Chapter Text
Tommy rubs his fist against his palm, using the pressure to ground himself as the Warden stops again with a gesture for them to stay back.
Ranboo presses himself back against the wall beside him and promptly slides down, knees sticking up awkwardly, a miserable picture with a damp patch growing on the white button-up.
“It’s hot,” Tubbo complains, tugging at his jacket with one hand and dropping the other wrist on Ranboo’s head, half-slumping against him.
“You’re wearing a winter jacket inside a place filled with lava,” Tommy side-eyes him. “I’m surprised you haven’t got hyperthermia.”
“He’s got a point,” Ranboo groans, tugging at the knot of his tie. “I feel like I’m gonna melt.”
Tommy’s lips thins but he doesn’t comment, staring at the goldgoldgold of the armour, knuckles grinding into his palm, fingers straining to flex and teeth chewing down on the inside of his cheek.
What are you doing?
Smoke wafts through the vents in the Warden's mask, slithering through the air before disappearing, and Tommy tightens his jaw to the point of pain.
“You said you made Pandora what it is today.” The Warden stills and Tommy takes a step back, slouching back against the wall and burying his hands into the pockets of Siren’s coat to hide their trembling. “How come a Villain was involved in all that?”
“I wasn’t a Villain then,” the Warden answers after a moment, motion bleeding back into the stiff stature like figure as he bent forward, clearly doing something on the wall and Tommy doesn’t like it.
His eyes stray to the three gleaming points of the trident sticking up over the man’s shoulder and he digs his heel in, pressing his shoulders harder against the wall.
“Did you know that it was going to become all this?”
“Red-“ Ranboo’s voice is low and anxious and Tommy ignores the small tug on his coat with a roll of his stiff shoulders.
“Or did you think you were contributing to the good of the world?”
“I was following orders,” the Warden says, voice impossible read, steady and clear in the empty hallway. “That shouldn’t be such a foreign thing to you, mutt.”
Tommy twitches, something rotten gnawing at his core, an ugly mix of hurt and want to hurt in turn.
“You fuck-“
A hard yank on his tail, the sharp flare of pain making his knee fold with clack of his teeth as the back of his head hit the wall, palm slamming back against it to steady himself.
He slowly turns his head, meeting innocent eyes and a little wag of Tubbo’s fingers.
“I like dogs,” Tubbo says with a curl of his lips, putting more weight on Ranboo as he turned to prop both wrists on top of his head. “Even though they make me sneeze.”
“I’ll show you sneezing-“ Tommy grinds out, pushing away from the wall.
“I saw that you visited my old bedroom.” Tubbo says abruptly, stuffing a hand into his pocket and rummaging around before finally pulling out a familiar piece of paper, the one Tommy had found in Schlatt’s tower, folded and caught between the knuckles of his index and middle finger. “I have to say, I don’t quite understand why you brought this along of all things,” Tubbo muses, eyes on him.
Tommy stares mutely at the folded piece of paper.
“It’s yours?” he asks slowly, flicking his gaze up.
“Drew it myself,” Tubbo agrees and the grin on his face settles into something darker as his lips pulls up to bare teeth. “Did you look at it?”
“No,” Tommy admits slowly. “I didn’t- there was a lot going on-“
Tubbo flicks it to him and Tommy’s hand snaps out instinctively, fingers curling harshly around it with a crumpling of the paper.
“I tried to get your phone as well,” Tubbo says with a little shrug, swaying as he put more weight on Ranboo, forcing the other to compensate with a squawk of protest. “But someone got there before me.”
“It’s not like they can get into it.”
It was a clever design- a single swiped pattern on the screen and his phone would switch from normal to mission, locking everything down, replacing the background with a plain blue one framed in red, and sealing it tight with a ridiculous password that had taken Tommy a solid week to memorize with a fucking hidden pattern in the corner to even be allowed to type it in.
He’d always been careful to activate it whenever he was in gear, it was just second nature, and this time had been no exception.
“404?” Tubbo asks in interest and-
“Yeah,” Tommy admits with something numb in his chest as he stares at his clenched fist, slowly lowering it down at his side. “You worked with Schlatt,” he states.
“And you worked with Dream.” Tubbo tilts his head, something glittering strangely in his eyes. “The Number Two and Number One Heroes.”
“You were never out on the field.” Tommy would have noticed- Dream kept a close eye on Schlatt and so had he in turn. There’d been no record of Schlatt working with anyone, but then- there’d been no record of anyone living with the man either and Tommy isn’t sure he would have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes.
A child’s bedroom in Schlatt’s tower.
