Chapter Text
To put it simply, Ranboo was fuming.
Partially because in his rage he’d left the house without putting any shoes on, but considering the death time crunch he was on, a splinter or two seemed inconsequential.
He just couldn’t wrap his head around it all. The gears were turning, yet the oil which allowed them to do so was drying up too fast for Ranboo to replace.
It was ridiculous. That was the only word his adrenaline-addled mind could use to describe it.
Essentially, his former partner-in-crime was now a terrorist who planned on nuking the school in order to prove a point.
To prove a point? Ranboo thought angrily. What, like how he killed Schlatt and Quackity to make a point?
What Ranboo realized is that Wilbur was irrational, illogical, and didn’t think before he acted.
Wait. That wasn’t right.
He did think before he acted, and that was the scary part. Every move the man made was calculated, from the words he said to the people he spoke with to every action he did. Everything was so thoughtfully planned out, down to the T, and everybody just fell into place in his wicked scheme without even realizing what they were doing.
The man was not just the narrator, but the writer of the whole damn story as well. He controlled everything, pinning people with needles onto his conspiracy board under roles he deemed them worthy and suitable enough to fit. Every possible motion had been written into the story by him, and Ranboo thought Dream had made the script? Dream was a puppet, just like everybody else was. The strings he thought he had wrapped around everybody, around Tommy, were wrapped around him as well. The screen he saw as his world was glitched and warped, and it was by Wilbur’s hand that it cracked.
Wilbur controlled everything. It was as if the entire school belonged to him, shifting people gently into their appropriate position with just a word, a glance, each and every student a pawn on his chessboard.
Villain.
Savior.
Victim.
Sacrifice.
Every student had a place, a role in the script, that by Wilbur’s hand accidentally played the part of. His play was professionally astounding, no rehearsals necessary, just the cunning calculation of a man with nothing left to lose.
Ranboo knew that he was the Right Hand Man. The one who followed and obeyed orders without question or defiance because he was too pathetic to stand up for himself. The Accomplice.
Well, not today.
He was the accomplice no longer.
He dashed through the grass to the school, ignoring the breeze and the flowers and the bugs and everything he would normally stop and stare at (stop and stare at with Tommy, watching the blond tell him every fact he knew about some random beetle). His eyes were filled with tears, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was stress and how much of it was regret. All he wanted right now was to curl up in a ball on his bed and have a good cry, save for the burns he’d get, but he had to push forward. The lives of literally thousands rested in his hands, and he was not about to let more people die because he stood aside and did nothing.
It was time he grew a freaking spine, after all.
---
We, the students of L’manburg High, will die.
---
He skidded to a stop in the school parking lot, frantically looking around. Some stands were set up out here, selling food and probably drugs, and the fireworks were getting set up somewhere further out. People milled about, chatting aimlessly, and he wondered if Wilbur was in this crowd or if the man had already made his way inside. Not wishing to take a chance, he did a quick scan of the people in the lot.
“Hey!” Someone said, and Ranboo jumped. He looked down next to him and saw the source of the voice, a short brunet boy with goat ears and a sloppily buttoned green shirt.
“Uh, hello?” Ranboo asked, bouncing anxiously in place, and he did not have time for idle conversation.
“You know how they’re gonna set off fireworks later, yeah, big man?” The boy asked, and how Ranboo winced. The usage of the term “big man” reminded him so much of Tommy.
“…Yeah?” He responded instead.
“So, fun fact: about 7-8 people die a year from firework accidents! Crazy, right?”
Why the heck was this dude so chipper in discussing firework related deaths?
“I- I don’t think that’s a fun fact…” Ranboo said slowly, confusion seeping into his voice.
“Eh, depends on whether you’re the one who dies. Wouldn’t it be weird if someone died tonight?”
Ranboo froze.
What the fuck.
Before he could strategically plan his response, the psychic kid laughed.
“Damn, you’re really too serious tonight. Lighten up! It’s a festival, after all. Have some fun.”
“Live a little, lamppost!”
Ranboo shuddered. “I’d love to, but I have something really important to be doing right now, so…”
“Why not both?” The boy gave a lopsided grin, and Ranboo just shook his head. The boy frowned.
“Okay, whatever, boss man,” he said, scuffing the toe of his snow boots against the asphalt. “If you see Tommy, tell him I’ve been looking for him for like, twenty minutes.”
And Ranboo’s world came crashing down around him.
