Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s this thing about Snowchester— it’s always light. No matter what time it is, how many torches have blown out, or how many lanterns have been buried in a storm, it’s still light. The moon or the glow of the windows in the cottages that line the shore reflect off the white blanket of snow across the ground. It illuminates the whole town like a tiny beacon of warmth. White and gold, snow and home.

Underneath Ranboo’s feet, the snow crunches like broken glass. He stops in front of Tubbo’s house, looks up at the windows. They’re dark. He sighs, and opens the front door carefully, like he’s intruding on a place he’s crossed the threshold of too many times to count.

He holds back the greeting on his lips, and shuts the door behind him.

Tubbo isn’t home, so Ranboo doesn’t bother taking his shoes off or lighting the torches. His eyes adjust to the dark just fine, and the glow from outside is enough to find his way. He creeps into Michael’s bedroom, looking around the empty loft.

“Happy family,” he whispers at the portrait on the wall, half in shadow. 

He just needs Michael’s extra coat. The one with red sewn into the hem and stitched across the old tear from the time Tommy took him sledding. It’s easy. All he has to do is open the closet and tug it off the hanger. 

He’s kneeling next to Michael’s crib before he has time to think. 

“God, he was so tiny,” Ranboo says to no one. He laughs, “Do you remember the time he climbed down the latter all on his own? I thought I was going to die, I was so proud.”

Outside, the wind whistles. Ranboo lets out a shuddering breath and drops his forehead to the bed. It’s awkward, he has to bend down far to get to the mattress, but he presses his face against it and imagines there are noises downstairs, Tubbo cooking or rambling while Tommy adds his input occasionally in the form of a laugh or loud cursing. He imagines he’s home.

He gives himself a few seconds. Only a few, and then he stands on shaky legs and pulls Michael’s coat from the closet. The one with Tommy’s red thread stitched into every old tear. He leaves the house dark, and locks the door on his way out. Snowchester is light. Ranboo creeps across it like a minefield as he leaves.

Ranboo isn’t religious. He doesn’t believe in some higher power, or at least he doesn’t let himself think about it, because if there is a god, they’re trying pretty damn hard to make his life miserable. Despite that, he’s always liked Church Prime. It’s a safe place, neutral ground. Tubbo called him the “Church Prime of people” once. It made him laugh.

He stops inside on the way to the nether portal.

Someone else is there, when he walks into the pews, and he tries to avoid them but they turn at the sound of his footsteps. Maybe it’s his fault, he never tried to quiet them.

“Ranboo,” Eret says. They sound tired. 

“Hi.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and it’s a little awkward as Ranboo shifts on his feet and Eret kneels in the pew, watching him. Eventually, Eret clears his throat, “I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not,” Ranboo says quickly. He shakes his head, turns to the front of the church. “I’m not, I’m just… stopping in, I guess. I didn’t know you were.”

Eret laughs dryly, and when Ranboo looks back at him his shoulders look heavy. Ranboo has always wondered what it would be like, knowing he was the first one on the server to betray his friends. The original Judas in a line of followers.

“I’m not either, really. Sometimes I sit in here to try and collect my thoughts. Praying can help, you know, even if you don’t believe there’s someone listening.”

“You don’t?”

“Maybe someone was, but they left us a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

Eret hums, and then she stands, tipping her head slightly in Ranboo’s direction. They brush off their knees and make their way towards the entrance, stopping next to Ranboo. They don’t try to meet his eyes, and he’s grateful for it, but he doesn’t know who’s benefit it’s for.

“There’s a reason the Crimson Egg corrupts so easily.” He glances back at the shrine, the lit candles and shrivelling flowers. “It offers us a god to believe in.”

Ranboo doesn’t watch him leave, but he flinches when the door clicks shut behind him.

The church is quiet. Slowly, like he might get in trouble for it, Ranboo slides into a pew and kneels. He taps the row in front of him with his fingernail, it’s a steady beat, and he loses himself trying to remember if he knows it. Eventually, the beat runs out, and his hand slips away from the wood.

“Okay,” he whispers, glancing up at the shrine and then looking away quickly. He sucks in a breath and raises his voice. “This is stupid, but it’s not like I can talk to someone or— I could? But they’re busy. Or hurting. So… man, I feel like an idiot.”

A voice that sounds oddly like Tubbo says you are, and he laughs, broken. 

“I just wish I knew, you know? I mean, I was here late, so many things had already— so much stuff happened when I wasn’t here. But I thought… I thought we were happy, you know? We had so much to figure out and heal and everything but we were—”

He stops, takes another breath and scrubs at his eyes before the tears can fall. This won’t be what breaks him. 

Slowly, he forces himself to look at the shrine. His voice breaks.

“Why would he say yes?”

***

“I’m back!” Ranboo calls as he pushes open Phil’s door. He slips his shoes off and shakes the snow out of his hair with one hand, the other clutching Michael’s coat.

“Kitchen!” Phil shouts back, and then there’s a slam of a cupboard and some maniacal half screech, half laugh. Ranboo smiles softly. There’s his son.

Phil’s kitchen is cozy, one corner packed with brewing stands and potion books, another with an assortment of herbs growing in little garden boxes by the window. There’s a small table with five chairs and a makeshift highchair that Tubbo built with Foolish at sometime in the morning when they both should have been sleeping. Phil stands by the stove, bouncing Michael on his hip.

Ranboo stops in the doorway and leans against it for a moment, watching Phil hum and sway slightly, one of Michael’s hands gripping a braid in his hair like a landline. He wonders if Phil gets deja vu, holding a baby boy and cooking like everything is at peace. Maybe it’s where his mind has been lately, but Ranboo thinks this could be Wilbur’s grave— new beginnings. 

His smile slips, and he pushes himself off the doorframe. “Hey, Phil.”

Phil turns, and his eyes soften when they land on Ranboo, his smile turns sad. “Hey, mate. Got the coat?”

Ranboo nods, and when he holds his arms out for Michael the little piglin hybrid tips into him without hesitation, babbling incoherences in part Piglin, part English, and part nonsense. “Hello there Michael,” Ranboo tells him, he holds up the coat, “I got you your extra coat so we can clean off all those stains on this one, yeah? Sound good buddy?”

Michael doesn’t reply, but he grabs at the coat and picks at the red thread with one finger, bouncing in Ranboo’s arms. “Tums,” he babbles. Ranboo looks at Phil with wide eyes while the older man laughs.

“Oh, Tommy is going to love that one.”

“I think he’ll forgive the mispronunciation, kid is taken on that little guy.”

“Aren’t we all,” Ranboo says as he sets Michael down, kneeling so he can tug off his coat and put on the spare. Michael runs off as soon as he’s done buttoning the clasps, off to find something gold or sweet to chew on. Ranboo stays on his knees, trying to think of ways to avoid the conversation Phil is going to want to have.

“How was Snowchester?”

Ranboo stands and braces a hand on the counter. “Quiet. Really quiet.”

“Foolish wasn’t working on the mansion, then?”

“I… told him to pause the project, for a little while.”

Phil furrows his eyebrows, but nods, crossing his arms across from Ranboo. “You know you’re welcome here as long as you’d like, forever, if that’s what you want, but mate—”

“Why did you have to choose the coldest fucking biome to build you’re stupid house?”

Ranboo almost smiles. Tommy Innit to the rescue. 

He stomps inside without taking his shoes off, trailing melting snow through the hall and into the kitchen. He rubs his hands together, glaring, “Fucking freezing out, innit?”

“It has its advantages,” Phil says placatingly, sighing at the puddle around Tommy’s feet. He pulls a rag out from under the sink, dropping it on the floor. “You hungry?”

“Nah,” Tommy says, and he looks uncomfortable all of a sudden, standing in the middle of Phil’s kitchen. Ranboo realizes with a pang like a throat punch that he’s wearing Tubbo’s coat. 

It’s a little small on him, but not too small, Tubbo has always liked his clothes big. The patch on the back that looks vaguely like a bee and a purple flower stares at Ranboo like an accusation. 

“So, Ranboob. Your kid around?”

“Living room,” Ranboo replies quietly, and then, before he can stop himself, “how—how are you doing?”

Tommy stiffens, crossing his arms. He looks at Phil, then back at Ranboo. “What? Not like anyone ever fucking stays.”

“Tommy,” Phil chastises, and Tommy’s shoulders slump. 

He sighs, he looks as tired as Ranboo feels. “Yeah. I know. I’m… I’m dealing, big man. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“And you—“ Tommy stops, scowls, “—your kid, I mean. Where’s the gremlin baby?”

“Living room,” Ranboo repeats, and Tommy’s cheeks flush red before he nods and leaves the way he came.

They sit in silence as his footsteps fade, the muffled shout from Michael pulls a tiny smile from Ranboo. It’s like a quilt with holes in it. When he finally feels some warmth, his elbow falls back into cold air. 

Phil tugs on the cuff of his sleeve, and Ranboo lets him fix it, buttoning the worn brass buttons and tucking his jacket over his wrist. Ranboo’s eyes sting, he blinks it away. 

This won’t be the thing that breaks him. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Phil says finally, moving to the other cuff. 

“Thank you,” Ranboo breathes. 

“But mate— we’re here, if you want to.”

“I know.”

The kettle on the stove whistles, and Phil’s fingers pull away from his hands. Ranboo misses the warmth. 

Tubbo used to trace his fingers, across the lines of his palm. Whispering, I’m here, you’re with me, you remember. 

His hands drop to his sides and he swallows thickly. 

“Makin’ tea?” Techno asks as he stumbles into the room. He looks half asleep, wearing his white tunic and brown slacks. He’s got his boots on, and a small knife at his hip, but other than that, he’s unarmed. He’s… human. Personable. 

Ranboo already knew that, but it’s still weird, sometimes, to see the vulnerability. 

“Yep,” Phil says, popping the ‘p’. He gestures to the table, glancing at Ranboo pointedly. “Helps calm the nerves.”

“Ah,” Techno says, Ranboo looks away, but he can feel Techno’s eyes on him anyway. “True.”

Slowly, Ranboo sits down, because he thinks Phil might just make him if he doesn’t listen. He fiddles with his hands in his lap until Phil passes him a few pieces of toast and a jar of jam. Something to do. 

“Thanks,” Ranboo says softly.  

The quiet isn’t as comfortable as it used to be, before… before everything. Somehow, it feels even more like a lie now. Ranboo twists the lid off the jam and clears his throat. This won’t be what breaks him. 

“Where’s Michael?” Techno asks finally. 

“Being a menace,” Phil mutters, as something in another room crashes. 

Ranboo winces. “He’s in the living room, or he was— he’s with Tommy.”

Techno blinks, and Ranboo knows him well enough to see the slight hunch in his shoulders, the way one of his fists clenched. 

“Tommy’s here?” he asks. Ranboo gets it. Tommy is rarely around. He has a bed, across the hall from Michael, just after Phil offered Ranboo and his son a place in the cottage. He placed it there himself, but he comes back late, and leaves early, only stopping by to say hi to Michael or force Ranboo out of the house. 

“Too much Technoblade is bad for your skin,” he‘ll say. 

“Yeah. He’s here.”

Techno grunts, half turning towards the hall, “Should I—“

Phil shakes his head, voice soft, “Not a good idea, Tech.”

“Ah.”

Ranboo feels like he has to step in, then, and his voice rushes out in a panicked tone no matter how much he tries to mask it, “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot for you guys and— and everything, with me and Michael and now Tommy, I honestly didn’t think he’d move in but he loves Michael so much and—“

“—and you,” Phil finishes. “He’s here for you.”

