Chapter Text
Quite frankly, Ranboo never wanted to return to this house. The rain drenching them through sums that up pretty well. If anything, the only thing he has to be thankful about is that they’re not staying overnight this time around.
In a last ditch effort to keep their equipment safe, Tubbo and Tommy have a joint jumper and jacket thrown over their heads as they move as one toward the house. They’d all forgotten to check the weather for today, go figure. If it wouldn’t give his identity away, Ranboo would be fighting off the rain with his demonic power, but unfortunately it’s not worth it. Tempting, though, he’ll give it that.
Two lefts, a street junction, and a right later, and they’ve just about reached the house, slap bang in the middle of a suburban street. Ranboo, the one trusted with the key, rushes in first to open the door and let them out of the pouring rain. It’s very typical that it’s just as his friends get into the house and remove their drenched upper layers that the angry rain turns to something more of a drizzle. British weather.
Unfortunately, Tubbo’s jumper is completely unsaveable. As he stands there, shivering, while Tommy rifles through their equipment to make sure it’s all okay, Ranboo hands over his own jacket. He can warm up his own vessel anyway, it’s no big deal. Tubbo tries to fight him on it but three more shivers in and he’s bundled in the thing, feeding off the warmth like an overgrown koala bear.
“We’re good, lads,” Tommy declares once he’s checked through the last bag. “I reckon we should take the introduction with Uncle Nasty.”
It’s already going to be a long night. Ranboo can feel it.
“No demonic dolls in intros,” Ranboo reprimands. “You don’t know where it’s been, Tommy.”
Regrettably, he knows exactly which cocky bastard of a demon syphons off this house. Not only that, the demon has fed recently, he can smell it on the furniture alone. It reeks of satisfied demon and death hangs heavy in the air. If he were to research missing persons in the area from about a week prior, he’s sure he’d be able to find at least two.
Tommy sighs, exasperated, and makes a show of his disappointment. Those puppy eyes won’t work on Ranboo, though. He’s not interacting with that pathetic doll for longer than he absolutely has to. Apparently Tommy’s not finished yet because his eye glints. “Do you think he’s in the kitchen? We found him in the basement last time but then he kept—don’t tell me he didn’t—he kept moving without us touching him.”
“Well... he is supposed to be possessed by a demon,” Tubbo mutters, “moving around is probably the least of our problems.” Ranboo’s not too surprised that Tubbo is quiet this time around. The demonic locations are usually like that for him—it freaks him out and he’s so alert he forgets to speak. It’s obviously less fun for Ranboo. He prefers the human like— like he was that time in the Craft’s villa, chaotic and occasionally unnerved. Besides, there’s no way in hell he’d let another demon harm his humans. He likes them too much for that.
“Still a no,” Ranboo says, putting his foot down. “No dolls.”
“Fine,” Tommy settles with. “Ranboo, do you fancy camcording this time around? You remember how the recording was the last time we were here—this house is too damn tall, it’s like they decided to stretch it upwards when they finished with it.”
“That’s fine by me,” he replies. His height can be of an advantage to them sometimes, although he’ll have to make sure not to accidentally drain the battery while he’s holding it. Paranormal energy and electronics do not mix, he’s found out through lots of trial, error, and drained batteries. Using a human phone is very difficult when the battery threatens to run dry every five minutes.
Interestingly enough, Tubbo seems to remember something and perks up as Ranboo prepares a camcorder. “So, as you probably know, I wasn’t too confident coming here again. And I thought—well—what better to do than go back to the priest from a while ago and beg for some holy water. He wasn’t too happy about it, but I got it in the end!” He draws out a couple plastic bottles from one of the bags that look deceivingly filled with regular water and shakes them as if to make a point. “Not that we’ll have to use them, of course, but... just to be on the safe side.”