“Tommy’s here?” He whispered, his legs turning to spaghetti and his brain going into hard overdrive.
“Yeah,” the boy replied, pulling out his phone. “We met online, actually. And we were gonna meet here, but I haven’t found him. Wait,” he narrowed his eyes at his phone. “He’s in the hallway by the back of the gym? What the fuck? Why does he only tell me this now?” The boy sighed, then smiled at Ranboo. “Have fun doing whatever you’re gonna do, boss man. And don’t get nuked or some shit!” With that, he spun around and ran towards the school, leaving a sickened Ranboo in his wake.
---
We can only pray that the carnage and wreckage of our burned bodies may finally reach you.
---
“Tommy!” Tommy turned his head upon hearing his name, and his face immediately broke into a grin.
“Tubbo!” He replied as the brown haired boy ran up to him.
“Why’d you only tell me you were here like, just now, man? I spent so long looking for you!”
Tommy laughed. “Sorry, had a little uh… apprehension going into the building.”
“Oh yeah, that reminds me, what the fuck happened, boss man? You fall off a building or something?” Tubbo quirked his head.
“Jumped. So technically, you’re half right.”
“Ah.” Tubbo stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Uh, how was the fall?”
“Not falling for your schemes today, bee boy. That’s also the second time someone has asked me that, therefore, you are unoriginal.”
“Fuck,” Tubbo muttered.
“It was quite pleasant, actually,” Tommy continued, tapping his chin. “Except for the impact with the ground.”
Tubbo nodded solemnly. “It’s like when I fell out of a tree but more lethal. And on purpose.”
“How the fuck did you fall out of a tree anyway?”
“I’m so glad you asked. Walk with me.”
Tommy simply looked at Tubbo, who cringed upon the realization of what he just said.
“Okay, roll with me, then.”
Tubbo started walking, and Tommy rolled the wheels of the wheelchair to catch up next to him.
“So essentially what happened was that I was climbing a tree, right?”
“No, really?” Tommy gasped in mock surprise.
“I know, shocking. And I was trying to reach a beehive, cause I wanted to bring it inside- stop laughing. And I went to grab it, and I went all off balance and then fell and snapped my arm like a twig.”
“That’s lovely. If it makes you feel better, I snapped my legs like twigs.”
Tubbo frowned, concerned. “So, uh,” he looked away, biting his lip, “did you… actually jump? Like for real? I was assuming it was a joke and that you just fell, right? Cause if you did actually jump, you would’ve told me. And not just leave me to wonder why you never came online again.”
Tommy looked away.
Tubbo paused. “Right?”
“Well-” Tommy started, and then stopped. “Oh my Prime, Tubbo. Look at all of the shit people left on top of their lockers.”
Tubbo looked where Tommy was pointing, and sure enough, on top of the rows of lockers was essentially a gold mine of shit that people evidently didn’t need enough.
“Tubbo,” Tommy said, looking the brunet in the eye, “I say we steal all of that shit.”
Tubbo grinned. “It’s not like they’ll miss it.”
“True,” Tommy smiled. “Hop on the back of this, like a shopping cart. I’ll roll us down, and you grab the stuff from the lockers as we go by. Good plan?”
Tubbo nodded, standing up on the back of the wheelchair. “Should you even be doing this?”
“Oh, definitely not. My Mcribs can Mcfucking wait, though. We got shit to be doing. Hold on tight!”
Tubbo let out a scream as they flew down the hall with a speed that should not be possible for a hospital brand wheelchair, robbing every negative IQ fool in the school blind, unaware of the bomb ticking beneath the surface of it all.
That is, until they rammed directly into Puffy, who had just rounded the corner near the gym.
“Oof!” Tubbo promptly fell off of the back of the wheelchair, dropping all of the stolen items on the ground.
“Puffy! Sorry, sorry, nothing suspicious was going on! Nothing at all!” Tommy said loudly, laughter laced in with his voice as Tubbo sat up rubbing the back of his head.
He’d expected Puffy to laugh, ask what they were doing, tell him off for being a reckless driver. What he hadn’t expected was for her tear stained eyes to water with emotion.
“Puffy,” Tommy asked, concerned. “What’s up?”
She put a hand over her mouth and shook her head, Tubbo leaning forward against the wheelchair.
“It’s Ranboo,” Puffy said, “Wilbur told me that he…”
Tommy went blank. “No. No, you’re joking right? You’re fucking joking.”
