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The end of the world occurred when Tommy was nine.
Well. Okay. Maybe not the end of the world, per se, but it was the end of Tommy’s world, and that’s what mattered.
It came in the form of a boy about his age, named Ranboo.
The first time Tommy saw him, he was huddled into Phil’s side, clutching his hand as if it was the last safe thing in the universe. He was stick-thin, already tall for his age—which meant he was taller than Tommy—with floppy honey-colored hair and pale blue eyes. He was soft-spoken and clearly afraid, his clothes were baggy on his wiry frame, and he seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible.
Tommy hated him.
“Boys,” Phil said, sitting on the couch with Ranboo curled up next to him and his three biological sons all crowding the armchair in the corner, “this is Ranboo. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
“Why?” Tommy demanded. Ranboo flinched when he spoke, which only made Tommy angrier. Why was this kid afraid of him? He hadn’t even done anything!
Phil smiled kindly at him. “Do you remember what fostering means, Tommy?”
Tommy nodded slowly—he remembered the conversation from a few nights prior, over a dinner of mac n’ cheese and grilled chicken. “It means when you raise a kid that’s not yours ‘cause he’s got no family, right?”
Phil winced, but Tommy wasn’t sure why until Ranboo’s breath audibly hitched and he turned away, hiding his face in the back of the couch.
“...close,” Phil said, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway, Ranboo’s going to be living with us for a while, and I want you three to make him feel welcome, okay? Be nice, share your things, all that good stuff.”
Wilbur and Techno, who were both thirteen now and thought they knew everything, nodded dutifully, but Tommy frowned. “But what if I don’t want to?”
Phil sighed tiredly, which Tommy found highly offensive. “Just—pretend this is a really long sleepover with one of your friends, Toms. You’re nice to your friends, right?”
Tommy’s frown deepened. “But Ranboo’s not my friend.”
Phil only smiled placatingly. “I’m sure you guys will get along great.”
They did not get along great.
Ranboo was confusing to Tommy. He barely talked, he wasn’t demanding, he didn’t ask for things unless it was absolutely necessary, he had so few possessions it was almost laughable, and he was so intent on making himself small that he was almost invisible. The only times Tommy saw him were at meals and when Phil made the whole family do something together, like going to the zoo or playing a board game.
Tommy didn’t like confusing things, and so he didn’t like Ranboo.
Ranboo himself didn’t seem intent on remedying this predicament. He stayed away from Tommy, flinched at the volume at which he spoke, clung to Phil—and more and more often as time went on, Techno—as much as he could. He had weird habits that Tommy didn’t understand, like how he would always come out of his room at seven am, sharp, no matter what, and how at meals he refused to take a bite until Phil did.
One day, Tommy got in trouble for making a mess of Wilbur’s room—in his defense, he’d had a bad day at school and needed to get his anger out— and had to clean the bathroom as punishment. It wasn’t a bad punishment, objectively, he just needed to scrub down the counters and the toilet seat and maybe clean the mirror if he was feeling particularly remorseful, but the problem was, Tommy hated cleaning the bathrooms. It took so long and it was so boring and kind of gross, what with the toothpaste stains on the counter and Wilbur’s baby-beard hairs in the sink (he insisted on shaving even though he didn’t have a beard, he said it made him feel like a man).
Needless to say, Tommy got very upset about it, but when Phil wouldn’t budge, he huffed and went off to get the cleaning supplies.
To his surprise, they were already gone from the broom closet. He frowned, sure that they’d been there earlier when Techno went to get the vacuum for his room. Maybe someone had moved them?
He searched the whole house, but couldn’t find them anywhere. Slowly, he realized this was a good thing—maybe he could get out of his punishment! He couldn’t be expected to clean the bathroom without cleaning supplies, right? Surely Phil would understand.
But as he passed the bathroom, he happened to peek in—and saw Ranboo there, scrubbing down the counter with a force Tommy had never seen except when Techno started the motor on the lawn mower. His blue eyes were intent, focused on his task, and his mouth was tight with a lot of concentration, like when Tommy had to do his multiplication tables.
“What’re you doing?” Tommy asked, unsure why Ranboo was doing his punishment, and seemed so focused on it.
Ranboo startled and dropped his rag, eyes snapping over to him. “Um—I-I’m cleaning. For you.”
