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Dad gently set Michael down in the back of the closet, where Papa’s suits hung low and Michael liked to hide behind them during hide-and-seek. Michael wondered if they were playing now. But who was the seeker? Was it Papa? He wasn’t there, so it must be.
Dad brushed Michael’s bangs back from his eyes, smiling down at him. The smile was wrong, though. Michael didn’t like it.
“Hey, baby, I need you to stay back here for me,” Dad whispered. “Can you do that? Can you be really good and stay behind Papa’s suits?”
Michael nodded. “Are we playing hide-and-seek?” He asked, whispering too because his Dad was and he thought it was funny.
Dad paused, and then nodded. “Yeah. We’re playing a really long game of hide-and-seek, and I need you to be super super good and not make a sound, okay? Papa and I will come get you soon, I promise.”
Michael nodded. He didn’t know a lot of things, but one thing he did know was how to be quiet as a mouse. He didn’t know why Dad was insisting that he be quiet, because obviously one of the rules of hide-and-seek was to be quiet, but Michael was quite proud to be able to show off his talents.
Dad’s smile got better. “Thank you, baby. Don’t move from here until me and Papa come get you, alright?”
Michael nodded again. Dad opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly there was a bang downstairs, and Dad tensed. Michael opened his mouth to ask what it was, but suddenly Dad was standing, smiling down at Michael “I love you,” he whispered.
Michael wasn’t supposed to talk, but he whispered anyway. “Love you too.”
Dad’s smile was wrong again. Michael wanted to make it better, but then Dad was leaving, closing the closet door behind him.
Michael was told to hide. So he hid. He heard lots of sounds, sounds he didn’t normally hear during hide-and-seek, but this game seemed to be extra special like that.
Michael was told to be quiet, so he was quiet. He was super quiet, even when the stomping footsteps got a lot louder and the shouts got a lot closer and he found he didn’t like this game very much and he wanted to call for his dads. But he didn’t make a sound, and eventually the other sounds stopped.
Michael hid, and he was quiet, and he hid some more, and he was still quiet. He didn’t know how much time had passed, it was too dark behind the suits. He hid until his stomach started growling, and then he hid some more. He hid even when his throat got dry and he was so tired he wanted his blankie, the one that Uncle Technoblade had made him for Christmas. He hid, and hid, and hid.
And then he realized that he’d been hiding for a long time. And his dads had never taken this long to find him before. He wondered what happened. Were they still looking? Had they stopped playing and just forgotten to tell him?
Well, if that was the case, Michael should stop playing too. He stood, carefully pushing past Papa’s suits and to the closed closet door. He pressed his hands flat to the wood and pushed to the left, and slowly, the heavy door slid open.
It was daytime. It hadn’t been daytime when Dad had told him to hide. How long had they been playing for?
Michael walked out of his dads’ room and down the hallway to the stairs, then down the stairs and through the living room to the kitchen. He liked his house. It was big and wooden and cozy, and his Dad had built it himself back when he married Papa.
But Michael didn’t like it very much right now. It was messy, the furniture all turned around and the blankets and books scattered on the floor. He wondered why Papa hadn’t cleaned it yet. Papa hated when things were messy.
Then Michael got to the kitchen and realized he hadn’t seen his dads at all.
“Papa?” He called out. The word rang through the silent house. “Dad?”
There was no answer. Michael fidgeted, feeling a little scared. Like he was the first time he saw Papa on the floor, shaking and crying. Like he was the first time he saw Dad angry, so angry his face was red and his fists were balled.
Where were his dads?
Michael clambered into his seat at the kitchen counter, where he always sat for breakfast. Maybe if he waited here for a while, his dads would come and make him pancakes, smiling and laughing.
He waited, and his dads didn’t come. The kitchen was a mess. There were spices all over the place, and a pot of soup that looked gross and bad, and dishes in the sink.
And his dads’ phones on the counter.
They never left their phones.
Michael reached and grabbed Dad’s phone. It had a black case and a funny picture of Uncle Tommy on the screen. He was all stretched out like a funhouse mirror.
Michael opened Dad’s phone because he knew the passcode. He didn’t know how to read the names of the apps, but he knew the bright green one was to call someone, and Dad had told him to call someone if something bad ever happened.
Michael wondered if this was something bad.
He pressed on the green app and it opened to a list of words he couldn’t read. He pressed the top one.
The phone buzzed…and buzzed… and—
“Tubbo?”
Michael gasped in delight, realizing he’d called Uncle Eret.
“Unca!” he called happily.
