read the project instructions in an auto tuned song.
"Oh my god, you aren't going to try and hug it after we turn it pink, are you?" Jack asks, only half joking.
Tubbo finally removes his eye from the lense. "We're turning him pink?"
Jack nods. "Yeah, that's what it says in the instructions. What, did you think I was Dexter-ing this strawberry just for fun?"
Tubbo frowns down at his precious tardigrade. "I don't reckon being pink will do him much good."
Jack waves the assignment sheet in front of Tubbo's face. "That's not the point is it? The point is for us to learn how to splice phenotypes between species, yeah?"
Splice phenotypes between species.
Like parts of Techno's mods.
But Techno's mods are cooler and more useful than a boring color change.
Tubbo looks around the classroom, searching for inspiration. There's a half eaten sandwich on the instructor's desk, a human skeleton hanging in the back, and–Aha!
A fishtank opposite the windows.
"Hold off on that strawberry DNA, Jack. I have a better idea."
One hour later:
By the time the instructor finishes admonishing Tommy for contaminating the strawberry DNA with human (from the sound of it, Tommy assumed the fruit was a complimentary snack until Ranboo frantically told him to spit it out), he already sounds like an overheating kettle.
Jack cowers when he rounds on their table, but Tubbo confidently slides the petri dish over.
Maybe seeing their success will improve his mood!
The man stares into the microscope, clearly fascinated by the new and improved tardigrade, and Tubbo feels pride swell in his chest.
Then he raises his head and glares at the boys. "Mr.-" he pauses to check the roster on his clipboard. "Mr. Underscore. What exactly am I looking at here?"
"A tardigrade with altered phenotypes, sir." Tubbo answers dutifully. That's what it asked for in the assignment, isn't it?
The instructor let's out a long slow hiss. "And why does it have fins and stripes?"
Tubbo takes in a breath. This isn't the reaction he was expecting. "I combined his DNA with genetic material from a zebra fish to express the appendage and coloration phenotypes. It allows him to move five times faster than a normal micro-organism, speeding up the hunting and foraging process."
The instructor's face is starting to turn an odd color, not unlike his suit. "The assignment," he grits out. "Was to make the micro-organism pink using genetic material from a strawberry."
"It is pink!" protests Tubbo. "Well, the stripes are. And I did use the strawberry to do that, so I technically did everything the instructions told me to. And my tardigrade looks a billion times cooler than anyone else's, so I'll take an A on this assignment thanks."
He has about two heartbeats of time to realize he's made a humongous mistake before the instructor explodes.
Math Class.
This is fricking stupid, thinks Tommy as he stomps his way into the classroom.
Ranboo and Tubbo get to be in the smart kid class, and I'm stuck here with the intermediate idiots. It's not fair! Ranboo's fancy android mods help him with calculations!
There's already a rowdy group of teens in the classroom, led in raucous laughter by a kid with a skull patch pinned on his uniform. Tommy doesn't like the predatory gleam in his eye, so he pointedly stalks to the back where he can avoid them and plops down with a huff in the uncomfortable desk chair.
And Tubbo's not smarter than me! I had to show him how to use a washing machine when we moved in together! He didn't even realize he was supposed to add soap! Tommy can't help but soften a bit at the memory. Tubbo's embarrassed mumble of "My cardboard box didn't have a laundry room, big T," and the subsequent bubble fight they'd had to cheer him up.
Tubbo's been through so much, and if he was smart enough to survive that, he's smart enough to be in the smart kid class.
Tommy starts poking around his VR system, trying to figure out how to turn it on.
Is it even plugged in?
He checks beneath the desk, following the cord and–
"Oh, hello!" He says in surprise.
There's a boy under the desk, younger than Tommy by at least a couple years. His four red modded eyes are wide with terror at being discovered.
Normally, Tommy would snap at him to get out, but something about his frightened posture reminds him of that early Tubbo, scared and in need of a friend.
Of course, Tubbo didn't have eight fully modded arms.
"I like your mods, they're poggers," he says, and is rewarded with a shy smile. "What are you hiding down here for?"
The question is answered when a glob of something wet and unpleasant hits the top of Tommy's head.