Ranboo forces down a harsh snarl at the sight but he can’t quite fight the urge to get away. He takes a couple steps back and masks it as looking around the hallway, not that his friends could see the direction of his eyes anyway. It’s easy enough to fake interest. Tommy seems more impressed than not. “Damn, Tubbo, if you’d told me sooner I could’ve brought some of my mini water guns. That would’ve been hilarious. We could’ve had a holy water fight.”
Ranboo feigns a chuckle, trying to ignore the loud alarm going off in his head. “That’s too bad.”
“Alright, ready?” Tommy asks. With a sharp nod from Ranboo, Tommy presses record on his own camcorder and relies on Ranboo for the extra visual footage. “Hello and welcome back to All Things Supernatural! Your favourite show where we—Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo, your amazing hosts—throw ourselves into haunted locations for your entertainment. We’re deep into season five now, halfway through, in fact! And as a special treat, we’re returning back to the Ilchester house to ask the question—are demons real?”
Tommy points his camcorder down the corridor that leads to the basement. “If you’re an avid fan, you’ll remember that the last time we came here, we met the lovely Uncle Nasty, resident demon doll of this house, and he had a few choice words to say to us.”
Damn right. He tried to shove Tommy down a set of stairs and thought he could get away with it. Ranboo left him with a good ol’ tear through his soul as a souvenir but he must’ve risen in rank since the last time Ranboo had the displeasure of meeting him because his aura feels far more powerful than before.
If he could have his own way, they’d never step foot here again. But for some reason, Ranboo lets a lot slide for this pair of humans. Tommy’s interactions with the Uncle Nasty doll is their most popular video and there are plenty of fans scrambling for another; it wasn’t even his own decision this time—the Demon-Tier Patreon had the vote.
Throughout the video, Tommy had insisted the doll was talking to him, and he was probably correct. Ranboo refuses to let it happen a second time. Once is fine but twice is possession, and Uncle Nasty has long been looking for a new vessel.
“Demons, you’re not trying hard enough!” Ranboo calls into the house with his trained, cocky attitude. From outside, the rain has started again, this time with flashes of light and the gentle rumbling of thunder. Ranboo was made for thunderstorms, thrives in the sharp resound of them.
The least he can do in this perfect audio backdrop is mock the resident demon, and hell knows Ranboo’s had lots of practice.
“C’mon, Ranboo. Ghosts are one thing, but demons? You’re provoking a demon?” Tubbo utters, completely placid in contrast. To Ranboo’s absolute reluctance, Tommy had firm-handed them into splitting up early—Tubbo with Ranboo, and him by himself—for something of a solo investigation. He’s not stupid; he’s had his spiritual eye on Tommy since the moment he left that room. They all know Tommy’s itching to go to the basement.
It must be Ranboo’s lucky day because he feels the reek covering the house like a throne pull itself together and tug into one place. Uncle Nasty heard him, then. Good.
“Yeah, what of it, Tubbo? They’re practically the same thing,” he teases just to see Tubbo taken aback. He delivers very well, and Ranboo becomes nicely energised. Time to go again. “Demons, I’m beginning to think you’re not real! Call it a hunch.”
Tubbo lightly punches his shoulder. “Ranboo. We’re here to be paranormal investigators, not instigators.” For all that he was terrified before, the human can’t help but laugh at Ranboo’s sheer audacity. They have the static camera set up in the corner of the room, although it’s not quite tall enough to pick up on the intricacies of the bedroom design. Tommy was right, the house is ridiculously tall. How someone was meant to reach the shelf far above their heads, he hasn’t a clue.
Tubbo isn’t aware that the demon who possessed the Uncle Nasty doll is ten feet away from him and very unimpressed, leaning against the doorway in his coalesced, murky, almost human-like form as he preens his teeth.
“Gosh darn it, I must’ve missed that memo. I want them to be upset with me,” he says, staring Uncle Nasty down. “We’ve been here for half an hour already and they haven’t done anything—I thought demons were supposed to be special or something. Now look where your ideology’s gotten you.”