“Well, I mean, he could be, but—“

Techno huffs, and he looks annoyed, but he sounds fond. “That’s just what Tommy’s like. He clings to people. Wants to protect ‘em.”

“Protect— oh.” Ranboo swallows, “From you.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Techno shrugs, reaches out to swipe the jam off the knife in Ranboo’s hand before it drops to the floor. His hand tremors, and slowly, Techno takes the knife away completely. The smile he gives him is almost soft. “We’ve both done our fair share of aggravatin’.”

Ranboo nods, watching with half glazed eyes as Techno takes over his job, spreading jam on most of the bread, and chocolate on one, for Michael. Ranboo could tell him that he should really make one that way for Tommy, too, but his tongue feels heavy. 

Phil presses a warm cup of tea into his hands, and Ranboo drinks it mechanically, setting down the empty cup and looking up at Phil’s amused face. 

“Dehydrated?”

“No? I was just drinking it. It’s good.”

Phil laughs, ruffling his hair, “You’re supposed to savor it, Ranboo.”

“Oh.” Ranboo has never really been good at that. He’s always just held things with the knowledge they’d be gone soon. He looks back down at his empty tea cup. Usually it’s because of him. 

“Ranboo—“ Techno starts, and when Ranboo looks up at him, he cuts himself off, sighs, and sits down. “You should go to sleep, man. You look exhausted.”

“Probably because I haven’t slept,” Ranboo says, cracking a half smile. The joke falls flat. Phil and Techno exchange a look. 

“Trust me, it’s the first rule. You can’t figure it out if you aren’t takin’ care of yourself.”

Ranboo doesn’t have to ask what the rules are for. He recognizes the look on Techno’s face. Loss. 

“We can hold down the fort, mate. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

By anything he means Tubbo. Ranboo thinks he’s lying. He’s not sure if he’s annoyed or grateful. He nods, giving in, and stands on shaking legs. “Thank you,” he says again. He’ll say it as many times as he needs to. “Thank you, for— for caring.”

Techno has a bite of toast shoved in his mouth, and Ranboo decides to not notice when he chokes on it. Phil just gives him another one of those soft smiles that threaten Ranboo’s tear ducts. He blinks it away. 

This won’t be what breaks him. 

“You look dead on your feet,” Tommy says behind him, and Ranboo turns, giving him the barest of smiles. He’s bouncing Michael on his hip and avoiding Techno’s eyes, pointedly looking at a spot on Ranboo’s forehead. Ranboo wonders if the look on his face mirrors Atlas. He wonders if it mirrors his own. 

It’s heavy. 

“Yeah,” Ranboo says. He glances at Techno, “Will you be okay? With Michael and—“

“I’m fine. Go get your beauty sleep.” Tommy huffs and adjusts Michael on his hip. The toddler reaches up to pull on a strand of Tommy’s hair, curling it through his fingers like he’s trying to braid it. Behind him, Techno snorts out a laugh. 

This could be perfect, if only. 

Ranboo nods. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. I’ll just… go then. Thanks.” He makes his way out of the room, only pausing to kiss Michael’s head, brushing a thumb across his forehead. 

“Bee?” Michael inquires innocently, looking around for the missing member of their patchwork family. Ranboo has to catch Tommy’s elbow to keep him from stumbling. He has to hold his breath to keep from falling apart. This won’t be what breaks him. 

No one says anything, and Michael taps at Tommy’s cheek insistently. Eventually, Phil says, “He’s busy, mate.”

Ranboo turns and climbs the stairs before he loses all the feeling in his legs. He drops into bed and doesn’t bother changing or putting his blanket on. 

He’s not tired, despite what Phil and Techno and Tommy think. He’s sad, and heavy, and exhausted, but he isn’t tired. Ranboo has been wide awake since it happened. 

“Cat got your tongue, boss man?”

With a sharp inhale, Ranboo presses his palms against his eyes. He forces the memories away, tugs them close. He can’t afford to forget. He can’t bear to remember. 

When sleep comes, it’s almost unwilling. Like every part of his brain is fighting to stay conscious as the lights fade and his vision blurs. 

***

Ranboo wakes up in the woods. 

He jumps to his feet, patting himself down and inspecting his hands. Looking for blood. Looking for gunpowder. Looking for a sword. 

A bird chirps, and his hands are clean. He doesn’t recognize where he is. 

The woods around the Arctic and Snowchester, even the main SMP, they’re familiar. He’s walked through them enough, gathering resources, training with Techno, bird watching with Phil, long walks with Tubbo. He knows the woods. 

Ranboo has no idea where he is. 

He starts to walk, chewing his lip and keeping a hand on a tree trunk, part of him hoping he’s dreaming. He imagines Michael waking up with both his dads gone, and his knees buckle. 

Something explodes behind him, and he startles, eyes blown wide. His hands itch. He looks at them again. Did he do that? Did he hurt someone? He can’t remember how he got here—

“Run!” a voice shouts, and then his hand is being held. Ranboo doesn’t know what’s happening, so he listens, letting the hand drag him away, stumbling and jumping over foliage in his path. 

“Who—“

“No talking!” his kidnapper —rescuer? Enemy?— hisses. “They’ll find us out. Can’t go back and tell everyone I started a turf war, that’s Tommy’s job.”

“Tommy—“ Ranboo starts again. The stranger hushes him. Ranboo’s vision is blurred, and he’s focused on not tripping over roots and loose branches, but he can’t help but think the hand in his hand and the voice is familiar. Almost in a haunting way. 

Before he has time to think on it, he’s being tugged down and inside a tree, squished into the tight space of a hollowed out stump. 

“Sorry,” the stranger says. He hasn’t let go of Ranboo’s hand. “I just figured you didn’t want to get shot.”

“No— no,” Ranboo agrees. He looks up from his knees, and every drop of blood in his body freezes. 

Sitting with him, holding his hand, breathing heavily with his knees pressed against Ranboo’s, is Tubbo. 

“You have to breathe, man,” Tubbo says with a laugh. Ranboo keeps staring. This is Tubbo, he’s sure of it. His eyes are the same blue-green, his bangs brush his eyebrows like they're almost too long to see past. It’s Tubbo, but he’s in a green shirt, and his face—

He doesn’t have any scars. 

“You’re—“ Ranboo starts, stops again. 

Tubbo laughs again. He sounds so light. “My bad. I’m Tubbo. What’s your name?”

“Ranboo,” Ranboo says stupidly. The ring on his finger feels like fire. 

“Nice to meet you! Granted, I didn’t know you were American when I saved you, but oh well.” Tubbo raises an eyebrow, “You aren’t going to try and stab me, are you?”

Panic rises in Ranboo’s chest and he shakes his head so hard it hurts his neck. “No! No, I’d never— I’d never do that. Not to you.”

Tubbo stares at him, like he’s amused, like he’s bewildered. It’s familiar. It’s wrong. “You’re a bit weird.”

“Good to know,” Ranboo breathes, and Tubbo laughs for a third time. Like it’s easy. Ranboo wants to reach out and touch his face. He keeps his free hand planted firmly on the tree's wood. His other hand is still being held, and Ranboo wishes it would last forever. 

“So… whose side are you on?”

Ranboo laughs at that, dropping his head back against the wood. His eyes sting. “None. I’m— I just got here, I guess. I think I’m dreaming.”

Tubbo rolls his eyes, “You’ll get along with Fundy. He’s big on stupid puns too. I’ll take you with me once the coast is clear, since you’re homeless. Wilbur’s used to us picking up strays.”

“Wilbur?”

“Yeah! He’s like our leader, er, George Washington type guy, you know? We’re fighting a revolution.”

Ranboo snaps his head back up, “You’re fighting a revolution. For— for—“

“L’Manburg,” Tubbo finishes with a proud puff of his chest. Ranboo can feel his heart hurtling off a cliff. His lungs forget how to work, for a little while. 

“I just wish I knew, you know?”

“Oh.” Oh. 

“We should get some rest,” Tubbo says. “We’ll probably be stuck here a few more hours, and then it’s a pretty long trek back.”

“Right.”

Tubbo grins at him, “Don’t stab me in my sleep, yeah, boss man?”

“Never,” Ranboo rasps. 

He watches, as Tubbo slips to sleep like it’s easy. Ranboo has sat with him through so many sleepless nights, listened to his panicked breathing and coaxed him down after nightmares, even when he didn’t know what they were about. 

This Tubbo’s face is smooth. Ranboo lifts his hand hesitantly, and makes it halfway to his cheek before he drops it again. He looks down at their hands. 

“You’ve always trusted so easily,” Ranboo says softly. He doesn’t know what else to say. 

He shouldn’t sleep. He should figure out where he is. He should be panicking, or having a crisis. 

Tubbo is holding his hand. 

Ranboo feels his breathing even out, and this time, as he falls asleep, he finally feels tired. 

***

He wakes up in the quiet of his bedroom, his purple wool blanket scratches at the back of his neck. Ranboo feels more rested than he has in weeks. He can hear Tommy and Phil downstairs. Dishes being stacked and Michael’s laugh. 

With a shaking breath, he sits up, stands and moves to the window. The woods in the distance are familiar. 

Ranboo’s knees buckle. He breaks.

Chapter Text

As soon as the tears have dried on his face, Ranboo blinks away the sting and climbs to his feet, drops heavily into his desk chair and yanks his journal out of his inventory. He slams it open, picks up a quill.

The tip stops just above the paper.

Slowly, like it’s taking all the focus in the world, he writes, “I had a nightmare”. His quill stills again, and he shakes his head, scribbling out the last word. “I had a dream,” he writes instead. He’s not sure what to put after that, so in as careful lettering as he can, he writes “Tubbo”.

A drop of ink falls from the quill and onto the page. Ranboo watches as a tear slips down to meet it. He takes a deep breath, and closes the book.

He reaches up, crossing his arms and cupping his face so his thumbs sit just by his nose and stares, unseeing, at the wall in front of him. His thumbs move, brushing across the not quite healed scars under his eyes gently. He presses a little harder, hisses once. His hand drop back to the desk with a thud. His head follows them soon after.

Ranboo breathes in the smell of sanded spruce, hands pressed over his face. On autopilot, his arms cross again, so he’s holding his cheeks just like before.

If he imagines hard enough, he can pretend they’re Tubbo’s hands.

The urge to press against the fresh scars hits him again and he brushes it away, biting his lip and pressing his cold hands closer to his face. Tubbo held him like this, he won’t hurt himself the same way.

There’s a memory in the back of his mind, scattered and a little faded, but he does remember Tubbo’s hands on his cheeks, standing on a chair to match his height. It was a bad night, probably, that’s what usually prompts physical comfort, but Ranboo doesn’t remember that part. He just remembers Tubbo’s hands on his face. 

With a slow, labored breath, Ranboo pulls himself to his feet, tucks his arms against his sides.

It’s evening now, Ranboo must have been upstairs for at least six hours. He doesn’t know how much of that he spent sleeping.

Tommy is sitting crisscrossed in front of the fireplace when he walks down the stairs, staring into the flames and swaying slightly. Ranboo glances at the jukebox in the corner. It’s silent. 

“Hi,” Ranboo says. Tommy hums. It’s a good enough invitation, so Ranboo joins him on the carpet, settling down in the same position, holding his ankles and glancing at Tommy out of the corner of his eye. “Michael?”

“Went to bed early, with Technoblade,” Tommy replies, and he says Techno’s name like it’s a curse. He moves his jaw, back and forth. Ranboo hears it pop. Tubbo’s does the same, he told him once that it was from old injuries, breaking their jaw back in L’Manburg, in Pogtopia. 

Ranboo doesn’t know why he says it, but when he does, Tommy stiffens, his eyes go far away, “Was there a forest around L’Manburg?”