There was a silence, and then a shuffle. And then, when Uncle Eret spoke, they sounded wrong. It was the same kind of wrong as Dad’s smile when he’d told Michael to hide in the closet. “Michael? Is that you?”
“Uh-huh,” Michael said, nodding even though Uncle Eret couldn’t see him. He sat on his bottom in the chair, because Papa always told him it was polite to do that. “What’re you doing, Unca?”
Another pause, and then Uncle Eret’s voice got even more wrong. “N-nothing much, kiddo. Hey, can you tell me where your dads are?”
Michael’s smile faded as he was reminded of his predicament. “Dunno. House is quiet, Unca. Dad told me to play hide and seek so I did, but I think he forgot to tell me we stopped. Or maybe he forgot to tell me I’m the seeker now. Maybe that’s it, Unca! Oh, I should go look for them! I’ll—”
“No!” Uncle Eret’s voice was bad now, like when Papa got really scared. But when they spoke again, their voice was kind of normal. “Don’t hang up, Michael. Hey, listen really closely, okay? I need you to stay right where you are. Are you in your house?”
“Mhm,” Michael said, swinging his legs back and forth even though Dad said that left dents in the counter.
“Okay, I need you to stay there. I’m gonna come pick you up, alright? We can go back to my house and you can say hi to Auntie Puffy.”
Michael grinned. He liked Auntie Puffy. She had fluffy hair and a cool pirate hat that she let him wear sometimes. “Okay.” Then he frowned. “Unca, where are my dads?”
There was a soft sound, almost like wind. “They had to go on a trip very suddenly, Michael. They’ll be back soon, I’m sure. But for now you and I are gonna hang out, okay?”
“Okay.”
Uncle Eret got to Michael’s house really soon after their call. They scooped Michael up, hugging him close to their chest. They were wearing a soft red sweater that Michael really liked the feel of. He wanted one. Maybe Papa would make one. Or maybe Uncle Tommy!
Uncle Eret rubbed Michael’s back, rubbing their nose into his hair. “Are you alright, kiddo?”
Michael nodded, busy smelling the nice-musty scent of Uncle Eret’s clothing. They smelled like an old house, like Uncle Technoblade’s. All wooden and full of things people loved.
Uncle Eret sighed. “I’m sorry, Michael,” they whispered, almost too quiet for Michael to hear.
“How come?” He asked.
Uncle Eret began walking back to their car, settling Michael into the back seat and putting his seatbelt around him. “Nothing you have to worry about.”
They sat in silence for a bit as Uncle Eret drove and Michael watched the neighborhood go past. Then, he thought of something.
“Unca?” He called. Uncle Eret tilted their head to show they were listening. “What trip did my dads have to go on?”
A beat of silence. Michael didn’t like it. It felt too heavy. Then, Uncle Eret spoke. “I’m not sure. It was very secret. But we’ll find out very soon, and they’ll be home before you know it, okay?”
Michael nodded. But something felt wrong. He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it.
He wanted his dads back.
They got to Uncle Eret’s house, and Uncle Eret carried Michael inside to the living room, where Michael saw his whole family sitting—Auntie Puffy, Uncle Technoblade and Grandpapa and Wilbur, and Aunt Niki, and Cousin Foolish, and his little cousins Michelle and Foolish Jr. and Shroud, who had been staying with Auntie Puffy while Uncle Tommy was away. They all looked up when Uncle Eret and Michael came in, and Michael saw lots of eyes widen and he heard lots of shouts, but he wasn’t sure why. He also wasn’t sure why everyone seemed to want to touch him, to kiss his forehead and ruffle his hair. Had something happened?
He tugged on someone’s sleeve, and found it was Auntie Puffy when she looked down. “Yes?” she asked sweetly—everything she did was sweet, like candy or ice cream.
“I want my dads,” he whispered, hands fiddling with his shirt.
Puffy sighed, kneeling down to his level. Her eyes were really sad. “Oh, baby, I know. You’ll get them soon.”
“Promise?” Michael asked, almost pleading.
Puffy nodded, pulling him into her arms for a long hug. “Promise.”
That night, tucked into bed with the rest of the kids, Michael couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, listening to Shroud’s snores on his left and Michelle’s breathing on his right. He was the oldest out of all the kids, nearly six years old, and he wanted badly to be calm enough to go to sleep, like the rest of them.
He heard voices outside the room and strained to hear.
“...don’t know where they could have gone,” Uncle Eret’s voice whispered.
“They’re tough, they’ll be alright,” Uncle Technoblade responded, monotone like always. Except unlike always, Michael wasn’t comforted by his voice.
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to find them,” Aunt Niki whispered. “They’ve got a kid, for Prime’s sake. And he was alone—for days. They wouldn’t just abandon him like that.”