He whips upright in time to see the skull kid hide a makeshift rubber band bow under his desk, his goons stifling their laughter behind their hands.
Ah, so he was right. Bullies.
Slowly, he stands up from his desk, cracking his neck the way he's seen Techno do when intimidating furniture salesmen.
The bully's goons give a round of derisive "Ooh"s.
I'm sorry Phil, Tommy apologizes, widening his stance and curling his fists. Looks like I'm not going to be on the Honor Roll this year.
Lunch.
Tubbo gives Ranboo a hug before he leaves. "I'm sorry I'll miss our first highschool lunch together, Boo. Wait here for Tommy and then you guys can scout out the best eating spots, yeah?"
Ranboo squeezes tighter. "For what it's worth, I think that teacher was being unfair. Are you going to be ok?"
Tubbo laughs, disentangling himself. "Sure, Big Man. This isn't my first time in detention, and it won't be the last! I'll see you after."
Ranboo nods and Tubbo makes his way back down the hall, in the opposite direction of the noisy cafeteria.
Ranboo watches him go, clutching his lunchbag to his chest.
Have I ever gotten detention? He wonders. Judging by the knot in his stomach at the thought, he doesn't think so. Tubbo was so nonchalant about the whole thing, but Ranboo feels like crying just at the thought.
He waits by the lockers as the halls empty of students, scanning the crowds for Tommy's mop of blond hair. Eventually, the last of the students trickle through the doors and he's left completely alone.
Where are you Tommy?
A myriad of scenarios flash through his mind; Tommy injured and rushed to the hospital, Tommy trapped in an elevator with limited oxygen, Tommy dead at the hands of an assassin sent to avenge Dream's death.
He's near hyperventilating by the time a frowning teacher chases him into the lunchroom.
It's fine, he tells himself. Tommy is probably waiting at a table already.
But he isn't.
Ranboo is certain, because he's tall enough to see over every single head.
Tommy isn't here.
Suddenly the roar of the students' voices and the combined smells of different foods are overwhelming.
He can't stay in this place.
But he can't go back into the hallway, he'll get in trouble.
So he does the only thing he can think of, and darts into the restroom.
It's nice and quiet tucked into the stall, peaceful, even if his long legs have to fold awkwardly to fit.
Now that he can breathe, he realizes he all but shredded his poor lunch bag with his anxious claws. Careful not to cause more damage, he delicately opens it up.
The contents can only be described as gourmet; vegetables from the garden cut with such precision they might have been shaped with a laser, apple slices drizzled with fresh honey, and two lattice-cut baked potatoes stuffed with sour cream and diced spices.
Tucked beneath all that sits a small stack of chocolate cookies, present-wrapped in a red napkin.
There's a note folded around the cookies, too.
These are for you, not for Tommy, not for Tubbo. They have their own.
All of Ranboo's anxiety leaves in a rush.
This morning, Techno had presented them with lunches already packed with the excuse "I couldn't trust you idiots to pack your own in time."
He must have been up since before dawn baking.
"Thank you, Techno," he whispers.
He allows himself one cookie as an appetizer before digging in to the rest, inhaling it in the way that only a growing teen can. He's so focused on the taste that he doesn't notice the oily green slime seeping from the stall next door.
At least at first.
"Wha–Oh, ohnonononoNO! Gross!" He shrinks away from the goo, desperately trying to smear it off his shoe onto the tile of the stall floor.
"I'm sorry."
Ranboo freezes.
The apology came from the stall with the goo. How long have they been there? Shame fills him at the thought of someone overhearing his panic attack.
More goo sludges under the divider. "Ope, oh no."
Cautiously Ranboo asks, "Are-are you ok?"
"Oh, I'm fine! I'm definitely just a normal teenager using the loo. There is definitely nothing wrong–oops!"
Ranboo hears a click, and slime splatters the tile.
"Oh my god!" Ranboo finally recognizes the substance. It's graft oil, the kind he bleeds when his mods get damaged. Badly damaged. Not caring if it's rude, he stands up on the toilet, easily peering over the divider with his height.
Sitting on the toilet lid is a boy with curly ginger hair, square-framed glasses, and stylish green suspenders.