Slowly, Tommy smiles. It’s a small thing, his lips just barely ticking up at the corners, but it’s the first time Ranboo has seen it since… well it’s the first genuine one since it happened. 

“Yeah,” he says, sitting up a little straighter. He holds up his arms, casting shadows across the walls, miming reaching branches and rustling leaves. Ranboo can almost see them in the dim lighting, a few are hollow, all of them are green.

“It was huge,” Tommy continues, lost in a memory, “and we used to name the trees with signs, L’Mantree actually grew on the edge of it. It was like the fucking— what is it— Redwoods? Yeah. Huge trees.”

“That sounds cool,” Ranboo says. His throat hurts.

“Tubbo and I used to climb them, made us feel like we could touch the sky.”

“What… what happened?”

Tommy’s smile slips. His hands drop. “They all burned.”

Ranboo blinks as Tommy’s shadow puppet images fade away, turning to look at his friend. Tommy keeps his eyes resolutely on the carpet. “The war?”

“Which one?” Tommy scoffs, but nods, “Those bitches Technoblade and Dream —even Wilbur— burned them all while we watched.”

Ranboo watches the shadows over Tommy’s shoulder, only prompted by the flicker of the fireplace and the sun outside now that Tommy’s hands are still. He swallows thickly, looks back into the hearth’s flames.

“Oh.”

“Everything burns eventually,” Tommy tells him. He climbs to his feet, drops a hesitant hand on Ranboo’s shoulder. It’s gone before Ranboo has time to savor it. “I’m going.”

“Where?”

Tommy stops, fiddling with the sleeve of Tubbo’s coat. Ranboo knows he has Wilbur’s too. He thinks that more than anything, Tommy just wants to be warm. Tommy shrugs, “My house, I guess. I was just waiting for sleeping boo-eauty to wake up so I could tell you I’m leaving.”

“Oh,” Ranboo says again. Tommy shuffles to the door, and Ranboo twists, clearing his throat. “Stay warm,” he calls.

Tommy glances at him, something haunted in his eyes. “You too, Ranboo,” he whispers, and then he’s gone, sending snow whirling through the doorway as he shuts it with a click.

Ranboo once again turns back to the flames. The logs in the fire burn. He wonders if any of them used to belong to the hollow tree in his dream.

***

Techno tosses him a sword the next morning, and Ranboo barely catches it, fumbling and managing to get a grip on the hilt as the blade buries itself in the snow.

“What?” he says. Techno shrugs, hefts his own sword. 

“Let’s talk.”

“Talk with swords? What does that—” Ranboo is cut off when Techno swings at him, and his instincts kick in. He drops to his knees, rolling under the blow and scrambling to his feet on Techno’s left side. “Uh—”

Techno swings again, Ranboo meets the blow. Their swords clash with a loud, metallic sound. Ranboo’s blood pumps in his ears.

“Good,” Techno says. “Watch your head.”

“But your sword is—” Ranboo shouts, dropping again as Techno yanks a dagger off his belt and swings it where Ranboo’s head used to be. “Okay, so this is terrifying.”

“Feet,” Techno says. Ranboo jumps just as the sword grinds down from his own and brushes the snow. Techno turns, flipping his knife in one hand and twirling the sword in his other. “How’ve you been sleepin’, Ranboo?”

Ranboo huffs, already sweating, and blocks another of Techno’s swings. He’s too focused on not dying to come up with a lie. “Not great.”

“Eating?”

“Occasionally.”

“What happened that night?” Techno asks. Ranboo freezes, and Techno twists his hand to shove the hilt of his sword against Ranboo’s stomach, sending him sprawling. “Don’t let your guard down.”

“You kind of surprised me,” Ranboo says through a wheeze.

“Left arm.”

Ranboo rolls, picking up his sword where he dropped it in the snow and vaults over the fence, putting distance between them. “It was— nothing, or everything. The night before was— we were fine.”

“Head.”

“Crap,” Ranboo hisses, tripping back to avoid the dagger being thrown at him. “Okay, so he’d been off for a while, locking himself up and avoiding me. I just thought he was busy. Maybe I should’ve—”

“Sword,” Techno says, and then Ranboo’s sword is sent flying through the air, landing in the snow ten feet from them with a thump.

Ranboo watches it, then looks back at Techno, “I thought you wanted me to talk?”

“About what happened, not why you blame yourself.”

Techno rolls his shoulders, hefts his sword again, Ranboo’s eyes widen, and he bolts. He scoops up Techno’s fallen dagger as he passes, skidding into a turn and slashing at Techno’s thick wrist cuffs, just to knock his balance off. He jumps to run after his sword, picking it up and spinning just in time to block Techno blade to blade. Techno smiles. Ranboo meets that too, all but hesitantly.

“Good,” Techno says. “Create an advantage.”

“Tommy says you burnt down the forest around L’Manburg.”

Like he thought, his words make Techno pause for just a second, and Ranboo pushes the sword back, kicking the back of Techno’s knee as he gets behind him.

Recovering quickly, Techno turns, shaking out his wrist. “Not like they hadn’t chopped down half the trees themselves already.”

“For resources.”

“And?”

Ranboo frowns, and Techno takes the chance to kick his feet out from under him. He stares down, his chest barely moving faster than it usually does. Ranboo breathes heavily, chest heaving, letting the cold snow seep into the back of his shirt. “You didn’t care?”

“Trees can be replanted. The damage L’Manburg did… why are you askin’ Tommy about the old forest anyway?”

He considers lying. Techno offers him a hand. Eventually, Ranboo takes it.

“I had a dream last night. I was in a forest I didn’t recognize. Tubbo was there. He… didn’t have any scars.”

Techno’s hand twitches once in his own before he lets go and nods. “I dream about Pogtopia sometimes,” he admits. “Except Wilbur doesn’t use me, and Tommy and I— it’s different, is all. What we wished we could’ve had.”

“It’s out of reach?” Ranboo asks. He hates that he sounds like a child.

Techno studies him, his eyebrows lowered slightly. “Not all of it. Come on, Phil’ll have my head if I let you catch a cold.”

“Okay,” Ranboo says, and follows, eyes on the ground. He stops at the door, tugging on Techno’s sleeve before he can open the door. “Is it bad that I want to have the dream again?”

“No,” Techno says. He reaches up slowly, and his hand hovers by Ranboo’s face before it drops to his shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll wake up.”

Ranboo musters up a smile, patting Techno’s hand. “Always.”

***

“Goodnight Michael,” Ranboo whispers, pressing a kiss to his sons forehead. He sinks down into the chair next to his bed and props his head in his hands, watching as Michael snorts in his sleep, his ears twitching. It’s calm, like all the nights he and Tubbo used to spend sitting on the trapdoor, staying up just in case. Just in case something happened or Michael needed saving again.

He always woke up with Tubbo’s head on his shoulder and the soft morning sun seeping through the windows. He feels heavy, and lets himself fall into the memory.

***

Ranboo wakes up in the tree, but Tubbo isn’t there. He frowns, peaking out of the hole slowly, listening carefully for the hum of an arrow leaving its bow. When no sounds but birds and the rustling of rabbits reaches his ears, he climbs out of the tree. He’s light on his feet as he walks, traveling in some direction he doesn’t know. 

“—stupid, Tubbo. Ghosts aren’t real.”

Ranboo stops short, turning towards the voice. He knows it. Even if it’s younger, and louder, and less hesitant, he knows it. Tommy.

“I’m telling you! He just fucking disappeared!”

“Before or after you fell asleep?”

“Well,” Tubbo’s voice says sheepishly, and Ranboo can imagine him rubbing his neck.

Tommy snorts. “Maybe you just hallucinated the whole thing.”

“I did not.”

“Are you sure you didn’t get hit by a poison arrow?”

“Tommy,” Tubbo groans.

“Not my fault you’re a pussy who gets shot by arrows and lost in the woods for two days.”

“I wasn’t lost—”

Tommy hushes him, and Ranboo frowns, shuffling forward slightly. The woods have gone back to their eerie silence, the birds chirping behind him the only sign that he’s not on some staged set.

There’s a snap of a twig, and Ranboo whirls, only to be met with the point of an arrow aimed directly at his face. He jumps, holding up his hands. “Don’t shoot!”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Ranboo drops his hands, tipping his head so he can see past the arrow. Tommy scowls back at him. “Oh, hello.”

“Don’t hello me, you—”

“Rainbow!” Tubbo shouts, jumping out of the bush he must’ve been hiding in. Ranboo’s face brightens and he ignores the stab of fondness, of heartbreak, when Tubbo gets his name wrong.

“Ranboo,” he corrects softly.

Tubbo moves to his side, putting his hands on his hips. “See, Tommy. I told you I didn’t hallucinate.”

Tommy makes a disgusted face, lowering his bow slightly so he can reach out and poke Ranboo in the arm, “Can ghosts be solid?”

“Sometimes,” Ranboo says, thinking of Ghostbur. Both Tubbo and Tommy give him odd looks and he clears his throat, pulling at his collar. “Not that I’m a ghost, or anything. I am perfectly alive. Well, not perfect. I’m impractically alive, probably? My body doesn’t really work how it should.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, and Tubbo lets out a small giggle, looking up at him. Ranboo glances down and smiles back. It’s genuine.

“Can we keep him?” Tubbo asks suddenly, and Tommy sputters while Ranboo chokes.

“He’s not a dog, Tubbo.”

“Yeah!”

“Plus, he’s American, so we can’t trust him.”

“Yeah— no. No, you can trust me.”

“That’s exactly what a spy would say.”

“And exactly what a not spy would say,” Ranboo counters, and Tommy opens his mouth and then shuts it again, stumped.

Tubbo moves in front of Tommy, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Please, Tommy? He doesn’t have anywhere to go, and who knows what Sapnap will do if he finds him.”

“No,” Tommy says.

Frowning, Tubbo hums, and then starts shaking Tommy’s shoulders violently, “Please? Please, please, please, please, please, please, please—”

“Alright!” Tommy shouts, shoving himself out of Tubbo’s grip and stumbling slightly before he rights himself. “Fine. Fucking hell, you just cling to everyone, huh?”

“Yep!” Tubbo says, popping the ‘p’. He turns to Ranboo with a grin, “Come on, we’ll show you the way. You’ll like L’Manburg. It’s got a drug van.”

“Tubbo! You can’t just go giving away our nations closely kept secrets!”

“I’m pretty sure that one’s common knowledge, Tommy.”

Ranboo smiles as he watches the two of them interact. They aren’t like this, back home. They love each other, sure. It’s obvious Tubbo would do anything for Tommy, and visa versa, but there’s a border between them now that he doesn’t think either of them know how to get past.

“Who starts a nation from a drug van anyway?” Ranboo asks, genuinely curious.

“We started it because of the drug van, not for the drug van,” Tubbo tells him.

Tommy nods along vehemently, taking the lead in their small party. “Yeah. we just wanted to have some fun, but Dream and his goons decided we couldn’t have shit, so Wilbur said “that’s not quite fair, is it?” and well all said, “yeah, Will, you’re right!” so now we’re building walls.”

“Crash course history,” Tubbo says with a smirk. Tommy turns to kick at his shin.

“So… this is because you can’t do what you want?”

“This is because Dream is scary,” Tubbo says. Ranboo goes quiet. He an’t really argue with that one.

Tommy throws an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, his bow propped against his collarbone. “Yeah, but we’re gonna win, and then he won’t scare us at all.”

Luckily, the walls to L’Manburg come into view before Ranboo has to come up with a reply for that.