Only- the child, it turned out, was older than him and Tommy doesn’t quite know what to do with that information.
He tucks the folded note into the pocket of his pants.
“Never got that far,” Tubbo admits with a shrug. “I got out, all thanks to Jester. I had no interest being a Hero, and even less interest in being that man’s sidekick.”
“And now you work with the Syndicate.” The words tastes strange, somehow, and he feels distant as he stares at the other teenager- older than him, made to fill the same kind of role, only-
Schlatt instead of Dream.
His fingers ghosts down his left arm where the gnarly twisted burn wraps tight from Schlatt’s whip.
“Not officially.” Tubbo lifts his shoulder in an easy shrug. “In time, perhaps, if I want to, but I’d rather just stay away from the whole Hero and Villain thing.”
Tommy snorts, rocking on his feet with a single step taken back and a slight turn away from the other.
“Says the person in the midst of Pandora.”
“This is personal,” Tubbo says simply.
“Why Schlatt?” Tommy asks abruptly, neck prickling with a look at the Warden at the sound of something going click-click-click.
There’s a stretch of silence, where Tommy takes another step back, trying to angle to get a look-
“I’m going to make one thing very clear, Red Chaos.” Tommy whips back around to Tubbo, his chest expanding harshly as he stares into brown eyes that burns into his. “I didn’t choose to work with Schlatt.” The words are flat, mild, a warning in the other’s voice that’s hard to ignore. “It would be correct to say that I was not given a choice, you understand me?”
Tommy clenches his jaw. “Understood.”
“Good.” Tubbo nods his head once, a smile sneaking back over his lips, and Tommy feels a chill run down his back, staring at the perfectly crafted mask that looks so easy on the other’s face. “What about you, Bossman?”
“What?” Tommy asks distractedly.
“Did you choose to work with Dream?”
Tommy gives him a blank look before the realisation dawns and-
“Dream is nothing like Schlatt,” he bites out sharply, skin prickling at the very implication-
“You sound a bit defensive there, Bossman.” A stretching smile that speaks of nothing good.
“I’ll offensively shove a fist into your face if you don’t shut your fucking mouth,” Tommy snarls, hackles rising.
Ranboo lets out a nervous laugh. “I really don’t think this is the time-“
The Warden rises up, and Tommy’s head immediately snaps down, staring at the wall where nothing looks out of place, obsidian the only thing staring back at him.
His heart burns, frustration wiring tight.
He can’t take on Warden and he’s got two teenagers he gotta get the fuck out of the prison.
He can only hope that Jester and Nemesis are still in their cells.
“Damn,” Tubbo sighs, pushing away from Ranboo with a small wobble of his steps, caught quickly, thick green jacket half-way unzipped, sweat dripping down his throat to soak into the shirt beneath it.
Tommy looks to Ranboo, tall and lanky, clearly faring the worst out of them under the chokehold of Pandora, powers no doubt draining fast with his hybrid features being so extensive.
Hybrids had always been more sensitive to Pandora. It’s why Tommy hadn’t been surprised when Techno elected to stay behind, especially with whatever bullshit made him switch between the pretty man he’d seen at the Watson household and the near full-bloodied piglin that he’d stood beside in the Pit.
He flexes his fingers, looking to the Warden, who looks remarkably untouched by the drain which-
Fuck.
Tommy abruptly slaps his palms against his cheeks, blowing out a harsh breath.
Step One, he thinks to himself, reality check.
He jerks a hand down to Ranboo with a twist of his mouth, ignoring the surprise in the other’s eyes as he focuses his attention on Tubbo who had paused, arms stretched up over his head, watching him carefully.
There’s two who are the clear lesser evil here.
“We need to go,” Tommy says shortly, refusing to break eye contact even as he feels long fingers hesitantly curl around his, his own tightening in response to pull the taller to his feet before hurriedly snatching his hand back.
“Thank you,” Ranboo says with an exchanged look of surprise with Tubbo who shrugs.
I’m responsible for getting them out.
“Stay close,” he forces out, hesitating but-
One of them has potential useful knowledge and training.
Watch my back, he signs crudely with stiff fingers, waiting with a bated breath.
Tubbo regards him for a moment longer before he grins sharply, shaggy brown strands brushing over his eyes behind the holes of the ram skull as he steps back with a quick- got it in response.
“Stay in the middle,” Tubbo says in a low voice, nudging Ranboo forward as he passes him by.
“Here?” Ranboo asks nervously, inching his way closer to Tommy.