Tommy frowned. “Why? Dad said I had to do it.”
Ranboo shrugged, curling in on himself, hugging himself around his middle. “I-I-I… You seemed—you seemed like y-you didn’t want to—to do it? So—so I’m doing it.”
This guy made no sense.
Part of Tommy wanted to leave, to let Ranboo keep cleaning. He was obviously fine with it, and Tommy didn’t want to clean the bathroom—just a few minutes ago he’d been devising strategies to get out of it.
But Phil had said to be nice, and making other people do your chores wasn’t nice. And, looking at Ranboo… he didn’t seem happy. He didn’t seem glad to be cleaning. He just… it was like he had to do it, like it was a chore, except it was Tommy’s chore and not Ranboo’s and the fact that Ranboo was treating it like it was his didn’t sit right.
So Tommy grumbled and groaned, but ultimately he stomped over and grabbed the rag and squirt bottle from Ranboo’s hands. “Give that to me, bitch,” he groused. He turned away and squirted the stuff in the bottle onto the mirror.
Ranboo stared at him for a couple moments, eyes wide. Then he shook his head and scurried away, head ducked and shoulders hunched.
Tommy really didn’t like him.
Phil was really nice to Ranboo.
That wasn’t to say he wasn’t nice to his children, because he was. He was a great dad—the greatest in the world, Tommy thought.
But with Ranboo, he was excessively nice. He bought Ranboo whatever the boy wanted (which wasn’t a lot, but still), he made Ranboo whatever food he wanted, he never got mad at the kid. Tommy didn’t think he’d ever seen Ranboo get in real trouble before. It was like Ranboo was the perfect child, the way Phil treated him. Like he could do no wrong.
Tommy could do a lot of wrong. His brothers could, too.
What made Ranboo so special?
One day, months after Ranboo started living with them, Tommy went to his father’s office, where Phil was working on some project or other. “Dad?” He called, softly, hanging onto the doorframe like it was a lifesaver.
Phil looked over and smiled. “Hey, Toms! What’s up?”
Tommy shuffled over, and Phil instantly made room for him, curling an arm around him and drawing him in. Tommy dropped his head on Phil’s shoulder. “How come you’re so nice to Ranboo?” he mumbled.
Phil sighed, but it wasn’t a mad sigh or a tired sigh. It was more… sad. “Ranboo’s not like you and your brothers, Tommy. He needs a different kind of attention. Parenting is very hard, you know,” he said with a small laugh.
Tommy pouted. “But he never gets in trouble or anything! You don’t make him clean the bathrooms,” he muttered petulantly.
Phil chuckled. “Well, first of all, that’s because he doesn’t do anything that warrants cleaning the bathrooms. But secondly, like I said, his circumstances are different. I can’t treat him the same way I treat you.”
“You love him more than me,” Tommy said, but instead of angry like he wanted it to be, it was more afraid. He didn’t want it to be true, but he thought maybe it was. Maybe Ranboo was just a better kid than him, and Phil wanted him and not Tommy.
Phil’s breath hitched, and he pulled away so he could look Tommy in the eyes. “No, Toms. I love all four of you the same amount, okay? That will never not be true. Nothing you could ever do would make me love you less. Do you understand?”
Tommy nodded, something in his chest soothing under the reassurance. “But you have to be nicer to Ranboo.”
Phil tilted his head back and forth. “Not necessarily. I have to be gentler with him, Toms. He’s had a hard life, and sometimes he thinks things that aren’t true, so we have to show him that he’s safe now. Does that make sense?”
Slowly, Tommy nodded, but he didn’t really understand. He didn’t know what kind of thoughts Ranboo had, that made Phil so nice to him, and he didn’t know why Ranboo never got in trouble, and he didn’t know why Ranboo would think he wasn’t safe.
Maybe someday he’d get it, but for now, he was confused.
It seemed Ranboo was good at taking things, even if he didn’t ask for them—specifically things that Tommy thought were his alone.
Like his brothers’ attention.
Techno and Wilbur both had a giant soft spot for Ranboo—one that was just as big, if not bigger than, their one for Tommy. Wilbur played guitar for Ranboo, something Tommy had thought was private, only for them. He snuck Ranboo sweets and told him jokes and didn’t laugh at his well-loved cow plushie, which always stayed in Ranboo’s room, on his bed.