He doesn't have a tail, or claws, or glowing eyes like Ranboo. He does, however, have a cafeteria spork jammed between mod plates on his skull, green oil bubbling up from the crack and intermittently spitting down his front.
"Hello! I'm Charlie!" The boy says, looking far too cheerful for someone with cutlery in his head.
Ranboo suddenly wishes he didn't eat so fast. "I'm Ranboo. Um, that stuff's supposed to stay on the inside."
Charlie chuckles self consciously. "I guess it didn't get the memo–Oh dear!" Another spurt splatters against the stall door.
Ranboo winces. "I have some experience with mods." Understatement of the century. "Do you want me to take a look?"
"Sure!" Charlie's expression turns hopeful, then apologetic. "Unless you value those clothes."
Ranboo climbs off the toilet and unlocks his stall door. "Don't worry about my clothes, let's see if we can fix your head."
Charlie opens his own stall, and Ranboo beckons him out of the green puddles and over to the sink. It takes about seven paper towels before he can staunch the flow of goop.
"Wow, quite the extensive hardware you have, Charlie," he says, poking around the spork to try and see what he's working with. "Is your entire skull reinforced?"
Charlie nods. "And my spine and my arms and my legs-pretty much everywhere."
Ranboo stops, taken aback. "Your entire skeleton is reinforced?"
"Mmhm," Charlie absentmindedly plays with a glob of oil on the edge of the sink. "I was born with a disorder that makes my bones soft. Without the mods I'd just be," he pokes the glob and it shakes like jello, "Goop!"
Ranboo swallows hard. He doesn't remember getting his own mods, other than the flashes of pain and sparks that haunt his nightmares, and for that he's grateful. Charlie's mods aren't as extensive as Ranboo's, but if he's had them since infancy he must have undergone several full-scale surgeries throughout his lifetime to resize his mods as he grew.
Ranboo can't even imagine the lifelong pain he must have endured.
"How–" his voice comes out thick and he clears his throat. "How did this end up in here?" He flicks the spork gently.
Charlie graces him with a sheepish smile. "The plates felt too tight, so I put the spork in there to give my brain some space. You know, my human mush," he says, as though Ranboo might not know what a brain is. "It worked for a few hours, but then the goo happened."
Ranboo, carefully shifts the paper towels, trying to see the hardware without letting more oil spurt out. "Hmm, it looks like you may have had a growth spurt and outgrown your mods a tad. The spork probably saved your life!"
Ranboo ponders the puzzle before him. If only Tubbo were here, there's always an assortment of tools squirreled away in his pockets. They'd sure come in handy about now.
"It looks like one of the rivets on your occipital plate loosened when you put the spork in. If we can tighten that back up, the oil shouldn't leak anymore."
"Really?" That hopeful look is back on his face. "How do we do that?"
Ranboo wracks his brain.
What would Tubbo do? How would he tighten a rivet with no tools on hand?
"Charlie, I'm going to need you to trust me and stay still."
"Ok! What are yo-!"
Ranboo brings his tail down hard on the rivet like a makeshift hammer.
Charlie yelps and cowers back.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Ranboo apologizes. "But look! It worked!"
Charlie stills and puts a hand to his head, pulling the paper towels aside. Sure enough, the oil has stopped leaking.
A huge grin spreads across his face. "Look at that! You fixed me!"
Ranboo winces, looking at the spork still lodged in Charlie's skull. "I wouldn’t say fixed, necessarily, but at least you won't be a slimesickle for a while." On impulse, he adds, "Would you like a cookie?"
Charlie's eyes go wide. "A cookie?"
"Yeah," Ranboo retrieves his lunch from the stall. "Techno-er, my family, made them for me. I don't mind sharing." He holds two out to Charlie, who takes them with a look of wonder on his face.
"No one's ever given me cookies before."
"Oh, um, really? Then here," Ranboo isn't sure what to say, so he pushes the rest of the cookies into Charlie's hands.
Charlie looks at them so long, Ranboo worries he did something wrong, but then the breath leaves his chest as he's squeezed in a ferocious hug.
Gym Class.
Charlie doesn't join Ranboo in gym class, understandably. One with a spork in their head should think twice about participating in gym activities.