It’s a painfully slow compartmentalization, like rusty cogs that won’t cooperate, an itch beneath his skin and knowledge that he’s lying to himself as he puts himself ahead, closest to Warden whose hand goes for the handle of the trident with a glance back.
“We need to go up, right?” he says in a low voice, shakings out his fingers with a twisted grimace of teeth behind his mask. “Whatever Enforcers are left in Pandora are going to be ahead.”
“There’s a path that will take us directly to the upper floors,” the Warden answers after a moment.
“Does Eris know about it?”
“No.”
Right. So that was still an issue.
Lovely.
“So,” Tommy asks when the other makes no move to volunteer any more information, “where to?”
The Warden’s head tilts very slightly to the left and then his bare hand raises, palm pressing against the wall beside him, and Tommy jerks as the obsidian drew back into itself with a harsh noise to reveal an opening just tall enough to let the Warden through without ducking.
Like it had been made just for him.
“Pandora is my creation.”
Tommy glances warily at the Villain whose gaze he feels prickling at his skin.
“Right,” he musters out, peering into the darkness. “That’s- handy, I guess.”
The Warden says nothing, turning and stepping through, and Tommy swallows before taking one determined step forward, and then another, having to duck to get inside just as the Warden touches something on the wall that sends a row of lights in the ceiling flickering to life with a dull little rumble that whirrs like a distant ominous sound.
The corridor is not very big and it makes his skin crawl, blinking dizzily for a moment before he draws a sharp breath, remembering all too well the way tight crawl through the ventilation shafts in Schlatt’s tower-
“Right behind you,” Ranboo says, way too close, and Tommy jerks a step forward.
“Right,” he mutters with a shake of his head
For now he has no choice but to play along, to wait for an opening, a moment to act-
Warden’s hand drags along the wall before pausing, moving down, two fingers hooking and pulling with a click and a small tight tunnel opens up with a clack-clack-clack-clack of stones that rings like an endless thing with the echo of it.
Tommy stares at, a numb sort of horrified realisation slithering through his veins.
“Red Chaos.” The Warden’s voice is a foreboding thing. “I’ll guide your path.”
“You’re joking,” Tommy blurts out. “How the hell do you-“
A hand wraps around the handle of the trident and Tommy’s mouth snaps shut, teeth tearing through the skin on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood with the clenching of his jaw.
“You’ll do this,” the Warden says, slower, more dangerous. “Or you’re standing in my way.”
Fuck you, Tommy thinks, curling trembling fingers tight as he glowers back. You sonofabitch.
“I can go,” Tubbo volunteers suddenly, at Ranboo’s side, one hand on the taller’s arm as he peers past him. “I’m smaller, I’ll fit more easily-“
“Red Chaos will go,” Warden cuts him off, leaving no room for argument.
Behind them the door to the corridor slides shut, leaving them trapped with a harsh grinding noise of stone that shakes the ground, gravel falling from the ceiling to pitter-patter against his shoulder.
“I’ll go,” Tommy forces out with a harsh twist of his mouth.
He shrugs out of his backpack, shoving it into Ranboo’s arms. “Don’t lose it,” he bites out, heartbeat loud in his ears, hesitating but unstrapping the escrima sticks and stacking them before shrugging out of the coat and dumping it on top, leaving only Siren’s gun strapped to his thigh.
Lastly he unlaces the boots and removes the socks, balling them up to cram them into the shoes.
He twitches when Tubbo reaches forward, back half-squished against the wall to fit beside Ranboo, palm down and thumb folded against it.
Tommy flicks his gaze up and meets Tubbo’s eyes, steady on his, keeping it as he offers up his shoes in a dismissive motion, his fingers curling around two round things, one metal and one smooth, that they trade without a word.
He pockets it with a small motion disguised, palms sliding down and pressing against his thighs as he straightens up.
“I want those back,” he says, the tremble barely kept out of his voice, heart pounding inside his chest.
Don’t let him leave me in there.
“Of course, Bossman.”
Tommy spares one last traded look with Tubbo, nodding shortly before turning back to the Warden.
“I’m ready.” Pandora is warm against the soles of his feet, except the small patch of pink skin on the heel of his foot.
“One wrong path and you’ll activate one of the traps.” Tommy crouches down, staring into the endless darkness, thick enough to swallow him whole. “You’ll want to listen closely.”
-
He shoves Siren’s mask forward with a scraping noise.
Tommy strains and squirms, using his toes to push himself forward, the small flashlight Tubbo had snuck him caught between his teeth, making a miserable job at shining the path ahead.