It’s different seeing the walls in pictures versus in person— dream, whatever. All the pictures in Eret’s museum look sad, dark, almost threatening. These ones kind of remind Ranboo of bees. He glances at Tubbo and wonders if he had anything to do with it.

With a start, he realizes he’s the one who has something to do with it. His subconscious building walls that Tubbo would love.

The walls in Snowchester are gray. 

“L’Manburg!” Tubbo shouts, and then he’s running, Tommy grumbles but runs after him, so Ranboo doesn’t have much choice but to follow.

The gates to the walls are open, no guard in sight. Ranboo takes note of that as they walk inside. The grass seems to grow greener here. His eyes scan their surroundings, over the measly tents and the van, the hotdog sitting on top like an eyesore. He jumps when its door slams open, and a man with brown hair stumbles down the steps.

He doesn’t look like Ghostbur, not really, but Ranboo knows it’s Wilbur all the same.

“Tubbo,” Wilbur says, and Ranboo shifts, ready to move in front of Tubbo in a second, his hand tenses at his side.

Tubbo laughs, and Wilbur’s face splits into a grin before he rushes to close the space between them, scooping Tubbo up into a tight hug.

“You absolute idiot,” he says. “Why didn’t you message us? We thought you’d been captured! You weren’t captured, were you?”

Wilbur sets Tubbo down, brushes his hands over his hair and shoulders, cupping his face, looking for injuries. Tubbo smiles, his cheeks squished by Wilbur’s hands, and pulls a jumble of wires out of his pocket, “Sorry, Wilbur. Used my communicator for detonator parts.”

“You—” Wilbur laughs, dropping his hands. “You’ll be the death of me, you know that? What did you even blow up?”

“Dream’s Nether portal.”

“Seriously?” Tommy cuts in, shoving between the two like he’s reminding them he’s there, “How did you get away?”

“Magic,” Tubbo says. Ranboo can’t help but chuckle.

Unfortunately, it brings attention to him, and Wilbur’s eyes snap to meet his for a split second before Ranboo looks away. He watches Wilbur move in front of Tommy and Tubbo. 

“Tommy, who is this?”

“This is Ranboob, Tubbo’s boyfriend,” Tommy says tiredly.

Tubbo goes beet red, turning to punch Tommy’s arm. “He is not! I just found him in the woods. He doesn’t remember anything, and he was all alone.”

“Ranboob,” Wilbur repeats blandly, like that’s the only part that matters.

“Ranboo,” Ranboo corrects. Wilbur hums, then turns to Tubbo.

“He’s American.”

“But he promised he wouldn’t stab me.”

“He doesn’t belong here.”

“He could!”

Wilbur sighs, looks back at Ranboo, down at Tubbo, then to Tommy, “Well, right hand?”

Tommy puffs his chest proudly at the title, looking Ranboo up and down, he opens his mouth, and Ranboo is sure he’ll say no. But Tommy makes the mistake of looking down at Tubbo’s pleading eyes. He deflates, groaning with all the dramatics in the world, “He can stay, I guess.”

“Yes!” Tubbo shouts, throwing his arms around Tommy’s neck.

“Get off you clingy bitch,” Tommy growls, but he pats Tubbo’s shoulders and doesn’t make any move to force him off.

Wilbur sighs again, long suffering and not at all the type of energy Ranboo expected from all the stories he’s heard. “Fine, whatever. Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” Tubbo says, “Tommy gave me some steak.”

“Ranboo?” Wilbur asks, and Ranboo jumps. 

“Oh, me? Sorry. Yeah. I had some bread, earlier. I’m fine.”

Wilbur nods, satisfied, and waves a hand, “Go to bed, then, it’s almost dark. We’ll figure the rest of this out tomorrow.” he starts to turn, and then pauses. His smile is soft when he looks back, “I’m glad you’re alright, Tubbo.”

Tubbo blushes and ducks his head, kicking Tommy’s foot when he laughs.

“Alright, Ranman,” Tommy says, reaching out to grab his elbow and steer him to the left, pushing him a few steps. “Extra tent is over there, Tubbo and I are already bunking together and there is just not room for your freakishly long legs.”

“We could probably fit—”

Tommy slaps a hand over Tubbo’s mouth, waving at Ranboo, “See you tomorrow.”

Ranboo hums, holding back a laugh. “See you.”

He makes it four steps before someone grabs at his sleeve. Ranboo looks down at Tubbo, and feels his balance slip for a moment. He regains it before he falls. “Tubbo?”

“Are you going to disappear again?” Tubbo asks. His eyes are wide, and Ranboo knows that look. Tubbo was scared, waking up alone in the dark. Of course he was.

Ranboo wishes he could grab his hand and promise never, never again. He imagines Michael’s sleeping face, Tommy by the fire. He thinks about his promise to Techno. “I— I don’t know.”

With a resolute nod, Tubbo smiles. “Well, don’t take too long, magic man.”

“Okay,” Ranboo says with a laugh. He watches as Tubbo runs back to Tommy, who’s waiting with his arms crossed, giving Ranboo a dirty look. He supposes some things never change. 

The mat in the tent is plain, but it’s more comfortable than the tree. Ranboo’s hand is empty. It takes him twice as long to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

“They’re called floating lanterns,” Tubbo says, passing him a flat piece of paper, pieces of tape stuck to the back of his hands and keeping his own lantern tucked securely between his legs. 

It’s the fifth time Ranboo’s come here in a dream. He leaves tally marks in his journal and tries to scribble down details. It’s beautiful, when he’s here. His hands shake when he has to wake up. 

Realizing he’s been quiet a little too long, Ranboo musters up a smile, easier to summon than it is when he’s awake, and says, “Pretty.”

“Yeah, Wilbur thinks they’ll look cool floating above the walls. He used to make them with Phil.”

“Phil?” 

“He’s Wilbur’s dad! You won’t have met him, he doesn’t live on this server. He’s cool though, always thought that if I had a dad, it’d be Philza Minecraft.”

“Oh.” Ranboo bites his cheek, and then asks, “Does he ever visit?”

“Nah, Wilbur sends him letters though, and once like a month ago, we called him to show him the van. He said it was an atrocity, but he’s an old man, so what does he know?”

That makes Ranboo laugh, and he loses grip on the paper he’s trying to roll into a cylinder and it flips open, smacking Tubbo in the face because of how close they’re sitting.

“Thanks, Ranboo.”

“You’re welcome,” Ranboo replies automatically, and lets Tubbo hold the paper still while he tapes it shut. “So you use these instead of torches?”

Tubbo laughs like that’s a ridiculous concept, patting Ranboo’s shoulder in sympathy, “No way, what would keep the mobs out? These are just glorified decorations. Plus, it makes it easier to get home if you ever get lost in the forest. Just look up and find L’Manburg’s homemade stars.”

“Homemade stars that are coming along better than our homemade uniforms,” Tommy iterjecs, plopping down in the grass next to Tubbo and kicking his legs out until his boots rest on Tubbo’s lap. Tubbo gives them a look of disgust but doesn’t move to throw them off.

“I thought Wilbur said he ‘had it’?”

“Bitch can’t even sew.”

“And you can?”

“No! But I could probably learn better than he can. He sewed the hand holes shut on my jacket!”

Ranboo snorts, and Tommy sticks his tongue out at him. Tubbo swats them both, and then hands Tommy a piece of paper. “Have a lantern, calm yourself.”

“Prick.”

“We can go ask Niki how to sew later.”

Tommy seems pacified by that, and shrugs, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he rolls the paper in his hands. Ranboo watches the concentration on his face, the way he doesn’t look over his shoulder every two seconds or shake when Fundy drops the shield he’s carrying across the grass. His gaze turns to Tubbo, and he traces where his scars would be between his freckles like some messed up dot-to-dot.

Tubbo tilts his head, taps Ranboo’s cheek, “You alright?”

Ranboo is torn between an aching heart and fighting a smile. Tubbo always used to do that when he was confused, Ranboo used to trace his worry lines. 

His hands stay still in his lap. 

“I’m fine, sorry. Just tired.” Ranboo bites his lip, tries to find a reason to stay here, to just be and not have to worry about all the gray back home. But he made a promise. “Maybe I should go take a nap.”

Tubbo watches him as he stands, that same perplexed look on his face, like he knows more than he lets on. “You will come back, right?”

“It’s just a nap.”

The slight frown slips off Tubbo’s face and he nods, turning back to his lantern. “Obviously. Sweet dreams, then.”

“They are.”

“Sorry?”

“I said thank you,” Ranboo blurts, turning on his heel. “Goodnight!”

***

“You’re sleeping a lot lately,” Phil tells him as he bounds down the stairs to scoop up a squealing Michael. 

Ranboo blows a raspberry against Michael’s cheek, and then glances at Techno, sitting on the ground holding Michael’s duck stuffy and a couple wooden blocks. He gives Ranboo a frown, quirking one eyebrow. 

“I think I’m just catching up,” Ranboo says softly. He smiles at the two of them, and he knows it comes off flat but he thinks they might be more worried if it didn’t. Eyes scanning the room in search of a change of subject, Ranboo’s fake smile slips off his face when he notices the silence. “Where’s Tommy? It’s after sundown, he’s usually back by now.”

“It’s…” Phil swallows, shifts on his feet and shakes his head. The lines on his forehead are more prominent in the soft light of the torches hung around the walls, and his falls flat around his jawline. He looks exhausted, he looks aged.

“Midnight marks the anniversary of when Wilbur died,” Techno finishes for him, and when Phil flinches, he tosses Michael’s chicken and smirks when Phil startles to catch it, giving Techno a small smile in gratitude. 

Michael grabs for the chicken, and there’s something in Phil’s eyes when he takes the toddler from Ranboo and props him on his own hip, booping his nose with the chicken’s bill. Michael snorts a laugh, and Phil’s eyes glisten in the flickering light. Techno moves to stand at his side, and Ranboo feels like he’s intruding, now. 

“I’m going to go find him,” Ranboo says, and when both Phil and Techno give him blank looks, his stomach churns. “Tommy,” he clarifies. The two nod, and Phil reaches out to brush a lock of Ranboo’s hair behind his ear.

“That little shit mattered to him a lot,” he says. “He’d be glad there’s someone looking out for him.”

“Always. He matters to me a lot.”

Techno doesn’t look at him as he leaves.

The prime path isn’t lit at night. It used to be torches and the occasional glowstone scattered around the mismatched wood. But the Crimson smothers the flame and turns it to ominous obsidian, and after a while, they all stopped trying to replace it. 

Like he thought he would, Ranboo finds Tommy in the ruins of L’Manburg. His silhouette is backlit by the distant lights of Snowchester, and the half finished mansion that sits in its center. Ranboo stops, pulling at his fingers as he watches Tommy’s legs swing over the ledge.

When Tommy got out of prison, they built a watchtower. Tubbo never let go of Tommy’s arm when they stood at the top, his face pale whenever Tommy got too close to the edge. 

Ranboo’s guessing that build sits lonely and deserted now, too.

“You can stop standing there like a nervous prom date,” Tommy says, snapping Ranboo out of his thoughts and making him jump. 

“Sorry— sorry. I didn’t realize you noticed me.”

“I was a soldier for longer than I haven’t been, Ranbow, ever heard of a sneak attack? Or a lookout?”

“Sorry,” Ranboo says again, inching closer.

Tommy scoffs, and then sighs, scooting sideways like he’s offering an invitation. “It’s fine, I’m sorry. Just thinking about those times a lot, lately.”

Ranboo sits down, slow and wary, he keeps his hands visible and Tommy obviously notices by the glare he gives him, but his shoulders relax marginally as well.

“It must have been hard.”