Techno was quieter in his affection, but everyone could see it was there. He sat at the dinner table with Ranboo long after everyone else had left because Ranboo was a slow eater—hesitating with every bite, looking up at Phil like he expected to have his food taken away. Techno would sit with him, though, silent, scrolling through his phone, and when Ranboo finished, he’d take the kid’s plate without comment and go put it in the dishwasher. He’d let Ranboo listen to his music, putting his headphones over the kid’s ears without saying a thing. When they went to the zoo for the first time, he took Ranboo to the polar bears and pointed out his favorite one, named Steve.
None of this was to say Wilbur and Techno didn’t love Tommy and didn’t shower him with affection, but seeing someone who wasn’t even related to them, who was a temporary fixture in their lives, receive the same love really grated on Tommy.
One night, he couldn’t sleep. His clock glowed green next to his bed, displaying 12:01 AM in blocky letters. He tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable, tried to turn off his brain enough so that he could go to sleep, but nothing worked.
There was a creak out in the hallway, and shuffling, quiet footsteps, coming from Ranboo’s room. Tommy frowned.
Overcome with curiosity, he crept out of bed, pulling open his door and stepping into the hallway just as Ranboo disappeared down the stairs. Tommy followed him, stepping carefully on the steps so he could avoid the creaky bits. He watched as Ranboo padded into the living room, cow plushie held tight in his arms, and made his way over to the couch, where Techno was sitting, reading a large, thick tome. He looked up when Ranboo sat next to him.
“Hey kid,” Techno said, voice soft with midnight. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Ranboo shook his head and curled into Techno’s side. Techno’s arm lifted and rested over his shoulder. “What’re you reading?” The boy asked.
“Greek mythology collection. I’m on Hades and Persephone. You know it?”
Ranboo shook his head, blinking up at Techno with big blue eyes. Techno smiled and turned back to his book, beginning to read softly.
“And he took her to his domain, full of the dead and their despair…”
Tommy turned away, creeping back up the stairs. He curled into his own bed, feeling rather cold, even though he was under a heap of blankets.
The next morning, when he came downstairs, having slept for about three hours, he found Techno and Ranboo asleep on the couch, Ranboo curled into Techno’s side, his head on Techno’s chest. The book lay closed on the coffee table.
Tommy turned away. He didn’t want to see how everyone so clearly loved Ranboo, even though he was an outsider. Temporary.
Right?
Ranboo and Tommy were in the same grade at school, a fact that Wilbur found immensely hilarious for whatever reason. “Look Dad,” he said to Phil when Ranboo and Tommy came downstairs for breakfast on Ranboo’s first day, backpacks slung over their shoulders, “you’ve had another pair of twins.”
Tommy promptly shouted at his brother to shut the fuck up, while Ranboo stared at the floor with his ears steadily growing redder.
Really, going to school with Ranboo wasn’t that bad. Ranboo was given his own schedule—blessedly different from Tommy’s—and a kid to follow around his first week, named Tubbo. Tommy ended up sitting with them at lunch, and discovered he actually liked Tubbo. The kid was loud, chaotic, and really fucking smart. He had star charts up in his room and carried around a big book full of diagrams of spaceships and bombs and war machines, and the first time Tommy heard Ranboo laugh was after Tubbo made a joke. Tubbo became the link holding them together—he gave Ranboo a place to be, away from all the cliques and bullies, and he became Tommy’s first real friend.
But school brought to light all of the apparent issues Ranboo had—things Tommy still didn’t understand, and wouldn’t understand for years.
First was the homework. One night, Tommy was complaining loudly at dinner about his math homework.
“It’s so dumb, Dad,” he said, picking through his broccoli, “I mean, why do I even need to know my multiplication tables? When am I ever gonna need to know what eleven times eleven is, huh? Who the fuck uses that ever?”
“A lot of people,” Phil said calmly, “a lot of the time. Multiplication is a good skill to have, even if you can’t see it now.”
“But I don’t wanna do it,” Tommy whined, knowing he was being difficult. That was half of the fun, anyway.
And then, Ranboo said softly, nervously, “I can do it.”