Puffy shook her head again.
“No, no, Puffy, with all due respect Wilbur’s a liar. He’s lying.” Tommy said defiantly. “Ranboo wouldn’t. There’s no way in hell he would be 50% of my suicide watch and then off himself when nobody’s looking!” Tubbo whirled on him, horror in his eyes, and Tommy trailed into a whine. “It’s not fair. Why the fuck does everybody get to kill themselves and I don’t? Is it a fucking joke? Does the world hate me that much?” Tommy burst out into tears.
Tubbo immediately hugged the boy, crying himself, but not for the same reason that Tommy was.
“Tommy,” Puffy whispered, “I am so, so sorry.”
But Tommy didn’t reply, and all Puffy could do was walk away.
---
Your society values material and superficial wealth over all else, stepping on those beneath you as if a flight of stairs and grinding them into dust.
---
The school hallways weren’t particularly crowded, most of the students being in the gym where the main part of the festival was being held.
That was good. Fewer people for Ranboo to have to accidentally slam into the wall as he stormed past.
(Look, he didn’t mean to send that kid to the ground. He felt pretty bad about it, actually. But he was stopping for no man.)
The plan was to search as fast as possible for Wilbur, using his supreme deductive reasoning and logic to do so. Although now that he was considering it, he really didn’t have much of that.
He stood blankly in the hallway for a moment, before turning and walking into the gym. He figured Wilbur wouldn’t be there, but maybe he could ask for the trench coat wearing idiot’s whereabouts. Opening the doors to the gym, he stumbled backwards with an ouch as he bumped into someone.
“Puffy?” He asked with surprise as he looked up to see who he’d walked into.
Puffy stared at him with shock and tear-streaked cheeks. “R-Ranboo?”
“Yep,” Ranboo laughed nervously, picking at his nails, “that’s me.”
“What- you’re alive?” Puffy seemed to be in shock, jaw agape as she looked Ranboo up and down as if visually checking for injuries.
“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”
Puffy shook her head slowly. “Wilbur told me you’d just committed suicide, and I—”
“Hold on for a moment,” Ranboo interrupted. “You’ve seen Wilbur?”
“Yeah,” Puffy nodded, eyes still blown wide.
“Where was he?” Ranboo’s voice was urgent, desperate, and Puffy’s concern for the timid boy outweighed her stupor.
“Uh, I think I saw him headed in the direction of the boiler room?” Ranboo-”
“The boiler room, of course,” Ranboo muttered, running a clawed hand through his hair. “Thanks.”
“Ranboo, what is going on?” Puffy asked, trying to stop him, but he just brushed past.
“Sorry, Puffy, but I don’t really have time to talk right now. Maybe later?” And Ranboo sped away into the crowd, Puffy left wondering what the hell was even going on at this school anymore.
---
You choose not to help those who need it, but to uplift those who inflict the suffering on to others.
---
Dear Diary, Ranboo thought, this is it. Do or die. Literally.
Hand resting on the doorknob that led to the boiler room, Ranboo desperately tried to stifle the apprehension bubbling up in his body, clamping down his nerves like a bag clip.
You can still back out, you know, his traitorous, spineless mind supplied unhelpfully.
No. No, he had to do this. He didn’t have a choice.
You might die.
That didn’t matter. Ranboo valued his own life, sure, but he knew that in the grand scheme of things, he was far less important compared to the rest of the students and staff in the building.
So, with a final prayer to Prime, he yanked the door open with a bit of unnecessary force and powered past his anxiety and down the stairs.
The boiler room was awkwardly warm, pipes hanging across the ceiling and strewn down the walls. Ranboo felt like he’d get in trouble just for being in the room. His footsteps tapped against the cement floor, echoing like water dripping from a cavern ceiling, and he rounded a corner, and there.
Across the room was none other than Wilbur Soot himself, hunched over a button of some sort on the wall as if it held the key to unlock the answer to every question in the world.
“What are you doing?” Ranboo asked, hand clenching the wall beside him.
Wilbur laughed, cold and calculating. “X=Undefined,” he greeted, though there was no humor in his voice, “you’re alive.”
“I am,” Ranboo said, steeling himself. “I’m here to stop you.”
“Stop me from what? Saving Tommy? Do you hate him that much?” Wilbur turned around, and oh. The look in his eyes was maddening, it was manic, it was the look of a man with nothing left to lose and everything to gain.