“Easiest thing I’ve ever done, actually,” Tommy says. He shrugs. “Back then the bad guys were the bad guys, just Dream and his stupid posse not letting us do what we want.”

“Drugs?”

“Oh, so many drugs,” Tommy says, puffing up his chest, “you wouldn’t believe it, man. There were just— just so many— no, no.” he sighs again, and tilts his head at the crater of L’Manburg, almost like he’s trying to picture it how it was. “There was mostly just music, and lanterns. Big glowing lanterns that meant it was never dark. Tubbo used to call them homemade stars.”

Ranboo freezes, his hands go cold. Lanterns.

Mistaking his silence for something other than shock, Tommy grimaces. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have mentioned ‘im.”

“It’s okay, he’s your best friend. You can talk about him.”

Something in Tommy’s face breaks, then, and it's like a dam opens. “He promised me he’d be here today. He told me that when the year anniversary of one of the worst fucking days of my life rolled around he’d be right here with me. Tubbo was— he was supposed to be with me. He was always supposed to be with me.”

Ranboo looks down at Tommy’s hands, pulling angrily at his fingers until the skin is rubbed raw and they start to pop harshly. Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Ranboo reaches out and takes them, massaging feeling back into his fingers. 

“I’m not him, but I’m here.”

“I miss him.”

“Me too.”

“I miss Wilbur.”

“I know.”

“He said we were brothers, and then he left me a crater and trauma and a country Tubbo and I shouldn’t have— what happened to us?”

In the past —because ranboo is sure it’s the past now— Wilbur laughs and swings Tubbo onto his back and tackles Tommy into the grass and they all laugh, and there isn’t anything sinister in Wilbur’s eyes. Ranboo doesn’t answer Tommy’s question, he doesn’t know how.

“I can’t keep losing everyone, Ranboo. I won’t fucking— I can’t do it.”

“I’m here,” Ranboo repeats.

Tommy’s breath hitches, and Ranboo has the decency to keep his eyes on their hands, to not acknowledge the moisture that hits his thumbs. Tommy is shaking, and Ranboo pretends he’s not. Ignorance, in this instance, is a mercy. Ranboo lets Tommy cry, and he doesn’t say a word.

He isn’t sure how long they sit like that, but eventually, Tommy pulls his hands away from Ranboo’s, crosses his arms with his hands shoved in his armpits. He glares at Ranboo through red-rimmed eyes and sniffs wetly, “Don’t you go getting any ideas, I’m not anyone’s rebound.”

“Oh my god,” Ranboo says, and shoves him, and Tommy doesn’t flinch. Ranboo thinks that means something.

Tommy hears it before he does, and he stiffens, his hand falling to the axe at his hip. Ranboo frowns, and then he hears it too.

Footsteps.

Jumping to his feet, Ranboo squints in the dark, a hand out in front of Tommy as he climbs to his feet slowly. 

“You hear it too?” Tommy asks him, and Ranboo nods mutely, eyes flicking around the desolate landscape. 

Something drops down next to them, and Tommy trips back behind Ranboo with a hiss. Ranboo looks down, and watches the golden apple roll to stop, bumping gently against the side of his foot. Tomy gasps, and Ranboo’s eyes snap forward again, directly into a set of glowing red ones.

At first, he thinks it’s Bad or Ant, but the familiarity rushes through him like a gut punch and the eyes look away, towards his nose so they don’t look him in the eye. The head they’re attached to tilts, and then Ranboo blinks, and they’re gone altogether. 

“Tubbo,” he whispers to the empty space his husband was just occupying.

Tommy pinches the end of Ranboo’s sleeve, and neither of them move for a long time.

“Tubbo,” Tommy echoes, and then, “he came.”

***

Tommy is too dazed to put up a fight when Ranboo takes his arm, all he does is scoop up the gapple and let Ranboo tug him back towards the tundra. They trudge through the Nether and then into the cold and it doesn’t even phase him. Ranboo has been in shock since it happened.

It’s one thing, seeing Tubbo in the past, with no scars and a bright smile and soft hands, and another, seeing him how he is. Ranboo is ripped forcefully away from his fantasy, where he can sit in the grass of old L’Manburg with his husband forever.

Techno stands when they walk through the door, and Ranboo realizes they must look like a mess, covered in snow and the nether sand they didn’t bother to wipe off their pants, eyes red and wide. 

Phil is nowhere to be seen. Ranboo isn’t surprised, but he wonders where a grieving father goes on a day like this.

He hopes he never finds out. Michael’s crib is in the next room, Ranboo can hear it’s automated rock, and the soft whirring of Techno’s redstone machine that keeps it on it’s gentle sway.

“Are you guys alright?” Techno asks, and it’s only because Ranboo knows him that he can hear the concealed desperation in his voice.

Tommy steps forward first, pulling his axe off his hip a second time, and Ranboo is worried he’ll use it. Techno stiffens, but doesn’t pull his own weapon.

The axe clatters at Techno’s feet, and then Tommy walks up the stairs without a word.

Hesitantly, Techno crouches to pick up the axe, squatting on the floor and turning it over in his hands. 

“Axe of Peace,” he says gruffly. He looks up at Ranboo, “What happened?”

“We saw Tubbo,” Ranboo says, and then he follows Tommy’s path up the stairs, and collapses into bed.

***

Wilbur is laughing outside when Ranboo wakes up in his tent. Part of him begs himself to stay on his cot, to block out any noise from outside, but Ranboo can’t stop his legs from swinging off the side of the bed and carrying him outside.

A bee buzzes past him, and Ranboo almost falls over when Tommy tears past him chasing it. A hand on his arm steadies him, and Ranboo flinches away at Tubbo’s blue eyes.

Tubbo’s hand drops immediately, and he frowns, “Everything alright, boss man?”

Words stick in Ranboo’s throat as he stares, and then manages to choke out, “Is Wilbur good?”

Laughing like the question is absurd, Tubbo waves a hand, “Of course he is. What? You think he’ll go darkside and blow this all up?”

He walks away then, jogging up to where Tommy has finally caught the bee and is frantically shoving the prize in Tubbo’s face while Wilbur leans against a tree, wiping at his eyes, humor written across his features.

Ranboo stays frozen in place, watching Tubbo scratch the bee's head, then looks to the open gates, and back to Wilbur. The air smells like honey here. 

In a year, it will be nothing but a hole in the ground and a framed picture of grief.

Chapter Text

Two weeks earlier

“He’s just been acting weird lately.”

Tommy scoffs, stealing a berry out of the bowl Ranboo sets on the table and popping it in his mouth, “Tubbo is always weird, have you met him?”

Rolling his eyes, Ranboo pushes the berry bowl closer to Tommy, “Weirder than normal. In a worrying way.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know? Distant? He’s barely said a word to me that doesn’t include asking me if I’m safe, and he hasn’t played with Michael in ages.”

Tommy’s arms are propped on the counter, and he hangs his head a little, so Ranboo can’t see his face. “It’s… there’s something happening soon, like a reminder. It probably just pulls up old junk for him.”

“Oh.” Ranboo pauses, studying his friend. “Are you doing okay?”

“How’s the mansion coming?” Tommy says abruptly, standing to hop onto the counter, leaning back on one hand and grabbing a handful of berries with the other, stuffing them into his mouth all at once.

Ranboo sighs, “Pretty okay. It should be done by next month.”

“Good. That fucking construction is loud, innit?”

“Yeah. I… didn’t think of that.”

Before Tommy can come up with another deflection, the door opens with a sharp creak and Tubbo walks through, not bothering to take off his snow covered boots. He pauses when he sees Tommy, and then his eyes travel to Ranboo. 

Ranboo thinks his husband looks tired.

“You’re both here,” Tubbo says. “Good.”

He eyes the berries on the table, scrutinizing them with a careful eye, “Who’re those for?”

“Uh. Michael?” Ranboo says, and then laughs at Tommy, purple berry juice staining his lips, “And Tommy, apparently.”

Tubbo hums. “Maybe you should start bringing food from your house, instead of taking it from the garden.”

“Okay?” Ranboo says, and exchanges a look with Tommy, who sits up straighter, looking reluctant. 

“So, Tubbo, I was thinking you and me could go spend some time at my home, listen to some tunes and steal some shit?”

Tubbo looks Tommy up and down, his eyes dull. He reaches under the counter to pull out an empty bucket and a fishing rod. “That doesn’t sound smart. Maybe you should stay here, hang with Ranboo.”

“Oh, right,” Tommy says softly, slumping.

Tubbo props the fishing rod on his shoulder, “I’m going to fish near Jack’s place. Be back later.”

“We could come?” Ranboo suggests.

“No.” Tubbo heads for the door, looking back once before he steps outside. For a second Ranboo thinks he looks terribly sad. “Throw out those berries.”

The door shuts with a click, and Tommy flinches.

“See?” Ranboo asks quietly.

Tommy dumps the berries out the window with a scowl, “It’s just situational. Leave it be.”

He doesn’t look like he believes it.

***

It’s a fairly good day, considering the last few, Tubbo is home for once, he’d carted a sack full of bread and apples from Eret’s farms and insisted they’d used them for lunch, but Ranboo just smiled and went along.

“You reckon the snow will ever melt here?” Tubbo asks, tearing a piece of bread off the loaf he’s holding and tossing it to Michael’s chicken. 

“It is a snow biome, so I doubt it. Why?”

“I don’t know, just getting tired of the cold, is all.”

Ranboo bites his lip, and then scoots closer to his husband, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against his side, “Maybe you should stop forgetting your coat.”

“Shut up,” Tubbo tells him, swatting his arm. He presses his face into Ranboo’s side.

They stay like that for a long time, and Ranboo thinks that maybe they can be okay.

***

“Wanna go down to the commons today?” Tubbo asks, and Ranboo’s head snaps up from where he’s working on an enchantment list.

“Really?”

“Yeah! We could visit Niki and Jack, maybe say hello to Sam. Tommy might be down there.”

“I didn’t know you were feeling up to leaving Snowchester lately?”

Tubbo’s eyes glaze over slightly as his eyes widen, “Don’t be silly, boss man, there’s plenty to see. Besides, I wanted to ask Bad about something.”

Ranboo’s eyebrows furrow. “Bad?”

“Yeah! Come on, grab your boots.”

Shrugging, Ranboo stands, taking Tubbo’s hand to twirl him as he flips open his comm with his free hand, “I’ll let Foolish know he’ll have Michael for a few more hours.”

“He’s feeding him lunch at Niki’s bakery, right?”

“I think so?”

“Check before we go?”

“Yeah, sure.”

***

The first thing Ranboo hears when he jumps through the water tunnel leading to Snowchester, is Michael crying. He’d cried before, plenty of times, dealing with screaming tantrums over spilled food or a lost toy comes with the territory of raising a toddler, but this is different. It isn’t his hurt cry, either, Ranboo has memorized the specific way his son’s breath hitches when he’s in pain because he hears it in his nightmares almost every night.

Michael sounds distressed. He sounds horribly, horribly scared.

Ranboo starts running. 

When he barges into Tubbo’s house he finds Tubbo, standing on the kitchen table with his hands over his ears and his eyes shut tight, and Michael across the room in his play pen, arms reaching towards him and cheeks puffy from sobbing. 

“Ranboo,” Tubbo gasps, without opening his eyes, “Ranboo, get him, please, check on him.”

Immediately, Ranboo crosses the room and scoops Michael into his arms, holding him against his chest and rocking on his feet. “Hey, hey buddy, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“Bee?” Michael sobs, worry bleeding off his tone, and Ranboo’s heart aches at the compassion his little baby has.

“He’s okay. See?” Ranboo steps closer to Tubbo, holding Michael up, “He’s all okay, right, Tubbo?”