“Do what?” Tommy snapped. Ranboo flinched, like he always did. Tommy had just gotten used to it.
“Y-your multiplication tables,” Ranboo whispered. “I-I know mine already, I can—I can just do it—”
“No,” Phil interrupted, looking at Ranboo with gentle eyes. “Tommy can do his own homework. Right, Toms?”
Tommy was silent for a moment, but he quickly nodded when Phil looked at him. “Uh—yep! Yeah, I can do them. Really quickly, because I’m a big man, and big men are quick at math.”
Ranboo shrank back in his chair. “O-okay.”
He never offered again.
Another thing was the food—specifically, Ranboo’s refusal to eat it.
Not the school lunch, which would be understandable, but the food that Phil packed them. Ranboo would sit, his lunchbox—a simple, black bag, because Ranboo hadn’t chosen one on their trip to the store to get him things— on the table in front of him, unopened. He’d stare at it, almost longingly, biting his lip, but he wouldn’t touch it.
“Do you not like Dad’s food?” Tommy demanded one day. He was already gearing up to be angry—no one disrespected his dad’s cooking, which was the best cooking on the planet.
But Ranboo’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “N-no, no, I do! I do, it’s just…”
“Just what?” Tubbo asked.
Ranboo swallowed. “Um— I can’t eat,” he said quietly.
“Why not?” Tubbo said, his voice soft. Tommy shifted, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“B-because…” Ranboo bit his lip, eyes darting across the table nervously. “I…” his voice quieted, until Tommy had to lean forward to hear it. “I can’t eat until he does.”
“Who?” Tommy asked, though he was remembering every dinner they had, when Ranboo would glance at Phil before every bite he took.
Ranboo hunched his shoulders, looking ashamed. “...Phil,” he whispered. “‘M not allowed to eat til he does.”
Tubbo frowned. “Did he say that? That’s kind of fucked up, if you ask me.”
Tommy shook his head. “No, my dad doesn’t care.” He glanced at Ranboo. “He doesn’t care about that shit. Y’know sometimes he forgets to eat dinner, ‘cause he’s so busy.”
Ranboo didn’t look convinced. Tubbo put a hand on his arm. “You can eat. He won’t know.”
Ranboo frowned. “What?”
“He won’t know unless you tell him, right?” Tubbo said. At Ranboo’s hesitant nod, he grined. “Yeah, so just eat! No one will tell.”
Ranboo swallowed. He opened his lunchbag and pulled out the sandwich Phil had packed this morning. He took a bite, then froze, as if he expected Phil to come bursting in and take his food away. When nothing happened, he visibly relaxed and began to eat—slowly, but he still did it.
Tommy shook his head. This kid was fucking weird.
Besides Ranboo’s weird habits, school wasn’t that bad.
At least, until the bullying started.
Tommy had always had to deal with mean kids in his class and very few (if any) friends, but it didn’t start to pick up until he and Ranboo hit middle school.
Yeah.
He was surprised too. He didn’t expect Ranboo to stick around that long, but it felt like he blinked, and then—boom. Ranboo had been living with them for three years. Tommy wasn’t sure how that had happened, but no one else seemed bothered by it.
In middle school, Tommy began to understand a lot of things better—specifically things about Ranboo’s situation. Sometime in seventh grade, he figured out what a foster kid was, and what it meant that Ranboo had come to them—that Phil had taken him. A little while after that, he recalled all of Ranboo’s old habits—mostly grown out of by then, with a few relapses—in a new light. Tommy still didn’t fully understand, and he probably never would, but he understood mostly now. He still insisted on disliking Ranboo, though. At that point, it was just principle. He couldn’t suddenly start liking Ranboo! For all Tommy knew, the guy was a wrong’un! It was best to keep his distance.
That was, until the bullying.
They were both bullied, for different reasons. Ranboo, for being a foster kid, for still sleeping with a stuffed animal—somehow that had circulated, Tommy wasn’t sure how—for crying over hurting animals, and for reading old, thick books with yellowing pages and tiny font. For Tommy, it was for being nerdy, for being skinny and weak, for having no friends but Tubbo (and Ranboo, although he refused to think about that), for liking numbers and puzzles.
For Tommy, it was worse. Sure, Ranboo had it bad—he couldn’t sleep some nights, and Phil or Techno would come comfort him, and his insecurities only deepened as the years went on, but with Tommy, the bullies got physical.