He’s sweaty, it drips down his forehead, soaking the white button-up shirt that is tearing against the obsidian stone, offering no protection against the nicking at his skin as it snags on sharp little edges.
His shoulders are wedged tight, fingertips inching forward beside him with each pull, Siren’s mask scraping with a horrible sound that makes goosebumps rise on his skin.
It’s hot, the air heavy, and he counts his breaths carefully, shoving against the panic that threads thick beneath the surface.
He squints into the little spot of light, the split at the end, blinking against the sweat dripping into his eyes.
“Right on the eight,” he mutters to himself with a tremble of his voice he struggles to ignore, squirming forward, wrapping his fingers around the bend and dragging himself with a grunt, muscles straining and toes digging in as he folds himself in an awkward pretzel like shape, feeling his shoulder tear.
He shoves Siren’s mask forward, feet pressing against the wall to push himself the last bit around the bend.
“And then- up on the ninth,” he murmurs, counting the steps off with twitches of his fingers.
He can’t get a hand forward, shoulders crammed too tight, so instead he has to twist awkwardly, flashlight shining up, caught in his corner teeth as he squints against the dust and dirt and fine gravel.
He draws a snotty breath through his nose, eyes stinging as he stares up into the firm obsidian ceiling above him.
Carefully he forces himself back on his front, ribs expanding with each breath, a tremble running through him.
“It’ll- it must be ahead,” he tells himself firmly, inching fingers inches ahead, toes pressing down as forces himself forward. “It’s fine-“
He makes the mistake of sucking in a harsh breath and he chokes on a cough that only sucks down more dry dust, flashlight clattering to the ground, tasting the gravel particles with each rattling heave, forehead pushing against the stone, head spinning and air whooshing too fast down his lungs to trigger a new coughing fit and-
He struggles, yanking hard on his left hand until he can twist his head, biting down hard on his wrist, the pain wiring sharply through his system as he clamps his eyes shut, knees knocking against the obsidian before he locks his muscles tight.
Mouth shut, tasting blood that he swallows to sooth the dryness, breaths regulated through his nose with a forced calm.
He rides it out until the panic is forced back down and his heart doesn’t feel like it’s trying to tear itself out of his chest before slowly prying his teeth out of his skin, leaving the skin wet with drool and blood and puncture wounds that bubbles to bleed down his skin.
I need to get out of here.
He swallows, ignoring the taste if metal on his tongue. “Up- up on the ninth,” he repeats to himself, voice strained, the words feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth as he bends down, lips drawing back to pick the flashlight up delicately with his teeth.
A small jerk sends it back to the corner of his mouth and he twists his hand, having to claw at the fabric of his pants to finally grasp the small white crayon Tubbo had given him, wrist straining to draw a shaky X on the wall in the tight space.
Carefully he uses his index and middle finger to tuck it back, double checking with several awkward pats to assure himself it was in place before turning his attention back forward.
He shoves Siren’s mask forward with a scraping noise.
-
Ranboo glances nervously down at Sam who stands, the end of his trident against the floor, guarding the opening of the small space Red Chaos had squeezed himself into.
The Hero’s clothes are wrapped tight in his arms.
Or maybe it was more accurate to say that Wilbur’s clothes were, the coat smelling of a strange mix of sweat, nicotine and blood that itches at his nose.
He draws them closer, tail twisting to wrap around Tubbo’s ankle with a nervous little flick against the leather of his boot.
“It’s been thirty-two minutes,” Tubbo tells him in a low voice before he can open his mouth, arms folded and leaning back against the wall beside him.
Ranboo had quickly grown tired of the awkward half-crouch he’d been forced into and slid down to sit on the floor, his knees sticking up awkwardly despite his feet being wedged up against the opposite wall but Tubbo-
Tubbo had always been stubborn and the moment Red Chaos had disappeared he’d taken his own kind of guard, different from Sam’s.
The exhaustion is overwhelming and as he spreads his fingers out in front of him he can’t even reach enough of his power for a single spark.
“You think he’s okay?” he whispers.
Do you think we’ll be okay? he doesn’t ask, fingers finding a strap on the backpack and curling it around his finger, fiddling nervously.
“Yes,” Tubbo answers without hesitation and-
Ranboo’s shoulders eases down, just a bit.
He tips his head to the side, letting it rest against the side of Tubbo’s hip, against the thick fabric of his winter jacket.
“You can remove it, you know,” he murmurs. “No one will judge you.”
Tubbo lets out a small laugh. “Maybe I’ll Judge myself.”