The second Michale reaches out to touch Tubbo’s face, Tubbo scrambles backwards, eyes blown open now, hands still covering his ears as he trips and has nothing to break his fall. He falls off the table with a crash, and sits up immediately, scooting back against the wall.

“No, no. Get him back, Ranboo, don’t— don’t let him touch me, please, keep— keep him back, please.”

Already backing away as Michael starts to cry again, Ranboo looks frantically between his husband and son. “Okay. Okay. I’m just going to take him upstairs and get him to bed, alright? I’ll be right back.”

“Just go,” Tubbo says, his voice breaking, “Just take him, just go.”

Ranboo does.

It takes Michael a good part of an hour to calm down, and another ten minutes to finally fall asleep. Ranboo lays him in bed and gently slips his finger from Michael’s death grip, leaning down to kiss his head.

A drop of water hits Michael’s forehead, and Ranboo wipes it away softly, before scrubbing at his wet eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Michael. I’m going to figure this out, okay? It’s all okay. We love you, both of us.”

Michael just snores softly, the worried lines on his head already smoothed away without a trace. Ranboo sighs, his knees creak as he stands and heads back downstairs.

Tubbo is still sitting on the floor when he hops off the last rung of the latter, his head buried in his hands.

“Is he okay?” He asks, his voice muffled in his palms.

“I’m sure he’ll be back to running around with his chicken by morning. Are you hurt?”

Tubbo shakes his head, and Ranboo kneels down next to him carefully.

“I’m sorry.”

“And lying,’ Ranboo says, not unkindly. “Where are you hurt?”

“I hit my head a little when I fell.”

“Can I see?”

Obediently, Tubbo leans forward. He shudders when Ranboo holds either side of his head as gently as he can, brushing through his hair to check for a wound.

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo repeats.

“What happened?”

“He just— I walked past him and he grabbed my sleeve and I can’t— he shouldn’t be—”

“Shouldn’t be what? Asking for affection from his father?”

Ranboo knows he’s been too harsh when Tubbo flinches, pulling away from his hands. “No, of course not.”

“I know, that wasn’t fair.” Ranboo holds his hands out again, “Come here again, please?”

“You can tell there’s no blood.”

“I know.”

Slowly, Tubbo leans back towards him again, and Ranboo scoots until his back is against the wall, pulling Tubbo between his legs. He rests his hands in his hair again, running his fingers through and detangling snarls with careful movements. 

“Was it a PTSD episode?”

Tubbo sighs. Ranboo knows he doesn’t like the terms Tommy brings home from his therapy sessions with Puffy, doesn’t like to name the bad things because then they’re real, but he’s learning, for Tommy’s sake, not to dismiss them.

“No. I was… Michael shouldn’t be around me so much. I could— I’m not a safe person, Ranboo.”

Ranboo’s hands still, and he lowers them to Tubbo’s shoulders, turning again so they’re face to face. “What? Of course you are, you’d never hurt him.”

“Not on purpose, but I bring trouble with me! Ask anyone, ask yourself!”

“Tubbo, where is this coming from—”

“I can’t keep him safe, I can’t keep you safe, I can’t keep Tommy or L’Manburg or Wilbur or a fucking ghost safe! I’m not safe!”

There’s a creak from upstairs, Michael’s bed shifting, and Tubbo and Ranboo both fall silent, holding their breaths until it’s been quiet for long enough. Tubbo slumps, and closes his eyes. After a second, he stands, brushing off his thighs. Dust falls to the floor like tears.

“I’m going to go on a walk.”

Ranboo jumps up, reaching for his hand, “I’ll come with you.”

“Please stay?” Tubbo asks, practically begs. “Stay with him, please.”

“Tubbo—”

There are arms around his neck before he can finish, forcing him to bend down slightly even with Tubbo on his tiptoes. Tubbo holds him tightly, cupping the back of his head. “Next time you see me, forgive me?”

“I already have,” Ranboo tells him. He closes his eyes as Tubbo’s lips press against his cheekbone, lingering before his arms slip away. The front door groans, wind sweeping into the house, and when Ranboo opens his eyes, Tubbo is gone.

He doesn’t see Tubbo for a long time after that.

***

The Present

Ranboo wakes up from making flower crowns with Tubbo to loud banging from downstairs. He sits upright, swinging his legs off the side of his bed and stumbling out of his room, pulling his chestplate over his head as he goes.

“What the fuck?” Phil says, opening his own bedroom door, and Ranboo realizes with a glance out the window that it’s dark out. The whole house must be sleeping.

“They’re going to wake Michael up,” Ranboo says, still half asleep. Phil purses his lips and straps his sword to his waist.

“I’m goin’ to wake Michael up with their screams when I kill them,” Techno cuts in, already marching down the hall, fully decked out in armor. Ranboo wonders if he sleeps in it. 

“Seconded,” Tommy says clearly, bumping into Ranboo while he rubs at his eyes.

“Well,” Phil says, looking around their haphazard circle, “someone should probably get the door.”

There’s a pause, all of them looking at each other, and then Phil groans, turning to take the lead. Ranboo tugs on Tommy’s arm, “Check on Michael? Please?”

Tommy narrows his eyes, and Ranboo knows he can see right through his plan to keep him away from conflict, but he nods, and turns the opposite direction. Ranboo jogs to catch up with Techno, who raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing.

The banging on the door hasn’t stopped, and when Phil finally pulls the door open, the person on the other side falls through, cloak flying out behind them.

Phil bends down to catch them, hands on their forearms as he seadies them.

“Niki?” He asks, as Niki steps back, pulling down her hood with a frantic look in her eyes. Phil reaches out to steady her, “What are you doing here at fuck o’clock in the—”

“Ranboo,” Niki says, zeroing in on him. Niki is Ranboo’s friend, but he can’t help but take a step back. Techno’s hand settles between his shoulder blades.

“Hi, Niki? Are you okay?”

“No— Yes— Shit, we need to go, now.”

“Can’t this wait until mornin’?” Techno asks through a yawn. There’s worry in his eyes.

“It can’t. Jack is outside with our horses.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Tommy cuts in, walking into the room with a sleeping Michael on his chest.

Niki takes a deep breath, her eyes glued to Ranboo’s son. 

“It’s Snowchester.”

Something in the room stills, the hand on Ranboo’s back moves to grip his shoulder. Ranboo swallows thickly, “What about Snowchester?”

There’s something dark in Niki’s eyes, the same look on Tommy’s face when he asked about L’Manburg’s forest, the same one on Tubbo’s just before he was gone.

“It’s burning.”

***

They leave Michael with Niki, who whispers something in Techno’s ear before he announces that he only trusts her to protect him, because she’s cooler than all of them and has good taste in hair color. Ranboo definitely thinks it’s an excuse, but it’s a true excuse, and it keeps Michael safe, so he doesn’t say anything. Niki hugs Jack like they’ll never see each other again, and Tommy watches it all without letting go of Ranboo’s arm.

Techno and Phil take their tridents, and Ranboo watches them fly off as Tommy climbs onto Niki’s horse behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“It isn’t Dream, is it?” Tommy asks against Ranboo’s back. He can barely hear him over the wind rushing past.

“We’d know,” Ranboo says.

“Then who?”

Ranboo doesn’t have an answer for that.

Jack makes them get off the horses by the water tunnel, tying their reigns to a fencepost. 

“Don’t want the horses to get caught in something that has nothing to do with them,” Jack says, and looks at Tommy for a little while. He pulls a potion out of his bag, passing it to him.

“Is this poison,” Tommy says dryly, a poor excuse of a joke. His hands are shaking and Ranboo is worried he’ll drop the glass bottle on the ground.

Jack flinches, but smiles, “Fire resistance.”

Tommy licks his lips, nods. “You used to brew these, during the revolution.”

Shock flashes across Jack’s face. “You remembered.”

“‘Course I did,” Tommy says, he chugs the potion and jumps through the tunnel.

Ranboo goes to follow him, pausing with his hand on the cool concrete. He looks back at Jack. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Fine.” Jack waves a hand, gesturing for him to go. “Just… reevaluating some things.”

Ranboo nods, and follows Tommy.

The water is cold, and Ranboo waits for the air in Snowchester to freeze into his clothes and hands. He’s met with a suffocating wall of heat.

The snow in Snowchester is melting.

“Took you long enough,” Techno says gruffly, his hand flexing on his sword. Phil passes Ranboo a towel, and he has no idea where he got it but he takes it all the same.

Tommy is staring at the smoke surrounding them, condensing twenty feet away, near Jack’s old house.

“It’s happening again,” he whispers. Ranboo’s heart aches, the image of Tommy running through L’Manburg’s grass chasing a bee flashing in his mind.

Techno pulls something from his belt, and holds it out to Tommy. It’s an axe.

Tommy stares at it, then slowly looks up at Techno, “Last time—”

“Last time, I made myself out to be the minotaur. I would rather be Heracles, this time around.”

He flips the axe so the handle is towards Tommy, and Tommy grins, taking it, “I don’t know what the fuck that means, but cool.”

For a minute, Ranboo forgets about the fire.

“So. Not to ruin the moment, but Tubbo’s home is currently on fire,” Jack says.

“Shit,” Phil says, and twirls his trident in his hand. “Tech, give Jack your trident, we’ll see what we can do about the flames. The rest of you go figure out what started this mess.”

“I want this back,” Techno threatens, and Jack squeaks a confirmation as he takes the trident, scampering behind Phil once it’s in his hand.

“Be careful,” Techno tells Phil. 

Phil smiles and reaches out to grip Techno’s forearm, “Same to you.”

They watch Phil and Jack run off, and then Techno turns to Ranboo and Tommy, who, Ranboo realizes, probably look pretty pathetic right now, sweating with panic in their eyes.

“It really is happening again,” Tommy says.

Ranboo blinks, and then startles. “Michael’s room. His first crib is in there, and the paintings, I need to make sure—”

“Okay, calm down, both of you. Panickin’ won’t get us anywhere. We can go check Michael’s room first.”

Techno leads the way, and Ranboo is grateful, tucking in on himself and staying shoulder to shoulder with Tommy, who stares at the flames with a vacant expression, taking ragged breaths. 

“It’s just fire, there’s no crater,” Ranboo tells him quietly, “we can rebuild.”

“Tubbo would be so upset,” Tommy replies, and Ranboo goes quiet.

Both of them run straight into Techno when he throws out his arm, barring them from going any further. “Wait. I can hear someone.”

Tommy tenses next to him, Ranboo holds his breath.

Two small feet land with a thud in front of them.

Tubbo tilts his head, a lit torch in his hand, reflecting off the red in his eyes. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Uh,” Techno says.

Ranboo almost falls over. Tommy, on the other hand, jumps forward, pushing against Techno’s arm, “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you not see the flames? Did the Egg mess with your fucking head?”

Tubbo blinks. His scars look like rubber and silicon in this light.

“I can see the fire.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And, bitch, fire burns!”

Tubbo rolls his eyes, gestures to his face. Ranboo doesn’t know if he imagines Techno flinching. “Obviously I know, Tommy. That’s why I’m being careful.”

“You’re holding a lit torch!”

“How else would I light these buildings on fire?”

Ranboo does fall over then, stumbling against Tommy’s back as Tommy freezes, staring at Tubbo in shock. Ranboo braces his hands on Tommy’s arm, finally managing to croak out, “What?”

“Don’t worry, I knew Michael wasn’t here before I started.”

“I don’t think that’s what matters here, Tubbo,” Techno says slowly.