It's ok though. On his way to the locker room, Tubbo slams into him with a hug. "Hey, Boo! Look who I found in the detention room."
Behind him is Tommy, sporting a freshly swollen eye and a split lip.
"Are you ok?" Ranboo asks.
Tommy shrugs. "Making friends, you know how it is."
Remembering when he first met Tommy, and the hefty blow to the stomach he'd received, Ranboo nods enthusiastically.
Tommy frowns, and his eyes scan Ranboo up and down. "Why are you covered in slime?"
Tubbo pulls back to look. "Is that oil? Are your mods leaking? Why didn't you come find me?"
"It's not mine," he says quickly. "I met this kid at lunch, Charlie, his mods were giving him some trouble so I helped him out."
"That's my generous Boo," teases Tubbo. "Man, good thing we're changing into gym clothes, you're dripping everywhere."
Tommy tugs them onward. "C'mon, let's go see what next circle of hell is waiting for us in this stupid place."
Dodgeball, it turns out.
Their gym teacher, a pale woman so massive and stacked Ranboo would bet his entire allowance she had internal enhancement mods, clearly did not believe in a fair playing field.
Somehow all of their opponents were kids modded to the teeth. One of them, a kid with skull prosthetics, leered at Tommy.
"That your new friend?" Ranboo guessed.
"Oh yeah," Tommy affirms, stretching and rotating his stiff shoulder in preparation.
Ranboo eyes the dispensers in the gym walls. "Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a very violent game?"
Tubbo cracks his knuckles. "C'mon, I've been waiting to throw something at someone all freaking day. This will be fun!"
Ranboo isn't having fun.
The dispensers do indeed fire bright orange dodgeballs at any moving target, and the formidable gym teacher fires a shot from the sidelines at any "wallflowers". Tommy's bony friend, in particular, seems to have external hydraulic mods attached to his hands and wrists. They give his projectiles a wicked spin and speed as they hurtle towards Tommy, always Tommy.
Ranboo hates this. Every ball becomes the bullet from Wilbur's gun as it whizzes past his face, and he can't help but flinch. It's only his mods keeping him in the game at this point, trajectories flashing across his vision for every projectile.
Tommy and Tubbo's survival instincts are certainly coming in handy, but Ranboo can tell they're wearing out, Tubbo panting hard and Tommy's limp becoming ever more pronounced. It doesn't matter that they're faster than the other students, they just can't keep up against the variety of mods giving their opponents an edge.
"Take that, you bullying psychopath!" Tommy yells as he aims for the skull kid's ankles. He misses, stiff shoulder limiting his throw.
"I hate this." Ranboo cowers as one of the dispensers nearly clips him. "All in favor of getting out on purpose?"
"No can do, Boss man." Tubbo swoops below a blow to scoop up a fallen ball. "This game will determine if we get bullied for the rest of the year or not."
"Yeah," Tommy chimes in, using the ball in his hand to deflect a blow from the wall. "We have to at least get ol' Bones out, he's the alpha dickhead!"
Ranboo doesn't understand, but he'll never abandon his friends, so he keeps dodging.
Slowly, their team dwindles until it's just the three of them against seven opponents. The shots now come in waves, the other team coordinating their attacks to overwhelm them at once, testing for weak points.
They find one.
"Tommy, look out!" Tubbo throws himself in front of a ball aimed for Tommy's temple as he leans down, catching the projectile with a painful thud to the abdomen. Both boys go down, slamming into the floor with a crash. Tommy springs back up immediately, but Tubbo stays down, arms curled around his stomach and-
"The ball! You caught it!" Tommy woops in triumph as he and Ranboo help Tubbo to his feet.
Mrs. Ghast blows her whistle, gesturing for skull-kid to leave the game. He looks livid, but Ranboo doesn't care, too busy supporting Tubbo as he catches his breath.
He should have paid attention, though.
He should have watched the boy saunter to the sidelines, should have clocked the stray dodgeball roll to his feet.
CRACK!
The blow from behind hits Tommy's bad leg, sending him back to the floor, clutching his knee in agony.
