Chapter Text
There are some things in life that are unknown. Many things, some might say. The less people know about something, the more they think they know about it.
Ranboo is not one of those people.
He is fully aware that his memory loss is not normal; that it does not encompass normal amnesia. He knows this.
The thing is, Ranboo is also lazy. He’s lazy as hell and just the tiniest bit scared about what may or may not come up if he decided to explore his memory loss.
Researching Enderian culture was traumatizing enough, thank you, he doesn’t want to find out that he has goldfish syndrome or something. That would be messed up. Tommy and Tubbo would never stop making jokes about it. It would be a whole thing and then it would be his whole thing and he really wouldn’t like that.
The fact is this: Ranboo is lazy and not bothered about it all that much, so when he’s greeted with the wrong name he just…
He just ignores it.
Maybe not the smartest idea but, eh, what can you do?
You’re a pathetic wet rag of a man and I want to wring your scrawny little neck.
That, oh that, however. That’s new.
“Get in line, man, you’re not special.”
Not a man—wait, you can hear me?
“Oh cool, my inner thoughts are a different gender than me. Pog.”
Oh, you sweet summer child.
“Ranboo? Who are you talking to?”
Ranboo pauses, debating his options. On the one hand, he could tell Phil about the weird voice that bullies him, on the other hand, that just seems like a bad idea.
Yeah, Phil is a cool dude and all that, but this is a little too quirky, even for him. He doesn’t think Phil would react badly but—maybe he can take this in a different direction.
“You don’t see them?”
Ah, hell, not that direction. It’s like he isn’t in control of his mouth.
“I’m just gonna…Nope, I’m just gonna leave. Good luck with that, Ranboo.”
Phil pats his shoulder on the way out and Ranboo ignores the strange urge to bite his hand.
Old man gone, pog.
“Soooo,” Ranboo less than gracefully collapses to the ground, dropping his task in favor of figuring out what’s going on, “uh, hi, inner thoughts, narrator, whatever. Can I get an explanation for this?”
No.
“Okay, but I’d really like an explanation and you’re me so you have to listen to me.”
I’m not—no, I’m not explaining anything
“That sucks, you should really tell me what’s going on. Is this because of Tubbo’s electric chair thing? I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to that…”
Oh, he feels floaty. Like he’s a balloon that some kid just let go of and now the kid is crying and the parent is being glared at and—
Where was he?
Oh, right, arguing with himself. This is fine.
“Maybe I should tell Phil, I might’ve hit my head,” he muses to his empty house.
Do not tell Phil.
“I’m telling Phil,” he snaps at the voice, pulling out his communicator with trembling hands. He feels like he’s wading through a sea of syrup; held back by invisible hands that are trying to keep him from doing anything at all.
It’s weird, it’s uncomfortable, and Ranboo is cursing his past laziness in figuring out what’s—well, wrong with him is a strong sentiment but not one that he entirely disagrees with. He’s definitely not as functional as he’d like to be.
He opens his chat with Phil, squinting when he sees the unread messages.
--
Birdza: [yesterday 11:07 am]
You’re so rude Allium. /lh
…
How did you change my name?
How did you change it without a notification showing?
Allium?
Allium please you shouldn’t have that power.
…
Alright, I’ll find out for myself.
--
What the—what the hell? What the actual hell? Who is Allium? Why is Phil calling him Allium? Why does he not remember it? Something is wrong wrong wrong—
He’s shaking. He doesn’t notice it, already feeling the static fuzziness that always happens when he gets upset. He welcomes it this time, not wanting to deal with whatever the hell this is.
Ranboo is lazy. He’s not scared. He just doesn’t want to deal with it because he doesn’t want to deal with it. Nothing else.
--
When Ranboo once again grasps consciousness, he’s in a different place than where he fell asleep. He’s not in his house. This, by itself, is not unusual. He often teleports when he gets upset and Phil has found him in the strangest places. One time he was found sleeping in a tree hanging upside down by his feet like a bat. Or a vampire.
The unusual part of it is that he has no memory of this place. None whatsoever.
He shifts his feet and taps the hard yellow stone beneath them. It makes an odd sound that lights something up in his brain. It sounds like something he remembers but doesn’t.
There’s no sky above him, just blackness. If he squints he can see strange structures towering in the distance, but that’s it.
“Oh, it’s you! I didn’t think we’d see you here!”
Ranboo whirls around, crouching in a fighting position only to be met with…Himself?
They certainly do look like him, but younger. There’s less white in their hair and on their face. They look like they’re vibrating in place and something about them screams chaos. Ranboo takes a step back.
“Are you my inner thoughts?” He questions absentmindedly, still feeling fuzzy.
The person puts a finger to their chin in an exaggerated pondering way.
“Hmm, I guess you could say that! I’m Flint, he slash him, nice to meet ya!”
“Why do you not have the same name as me?”
Flint blinks at him for a few seconds, then giggles.
“Oh, you’re funny! Come on, I’ve got to introduce you to everyone!”
“Every—wait, you mean there’s more? ”
“Of course, there's more! What, didja you think you were alone in your body?”
Silence.
“Oh…Oh, you thought you were alone in your body, didn’t you?”
Flint seems sad, his whole body drooping as if he’s just lost a playmate or potential friend. Ranboo feels bad about it, truly he does; just not bad enough to respond calmly.
“ That seems like a reasonable expectation to have!” Ranboo’s hands fist in his hair and he crumples to the ground for the second time of the day.
“I’d say we’re just built different but I have a feeling that’s wrong and not helpful. Anyways, surprise! You share a body with like six other people—maybe more, I just discovered Lyric so I don’t know. No one really tells me things because I’m young and it’s annoying .
This is the inner world! Don’t know why it’s like this, it just is. This is where we all chill when we’re not fronting—that means in control of the body—and we all have our own places!”
Ranboo curls his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. His shoulders scrunch up as Flint continues to talk, getting closer and closer to his ears until finally, he snaps.
“No, no, no, this is—this is too much I can't—I can’t do this. I refuse to do this,” his sobs, voice muffled and thick with tears.
Flint steps closer and leans down, studying the older version of him.
“Wuh oh, those are feelings, I am definitely not qualified for feelings. Uh, I think this is an Allium thing so I’m gonna, um—I’m gonna go get her,” Flint stammers, shuffling around nervously and wringing his fingers.
Ranboo just stares at him. He does not want to meet whoever this Allium person is. He just wants to go home and go to sleep and never deal with this ever. That would be nice.
“You uh, you stay here, okay? Don’t move I’ll—I'll be back.”
“Yeah,” Ranboo says, voice strained and hysterical, “might as well, who cares! Not like I can go anywhere apparently! I don’t even have control of my own body!”
Flint frowns, “You do have control of this—well, I guess body isn’t the right word, so, form?—you have total control of this form. What you look like in the inner world is all you. You look different from the body too which is cool, I wasn’t expecting that!”
Ranboo makes a cut-off noise that sounds somewhere between a choked sob and a disbelieving scoff.
“Oh, yup, I’m making it worse, okay, I’m gonna go now. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Or anything I would do. I’m not a good role model. But I’m cute so I get away with absolutely everything.”
“I’m gonna die here, aren’t I?”
Flint giggles again and scampers—literally scampers—off like some sort of mischievous deity.
Ranboo is so tired.