“Ha ha, funny guy.” Ranboo flicks the edge of his tail against him chidingly. “One day, you’ll pick a name that is entirely yours.”
“Oh?”
“Mmhmm.” Ranboo nods his head. “Something like…” He rubs his thumb against the backpack strap, brows dipping in thought. “Something like, mmm…”
“I’m sure to send people scrambling in panic when mmm arrives on the scene-“
Ranboo pinches the inside of his knee, making sure to use his nails, and Tubbo yelps, smacking a hand flat against his mask.
He angles his head, peering up through the fingers half-splayed over the holes for his eyes.
“Had something more to say?” Ranboo challenges, waggling his fingers threateningly.
“You’re such a prick,” Tubbo laughs. “Fine, fine- what do you think would suit me then?”
Ranboo hums, reaching up, grasping Tubbo’s hand in his, turning it thoughtfully.
Tubbo’s fingers are short and strong in comparison to his own, scars stretching pink and jagged, the side of it pink and shiny from a burn scar.
It’s rare to see them free from the make-up Tubbo used to hide them as a civilian but Ranboo can’t judge him for it.
“Remember the first flower you made for me?” he asks, thumb dragging down the burn scar.
“Coreopsis?” As he speaks the word a single dainty vine blooms from him to curl around Ranboo’s index finger, a bud forming and slowly folding out in a bright yellow, red stretching out from the middle. “Always cheerful,” Tubbo murmurs, staring down at it.
“It suits you.”
Tubbo’s hand slips out of his with a snap of the vine, leaving only the flower that Ranboo catches gently, bringing it close to his chest.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tubbo says roughly, twisting to plant his back against the opposite wall, raising his palm. “If you’re talking flowers a yellow carnation would suit me much better.” The flower rises up, the yellow bud unfurling in a layer of petals that Tubbo’s fingers closes tight around, crushing it. “I was nothing but a disappointment to that man,” he breathes out.
The flower crumbles between his fingers as his hand falls at his side, wilting and turning to ash before touching the floor.
“L’Manberg won’t be free until he’s dead.” Tubbo’s fingers clenches tight in a fist. “I won’t be free.”
He laughs, an eerie light sound as he raises his hands, covering his face.
“It’s been years and still I can’t escape his hold on me, it’s pathetic.”
“It’s not,” Ranboo disagrees, shaking his head. “You-“
“Do you know the strangest thing, Ranboo?” Tubbo interrupts him, fingers sinking into the holes of the ram skull, dragging it off and turning it to stare down at it. “I feel lost without him,” he confesses with grin. “Like-“ A tremble of his lips before they twist into a grimace. “Like I don’t have a purpose anymore.”
“Then give yourself one.”
Tubbo raises his eyes from the white skull with the curling black horns and Ranboo manages to keep his gaze for a moment before averting his eyes, focusing on his nose.
“Give yourself a new one,” Ranboo presses, fingers curling tight in Siren’s coat. “Like me. You know me, my allegiance isn’t with L’Manberg, it isn’t with the Syndicate, it’s with the people that helped me.” A wobbly smile. “Like you. My purpose- it’s you.”
Tubbo’s fingers curls around the jaw of the skull. “I can’t be,” he says hoarsely. “I refuse to be anything like him-“
“You’re nothing like Schlatt,” Ranboo interrupts, jerking his chin up. “I chose to be your husband-“
“Platonic husband,” Tubbo corrects automatically before the corner of his mouth twitch a bit helplessly upwards. “For tax purposes.”
“Is there any finer foundation to build a lifelong friendship on?” Ranboo challenges.
“All good things must come to an end eventually,” Tubbo protests with a disbelieving laugh and a shake of his head. “Even us-“
“Then enjoy it for as long as you can.” Ranboo stretches his hand out, turning it with his palm up to reveal with the small delicate coreopsis. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Tubbo slowly sinks down against the wall opposite him, the skull in his lap.
“Liar,” he says but- to Ranboo’s relief a small smile curls his lips. “I still want him dead but-“ He holds up a finger. “I’ll think about it.”
“Oh you’ll think about it-”
“Don’t push it, ‘Boo.”
-
Tommy claws himself out the last bit only to fall and land roughly on his shoulder before sprawling out on his back, heaving desperate freeing breaths.
“Fuck.” He drags an arm over his eyes, lips trembling and eyes burning. “Fuck.”
His chest heaves, a wretched sort of broken laugh escaping his mouth before he drags a palm down to muffle it until it tapers off and his shoulders stop shaking.
He lets his hand fall limp on the floor, sucking in a harsh breath before letting it out.
“I want to go home.”