Chapter Text
“This isn’t getting better, Ranboo.”
Ranboo doesn’t reply. He can’t reply, and Tubbo tries to push that thought out of his head, but the reality of their situation is too-hot and throbbing under his hands.
The burn tracing its way across the whole of Ranboo’s front is obviously infected, and Ranboo hasn’t woken up in days.
“It’s not,” Tubbo tells him, as if he could hear. “And - I won’t lie, ‘boo, I’m worried it’s getting worse. So - I think I’m going to have to leave you alone, for a little while.”
Ranboo - maybe he’d protest, if he was awake. He’s not, though, and Tubbo - Tubbo can’t waste any more time thinking about that, either.
“It won’t be for long,” he tells the enderian, voice gentle as he brushes the hair off Ranboo’s cheeks. “Just - you need more than just broth, ‘boo. And - I know this server’s got a shopping district, right? So I’ll sneak in, grab a couple potions, and be out as fast as Tommy. You just have to -”
His voice cracks, but he can’t start crying, not now -
“You just have to hang on for a bit, okay?”
Ranboo doesn’t say anything, not as he grabs the haft of his axe and heaves himself to his feet, or as he charges a bolt in his crossbow, or when he lowers his helmet onto his head.
“I love you, ‘boo,” he says, anyways, into the quiet of the cave.
Ranboo doesn’t say anything to that, either, but if he could, he would, and Tubbo lets that knowledge keep him warm as he steps out of the comforting light of the campfire.
-----
Tubbo’s lucky that there’d been enough time while Ranboo was still ambulatory to get a good lay of the server they’ve wound up on.
Not that Ranboo had been much for joining him on his trips out of the cave, but… he’d been able to take care of himself a bit, at least. Drink some of the broth that Tubbo left for him, reposition himself on the bed -
Tubbo isn’t sure he’ll ever experience anything worse than that minute of choked, cloying fear, the day he came back and Ranboo didn’t wake up at his greeting. The minute where he wasn’t sure if Ranboo was still breathing - he isn’t sure if he had breathed, until he finally found a faint, trembling pulse beating in the other player’s wrist.
If he’s lucky - if he can get the potions he’s looking for - he won’t.
Otherwise…
Still, he’s had enough of a chance to scout out what seems to be this server’s shopping area. It’s - not too big, not compared to the vast, well-organized streets of Hypixel, but it’s bigger than any build on Dream’s server. The sprawl is - well, just the twisting false stump of a colossal tree feels like it’s half the size of Eret’s castle.
Big enough for one player to slink into, quietly. Hopefully, not so big that he can’t find what he’s looking for -
If he wasn’t so focused, he’d enjoy it, probably. Wandering between the market stalls and the larger builds that seem to dot the shopping area, peeking into merchant chests, nicking the occasional small treat or watching Tommy’s back while he tries to do the same - he’s spent plenty of sunny afternoons doing just that -
But the sun is sinking, and Ranboo is dying, and Tubbo doesn’t have time to waste.
That doesn’t mean he can afford to get caught, though. Not on a server that the two of them definitely aren’t supposed to be on. The protections on this server -
Well, they’re strong enough to keep even Dream from tracking them down, maybe - that was the whole point. But no one spends that much energy on wards just to welcome a pair of unwanted guests. The kindest bet is they’ll be kicked, unceremoniously, off the server, and Tubbo doesn’t know if Ranboo will survive that -
The unkindest - well. It’s been a long time since Tubbo was stupid enough to trust in the kindness of strangers.
-----
He’s made his way down two lanes of vendors and storefronts when the silence of the late afternoon market shatters.
It’s only experience that keeps him from vaulting himself over the front of a stall and into cover at the sound of a rocket overhead. He freezes, instead, letting stillness camouflage him rather than risking making too much noise and giving away his position -
It’s the right choice. Whoever it is, they haven’t seen him - another rocket fires, and another, but they’re somewhere high overhead. Someone is trying to flush him out, but they don’t know enough about where he is to fire on him directly.
Tubbo sinks into the shadows, slow and still as he can, and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
The voices are the first warning he gets. Two of them, at ground level, and Tubbo skirts the edge of a tent to reposition himself out of sight of the players. The voices are - casual. Quiet, but not wary - they’re not shouting for him to come out, or trying to hide themselves and avoid alerting him to their presence -
They’re coming closer, though. He’s outnumbered, and they’ve got someone up high enough to fire down on him -
Fear is thundering in his ears, and he forces it down. This isn’t -
It isn’t Manburg. He can - he can run. He can fight.