Tubbo sighs. “Well, if you want to get mauled tonight, be my guest, Boo.”
“If you insist— demons! I’m willing to lose a limb or two for the cause. Tear me up a bit, I dare you!”
Uncle Nasty scrunches his nose in self-control. “Don’t think I won’t,” he rumbles, “I can’t tell which of you is more pathetic. You, or that foolish little human of yours.” His voice is somewhat scratchy but he can talk this time around, beside that trippy direct-to-mind speak he had going for him before. All in all, Ranboo still isn’t impressed. He’ll never be the high ranking demon that Ranboo is. He already reaches for his power to maim, but Ranboo has more self-restraint than that.
Tubbo, who cannot hear the supernatural unless they are tethered to the mortal realm more firmly with a vessel, is completely unaware. He puts down an EMF detector and startles as it jumps straight to five. “Ranboo,” he says, “...I think there’s something in here with us.” Within a matter of seconds, the device’s battery is drained and its hum falls silent.
Uncle Nasty grins and tiptoes over to the human mockingly and taps his shoulder. Ranboo slaps him with the full force of his demonic energy and he stills, but the damage has been done already. Tubbo collapses under the demon’s quick command. He does the demon equivalent of touching his own cheek as though it’s been bruised. “Well that was rude. I’m just trying to have some fun.”
“Don’t touch them,” Ranboo threatens, “or it’ll be worse next time.” He doesn’t have time to shut off the static camera or camcorder but that’s the last thing he’s concerned about right now.
Ranboo steps over Tubbo’s sleeping body protectively and growls at the other demon.
“Oh, settle down, mutt. You’ve overstepped and everyone down below knows it. What, didn’t think we’d find out about that little girl? Careful, one might start to think you've turned traitor. Oh, wait, you have.” The demon curls its lip in satisfaction, baring its spiritual teeth. “Don’t tell me you’re still messing around with those pathetic humans of yours,” he says as Ranboo refuses to move from his spot.
“And what if I am?”
“You’re an eyesore. Get out or I might just kill them myself. Actually, on second thought, can you defend two at once?” His eyes gleam, and in an instant, he’s gone.
Across the house, Tommy is inside the kitchen making a racket with the spirit box. Within seconds, he’s not alone anymore.
Ranboo doesn’t have a choice. He tears himself from his human vessel, ripping it apart in his haste to shed his mortal limitations. He checks Tubbo over once before he blips over to the kitchen, power rushing through his body like an aged volcano ready to erupt. He evaluates the scene quickly, Uncle Nasty standing over a block filled with kitchen knives and Tommy—
Tommy, ever the loveable dumbass that he is, has turned off the spirit box and holds a bottle of salt drawn from his bag. A ring of salt is drawn around himself. “Hey, demons! I heard you can’t cross salt. Is that true?” Ranboo’s never been more thankful for Tommy’s impulsivity. But he doesn’t like the look of the knife lifting from the knife block. Uncle Nasty may not be able to kill directly, but objects can still pass through the salt.
Ranboo goes for the throat immediately, latching onto the other demon with every fibre of his will and ripping the knife out of his control, leonine in his hunt. The demon yips like a mutt in pain but Ranboo doesn’t stop, doesn't let himself stop. With deadly accuracy, he plucks out the demon’s core and tears strips off his soul, inch by inch shredding him down, forcing him into a state of meek whimpering. The lower ranked demon didn’t stand a chance. Ranboo doesn’t give him time to beg for mercy. He goes for the kill, and sends the wretched demon back to hell where he belongs.
Uncle Nasty picked the wrong fight, and for that, he paid the hefty price.
His victory is fleeting. The main body of the demon may be long gone, but he’d spent far too long in that vessel of a doll. It’s faint, but Ranboo can feel the quiet remnants pooling around it, too weak to do anything more than lay where the doll was last abandoned.