“I don’t hate him!” Ranboo objected, stepping forward. “Don’t you realize how terrible of a decision this is? You’re sacrificing hundreds of lives for just one! Tommy would never appreciate that!”
Wilbur tsked. “That’s where you’re wrong, Q=mcΔT. He doesn’t have to know.”
“Are you stupid? Of course he’ll know! He’s not an idiot, he isn’t blind!” Ranboo snapped.
“Then why should he care? All the people of this school have done is wrong him over and over again. He probably goes to sleep every night praying for their deaths! I’m just acting out Prime’s will at this point!”
“Don’t act like you’re so high and mighty, you murderer!”
“Oh,” Wilbur giggled, “you’re just as much of a murderer as I am.”
Prime, Ranboo was running out of time and he was running out of options. Maybe appealing to the man would work?
“Wilbur,” he pleaded, desperation lacing his voice, “you can’t do this. If for nothing else, don’t push the button because Tommy is here.”
Wilbur stopped suddenly, his eyes widening, jaw falling slack. “…What?” he whispered.
Ranboo nodded frantically. “Tommy is literally in the school right now, meeting up with a friend he met online. If you blow up the school, you’re taking him down too.”
Wilbur seemed to consider this, and Ranboo’s heart lifted. Then—
“Sometimes sacrifices need to be made,” Wilbur said darkly, looking away.
Ranboo froze. “Then what was the point of everything?!” He yelled, slamming a clenched fist against the wall. “If it all was to protect Tommy, as you say it was, and now you’re just going to kill him yourself, then what was the point of it all?!”
“It’s okay. We’ll be in the afterlife together.” Wilbur said simply, running his hand down along the wall. “The only way I can protect him is if we’re all dead.”
Ranboo quivered. “You’re psychotic.”
“Maybe,” Wilbur drawled, “or maybe I’m just the only sane one here. Doesn’t matter. The moment I push this button this place will light up like a nuclear power plant.”
And at that moment, Ranboo lunged. He slammed into Wilbur, the man tumbling to the floor, and pinned his hands to the ground.
Huh. Ranboo did not think this through.
“So now what?” Wilbur grinned, and threw Ranboo off of him, reaching into his jacket.
Oh, heck.
He had a gun.
Ranboo’s fight or flight immediately took over, and he leapt at Wilbur again, swinging a clawed hand at the man’s face.
Wilbur barely dodged, claws nicking his cheek, and elbowed Ranboo in the ribs. Ranboo kicked him in the shin, and Wilbur stumbled slightly. Ranboo ran to tear the button off the wall, but Wilbur shoved him to the floor again and started punching him.
A fist collided with his nose with a sickening crack, and in a panic Ranboo threw up his arms to block himself, and only then realized that Wilbur had dropped the gun to focus on hitting Ranboo. Blindly, Ranboo stuck out an arm and fumbled for the gun, and upon feeling the cool metal in his palm, kneed Wilbur in the stomach and rolled out from under him.
“Stay back!” Ranboo shouted, panting, holding the gun at Wilbur’s head. “Or I’ll shoot.”
Wilbur chuckled, ominous and dark and chilling. “Oh, Stoplight. Do you really think you have the spine to shoot that?”
Before Ranboo could answer, the gun was gone from his hands, skidding across the floor with a metallic squeal, and Wilbur was right in front of him, grabbing him by the throat and holding him against the wall.
“Checkmate,” the man said, and Ranboo knew all Wilbur had to do was sit here and hold him until he suffocated. And wasn’t that a daunting thought? That his life was slowly draining out of him, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He was a character at the mercy of the scriptwriter, who had gone too far off script and was being put back in his rightful place.
The fireworks sounded lovely outside. He wondered absently if they looked pretty. Maybe they were red, Tommy’s favorite color.
Tommy.
That was it. Ranboo couldn’t let it end here! He was willing to bet Tommy thought he was dead; he had to tell his best friend he was alive! He had to stop Wilbur.
Stop Wilbur, his mind cried as he took on last effort to kick Wilbur in the stomach.
Stop Wilbur, his mind screamed as he scrambled to pick up the gun.
Stop Wilbur, his mind prayed as he rested his hand on the trigger, and with a violent flinch, bang.
Wilbur stopped mid step. He touched a hand to his side as red slowly seeped out and stained his shirt a horrifying crimson.