Ranboo is counting on him, and Tubbo forces down the terror in his chest, the phantom ache of his burns, the sorry red eyes glinting at him from the past -
He’s outnumbered, but - he’s not a kid, anymore. He’s a soldier - he’s just as dangerous as they are, and they don’t know where he is.
His axe is warm, at his side, the netherite comforting in his hands.
“I mean -” says one voice, silk-smooth and too much like Quackity - “how much redstone are you going to need, exactly? I can get it, sure -”
“A lot.” The other voice is deeper, heavily accented with the ring of a foreign hubworld. Dorf, maybe, but Tubbo’s never been off-hub enough to recognize it. “Probably a couple shulkers worth, at least. You know I’ll make it worth your time -”
“Sure,” the first voice answers, and Tubbo can’t help but bristle. “I’m just wondering - you have your drill, right? Doesn’t that spit out more than you could ever need?”
“I need refined components.” A pause. “At least ten stacks of pistons, to begin with -”
“What do you need ten stacks of pistons for?” The first voice has gone tight with alarm, though it hasn’t raised. “You’re going to crash the server -”
Whatever else the pair are arguing over, Tubbo drowns it out as they round the corner and step into view. He sinks low, but the sun is setting behind him, and the shadows at his back are long - they don’t seem to notice him, deep in there discussion.
There’s - not much else to do but look at them. And -
They don’t look like much, honestly.
Neither are armored. Well - the taller figure, with creeper-green skin, has a pair of heavy, netherite boots on, glinting with enchantments, but they’re obviously not expecting any kind of attack - he doesn’t see even the hint of a dagger, let alone bared blades. The shorter player - light-set, with scars that almost match Tubbo’s own - is even less defended.
The rockets overhead have stopped, too. He’s -
He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.
That doesn’t mean much, though. He doesn’t need a complex understanding of the politics of this server, not when two lightly-armored players are wandering right past him - not when he’s in full enchanted netherite, with an axe at his side, and Ranboo is dying. It’s just a matter of waiting for his chance -
Waiting, crouched low, and when the flickering light of a torch is blocked by one of the player’s frames, he lunges.
He hasn’t been lucky. The scarred player is the one who manages to stagger back, with a shout, and he’d have been so much easier to grab - but the creeper hybrid is surprised, his back to Tubbo, and doesn’t have time to react as Tubbo gets an arm across his throat and drags him off-balance -
Standing on a counter to keep a grip on his hostage is unwieldy, but the edge of his axe is very, very sharp. It silences any argument before it can be voiced - the pair go silent as he barks, “Don’t move, or I take his fucking head off -”
Fortunately, they both seem shocked enough to comply. The creeper goes very, very still, and Tubbo can hear his breath hitch at the blade pressed against his throat. The human -
Takes another step back, but his hands go up in surrender, and Tubbo grins at him, unable to fully suppress the manic relief at that actually working.
“Take off your comm,” he orders, voice rough. “Both of you. Don’t try to message anyone. Drop them on the ground.”
There’s - a little flicker of hesitation, at that - but the pair comply. Or, rather, the human does - Tubbo can’t risk taking his eyes off him to check that the creeper is complying -
But a moment later, he’s vindicated in the sound of a comm dropping to the ground at his feet. “Kick it away,” he orders. “Don’t try anything.”
“Sure,” the human says, hands rising again. “Whatever you want -”
The comm disappears into a bush, and Tubbo lets himself relax the faintest hint of a hair.
“Potions,” he grunts, not bothering with chatter. “Regeneration, and healing. Where are they?”
“You’re -” the human’s eyes have gone wide. “Wait, are you robbing us? Who are you?”
Tubbo digs the axe into his friend’s throat a little more. “I asked you a question.”