Ranboo attempts to check on Tommy, still inside the salt circle, for damage, but his intentions are thwarted as his being bursts into excruciating pain, the salt barrier searing him like molten lava dripping onto bare skin. He recollects himself, waits out the pain, and returns to stitch himself back into his human vessel. It’s not a quick or easy job, far from it with how mangled he left it in his hurry, yet Ranboo is nothing if not powerful. He manages it, apart from a permanent scar travelling across his lower mouth that his face mask just manages to cover.
Once his body is secure, he brushes Tubbo’s forehead lightly and commands him, Wake up. His human’s eyes flutter, heavy with sleep, and Ranboo cradles his head into his lap until Tubbo is ready to get up.
“Okay,” Tommy says, “what’s the deal with you?”
Tubbo groans, clutching his head. “I don’t know, man. One second the EMF was peaking ridiculously high, and the next, Ranboo’s standing over me, worried.”
Ranboo agrees. “Yeah, it must’ve been from shock or something. You passed out very quickly and were pretty out of it for a while once you woke up.”
Tommy looks more than concerned. “You didn’t call for me? I could’ve come to help. We have walkie talkies.”
In haste, Ranboo pulls together an excuse. “Sorry, Tommy. All our devices were being drained of battery one by one. They went from decent charge to dead within seconds. You were too far across the house and I didn’t want to leave him.”
His lips purse, frustrated at himself, but Tommy nods.
“Are you alright now, Tubs?” he asks.
“Yeah, boss man. My head’s a little funky but I’m good now. I promise.”
Tommy settles for that; he refuses to leave Tubbo’s side for the rest of the evening. The thunder outside has long stopped but he acts as though it rings out through every footstep he takes, cautious and aware.
When they finally reach the basement for a joint investigation, Ranboo’s mind preens knowing that the Uncle Nasty doll is utterly incapacitated, the demon whimpering quietly as Ranboo draws close. He stretches out his taunting for as long as he can, Tubbo and Tommy almost in tears by the end of it. The doll doesn’t get a chance to talk to Tommy again.
And as they reach the end of their investigation, Ranboo feigns having forgotten something in the deeper house. By morning, the Uncle Nasty doll is nowhere to be found. Crushed into the smallest of pieces and scattered across a field.
Corrupting the footage is the last thing that Ranboo wants to do, but it may be a necessary evil. He heavily considers it right there and then, not only because his camcorder and static camera would’ve picked up one side of a conversation it shouldn’t, but because it would show the gap where the camcorder dropped and Ranboo’s body collapsed to a mangled mess on the ground, lifeless. That it remained that way for a good amount of time, and then heaved itself upward as joints clicked back into place and bones rearranged themselves around skin.
In that case, it’s not much of a decision at all. With the equipment within his grasp as they call it a night, he eases his demonic energy into the devices and tampers with the memory, ruining them.
After that whole debacle, Ranboo needs a drink. And to sleep for twelve hours straight, but that can wait. “Hey, Tubbo. Could you pass me some water? I’m damn thirsty.”
Tubbo reaches for a bottle in their bag and takes a large sip himself before handing it over to Ranboo. He resumes checking over their devices while Tommy performs a last number count on them so they don’t leave anything behind. They’ve done that too many times before. Tubbo finds that, indeed, the devices in the room with them were strangely drained.
“Hey, that’s a sign of the supernatural, you know,” Tubbo states. “That’s pretty solid evidence.”
Ranboo takes a heavy sip of water. “Well in my opinio—”
Pain—agonising, savage pain—racks through his throat and wires down his body like a molten knife to his spine. It’s like the salt, but this time it’s his human body screeching so hard it might as well be on fire.
Holy water, he drank holy water.
“Hey, Ranboo? You okay?”
He doesn’t process who spoke, too lost in his own mind as his fangs bare themselves and his eyes blow wide, demonic horns erupting from his scalp as his vessel threatens to erupt itself open again. His nails burst into something too sharp to be human and he scrapes them across his neck, desperate to reach the trail of holy water and remove it. His sunglasses fall off, revealing his eyes, and his face mask has long been torn apart in an failed effort to stick his hands down his throat.
