Static Mindless

Did I do this

!!WARNING!! This work will include blood and gore descriptions, derealization and manipulation. It may also have implications of self-hate (kind of.)

Be safe!
I will be giving warnings at the top of each chapter.

What?

The ground beneath him was wet and cold. Ranboo felt his fingers clenched to a familiar carpet. He was on the ground with his feet and pockets to the ground, arms behind him holding him in place. His mind told him he should be scared to open his eyes.

Where am I?

Ranboo's eyes stayed shut as he tried to gather why he felt so hollow, so darkened. He moved his legs out further letting him move his hands. Reaching out towards different directions across the floor until his hands met polished wood.

It was too cold to be anywhere near the main part of the server, and he didn't have any carpet in his home.

Am I with my friends?

"Philza? Techno?"

It came out more of a cry out for help, though he's not sure what he should be scared of. His slight echo spoke back to him, confirming that the answer to his question was a no. The room sounded too small to be Technoblade's or Phil's house. The room was swollen with numbed harshness.

Ranboo still didn't dare to open his eyes. A feeling in his chest told him he shouldn't. It hurt. He should keep his eyes closed for as long as he can until it becomes impossible, or until he dies. But why?

There's nothing to be scared of. It's just a cold room. This isn't the panic room, there's no music, no obsidian floor. Open your eyes.

It's his voice luckily, and not another who sounded identical to a person everyone had grown to dislike. But was it better to listen to his own voice at this point? Each day the experiments changed his perception, and Sam hadn't listened to his requests. There wasn't much more trust in himself anymore.

Open your eyes Ranboo. You'll freeze if you stay for too long.

His chest felt as though it was caving in, the walls crept into his spine, the ceiling was taunting. He hadn't fully opened his eyes, and yet he could feel the dread of the story he doesn't know yet. just the thought of opening his eyes to whatever was waiting was enough to make him feel like he was dying.

His eyes point towards the floor. The windows from outside bring a white and gray tint. Uncomfortable lighting in an already awkward room. The evening snow makes it hard to tell what colors he's looking at. The pattern on the floor is still enough though. The carpet is here.

This is Michaels carpet. This is his room

The yellow is darker than normal, and so is the white. His head tilts upwards slowly, as much as he can make it move with his stiff neck. The carpet changes. It's lighter, and the dark colors his eyes observed moments before was made with waves over the floor. It goes yellow, then orange, then grayish red, then white.

He's not panicked. The snow might have gotten in and made the carpet wet. Maybe his eyes are playing tricks, there are simple answers for a changing carpet color.

How am I here?

he must have fallen asleep in Michaels room and forgot how cold it would be tonight. That's the only thing he could think of, besides the nerve-racking conclusion that lingers. His head hurts.

A sound sparks from a few feet ahead. Ranboo's head moves up painfully. It sounds familiar. His vision blurs before his eyes make out the new shapes in the room. Shadows covering dark corners couldn't keep a distraction for what was ahead of him. He wants to close his eyes, but the darkness wouldn't help.

Red waves over the floor.

An axe a few feet away.

And there lies a lifeless pink creature in yellow and black striped material.

Sound waves shouldn't work. Light shouldn't move. There's blood across the small room, and his hands are covered in the feeling he felt before opening his eyes. Brutal.

A wisp of air forms, like an engine starting. He knows what's coming. It takes so little time to open up to a place familiar to Nether. No sun, only terrifying noises and things that will kill you. But he's not the one who's dead this time.

"You shouldn't have looked, Ranboo." It pauses waiting for a response. It doesn't get one.

"I warned you not to with that feeling in your chest. You know why you're here, you know why this is happening."

No. I don't.

"Speak."

"Did y-you do this? Did I do this?"

"You did."

The sound vibrates his ears like a load yell in someone's ear. The ring stops for a moment, then continues.

"I'm you."

Ranboo can't move. The image is flashing in his head. The lighting was never the problem, the time wasn't the problem, the weapon wasn't the problem.

The problem is me.

The prison. Sam was wrong. He doesn't have Michael. Not anymore. He went to see Sam for a reason. A good reason. His point has been proven the hard way. His actions lead to this.

"I shouldn't have listened to Sam, I should have persisted. I should have gotten myself in." Ranboo says to himself and Dream's voice coldly.

Michael isn't dead, this could be a dream. This could be like what happened when he visited the prison. It's an illusion of a sort. He wants to run, but everything hurts. He can't move.

"This is on you now. You didn't get yourself in a cell and now look at you. You're dead son, is laying there lifeless beside the weapon you made. The community house, betraying your friends, helping Dream, and now your own family."

Ranboo's heart is racing. He doesn't want to look at the mess ahead of him again but just maybe, he thinks, It will help him realize what he's truly done. He looks up again, as his chest fails to gather air.

"You're making up a world. You made an illusion so I could see my son die and you'd gain control of me. But I won't let you. This is fake. It has to be."

"It's not."

Ranboo can tell the voice left after a wind-like sound chilled in his ears. He doesn't want to think about the conversation they had. He doesn't want to remember it. This is an illusion, a mind trick. Michael is his pride and joy, and so is tubbo, he'd be able to stop himself no matter what if he was in that situation. He knows he would.

The sound of slow snowfall through the windows flows deafeningly. Ranboo looks back at the pile on the floor, and the mess everywhere in his vision. It almost doesn't look real. Things are so realistic they look fake.

Didn't he make a sound earlier? Did I imagine it?

Ranboo crawls over despite the puddles of blood seeping into his clothes. It feels like the blood is seeping into his skin. Michaels body is torn. Disfigured. Barely responsive. It's not a simple fix. No way Michael could be alive longer than a few minutes, and no way he could be brought back.

Michaels cold eyes move slowly as Ranboo moves close enough in his vision. Shocked, scared, worried, and yet calm and concerned. Emotions that don't have names. The color in his eyes move.

"Dad?"

A Shaky voice echos. Ranboo's face burns. Steam forms around his vision. His voice is weak and hopeful.

"Did I hurt you?"

Ranboo chokes out sound painfully. There's not enough air to say more. Michaels face doesn't change, simply stays. His face appears almost frozen. Air could barely seep into Michael's lungs. Neither of theirs could, for different reasons.

Michaels voice was barely audible. Cold and serious.
Hurt.

"Yes."