A sigh, and then Uncle Technoblade spoke again. “I’ll go out and look for them tomorrow morning.”
“Take someone with you,” Uncle Eret said. “We don’t need anyone else going missing.”
Another sigh. “Alright,” Uncle Technoblade agreed. “Me and Phil will go. The rest of you watch the kids.”
Michael rolled over, deciding not to listen anymore. He didn’t really understand much of that, but he knew that Uncle Technoblade and Grandpapa would be leaving.
He didn’t want anyone else to leave.
He wanted his dads.
He wanted his family.
A few days later…
Tubbo jerked against his restraints, tears streaming down his face. The rope was rough on his skin, the wooden chair hard against his back. In front of him, Ranboo screamed, his voice broken and still cracking, as the knife dragged once more along his arm, the blistering heat of the metal instantly cauterizing the wound and melting the flesh.
The same type of wound was scattered all along his body, burning lines winding along every inch of bare skin their captor could reach—chains of festering injuries curling along his arms and legs, a collar of blisters around his neck. Even his face wasn’t spared, and he sobbed as his tears dripped into open cuts.
Their captor, a man with his face hidden behind a black mask, jerked Ranboo’s head up by his hair, the knife pressing to the underside of his chin. Ranboo screamed again, and Tubbo screamed with him. “STOP!”
The man just laughed. “You know how to make me. Just give me what I want, and all of this can end.”
Tubbo sobbed, though he’d told himself he wouldn’t show such weaknesses, back when all of this had started. It seemed like so long ago. “I told you,” he cried. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him for months. No one has.”
Ranboo cried out as he was pushed onto his back. His hand was grabbed, and then the knife was pressing into the pad of his pointer finger, a bead of steaming blood welling. Ranboo grit his teeth, and Tubbo commended his bravery, but it wasn’t enough to stop the pained cry from escaping.
“I think you’re lying,” their captor said conversationally, like he hadn’t been torturing Tubbo’s husband in front of him for a week. “You’re his best friend. The Stinger and Theseus, don’t you remember? The greatest urban legend L’Manburg has ever seen. Surely your partner would tell you everything. Or were you not really as close as everyone seems to think?”
Tubbo tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling in an effort to distance himself from this fucked up existence, but a choked cry from Ranboo brought him crashing back down. “I don’t know,” Tubbo pleaded. “I don’t know where he is, I’m sorry. He probably didn’t tell me because of things like this. Please, I don’t—neither of us know anything.”
The man lifted his knife again, and beneath him, barely held up by his collar, Ranboo whined, already terrified of what would come.
But then the man paused. Glanced at the watch around his wrist. Sighed in exasperation. He let go of Ranboo’s collar, sending him crashing to the ground. He lowered the knife. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow, Stinger. I hope you have an answer for me.”
Tubbo glared at him as he left, locking the heavy metal door behind him.
A soft groan brought his attention back, and his face fell. “Boo?” He whispered. “Boo, are you alright?” He winced. Stupid question. Of course Ranboo wasn’t alright. He amended. “Can you move at all?”
A sharp inhale, a whine, and Ranboo pushed himself up on shaking arms, dragging weak legs under his torso. He sent Tubbo a shaky smile. “Just peachy,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Tubbo swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Ranboo shook his head. “Not your fault, Bee,” he said. “It’s not like you can give him what he wants.”
And Tubbo felt the worst pang of guilt he’d ever felt because—
Because that wasn’t exactly true.
Sure, he didn’t know exactly where Tommy was. He didn’t know the city, or neighborhood, or fucking cave Tommy was hiding in. But he did know—
He did know—
Tommy had left Shroud behind, implying he was going somewhere dangerous. Tommy had been sad, not angry, when he’d left, even as Tubbo shouted at him. That implied he was going far away, for a long time. Not to mention he’d been researching his past, grasping desperately for answers, in the months before he ran off.
Tubbo had a pretty fucking good idea of where his best friend had gone, and he’d kept that secret for months. And now, he’d let his husband get tortured for a week because of it.
He’d let—
He’d—
He sobbed quietly, his head falling forward to bump against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—”
“Shh, hey, Bee,” Ranboo’s broken voice cut through his tears, always reassuring, even when he was like a broken plate on the ground, all shattered and destroyed. “Bee, it’s okay. You’re doing so good, okay? You’re doing everything right.”
Tubbo shook his head wildly, because how could Ranboo say that when he had burning wounds all over his body, and his lungs were ripped apart from that day he’d spent in a smoking room, and his chest had been ripped open and dug through like a fucking mine and it was all Tubbo’s fault?