Someone is crying in horror, another is violently shaking.
A burst of holy water hits his back as he falls to the floor, convulsing. “Out of him, demon! Piss off back to hell.”
“Stop,” Ranboo utters, gritting his teeth, his voice something unholy and unrecognisable. Another bout of holy water hits his body. “Please. It’s me, Tommy.”
Tommy hesitates.
With as much strength as he can muster, Ranboo knocks the holy water out of Tommy’s hand and it drains onto the carpet, wasted. That was the second bottle. There is none left for his humans to protect themselves with.
Ranboo can hear Tubbo hyperventilating and in a second of clarity, he tries to reach him to calm him down. Tubbo flinches away hard and whimpers. It’s the saddest sound Ranboo’s ever heard—even worse that it’s directed at himself.
He can but wait out the pain again, his back no doubt blistering under the holy water soaking his shirt through. He tears off the t-shirt without a second thought, ripping off whatever skin had tried to heal itself with it and exposing his burns to air. Ranboo’s hands flutter around his back as his throat finally soothes itself.
Tommy steps toward him, and Ranboo tries to claw himself further away but fails.
“Shit, shit, shit, what do I do. Ranboo, if that’s who you really are, help me— what do I do?”
Ranboo struggles with words, allowing Tommy to approach. “Stay?” he begs, his voice weak and still unholy.
Tommy’s face crumples. Ranboo is still whimpering with pain although it’s slowly—hellishly so—numbing down. Tommy joins him on the floor and tries to calm Ranboo, himself, and Tubbo down at the same time. It somewhat works—Tubbo’s crying stills and he stays feet away but he hasn’t run out of the house yet.
“Ranboo?” he says, searching for something in Ranboo’s face. He flinches as he catches the blackness of Ranboo’s eyes.
“It’s me,” Ranboo manages. “I won’t hurt you. It’s me.”
So he managed to hide a fight to the death with another demon, but holy water is what ruins him? That’s stupid on a whole other level. And so very typical.
“You prick!” Tommy whispers, still shaking ever so slightly despite how he tries to hide it. Time has passed and the three have managed to calm themselves much more than before. Ranboo’s desperate ache has settled into an uncomfortable itch as his demonic energy passively knitted his body back to health. He can still feel the phantom burns of the holy water, but it’s much better now. His glasses are back in place, covering his eyes, and his horns have been thankfully tucked away into his vessel. “You were lying to us this whole time?” Tommy tries to put on a brave face and fails miserably.
“I... I never said I was human, Tommy. Just... a little bit to the left, and down a tad.”
Tommy gives him an unimpressed look.
Inconveniently timed, the landlord arrives to kick them out, and soon enough they’re booted onto the street under a clearer sky dotted with clouds. Tommy and Tubbo are clearly itching with more questions, but they give it up for now in favour of finding the car and getting out of the cold. Ranboo would offer to heat them up a little, but he doubts they’re ready yet for something like that. He’s already lucky enough as he is.
They’ve reacted far better than he’d ever have hoped. Many humans have done far more upon discovering his demonic nature. It’s not perfect, but they’ve given him a chance, and that’s all he needs.
Tubbo clenches Ranboo’s jacket to keep himself from the cold and draws surprisingly close as they walk. He smells very, very afraid, still, but mixed in there is a little bit of bravery, and a little bit of acceptance.
Car parking spaces are surprisingly hard to find at night when most residential spaces have been filled. It’d taken them at least four tries to find somewhere close enough with a space, and even then they’d had to dump Tubbo’s car there to walk the distance.
It’s as the three wander back to the car, exhausted, and realise they very typically forgot to note down its location, that they break into a relieving laughter at everything, nothing and all the in between.
Tommy’s face curls into something of mischief. “So... does that mean we caught the supernatural on video?”