Every day, he came home with new bruises, sometimes even a black eye. He refused to talk to Phil about it, and started spending as much time as he could in his room, playing Minecraft or laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He spoke very little, and even stopped insulting Wilbur as much—which clued them all into the fact that something was wrong.
But it wasn’t until a day in eighth grade when Tommy came home with a cut on his cheek that Phil slammed his hands into the table and stood, eyes full of fury.
“I’ve had enough,” he said angrily. “If that school can’t get their shit together and deal with a couple of bullies, I swear to God…”
And he stomped away, muttering to himself. Wilbur came into the room with the first-aid kit and sat Tommy down, pulling out some antibacterial cream and a band-aid.
“Dad’s just upset,” he said softly. “Not at you, never at you. But those kids… he might fight them.”
Tommy curled in on himself. “Sorry…”
Wilbur cupped his cheek, smiling softly. “Not your fault, Toms. It’s hard to talk about that stuff, huh?”
Tommy swallowed and nodded. “Yeah… how’d you know?”
Wilbur chuckled. “I’m a band kid and a theater kid, Tommy. I’m not exactly popular.”
Tommy snorted. “Oh.”
But even after that, even after Phil’s protective anger permeated the dinner table, he didn’t feel better. He couldn’t sleep that night. He just lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering the bully’s fists on his skin. He didn’t remember how he’d been cut, he just remembered that it hurt.
He sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. So he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, creeping down the hall, whose floorboards didn’t creak anymore now that Ranboo had learned where to step.
The window in Techno’s room led out onto the awning over the front porch. Tommy crept into his brother’s room, knowing Techno was downstairs, studying for his finals in the dim light of the dining room, unlatched the window, and climbed out.
The sky was clear that night, the stars winking down at him and the moon shining full and bright overhead. There was a light breeze on the back of his neck, tousling his hair. It was a little chilly, but Tommy didn’t mind. It felt nice—not like the uncomfortable warmth of bodies in close proximity to him, not like the warmth of fresh bruises and fists hitting his arms and face.
There was a shuffle behind him, and Tommy turned to see Ranboo climbing out of the window. The other boy padded closer and sat next to him, hugging his cow plushie in his arms and curling his knees close to his chest.
Tommy sighed. “What do you want, bitch?”
Ranboo shook his head, looking up at the sky. “You seemed sad.”
His voice had gotten deeper, but it still contained that strangely innocent quality he’d always had. Tommy wasn’t sure if he hated it or not.
“‘M not sad,” Tommy retorted weakly.
“Phil says it’s okay to be sad,” Ranboo said. “And angry.” He picked at the cow’s worn ear. Then he turned and held the plushie out to Tommy. “Here.”
Tommy frowned. “Uh… that’s a cow?”
Ranboo nodded, smiling slightly. “It helps me when I’m sad. I just hug it, and all my problems go hide for a bit. I-I know it’s silly, but…”
Tommy eyed him warily, looking for any sign that Ranboo was joking, that he would take the plushie away and laugh at him, that he’d turn out just like the others—but no. Ranboo’s face was open, genuine—a little nervous, as if he thought Tommy would laugh at him, and he was still holding the plushie.
Slowly, Tommy took the cow. It was soft, worn, clearly loved. Ranboo let go easily. “His name’s Henry,” he said softly.
That struck Tommy as oddly… adorable. He found himself smiling down at Henry, holding the plushie carefully in his hands, like he was precious.
Already, Henry was making him feel better.
“You can keep him if you want,” Ranboo said. He looked back up at the stars. “I don’t think I need him anymore.”
After that, Ranboo and Tommy’s relationship got a lot better. Tommy stopped being so hostile towards Ranboo, and Ranboo stopped being so nervous around him—mostly. He still looked uncertain when Tommy threw insults at him, still flinched when he got surprised by Tommy’s loud volume, but for the most part he was fine, even dishing it back sometimes.
They went to high school together, because of course Ranboo managed to stick onto their family for that long. The bullying lessened over the years, as they met more people and made more friends—beyond Tubbo, there was Aimsey, and then Freddie and Eryn and Bill, and Techno and Wilbur’s new college friends that visited sometimes. They both joined the theater club—Tommy on the stage, and Ranboo behind it. Henry the Cow sat on Tommy’s bed, ready if one of them needed his services. For a while, it was good.