Ghast blows her whistle at the foul, but it doesn't matter, not when the damage is already done. He can tell just by looking that Tommy won't be standing back up, not on his own.
Tubbo squirms out of Ranboo's grip, dropping down to shield Tommy with his body.
With a jolt, Ranboo's reminded of when he met them, how burned, beaten, and terrified they were.
Suddenly, he doesn't just hate this game. He HATES it!
Red clouds his vision, literal red flashing across his retinas as something triggers in his mods.
Defense directive: Active.
Another ball hurtles towards them, but its trajectory halts midair as Ranboo's clawed hand snatches it faster than a viper strike.
A hush falls over the opposing team as they realize...
Perhaps they made a fatal mistake.
Offense directive: Active.
His claws crush the rubber and the ball deflates into a pathetic lump.
No matter, it can still fly.
A hiss sounds as Ranboo's own hydraulics wind up for the throw.
Target…. Locked
After School.
Phil tried to enjoy his time alone.
He really did.
He tried to enjoy the solitude.
No shouting from Tommy's room. No threat of explosions from Tubbo's workshop, no It was your idea to adopt street urchins, Phil.
It should be enjoyable. Peaceful.
It's sh*t.
The big farmhouse feels hollow and lifeless without the constant thuds and crashes of a house full of youngsters. It's eerie and makes Phil remember the loneliness he felt once before.
He does chores, pays bills, even performs maintenance cleaning on every secret weapon in the house while young eyes can't see where he stashed them.
But chores can only take so long.
Before he knows it he's standing in the doorway of Tubbo's room, staring at the mess.
It's always a disaster.
Not because Tubbo himself is messy, though he certainly leaves room for improvement, it's the constant presence of the other kids.
Fundy's toys lay abandoned around the bed, mixing with Tommy's discarded socks and Ranboo's enormous sweaters.
This room doesn't feel as empty as the rest of the house, and no wonder. Enderchest and Clementine lay forlornly on the rumpled bedspread.
Clementine raises her head and whines.
"Me too, girl," Phil sighs. He gives up pretending to enjoy the time to himself and curls up on his sons' bed.
It's 3:04 pm when he hears Techno's SUV pull up to the house.
Not that he was watching the clock. Nope, Phil is very engrossed in his book on…
Composting.
Why the hell would anyone want to read about that?
"Phiiiiil?"
"Upstairs!" he calls back, abandoning the book on his bedside table. He's propped up on his bed, pillows against the headboard.
Fundy finds him first.
"Hey kiddo! How did i–Woah!" Fundy flings himself onto Phil's lap and burrows into his stomach. Phil wraps his arms around his grandson. "What happe–"
"Phil, do you know what tardigrades eat?" Tubbo jumps onto the bed, tucking himself into Phil's side and brandishing a water filled mason jar too close to his nose. "Also, you're going to get an email from the school."
Phil dodges the jar. "An email, what did you–"
"Two emails, actually, and a possible call from the vice principal, aka, the Dragon Lady." Tommy flops down on his other side, making the bed bounce under their combined weight. "And that's not being sexist, she literally has dragon mods. Is it too late to opt for homeschooling?"
"Are those crutches? Oh, Techno, thank god. What did our little sh*ts do this time?" The support Phil expects doesn't come. Techno's eyebrows are pinched in distress as he approaches the bed. "Techno? What are y–OOF!" The boys (and the bedframe) protest in pain as Techno throws his entire body down across their legs, smashing his face against the comforter. He mutters something into the bed that sounds like gluten and no potatoes.
"Oh god! He's crushed me!" Tommy wails, thrashing violently about. "Tell my wife I died bravely!"
"You haven't got a wife," Tubbo chimes in, accepting his fate as a pancake and lying still. "But I'll let Clementine know."
Phil tries to rein in the chaos, but he's also immobile under his friend's massive bulk. "You're going to break my knees, Techno, what's this about?"
Techno raises his face.
"She's an absolute witch, Phil! She hurls insults at you like bottles of poison! And you don't even realize she's insulting you until after you've already agreed! I hate this passive aggressive crap! It's psychological warfare, is what it is!" His eyebrows go from distressed to determined. "But I'll show her. I can make a grenade launcher out of a broken sink and a can of hairspray. I'm going to own this bake sale!"
