Ranboo stood by and watched as they took Technoblade away, the tension a physical entity brewing within his chest.

He kept his hands in front of him, fingers tracing every bump or rough patch of his skin in a futile attempt to comfort himself. Rationally – with the part of his brain that he should be using – he knew Techno would be fine. But that didn't mean anything against all the other thoughts muddling around up there.

So maybe it was a small mercy that he didn't get that much time to dwell on it at all and the door opened again for somebody else to take him away. They gave him the short walkabout of the place to show him where to find anything he'd need to do his chores, though Ranboo feared he wouldn't remember much of it later with how distracted he was. Probably he'd come to regret that once somebody asked him to fetch an item for them. The infirmary was small – compact – and only had a single brewing stand used for the occasional potion, though a few more sat in a cupboard that hugged the wall. Several cots occupied the rest of the space, all empty except for one where a man was stitching up his own arm. The doctor who worked there greeted them off-handedly, too busy for a proper introduction. They seemed nice enough, from what Ranboo could tell.

Only two doors down – close together, easy to remember. Ranboo couldn't be more glad – was a staircase that led to the kitchen. The room was almost twice as big as the infirmary, showing where the arena's priorities lied. A woman with long blonde hair pinned up into a bun and a stained apron tied around her waist bustled around the others working there.

"Got some fresh meat for ya', girl!" the man who had been leading Ranboo around said, grabbing her by the elbow harshly.

She pulled out of his hold rather quickly, clearly uncomfortable with it, but when her eyes settled on Ranboo she smiled slightly. "Hi, give me a sec alright?"

He nodded numbly, at a loss for the strange normality this person radiated. It was almost enough to make one forget where they were. Awkwardly, he tried to shift around so he wasn't in anybody's way, finding it easier said than done in the tight spaces of the kitchen. The room didn't have any proper windows either, which made sense since they'd come down a staircase to get there. This floor was basically a basement. Small rectangular gaps with grates in front of them were set high in the wall and served as their only ventilation aside from the stove's wall-bound chimneys. They did provide a perfect view of the pitch and the vague outline of people sitting on the stands, but nobody was fighting at the moment.

"-re you listening?" Ranboo tuned back into the conversation in time to notice the woman was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Uh, you were saying?"

She laughed, then held out that same hand to shake his. "No worries, I know how bad it can be for a first-timer. It's overwhelming, huh." She angled her head to the side. Ranboo caught a glimpse of a long scar on the slope of her neck, partly hidden by her blouse. "You were brought in this morning?"

Her tone made it seem like a casual conversation, throwing him off. "I think so? Hard to tell the time in those cells."

"You'll get used to it. I'm Clarissa by the way."

"Ranboo. Nice to meet you?" It came out more as a question than anything.

She nodded. "Good. Any experience in the kitchen, Ranboo?"

"Does cooking a steak count?"

Her laugh was light and heartfelt, the kind of laughter you would compare to wind chimes and which felt completely misplaced in this basement. Contagious as it was, Ranboo couldn't help but feel a little more at ease with it. "It's better than some of the folks I get down here. I can show you the ropes though, maybe teach you a thing or two? For now, how about you just start with peeling the potatoes."

"Okay." Potato peeling, sure. That should be within his capabilities, hopefully, usually. There weren't a lot of ways you could screw that up at least. When Clarissa turned away to get back to work, Ranboo let out a panicked squeak. "Wait, where are the potatoes?"

"Pantry is the door across from ours, can hardly miss it!" she responded without turning around.

Well, that wasn't too bad nor too far. He could remember that too, even without his book. Ranboo left the kitchen, then stopped in his tracks at facing an empty hallway. There wasn't anybody around. He was all alone, for the first time since being brought to the coliseum.

Which might be why he found himself back at the staircase, staring at the handful of steps as if they were the most daunting of challenges. Ranboo looked around again – made sure nobody would walk in on him – before going up and checking the door.

It was locked, of course. He berated himself for even thinking it was worth a shot.

Defeated but not surprised he went back to the pantry. There were several bags of potatoes and Clarissa didn't specify how many she wanted him to peel so he brought an entire bag. If she had noticed his longer absence – unlikely, with how she was running around keeping an eye on the entire kitchen at once – she didn't mention it. She simply handed him a knife and Ranboo sat down on a wooden stool to start peeling.