Then, without warning, sometime in the middle of their junior year of high school, Ranboo began to withdraw.
Tommy didn’t realize how much he’d relied on Ranboo’s presence until it wasn’t there anymore. Instead, Ranboo was in his room, or had his headphones over his ears, or was on the roof, ignoring anyone and anything around him. He didn’t talk at school, and he wouldn’t hang out with Tommy.
It was really lonely.
Then, one day, Ranboo and Phil disappeared. They left after breakfast, and didn’t come back until well after dinner. Tommy was left alone at the house, moping around all day, wondering where Phil and his—and Ranboo were. What they were doing, and why.
That night, Tommy was lying awake in his bed, and he heard something in the hall. He frowned, getting out of bed and cracking open his door to listen, and—
Oh.
There was a faint sniffling, coming from Ranboo’s room. Quiet sobs, quickly muffled.
Tommy shuffled his feet, wondering if he should go invade Ranboo’s privacy, comfort him. Offer him Henry.
But it was late, and if Ranboo wanted someone, he’d come to them. Tommy went back to bed, closed his eyes, and went to fitful sleep.
The next day, Tommy dragged Ranboo to the park. It wasn’t a choice—he hadn’t spent enough time with Ranboo lately, and he didn’t want Ranboo to disappear any more than he already had.
Ranboo was quiet, hesitant, intent on making himself small like he used to. Tommy didn’t like it.
“What’s going on with you?” He demanded.
Ranboo flinched, then hunched in on himself. He closed his eyes, hugging his arms to his chest. “Do…” he stopped. Swallowed. “Do you hate me?”
“What?” Tommy stared at him. “No! Why would you think that?”
Ranboo shook his head. “Not—nothing you did, I just… I’ve had a hard few weeks.”
“Oh.” Tommy pulled his knees to his chest. It was pretty obvious that Ranboo hadn’t been doing well, but he hadn’t been this open about it before—and Tommy was curious. “Why?”
Ranboo glanced up at him. “I…”
Tommy searched his face, saw the discomfort and anxiety there. “You… you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” he said slowly.
But Ranboo shook his head. “No, it’s—I probably should. You—you really don’t know anything, do you?”
It wasn’t derisive, like Tommy expected it to be—it was just fact. Tommy knew nothing about Ranboo. Which was not something he was realizing he liked.
He swallowed. “I… don’t.”
Ranboo nodded. “I’ll tell you, just… don’t…just listen, please? It’s hard—it’s hard to get through, so I just—need to do it all at once, you know?”
Tommy watched him. “Yeah, okay.”
Ranboo sighed. “You… you know I’m a foster kid.”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah, I’m not an idiot, fuckface.” Ranboo’s eyes dimmed, and he quickly backtracked. “S-sorry, um—habit.”
“It’s fine.” Ranboo took a breath. “I—I’m a foster kid because… well, my parents weren’t exactly… the greatest. Parents. People. Anything, really. They’d—they hurt me. A lot. My dad—my dad would… teach me things. You remember all that stuff I used to do? Like… not eating before Phil, and getting up at seven in the morning, and trying to do your chores and homework and stuff?” Tommy nodded. “My dad made me do all of that. And other things, like making him drinks and stuff. I knew how to make a gin and tonic when I was six, and a Bloody Mary by the time I was eight. That didn’t really come up ‘cause Phil doesn’t drink, but you know. It happened.
“My mom was bad too. She neglected me a lot—didn’t let me have food or water sometimes. Sometimes she’d lock me out of the house when I was bad and I’d have to sleep in the garage.” Ranboo sniffed wetly, looking down. “T-they both liked—liked to remind me that I was a mistake. That I’m not—I shouldn’t get to have l-love, o-or affection, because I’m a leech, just—” he let out a soft sob, and Tommy realized he was crying. “Just t-taking everything t-they worked for, e-everything—everything Phil works for, a-and I’m selfish, and I’m not worth any of it—and I wasn’t supposed to be born, Tommy, I’m not supposed to exist—”
He sobbed again, louder, tucking his face in his hands. Tommy just sat, listening to him cry, at a loss for what to do.