“But I—I could’ve told—I know—” Tubbo tried, but Ranboo shushed him again, and when Tubbo looked at him through blurry vision, he saw Ranboo’s heterochromatic eyes staring at him without an ounce of fear. Pain, yes. But never fear.
Prime, he was so brave.
“Tubbo,” Ranboo said quietly, firmly. “Tubbo, I know you’re scared. And I know this sucks. But you cannot, under any circumstances, reveal anything. Alright?”
Tubbo sucked in a breath, because rarely was Ranboo this adamant. “But you’re hurt, I—I could stop it, I could—”
Ranboo shook his head. “No, Tubbo. Don’t sell Tommy out for me. Not for me. You won’t be able to forgive yourself.”
And Tubbo knew he was right, knew that even if he’d been furious with Tommy when he’d left, Tommy was still his best friend, still his Theseus, and Tubbo would do anything for him, but…
“You matter too,” he insisted. “I can’t—I can’t lose you either.”
Ranboo’s shaking, bleeding hand reached out and rested on his knee, squeezing softly. “You won’t. But don’t do that to yourself. And don’t do it to me. Please, just a little longer. Just hold on a little longer.”
Tubbo sniffed, but nodded. “Okay.”
The next time their captor came in, he was holding a few items—things that made Tubbo’s blood curdle.
A length of rope, a gag, and a whip.
The rope was wrapped around Ranboo’s wrists, keeping his arms pinned behind his back. The gag was shoved into his mouth, and he let out muffled snarls, his eyes bright with anger.
Their captor turned to Tubbo, the whip held loosely in his hand, and cocked an eyebrow. Tubbo stared back, trying to transmit all his anger, all his vengeance, through burning irises.
The man only sighed.
On the first and second lashes, Ranboo’s whole body jerked forward, and even though the pain from the previous days couldn’t have faded yet, even though this was only adding to his myriad of new scars and injuries, he didn’t make a sound.
The third lash, there was a muffled whimper.
The tears didn’t start coming until the eighth, though. At that point, Tubbo squeezed his eyes shut, because he knew he was breaking, and he knew that if he had to witness much more of this, he’d give up anything and everything just for a moment of reprieve.
Ranboo’s cries filled his ears, drowning out their captor’s demands. Tubbo didn’t know which was worse.
Just a little longer, Ranboo had said. And Tubbo tried. He really, really did.
But at one point, Ranboo started screaming through the gag. And when Tubbo peeked his eyes open, he saw his husband’s shirt was barely more than scraps now, held together by dried blood and sweat. He saw rivers of blood, slabs of flesh, on his back. He saw matted hair and blood on his head from where the whip must have caught his skull.
And Tubbo shattered.
He opened his mouth. “Stop.” It was soft. “Stop, please.”
Their captor looked up, cruel grin turning on him. “Well? Do you have an answer for me, Stinger?”
Tubbo squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears drip down his cheeks. “I’ll tell you,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you, just please stop.”
Ranboo’s head snapped over to face him, eyes wide and incredulous—upset. Betrayed.
But their captor walked over to Tubbo, and every step away from Ranboo was another inch in his lungs.
Tubbo felt a hand on his chin, tilting his face up. His blue eyes met dark, and the man grinned. “Well?”
Tubbo swallowed. Blocked out Ranboo’s muffled shouts. Opened his mouth.
And the door burst open.
Tubbo’s head shot up and the hand fell away from his chin as they all watched two men rush in, one holding a gun and the other holding a sword, and the one with the sword had pink hair braided in intricate designs and the other was wearing green and had shoulder-length blond hair and—
And Techno stepped forward without hesitation, and in the next second there was blood splattering on Tubbo’s face as the tip of his sword burst through the man’s throat.
Phil caught the body before it could slump over Tubbo and dropped it on the floor, stepping over it and taking out his pocket knife as he knelt next to Tubbo, sawing at the ropes around his wrists and ankles.
Tubbo sobbed. “P-Phil—Phil, I—”
“Shh,” Phil hushed, standing so he could tuck Tubbo’s face into his chest, thumb rubbing over Tubbo’s tangled hair, and Tubbo grabbed his shirt in shaking hands, sobbing, loud and ugly and relieved. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay now. Are you hurt?”
Tubbo shook his head, still hiding in Phil’s arms like when he was younger and the world held simpler fears. “Phil—Phil, Ran—Ranboo, Ranboo—hurt, got—c-check, pl-please—”
“Techno’s doing that right now, little bee,” Phil whispered. “Ranboo will be just fine. I promise.”