"Yeah!" Tommy cheers. "Take down the PTA like the corrupt government it is, Techno!"
"We are not taking down anything–"
"Let's nuke the whole building!"
"NO!" Phil has no choice but to yell. "We are NOT nuking the school! I don't know what happened today but everyone needs to pull it together and–" He spies Ranboo hovering in the doorway. "Hi Ranboo, would you like to join the chaos pile? I'm sure there's room on top of my ruptured spleen."
Ranboo doesn't move. "Ranboo?" Phil asks, suddenly worried.
Ranboo avoids eye contact. "I didn't know."
The chaos stills at the tremor in his voice. He sounds… broken.
"I knew I was a weapon," he's staring at his claws as if they're suddenly unfamiliar. "But I didn't realize–" He swallows thickly. "I didn't realize how dangerous I am."
Ice trickles down Phil's spine. "Ranboo, what happened?"
Ranboo doesn't say anything else, just stares at his trembling hands.
Techno rolls to his feet, possibly pulverizing Phil's shins in the process, and hurries to Ranboo's side.
But Ranboo flinches back.
"Ranboo," Phil says, in the most soothing voice he can muster. "Please tell us what happened."
It's Tubbo who answers. "No one got hurt. At least, not badly. If anything, Tommy came out of it the worst, and that was the other kids' fault."
"Tommy, what happened?"
Tommy fiddles with his crutch. "So we were getting our asses handed to us in dodgeball, yeah? And living with you two oldies has made me soft because I didn't see an asshole take a cheap shot from behind, and Ranboo sort of… went all Terminator on the other team." Tommy sounds almost in awe of his friend. "He was so fast, Phil, like PSSSH! POW!" He demonstrates a flailing imitation of attack strikes, nearly hitting Fundy with his enthusiasm.
Sh*te.
He knew there might be some side effects from fixing Ranboo's mods, but he'd hoped that part of him would stay buried deep.
"Were you in control, Ranboo?"
Ranboo folds in on himself, arms wrapping around his thin frame. "No. Yes. I don't know." Tears start to trail down his cheeks.
"Ranboo, look at me." Techno's voice is as soft as he's ever heard it. "You're not a monster, ok, it's just your mods." He tries to approach him again, but Ranboo shies away once more.
"You don't know that!" His voice shakes. "I could have ripped those kids apart, and it would have been easy! It's like I was made to hurt people, and maybe I have! How many people did Dream have me kill before you rescued me? It could be hundreds! Thousands!" He's starting to hyperventilate.
Phil can feel Tubbo tense beside him, wanting to comfort his friend, but he wisely doesn't make any sudden movements.
"Ranboo, listen to me." A firm edge tinges Techno's words this time. "You are cutting edge, one of a kind. If you had been out there being Dream's hitman for years, don't you think me and Phil would have heard about it?" Ranboo doesn't respond, rocking back and forth slightly in his distress. "You were created for one purpose, and one purpose only. A weapon to kill a weapon. A weapon to kill me."
Ranboo does meet Techno's eyes at that.
"That's right, you aren't the only one here designed to kill, remember? I'm deadlier than you on any given day, and I've certainly done worse than smack a few knuckleheads with a dodgeball. Now come here." Quick as a viper, Techno snaps his arms around Ranboo in a half hug/half cattle squeeze. It seems to do the trick. Ranboo sags in his grip, still crying, but breathing easier.
Sensing his chance, Tubbo jumps up and contributes his own hug, wrapping his arms as far as they'll go.
Phil follows, hoisting Fundy into his arms and pressing them both into the group hug.
"I'm exempt from all this mushy gushy stuff," Tommy states loudly from the bed, brandishing his crutch. "Not that I'd be involved anyway. I'm a big man, and big men don't hug."
Phil meet's Techno's eyes above Tubbo's head. They don't need to speak to know they're on the same page.
With a grunt of effort, Techno and Phil hoist the kids between them and shuffle to the bed.
"Oi! What are you doing! Don't–ACK!"
They crash down on Tommy, crushing him under the family hug. There's laughter and obscenities, and Philza's bed does indeed break,
but it's worth it.