“Shit,” Wilbur muttered. “Guess you had a spine after all.” And he dropped to the floor.
“Oh Prime!” Ranboo tossed the gun to the left (that was not proper gun safety) and ran to Wilbur. Falling to his knees, he hovered his hands awkwardly over the man. “Wilbur, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“It’s okay, Ranboo. It’s fine.” Wilbur coughed into his hand. “I guess this means you won?”
Ranboo was appalled. “Is this all really just a game to you?”
“No, of course not. But even a man who’s lost his mind knows when to accept defeat. Just… give me a minute. This hurts.”
Ranboo stood up shakily and wiped the blood from his nose, and then realized that the bomb was still in the room. That couldn’t be there! He needed to get it out as fast as possible.
He yanked the button off the wall (that was not proper bomb safety) and tore the bomb out from the hole left behind. He was vaguely surprised it didn’t have a self-detonating mechanism, but he supposed that was what happened when you made a bomb yourself in probably one night using a WikiHow article.
Not even thinking, Ranboo dashed out of the boiler room, not hearing the shuffling behind him.
---
We shall not stand for it any longer.
---
The night was cool, the fireworks loud and booming. Ranboo stood on the stairs of the school, wondering what the heck he was supposed to do now.
List the facts.
His name was Ranboo.
He was currently standing on the stairs to his school, holding an illegal bomb he stole from a madman that he also shot point blank with a gun.
He was going to get arrested.
Sighing, he pulled out his phone to google how to get rid of a live bomb when the aforementioned bomb was plucked from his hands.
“Hey, what the-?” To his surprise, it was Wilbur. The man’s trench coat was torn and wrapped taut around his side as if a makeshift tourniquet, and he grinned, teeth stained with blood. “I’ll take that, Slam Dunk.”
(So tonight, we die in your honor, as one final rebellion against the society that has doomed us from the start.)
Ranboo could only watch as Wilbur stumbled out into the parking lot and turned around.
Ranboo scoffed, but the weight of the situation slowly began to dawn on him. “Do you see anything wrong with what you’ve done?”
“Oh, believe me, I do. That’s what I’m sacrificing myself for. A life for a life!” He said, spreading his arms wide in a dramatic fashion, “or something poetic like that.”
Ranboo gasped. “Wait, what? You can’t just do that! Are you kidding?”
“Serious as ever. Do you want to watch?”
“No!” Ranboo sputtered, rushing forward. “Are you-”
“I’d recommend standing back. The moment I’m done with my speech and push this button, boom.”
(Signed, the students of L’Manburg High.)
And suddenly, Ranboo understood. Well, he didn’t understand, he could never, but…
Wilbur was an all-or-nothing kind of man. His intentions, at their core, were good, but his methods of executing them were insanity personified. Maybe it was because nobody had ever told him he was wrong, or maybe it was because he truly did have nothing to lose, but either way Wilbur took everything to the extremes in the name of his own ideals.
Ranboo could never understand that, but in a weird way, he felt… sad for Wilbur. Sad that the man would never know a normal high school experience, even a normal life experience, because he was so caught up and wrapped in his own schemes that he was going to die from them.
Ranboo supposed that even the author wasn’t immune to the strings of attachment.
“You know,” Wilbur said softly, “there was a saying, I heard, once.”
Bitter acceptance and dread filled Ranboo’s heart, but he forced himself to say his final goodbyes. “See you at your next stop, World War I.”
Wilbur smiled, a genuine, warm smile, and raised a soldier’s salute. “It was never meant to be.”
(Goodbye.)
He pushed the button, and Ranboo closed his eyes.
Nobody heard the sounds of the bomb going off over the cheers of the fireworks finale.
---
Ranboo walked back into the school, unsure of what he was supposed to do now.
Unluckily for him, Dream just so happened to show up at that very moment.
“Ranboo,” Dream said dryly, “you look like hell.”
Ranboo grimaced. “Yeah. I just got back, actually.” He strode closer to Dream and stuck a finger in his face. “Do better,” was all he said before he kept walking.
As he turned the corner, he found himself standing across from none other than Tommy and that brown haired boy he’d spoken to earlier.
Tommy’s eyes widened and he gasped. “Ranboo?”
Ranboo smiled. “Hey.”
“B…but,” and he started to cry, “Puffy said that Wilbur said that you…”
“Well, Wilbur’s been wrong about a lot of things.” Ranboo hugged Tommy, who melted into his arms.