Tubbo sniffed, peeking out of the sanctuary of Phil’s embrace to see Techno cradling Ranboo’s head against his chest, glancing over the wounds drawn on Ranboo’s body like some kind of fucked up painting. Ranboo himself was unconscious, chest moving lightly against Techno’s hand. Tubbo wondered if the pain had gotten to be too much.
Techno looked up, meeting Phil’s gaze. His was pained, and Tubbo didn’t look at it for too long before turning away. “We’ve gotta get them home, Phil,” Techno whispered.
Phil nodded, brushing down Tubbo’s hair again before pulling back so he could look at him. “Can you walk, little bee? Or do you want me to carry you?”
Being carried sounded really nice, actually. But Tubbo had to be strong right now. For his husband, for Phil and Techno. So he shook his head and pulled away from Phil, bracing his arms on the chair and lifting himself up.
His legs immediately collapsed underneath him, weak from disuse. Phil let out a shout as he caught him, bracing Tubbo against his chest.
“Okay, no walking for you,” Phil decided, lifting Tubbo into his arms and cradling the boy’s head against his chest. Techno walked over with Ranboo, who would’ve looked asleep if it weren’t for the blood and burns streaking across his skin. But he was alive, and safe now, and Tubbo felt a wave of relief at seeing his family cared for.
His family—
“Michael?” He asked, voice barely more than a mumble, but if he’d had more strength he would’ve been shouting. “Is he alright?”
Phil held him tighter, following Techno as they walked out of that horrible room. “Michael’s fine. Eret went and got him from your house.”
“...how long?” Tubbo whispered. “How long before… how long was Michael alone?”
A quiet sigh. “About two days, we think. We would’ve gotten him sooner, but we didn’t know he was there.”
“Sorry,” Tubbo said. “Told him to hide.”
Phil shook his head. “No, little bee. You did good. Here, why don’t you sleep a little bit? Techno and I will make sure nothing happens to you.”
Sleep sounded nice. Tubbo nodded, curling further into Phil’s arms and letting his eyes drift closed.
Within moments, he was asleep.
Michael was having lunch when Uncle Technoblade and Grandpapa came home. His eyes widened when he saw them carrying his dads through the kitchen.
“Papa! Dad!” He cried, launching himself out of his chair and out of reach of Uncle Eret and Auntie Puffy, who both had their arms out as if to grab him. “Papa!”
He felt arms around him, and he struggled and kicked as Aunt Niki lifted him up. He screamed, wondering why she was being so mean. He just wanted to say hi to his dads! He hadn’t seen them in so long, didn’t she understand that?
“Down!” He shouted.
Aunt Niki only held him tighter. “Not yet, little one. Let your dads rest. You can see them soon.”
Michael huffed. “Now,” he insisted. “Want dads now.”
Aunt Niki sighed. “How about you finish your lunch, and then you can see them?”
Michael opened his mouth to protest—and then paused.
He was very impatient. He wanted to see his dads now. But Aunt Niki had said he could see them after he ate, and he knew that one of the rules of the eat-your-food game was that you always, no matter what, got the reward at the end.
So he was basically guaranteed to see his dads.
He nodded slowly, and Aunt Niki put him down. He scrambled back onto his chair and started shoveling food in his mouth.
Unfortunately, seeing his dads was not as great as he thought it would be.
Firstly, they were both sleeping. And even though Dad woke up and smiled at him, giving him a kiss and telling him good job on his hiding, Papa wouldn’t wake up, no matter how much he shook Papa’s arm and called for him.
Papa looked wrong, too. There was a lot of red on him, and he looked kind of like how Michael’s knee did when he fell off his bike one time.
Michael didn’t like it.
“Why won’t Papa wake up?” He asked Uncle Technoblade. They were in the hallway, because Michael had been kicked out after he got too loud and Dad didn’t like it.
Uncle Technoblade sighed, shifting so he was holding Michael more securely in his arms. “Your Papa got hurt a little bit, and he needs to rest for a while.”
“Oh.” Michael frowned, chewing his lip, because he knew what “a little bit” hurt looked like, and it wasn’t that. “How’d he get hurt?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Uncle Technoblade replied, and usually Michael didn’t like that answer, but it was okay coming from Uncle Technoblade because he made it sound funny.
Michael swung his legs, accidentally kicking Uncle Technoblade in the chest. “When will he wake up?”
Another sigh. “Soon, kiddo. Really soon, he just needs to sleep a little bit and then he’ll be all better.”
“Okay.”
And it wasn’t, not really. But Michael didn’t know enough to say why, so he just settled for being happy that his dads were back.
He wondered if they’d tell him where they went, when he was older.