What were you supposed to do when you found out the kid you’d been living with for eight years had been abused for the first half of his life? What were you supposed to do when you realized all of that had been going on and you hadn’t even known?
When Ranboo calmed down, he wiped his nose roughly with the back of his hand. His eyes were red, his skin was flushed, and when he spoke, his voice shook with the remnants of tears. “Phil convinced me to press charges,” he said quietly. “That’s why we were gone yesterday. He couldn’t ask before I was… thirteen, I didn’t know that what my parents had been doing was wrong before that. I thought it was just normal, I thought that’s what all parents did. I—it was so confusing, coming into your family and seeing what the norm should be. It was so strange.” He sniffed.
Tommy waited, and when it seemed like Ranboo was done, he asked quietly, “are they gone?”
Ranboo nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know what the charge is, I don’t care. I just—I just want them gone. I don’t want to think about them anymore.”
Tommy nodded silently. Then he said, “did everyone else know?”
Ranboo nodded. “I didn’t want you to. Phil did—obviously. But I asked him not to tell you three. Wilbur found out somehow, I don’t remember how. Techno I’m pretty sure figured it out in the first week. He never said anything though. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Tommy shrugged. “‘S a hard thing to talk about, it’s fine.”
Ranboo smiled at him slightly, then sighed. “I asked—I asked if you hated me because—being in that courtroom, with my parents right there— they pleaded innocent, Tommy. Innocent. Like they really thought that they were doing the right thing. And my dad was looking at me, and I just—I just felt like nothing, I couldn’t—” he shuddered with a suppressed sob.
Slowly, Tommy reached over and took his hand. Ranboo gripped on like it was a lifeline.
“For what it’s worth,” Tommy whispered, “Your parents were wrong. You deserve to be alive, and have good things, and all that shit. I…I don’t hate you. I—” he swallowed, shifted his position on the ground. “You’re my brother.”
Ranboo’s head snapped up, wide, teary eyes staring at him. “What?”
Tommy looked down at the ground, staring hard as if he found the dirt immensely interesting. “You’re my brother. Might as well be, you’ve been around long enough.” He closed his eyes, and said through nervous, gritted teeth, “I think I might love you.”
There was silence. Dread curled in Tommy’s gut.
Then a sniffle. He looked up to see Ranboo’s lower lip wobbling, his eyes welling up yet again. “O-oh.”
And then he burst into tears.
This time, Tommy didn’t hesitate. He scooted closer and wrapped Ranboo—his brother, his brother— in his arms, holding tight like a promise.
And Ranboo held back just the same, grasping the back of his shirt and staining the front with his tears, like a thank you.
It wasn’t too long after that that Wilbur and Techno came back unexpectedly from college for a weekend, with twin grins on their faces and big hugs for Ranboo and Tommy (little ones for Phil, his old, failing body couldn’t take bear hugs anymore, according to Wilbur and his shit-eating grin).
It wasn’t too long after that that Wilbur held a small concert in their living room, and Techno curled up with Tommy and Ranboo at one in the morning and read them the story of Perseus—a story of homecoming, he said. A story with a happy ending.
It wasn’t too long after that that Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy sat in the armchair, like they had that first day with Ranboo, and Phil sat on the couch with Ranboo—much taller and lankier now—a bundle of papers held in his hand.
And Ranboo stared at them all, confused and vaguely concerned, and then he looked like he understood—really understood, but it didn’t hit him until Phil said the words.
“Would you let me adopt you?”
Ranboo froze for a few seconds. Tommy, impatient, whispered loudly, “Say yes, and we can go get ice cream.”
Ranboo laughed—and then he sobbed, and he tipped forward into Phil’s chest, and Phil’s arms opened for him because of course they did, it was Phil and Phil loved them—all four of them.
Ranboo cried, and his sobs were interspersed between frantic nods and “yes” and “please” and Phil set aside the papers so they wouldn’t wrinkle or get wet, and Tommy smiled.
He felt elated, relieved, like he’d been waiting for this forever—waiting for his other brother to get here.
Because that was his brother—he hadn’t been lying that day in the park. Ranboo was his brother, just like Techno and Wilbur, and he had been for a long time.
Tommy was glad that he finally noticed it.