“This seems like a bit of a personal moment, so I think I’m gonna go buy some early holiday presents. We’re not done with this conversation, though,” Tubbo narrowed his eyes at Tommy, who swallowed. Tubbo threw a wave, smirking, and walked away, leaving Tommy and Ranboo alone in the hallway.
“Ranboo,” Tommy wailed, “what the fuck? You’re just going to let me think you killed yourself? Do you know how unfair that is?”
“I know,” Ranboo murmured. “I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“It’s just-” Tommy hiccuped, “is this how you felt when I tried to die? Is this how much it hurts?”
Ranboo nodded.
“I didn’t want to know that! I didn’t want to feel the guilt and the sadness and the hurt and-” Tommy broke into sobs again and Ranboo rubbed his back in comfort.
“I promise, I’d never leave you. I just had to pull an Edmond Dantes for a moment, that’s all.”
“I don’t even know what that means! You know I don’t read old people literature!” Tommy cried into Ranboo’s shoulder, and Ranboo couldn’t help but laugh.
They sat in silence for a moment, until Tommy whispered, “I can’t be alone again. Not when he’s still here.”
“He? Who’s that?” Ranboo asked, and Tommy shook his head. Ranboo pulled away a bit, and Tommy’s eyes were blown wide, almost unseeing.
“Can’t say.” Tommy replied mechanically, staring past Ranboo.
“Tommy,” Ranboo pressed gently, going to turn Tommy’s head to face him, but Tommy flinched. “Tommy?”
“I…” Tommy hesitated, “if I tell you something, will you promise to listen? And not get mad?”
“I mean, you didn’t get terribly angry when I admitted to, like, second hand murder, so anything’s fair game.” It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood that seemingly went unnoticed.
“So,” Tommy began shakily. “I think Dream’s, uh, been abusing me?”
Ranboo’s heart stopped. “What?”
“Well, cause I’ve been thinking about it? And I don’t think it’s like, normal school bullying anymore.” Tommy continued quickly, looking away. “Anyways, he made me like, meet with him after school just so he could like, beat the fuck out of me and scream at me how worthless I am,” he laughed hollowly.
Ranboo couldn’t even speak, just let Tommy continue. At Ranboo’s lack of response, Tommy panicked.
“It’s not like it’s his fault!” Tommy amended, waving his hands frantically. “He was grieving over George and needed someone to take his anger out on! That’s all!”
Ranboo was infuriated. But not at Tommy, never at Tommy. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“He said if I did, he’d burn my discs.” Tommy muttered, refusing to make eye contact.
“Tommy. Is he still hurting you?”
“No,” Tommy drew out, “not since I tried killing myself, anyway.”
Ranboo placed his hands gently on Tommy’s shoulders, tears filling his eyes. “Tommy. You didn’t deserve any of that, okay? He was wrong, so, so wrong, and no grief would ever justify that, okay? I mean, we saw the signs, and yet did nothing…” Ranboo’s hatred for Dream was growing exponentially by the minute, and oh, how he’d wished he’d backhanded the man when he ran into him earlier.
“I didn’t want you to know. ‘s fine.” Tommy murmured. “I’m just glad I could tell you now.”
“I won’t let him lay a hand on you ever again, okay?” Ranboo promised, he swore.
“Thank you,” Tommy tilted his head with a shaky smile, of acceptance and warmth and how could anybody hurt him?
“And if he even goes near you, I’ll give him a restraining order with my fists.” Ranboo growled.
Tommy laughed wetly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Seems like you’ve grown a spine finally, big man!”
Ranboo’s heart warmed. “You could say that. Now come on, I bet your friend’s waiting for you. And I’d like to meet him.”
“Maybe you should, like, set your nose back into place first.”
Ranboo paused, tenderly bringing a hand to his nose. “Is it actually broken?”
Tommy shrugged. “Dunno. I’m not a doctor. What happened, by the way?”
Ranboo sighed. “Something, that’s for sure. I’ll tell you later, yeah? We’ve got enough emotional baggage for one night.”
“Sure, whatever. Do you have money? I’m broke as a joke.”
“So it seems I’m back to being your personal wallet?”
“Well- uh- not exactly?”
The two made their way over back into the gym, ready to finally experience a normal night of high school — well, as normal as it could get now, anyway.
And at the end of the hall, a ghost in a trench coat smiled, knowing that his job was finally complete.