“Come on, Techno! You should be happy! No more country.” Tubbo hums, looking around, “Well, soon, anyway. You can help if you want, but I don’t think you ever actually cared about the buildings.” Tubbo sneers, and it’s harsher than any expression Ranboo has ever seen on his face. He wants to rub it off, to smooth it away with soft touches and words. Tubbo just raises an eyebrow. “After all, government is just my name to you, isn’t it?”

Before Techno can reply, someone shouts, and the torch in Tubbo’s hand goes out, water soaking his hair and clothes, pooling at his feet. Jack is standing behind him with an empty bucket.

“Got him!”

Techno drops his face into his hand.

Tubbo turns, a confused look on his face, “Dude.”

“You had fire!”

“Look around you!” Tubbo sighs, wiping water off his face and flicking it to the ground. “Now leave, I have things to do.”

“Why?” Tommy speaks up, his voice hoarse. He steps around Techno, arms out at his sides. “After everything we’ve— Tubbo, out of everyone, you weren’t supposed to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Burn someone’s home!”

“Not someone’s,” Tubbo snaps, “mine! This is my home! I’m the one who built these houses, and kept the gardens and built the walls and designed the fucking flag! Everyone else left! This is my ghost town, and I have every right to do what I want with it!”

Tommy’s arms drop, and his face freezes in a look of utter despair at Tubbo’s words.

“What about me?” Ranboo asks. Everyone looks at him. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Tubbo says, his voice dropping to the familiar softness he used on bad nights when Ranboo woke up shaking from a nightmare. “You and Michael, you finally have what I’ve always wanted for you.”

“So what’s next,” Ranboo whispers, “your son never sees you again?”

Tubbo doesn’t say anything to that. He turns, shoulders stiff. “Leave. Tell Philza to stop putting out the fires.”

“We aren’t going to do that.”

Sighing, Tubbo turns his head, his eyes flash an even brighter red as they meet Ranboo’s, and he has to look away.

The ground underneath them shifts, and Jack yelps, Tommy grabs Techno’s arm to steady himself.

Sickening vines break out of the ground, snaking past what’s left of the snow. They drip red, creeping towards Tubbo, brushing against their ankles.

“I said, leave,” Tubbo repeats. All it takes is a vine wrapping itself around Jack’s ankle to get them to run. 

As they ride away from a burning Snowchester, Ranboo can’t help but think Tubbo sounded lonely.

***

The second they climb off the horses, Tommy stumbles a few feet away and drops to his knees. Phil rubs his back as he retches onto the snow. Ranboo staggers inside, past Niki, deaf to her frantic questions.

He pauses, once, at Michael’s crib, and looks down at the toddler, sleeping soundly.

Ranboo doesn’t bother taking off his armor as he falls into bed, and, with no shortage of guilt, prays for a Tubbo who smiles when he falls asleep.

***

Waking up in his tent, Ranboo takes a deep breath. He can smell the honey, and the fresh cut grass. Tommy is laughing somewhere close by, and the smell of his puke dissipates. Wilbur says something, and Jack groans along to Fundy’s cackle.

Slowly, he stands, and even though he knows his legs won’t ache from riding here, he still feels stiff.

The atmosphere in L’Manburg is busy, people rushing past, carrying chests of ammunition or food. A disc plays from a jukebox, and Jack is trying to get a giggling Niki to dance with him.

Eventually, Ranboo spots Tubbo sitting in the grass with his back to him. No one talks to him as they pass, ignoring him completely like he isn’t even there. Ranboo figures he’s focused on some redstone contraption that will single handedly win them a battle, and he chuckles.

As he gets closer, he takes another breath.

It isn’t honey that fills his lungs this time. He chokes on the smoke, his eyes starting to water. As he squints at Tubbo, he realizes his hair is wet.

“Tubbo?” He calls softly. Eret walks past him without so much as a glance.

Ranboo circles Tubbo warily, and freezes at what he sees. “Tubbo?”

The smell of smoke gets stronger when Tubbo looks at him, soot on his nose. Slowly, he looks back down at his ash filled hands. Ranboo’s breath hitches. Tubbo just sighs.

“Hello, beloved.”

Chapter Text

Tubbo has always been a businessman. He understands the idea of a compromise, of cost vs value, a quid pro quo. There has never been any doubt in his mind that life is just a big business arrangement, skipping from opportunity to opportunity, choosing one thing over another, giving something up for the big prize.

War is a business arrangement too, and by now, Tubbo really has to be some sort of expert on this stuff, no college education needed. 

(Not that he ever had time for that, even if he’d wanted it.)

(Maybe a long time ago, he wanted it. Just like he wanted a normal life. But he swapped that out for a set of armor, a childhood for a sword. Just another deal.)

When he first found the Egg in Snowchester, crawling across the snow like a snake sneaking up on a helpless hen’s eggs, he’d picked up his axe and gone weed wacking. Ranboo had laughed when he’d come to visit, and told him that an overgrown boiled egg was no match for Tubbo. He’d laughed too. 

It was a mistake. He’s a businessman, and should have known that no one ever only tries once.

He’d been cutting an apple for Michael, slicing it into random little shapes that always makes his son laugh, when he’d seen it. The little red lines, like veins through the fruit. He’d thrown the apple away, cut another, then another, then another, until he was surrounded by red tinted fruit slices, Michael tugging at his pant leg.

“Just a second, Michael,” he said, and ran a finger over the line.

“Some protector you are,” a voice whispered, and Tubbo dropped the apple, picked up Michael, and stayed in one of the empty houses for the rest of the week.

It took three pickaxes and seven nights spent underground before Tubbo found it. The Egg couldn’t infiltrate Snowchester above ground, not with Tubbo so stubbornly insisting that no one ever raid his home again.

So it found a better way.

And really, Tubbo could applaud the cunning in it, he could congratulate the Egg on its persistence, but standing in a cavern, surrounded by throbbing, crimson vines, pushing through the dirt and up towards Tubbo’s farms, to where he feeds his livestock and gathers grain for his bread, where he picks apples and berries for Michael’s meals, all he could do was hold back the bile in his throat and stare.

There was a lesson he’d learned, back in the early days, when Eret went from a friend to a traitor in ten minutes, and Tubbo’s lives went from three to two in fifteen. A lesson he learned again, standing in a yellow box, and again, watching the man he would follow through hell create that very thing.

The best way to hurt someone, the way that trumps every other pain, every other heart ache or wound, is to get on the inside, and burn the world down, wearing the disguise of a friend, or in this case, a resource.

For two weeks, he made excuses to Ranboo and Tommy, making sure they never ate in Snowchester, that they always kept Michael with them on a day out. He made the excuse that he was helping Foolish with the mansion, and paid Foolish in his emergency gold stores to keep up the lie. Once Snowchester was clear, he would climb right back down to that cavern, and hack away at the bleeding rot. 

It was the sixteenth day when he washed his hands in the stream by Jack’s old house that he realized the tale-tale red stains under his fingernails and in the crevices of his palms wouldn’t wash away.

That night, he had the worst dream he’d had since the night after the festival.

It’s the last thing a parent wants to hear, the last thing a brother wants to see, the last thing a spouse wants to feel. It’s his fault, his faut, his fault, his fault, his fault.

Tubbo is a businessman, and he should’ve known. He should’ve known that the more he has to love, the more he has to lose. He should have known that he could never be enough. When has he ever been?

Ranboo didn’t say a word when he showed up at the door, just sat on the ground and held Tubbo while he held Michael and the world fell apart.

He stopped avoiding the food, after that. Give in to the thing that hurts and act like it’s a choice. Fall on his own sword and pretend it’s freedom.

“Puffy says it’s called thanatophobia,” Tommy had said, pronouncing the word carefully, sitting on top of his house where the flowers Ranboo planted still grow. “You know, being scared something will happen, something really bad.”

Puffy can call it whatever she wants. Tubbo knows what it is. He built the tunnels under L’Manburg. He gathered intel for Pogtopia and weapons for Doomsday. It’s not a phobia, it’s a promise.

“You can’t protect them alone, ” the crimson fear whispers to him over breakfast.

Logically, Tubbo knows what’s happening. He saw how Bad fell, how Ant was pulled in and Ponk was convinced. The Egg told them their worst fears and then promised to fix it.

But Tubbo is a businessman, and sometimes, compromises have to be made. Sometimes, to reach a goal, sacrifices have to be made.

Crimson swirls at the bottom of his coffee mug and Tubbo downs it in one gulp, closes his eyes against the images of Michael and blood and prison gates blown wide. It’s not as if he isn’t used to this, this being the compromise, this embodying the quid pro quo.

Wilbur traded him for a spy, Schlatt traded him for a scare tactic, Techno traded him for a lesson, Dream traded him for a game. He has always been the bargaining chip. All he’s ever been good for is giving his enemy the upper hand.

This time, at least, he can trade himself for his family’s safety. But gods, is it going to hurt. Of course it’s going to hurt. Has he learned nothing? 

He walks across the snow and shakes his head when the white turns a deep shade of red and he can’t tell if it’s the crimson or blood. It’s not real. It doesn’t matter.

“It’s real,” says the spill in the snow. Says Ranboo’s corpse, lying on the ground with stars reflecting in his eyes. Tubbo shakes his head.

“Falling in love?”

Ranboo blinks, turning away from where he’s standing and looking at the sky to look down at Tubbo, “What?”

“You’re all starry eyed,” Tubbo teases, and Ranboo scoffs. Tubbo smiles, and finally, Ranboo laughs. He wants to make him laugh again. He wants to make him smile forever. Crimson snakes up his spine and hisses in his ear. 

“That’s a stupid joke,” Ranboo says, and Tubbo blinks to clear his vision.

“You’re a stupid joke.”

“Thank you.”

Tubbo punches his arm, and Ranboo laughs again. Tubbo wishes he could preserve this, wrap it in paper and tuck it into a box in the attic with Michael’s first crib and Tommy’s first attempt at knitting a baby blanket, live in the dust and the memories for eternity. He exhales, and looks up at the night sky Ranboo had been watching. He scans the familiar blinking lights until he finds Orion, sitting up there as a protector, watching them all from his safe perpetuity built by gods.

“Do you ever think about how they’re just floating up there, looking bright and beautiful, and they never have to be bothered by problems down here?” Tubbo asks softly, he lifts a hand, angling his fingers so a star sits just above his pointer finger. “People write songs about them, but they never have to suffer for it.”

Ranboo nods. He doesn’t look away from Tubbo’s face. Tubbo can see him in his peripheral vision. He wishes he would walk away and never look back. Maybe then it would be easier.

“Then it wouldn’t be worth it,” the Egg mutters, and Tubbo sighs.

“I guess so,” Ranboo says. Tubbo swallows.

“They’re safe. And loved. Stars are the only thing that can be both, I think.”

Ranboo watches him, and when he reaches out to touch his face, it’s all Tubbo can do not to flinch away. Ranboo notices anyway, of course he does. He runs a thumb, gently, over Tubbo’s scar, leans down to kiss the top of his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Ranboo says. Tubbo can’t imagine what he’s apologizing for, so he just musters up a smile and leans into his side. They watch the stars for a while.

Tubbo wishes it wasn’t, but that was the moment that convinced him, more than anything else. Because Ranboo’s hands are soft, and he apologizes for nothing, and Tubbo has to protect him. Because Michael is sleeping soundly when he goes back inside, without even the idea of nightmares. Because Tommy is somehow still capable of smiling, after everything, and Tubbo has to protect them all.

That night the Egg whispers, “The more the merrier.” and Tubbo stops letting people touch him. Michael doesn’t understand when he tugs his hands away before the red he knows is there even if Foolish promised him his hands are clean can get to his baby, and Michael just stares, confused.