Repeated motions kept him occupied, made it easy for his stray thoughts to wander. Technoblade would be having his first fight today and if he did well, they would make him fight more. Maybe better opponents, higher stakes. The risk of him getting hurt would increase over time, all while Ranboo sat in this room peeling potatoes. The logical solution would be for them to escape before anything bad could happen, Techno had said so himself. And Ranboo had to make sure of that.

Distantly and with a painful tug on his heart he wondered how the others were doing. Phil might be worried, though Ranboo couldn't remember if either Techno or himself had told him where they were headed off to. Still, if they didn't come home for days that'd be worrisome to anyone. Tubbo would notice if he didn't visit tomorrow though, definitely. Tommy too. Ranboo hoped they would notice at least. Sometimes he thought they might not notice, might not miss him. No, they would, they would-

"Ah!" He pulled the knife away from his palm. Flexing his fingers, he watched the purple ooze of blood drip from the fresh cut.

"Oh shit, here." Clarissa pushed a towel into his hand. Ranboo allowed her to grab his wrist and inspect the wound. "Doesn't look too bad, I'm thinking you will live."

"I hope so," he said. "Would be stupid to die from being distracted."

"What were you thinking about that got you so occupied?"

Ranboo opened his mouth and then closed it again before deciding honesty might be his best option. He couldn't see any harm in it. "Home."

Clarissa's face fell. "Yeah, don't take this the wrong way but you'd probably be better off not doing that too much."

She pulled a bandage from her apron, clearly prepared for kitchen incidents. Ranboo took it from her gratefully. "What do you mean?"

"Just... the coliseum is not that bad, alright? Once you've been here a while you'll become used to it. There's food to eat and a roof over your head, which is more than some slaves have. The handlers might seem scary at first but their bark's a lot worse than their bite, promise. If you don't go stirring up trouble, things can be good for you here."

"I..." Ranboo sighed, unconvinced. "I guess?"

"Give it a chance," she said, already walking away. "You might even grow to like it."

Ranboo learned later that it was actually quite simple to tell when it was night because the lights would go out.

It had to be some kind of redstone mechanism he figured, because with the simple flick of a switch their entire floor was plunged into darkness. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted and he could tell shapes and objects no different than in daylight, only the colors had become a monotonous blue-grey. Technoblade was lying on the cot across the room, blanket discarded on the floor and hands beneath his head.

He won, he'd told Ranboo all about it. So he'd be back in the ring by the next morning. Ranboo hated how that made his gut clench.

"So what's the plan?" Techno asked, probably because he could feel Ranboo staring.

"Hm, it's a work in progress," Ranboo admitted sheepishly. He had tried the door and the door had been locked.

There were knives in the kitchen, but it wouldn't be easy to smuggle one out. Even if he could, Ranboo had no clue what he'd do with it. Stabbing somebody seemed like a last-ditch resort, not a carefully crafted escape plot.

"Yeah, we'll have to keep an eye out." Techno sounded unhurried, not concerned in the slightest.

Ranboo – on the other hand – felt inches away from having a panic attack. "That's not much of a plan..." He laughed wryly. He knew his breathing was too rapid to be considered fine. He wasn't fine.

Because they were kidnapped and locked up and either one of them could get hurt and Ranboo had to do something about that or he would feel guilty about it forever but he couldn't do anything and-

"Hey!" Techno sat up, the cot creaking beneath him. He could lean forward and reach out and with how small the room was that was enough for him to put his hand on Ranboo's elbow. "Do you trust me, Ranboo?"

Ranboo did not have to think about his reply. "Yeah, I do. I mean, I think I do."

"Good enough for me." Techno pulled back. "Then trust me when I say it's going to be fine, yeah? Nothing's going to happen to you." He laid back down, rolling over to face the wall.

Which – as well-meant as it probably was – only sent Ranboo spiraling worse.

Because oh, oh. He wasn't just kidnapped, he was a hostage. Held in exchange for cooperation and good behavior. And if Techno got hurt, it wouldn't just be Ranboo's fault. It would be for Ranboo too.

None of this would have happened if it weren't for him.

And even if Techno couldn't see it, Ranboo nodded to himself in the pitch black of their cell, coming to a simple conclusion. He got them into this mess so he would get them out of it. No matter what it would take.