Thus Always to Tyrants

i will look for you as the sun rises higher

"Where's Ranboo?" Tubbo yawned, sitting up in bed. Tommy was still curled up on the other side of the bed, hogging most of the soft blankets. Phil was sitting by the bed, probably waiting for them to wake up.

"Techno and Kristin are going out to try and find him." Phil said gently, far to gently. Tubbo's face contorted in confusion as he rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the sleepiness still lingering in his mind.

"I'll bring you two breakfast. Can you wake up Tommy?" Tubbo gave him an odd look, but Phil left without another word. Sighing, Tubbo shook Tommy awake.

"Huh? What is it?" Tommy grumbled, trying to hide his head under the blankets, but Tubbo pulled them away from him.

"I dunno. Phil's being all cryptic, I don't like it." Tommy sighed, sitting up and stretching his arms. Phil came back with French toast and fruit, handing the two plates and silverware to the two boys.

"Why do Techno and Kristin have to find Ranboo? He wouldn't run away." Tubbo asked. It was all very odd, of all the people to go missing he wouldn't expect Ranboo. Phil just held up a hand.

"Wilbur! Can you come in here? I have something to tell you!" He called. Soon, a bleary-eyed brunette came stumbling in, confused. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking and Phil questioningly.

"Are you gonna answer my question?" Tubbo pressed, worry worming it's way into his heart. Had something happened to Ranboo?

"Ranboo..." Phil sucked in a breath, seemingly steeling his nerves, but for what Tubbo didn't know. "Ranboo's been kidnapped. We don't know by who, but they sent us a message. I think Ranboo was forced to write it. They want money. And they want it delivered by you, Tommy."

Tubbo's blood froze in their veins, the cold feeling taking over his body, shattering what little hope he had left. Tommy however, was an exploding volcano, his words, his body language, hell the way he breathed threatened to set the house ablaze. He just yelled incoherently, stopping and starting his sentences suddenly as he tried to make sense of this.

"What do you mean, Ranboo's been taken?" Wilbur was calm. A tranquil pool between Tommy's rage and Tubbo's hopelessness. A middle ground. Phil breathed again, but Tubbo didn't hear his words. He tucked his head into his knees and shook, but no tears came. He didn't have anything more to give.

"He's just... gone. Kristin and Techno are looking for clues, but all we know is that he went on a walk and was taken. Plus these people know me and Techno, they used our old names. They know at least who Tommy is and they called themselves old friends."

"Could this be the Dream Team?" Wilbur asked.

"I think so. Or at least someone who's associated with them." Phil said quietly. A hand was put on Tubbo's shoulder, one gentle and kind. He looked up to see Phil's concerned eyes.

"Tubbo, are you okay?" He whispered. Tubbo met Phil's gaze sadly.

"Ranboo's dead, Phil. He's dead, isn't he?" He asked weakly. Tubbo knew the score, he knew how this worked. Ranboo was dead, he had to be. There was no reason to demand money or Tommy, they just killed him and were trying to lure him out. Phil shook his head.

"Ranboo's not dead, Tubbo. He isn't dead."

"If he is dead, I'm gonna beat up his ghost!" Tommy said boisterously, though his fists were clenched so tightly that they were bone white. Tubbo wished he could be as collected as Wilbur, or as emotional as Tommy. But he wasn't like his brothers. He had been bled of his strength, his heart, his very soul until there was nothing more to give. He couldn't fathom having any hope in a time like this.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Tubbo asked weakly. He knew how this worked, he knew the score. They killed Ranboo. Why would he be alive, they didn't need him. They were just going to lure out Tommy, then he'd loose his other brother. He'd loose everything then. He looked up to see Phil's eyes looking at him, concern etched into his face.

"We are not loosing Ranboo, Tubbo. Ranboo is alive. He is alive." Phil's voice was confident and stern, trying to instill that hope into Tubbo. But the brunette just shook his head, glancing down.

"But what if he's dead?" He whispered. "He could die, Phil. Or Tommy could die." Phil hugged him tightly.

"But Ranboo's not gonna die and Tommy's not gonna die."

"Way to talk about me like I'm not here." Tommy muttered, "But what're we supposed to do? Like if they want me to deliver the money, what're we gonna do?" Phil pulled away from Tubbo and pursed his lips, his eyebrows knitting together.

"We'll figure something out, Tommy. We'll figure out how to save Ranboo."

***

Time was non-existent in his prison. They would only open the door to give him food and water, but it was usually just bread or crackers or something cheap and not with much substance. To ware him down, to make him weaker. Ranboo would be lying if he said it wasn't working.

He wrote letters to pass the time. Letters to his family, letters to anyone he could think of. If he died, maybe they'd send the letters to them as one last hurrah of pain and suffering for them. But it did fill the time, so he kept writing. Keeping track of what he guessed were the days, of what the people did outside of his door, anything. If Ranboo was one thing, he was thorough.

The door swung open and Ranboo looked up from his desk, seeing Knife standing there. His wrists were roughly grabbed and locked into cuffs. He was dragged out and tied to a hard wooden chair. Panic bloomed in his chest, but he somehow kept his mouth shut.

"It's been five days and your dear family hasn't responded." The man growled, pulling a knife out of a holster with the hiss of steel. "We need to send them a message that we will not be denied." He felt the blade pressed against the side of his neck, but it didn't draw blood. Yet.

Ranboo whimpered slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. This was real, but he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't let them have the satisfaction of seeing him cry. The knife was dragged down his skin, his warm blood dripping down his neck.

"We'll give them a chance. One more chance. So there won't be any permanent damage today." Ranboo didn't know if he was thankful or not.

Ranboo tried to not remember what happened. But he couldn't forget the sting of the fists hitting his face, the blood being drawn on his cheeks and neck. He was knocked out from a blow to his head and woke up on the cot, his wrists in bonds. He couldn't open one of his eyes, his lips were to big and clumsy to make a sound. The bleeding wounds were haphazardly taken care of, but not all that well. Ranboo thought that he got off easy.

His letters were gone. He didn't have any more paper, no more writing utensils, no desk. Just the chair, now completely fixed to the floor, and the cot. Ranboo wanted to cry, needed to cry, but he kept those emotions bottled up. He wouldn't let them see him cry if that's what they wanted.

Tommy would've been stronger. He would've fought them. Would've made these people's lives hell. So would Tubbo. But Ranboo wasn't a fighter, he was a follower. He wasn't strong enough to try and escape, especially since everything hurt so much. Ranboo squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep any tears away. That didn't stop them from sliding silently down his puffy cheeks and broken lip.

He pulled the thin sheets over himself, gripping onto the edges, hoping that they would come soon, however selfish he knew it was. He just didn't want to go through worse, and he had forcefully forgotten those memories.

If there was a God, he would be praying that he would live. But he was old enough to know that miracles didn't happen to kids like him. They happened to kids who were dying or rich, not tortured or middle class. Miracles just didn't happen. Especially not to him.

So he would wait. He'd wait for his family to do something, they would have to do something. And Ranboo was a very patient person.