“Yeah - no one has a potion shop set up,” the man - lies, he has to be lying because Tubbo can’t fail, not here - “Most people just brew their own -”
“Shut up,” Tubbo snarls, and the creeper dragged back against his chest hisses in a way that would make Tubbo flinch if he hadn’t heard it from Sam a hundred times, if he didn’t know it was an empty threat -
“Yes, Scar -” the creeper says, anyways, voice a little raw, and Tubbo realizes that he’s pressed so hard he’s broken skin - he shifts the axe, until it’s flush to his throat, rather than angled into it, and the man coughs faintly in relief. “Shut up, please -”
“I can - ah - get you some!” the human says, shifting on his feet. “I mean - there’s a shop for supplies - let Doc go, and we can -”
“No,” Tubbo snarls back. “You go get them, and I’ll think about letting him go.”
“I’m not just leaving Doc -”
“Scar -”
“Then I’ll fucking kill him,” Tubbo snarls, because he doesn’t have time for this. “I’ll fucking - slit his throat, see how well you brew with an axe to your neck -”
He -
It’s too much - he can see when the panic in the human’s eyes turns terrified, the way he steps back, again, like he’s ready to run, and Tubbo isn’t sure if he’s in any shape to catch him -
He can hear the change in pitch of the creeper’s hiss, the way it shifts from false-threat to alarm.
“There’s no need for that -” the creeper says, voice low. “Listen - put the axe down -”
“No,” Tubbo tells him, baring his teeth even if the other man can’t see it. “You - shut the fuck up and listen. If your friend goes, and gets me potions - I want healing and restoration - I won’t fucking kill you, do you understand? This isn’t a negotiation -”
“Alright.” There’s not enough fear in the word, for Tubbo’s taste, but it’s agreement and maybe that’s enough. “Scar…”
“You’re sure, Doc?” The human shifts, warily, on his feet, and the creeper gives the barest hint of a nod.
“Go and come back, right? It won’t take long.”
“Sure.” The human - takes a step back. Then another - then another -
Then he’s gone. Out of sight beyond another tent, and Tubbo -
Tubbo tries to cling to his adrenaline, because he can already feel it fading, feel his fingers start to shake. His whole body feels cold, feels numb -
“Kid,” asks the man he’s got pinned against his chest, and Tubbo presses the flat of the axe’s edge down threateningly but that’s not enough to make him shut up - “What’s your name?”
“Tubbo,” he snarls, because it doesn’t matter if they know, but the man laughs like it does, voice rasping a little at the weight on his neck.
“Tubbo.” A pause. “You should’ve -” the man grunts, a little, as Tubbo adjusts his grip, but laughs again. “Should’ve tried this on Scar.”
And Tubbo doesn’t have more than a moment to wonder what the fuck that means -
Because the man’s hand shoots up, and grabs the haft of the axe roughly, and there’s a terrifying moment where they’re struggling for the weapon before the man’s other hand grabs Tubbo’s arm.
He straightens - and he’s so, so much bigger than he’d looked. All of the fear and nervousness gone as he drags Tubbo up off his feet, and suddenly, any leverage that he might have had is gone, too, as he’s held, helpless and sprawled over the taller player’s back.
“Don’t,” the other player informs him, taking a step back, and Tubbo lets out a choked cry as he’s slammed back-first into the wooden wall of the stall behind him, the player’s full weight forcing the air out of his lungs.
“Threaten,” he’s bounced again, before he can catch his breath, and this time, he can feel his ribs creak under the force of the blow.
“People,” he loses his grip on the axe, and the other player pulls it away. Tubbo can hear the clatter as it’s discarded, but he doesn’t have room to care, because the other player’s grip is like iron.
“With,” someone - the other player? - might be saying something, yelling something, but the world has narrowed to a thin line between him, and his erstwhile captive, and the wall, and everything hurts.
“Axes.” The last slam is the roughest, and Tubbo is - limp, in the other player’s grip, slumped against his back, the world flickering all along the edges, faded dark.
The hand at his wrist vanishes, then, and the darkness fills in a bit as he’s left to tumble, ragdoll-useless, to the ground.
“Doc,” a voice scolds, somewhere above him -
“Kid’ll be fine,” murmurs another. “What should we do with him?”
“It’s not like we have a prison -”
He should -
He should get up, and try to run. He needs to get back to Ranboo -
His chest feels like it’s been beaten in. He’s - he’s not getting up from this. Not going to be able to get away.
That’s the thought that drags him down, as the voices discuss him with each other, and the void rushes up like thunder in his ears.
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