He leaves without his coat, walks out the door and pretends he’ll come back. He tries to walk to the cavern, but he’s on the Prime Path before he can process what his feet are doing. The urge gets stronger, pulsing through him as the crimson mixes with his own blood, pounding in his heart as it tugs him towards the Egg, following the vines back to its home.

“Hey!” Tommy shouts, and Tubbo grits his teeth, begs for him to leave, to not take a step closer. Tommy grabs his arm, like he’s done a thousand times, and Tubbo jerks away. Tommy says he can’t hear it, can’t feel it, but a virus can be asymptomatic. Maybe he just doesn’t know yet. Tommy lets go, furrows his eyebrows, “Tubbo?”

He’ll regret it for the rest of his life, but he needs something to make him pause, to let Tubbo get away before he breaks and tells him everything. He’ll regret it for the rest of his life, but the Egg laughs as he tugs the red bandana off his arm and shoves it at Tommy’s chest.

He doesn’t wait to see his best friend’s face. Tears hit his cheeks, heavy and hot and Tubbo swears that when he wipes at them his hand comes away wet and red.

The Egg welcomes him like an old friend, and Tubbo drops, watches Bad and Ant stand next to him, tilting their heads like they pity him.

“So?” the Egg prompts, and Tubbo hangs his head, and says yes. The world goes dark.

***

“Tommy, Tubbo!” Wilbur shouts, and Tubbo opens his eyes to the familiar sight of the beige tent he shares with Tommy. 

“Dude, you take fucking forever to get up in the morning,” Tommy tells him, and Tubbo sticks his tongue out and throws his pillow at him, laughing at Tommy’s offended shout.

The air smells like honey. Tubbo fumbles with the buttons on his uniform, biting the inside of his cheek until Tommy sighs, exasperated, and does it up for him. Tubbo rolls his eyes and ties Tommy’s cravat because he never learned. Wilbur shouts their names again.

“We’re coming!” Tommy yells, then rolls his eyes, “Impatient bitch.” 

Tubbo hums, and looks down at the red bandana tied around his arm, red and saturated as the day Tommy gave it to him. He looks at Tommy’s green one, tucked into his front pocket, green like the grass Tubbo knows waits outside.

He follows Tommy out of the tent, and Tubbo looks at L’Manburg and smiles. 

“What’re you looking so sappy about?” Tommy asks, reaching out to try and trip Fundy as he runs past.

“Nothing, just like being home, is all.”

“Yeah, because we spend so much time somewhere else,” Tommy says, and tugs at his hand. “Come on, I want to get breakfast before Jack eats all the fucking sausage.”

“You should really make some kind of deal, like, come to an arrangement.”

“About breakfast sausage?”

“What? It’s a good idea! Just compromise!”

“Okay, here’s my compromise, I get all the sausage, and Jack Manifold fucks off.”

“I don’t think you know how business works.”

“Shut up, Tubbo.”

Something in the back of his mind is playing warning bells, but Tubbo just smiles, and shakes his head.

Chapter Text

“Tommy?” 

“What’s up, Tubs?”

Tubbo bites the side of his cheek, twisting the flower in between his fingers until the stem starts to crack, leaving sticky honeydew on his fingertips. Tommy doesn’t push, keeps his focus on the pink tulips he’s weaving into the button holes of his L’Manburg jacket. Tubbo stares at his left hand.

“What did we do last week?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks back, looking up from his project with a furrowed brow. “We stole a bunch of Dream’s shit, remember? Sapnap almost took my arm off with is fucking sword.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember, I guess. It’s just…” Tubbo frowns, runs the fingers on his right hand over the back of his left, pressing at the smooth skin. “Doesn’t it feel like it happened a lot longer ago than that?”

“Leave it to you to forget how time works,” Tommy laughs, and Tubbo finds himself smiling, despite the feeling in his gut. He likes it when Tommy laughs.

Standing, he brushes his still tacky hands on his trousers. Tommy holds up his coat to show him, and Tubbo smiles wider. He tilts his head, and then pulls the red handkerchief off his arm, folds it like a scrunched up rose, and shoves it into the buttonhole of his own jacket. “There,” he says, and Tommy rolls his eyes, but there’s a flush to his cheeks.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk with Wilbur about that recon mission,” Tubbo says, and then blinks, because he hadn't realized that was his intention until the words came out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Tommy says, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Have fun, I guess.”

“Thanks.”

Tubbo is a few feet away when Tommy calls him, and he turns to see his best friend standing with his coat around his shoulders, the pink tulips clash with L’Manburg’s colors and Tubbo is hit with a wave of nostalgia that nearly knocks him to his knees.

“Come back, yeah?” Tommy says.

“Always,” Tubbo replies, and the words taste like poison.

Wilbur sends him with a pack of food, a crossbow, and a stern order not to take any risks. Tubbo thumbs the communicator in his pocket and tries not to grin.

For some reason, the idea of mischief hits him as soon as he steps into the thick forest, and Tubbo wonders when the last time was, that he let himself do something just to do it, just because it’s fun, and chaotic, and it makes his blood rush.

He stops, abruptly, and looks at his left hand again. The woods are silent, save for the quiet chirping of birds and the distant sounds of L’Manburg. Tubbo thinks something is wrong, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what it is, so he shrugs, and keeps walking.

“Stay out of sight,” Wilbur had said, with that look he always gave Tommy or Tubbo when they wanted to do something fun. Tubbo sucks his teeth and thinks he can do that, easily.

He just… also thinks he can blow some shit up first.

There isn’t actually any way to blow up a nether portal, especially with nothing but the TNT Tubbo has managed to steal off Fundy and the communicator in his pocket, but Dream’s portal sits on a sand dune, near the Badlands. Obsidian is hard to come by, and digging in sand for hours on end to get to what they already have would give them a head start on whatever Wilbur and Eret have been planning, pouring over maps and making lists until the late hours of the night.

So he finds a hiding spot, watches Sapnap make dinner while George heckles him about whatever he thinks he’s doing wrong, and Dream sits by the fire, sharpening his sword in silence. Tubbo watches, and pulls apart his comm, rewires the radio and makes sure crossing the wires will cause a big enough spark.

He waits until everyone but George is asleep, taking the first watch, and throws the apple out of his bag as far in the opposite direction of the portal he can manage. 

George falls for it, rubbing his eyes and muttering something about cows and cooked steak as he stumbles sleepily away, sword in hand, and Tubbo takes his chance.

He’s pulling his inventory up before he gets to the portal, tripping and dropping to his knees as he silently blesses the sand for muffling his fall.

It takes him four minutes to dig a big enough hole under the obsidian, and another two to set the bomb. He stands, brushes off his hands, and pulls the trigger from his pocket.

The tip of a sword hits his back before he can press the button.

“Tubbo,” George says, and he sounds more exasperated than anything, which is sort of insulting, in Tubbo’s opinion.

Slipping the trigger into his sleeve, Tubbo forces a grin and turns around, “Goggy! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Whatever, Tubbo. Come on.” George grabs his collar and shoves him towards camp, where Tubbo can see Dream stirring, woken up by the sound of voices. He glares at Tubbo when he sees him, and then drops his head back onto his pillow with a groan.

“Great.” 

“I’m really glad you’re all so happy to see me,” Tubbo says. George rolls his eyes.

“What were you doing with the portal, Tubbo?”

Tubbo widens his eyes and drops his jaw, “That was a portal? Woah.”

Throwing his legs over the side of his bed, Dream rakes a hand down his face before he pulls his mask down from on top of his head to cover his expression fully. “Tubbo.”

Swallowing, Tubbo watches Dream stand, swatting at Sapnap’s arm to wake him too. He turns in a slow circle, and then bends down so the lifeless dots on his mask bore into Tubbo’s eyes. “I’m only going to ask you nicely one more time.”

“What happens after that?” Tubbo asks, “You put me in time-out?”

“I don’t like you,” Sapnap says, still half asleep.

“That’s not very nice.”

“Can’t we just kill him?” George asks, “He’d respawn back in L’Manburg and we could move on with our lives.”

“Right, like we want Wilbur to have more righteous fury against us.”

“Shut up,” Dream says. He crosses his arms. “Tubbo, you're trespassing on your opponent's land, that makes you a war prisoner. Got it?”

“Sure,” Tubbo says with a shrug. “Do you have any of that soup from before left?”

“Actually Dream, I’m with George, let's just kill him.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you what I was doing.”

“Finally.”

Tubbo flicks his arm so the trigger falls from his sleeve back to his hand. He holds it up with a grin. “Boom.”

He runs before the explosion even goes off, laughing as Sapnap and George curse behind him, and Dream shouts something that sounds vaguely like a threat. 

Tubbo’s cheeks are flushed, and his heart pounds in his chest, and he feels so incredibly alive.

He makes it to the woods before Sapnap catches up to him, and an arrow hits the tree right next to his head.

“Shit,” he hisses, but it’s interrupted by another laugh as he skids under a low hanging branch, dodging another arrow. He gets another five feet when he sees a figure, just some guy standing in the middle of the woods. Usually, Tubbo would run past, and forget about it, but the guy is looking at his hands, blinking with two different colored eyes, and Tubbo feels a familiar tug in his chest.

He grabs the stranger's hand.

“Run!” He shouts, and gives the guy's hand another hard yank for good measure. Surprisingly, he doesn’t really put up a fight, just races after Tubbo, tripping over roots and getting his long legs tangled up in bushes.

“Who—“

“No talking!” Tubbo hisses, glancing back. “They’ll find us out. Can’t go back and tell everyone I started a turf war, that’s Tommy’s job.”

Not like Wilbur won’t find out anyway, but he imagines it will look better if he walks into camp on his own, instead of in handcuffs.

“Tommy—“ Strange Man tries, and Tubbo hushes him again, rolling his eyes. He spots a big tree up ahead, and he knows it’s hollowed out because Tommy helped him do it, back before L’Manburg was anything more than an idea. He skids, taking the stranger with him, and collapses into the hole.

He listens as Sapnap’s huffing breath passes and then backtracks, and then fades away entirely, before he lets out the breath he was holding.

“Sorry,” he tells the stranger with a laugh. “I just figured you didn’t want to get shot.”

“No— no,” Stranger replies, and then he looks at Tubbo and his face freezes. Tubbo watches as his face starts to go purple, and he nudges him a little.

“You have to breathe, man.”

“You’re—“ Stranger starts, stops again. Tubbo is starting to think he has some trouble talking. He laughs again, and nods sympathetically.

“My bad. I’m Tubbo. What’s your name?”

“Ranboo,” Ranboo says. The name sounds familiar, but Tubbo can’t imagine he’s heard it before. He shrugs it off.

“Nice to meet you! Granted,” Tubbo sighs, “I didn’t know you were American when I saved you, but oh well. You aren’t going to try and stab me, are you?”

Ranboo looks like he’s trying to give himself whiplash when he shakes his head. “No! No, I’d never— I’d never do that. Not to you.”

Tubbo stares at him, amused, “You’re a bit weird.”

“Good to know,” Ranboo says, and Tubbo laughs for a third time. 

He remembers that he’s in a war a second later, and tries to adopt a serious, no messing around, type look. “So… whose side are you on?”

Ranboo laughs at that, dropping his head back against the inside of the tree. “None. I’m— I just got here, I guess. I think I’m dreaming.”

Tubbo rolls his eyes. This guy has poor taste, using dad jokes in a war, “You’ll get along with Fundy. He’s big on stupid puns too. I’ll take you with me once the coast is clear, since you’re homeless. Wilbur’s used to us picking up strays.”

“Wilbur?”

“Yeah!” Yeah. Wilbur who is going to murder him the second he gets back for being gone so long and definitely not staying out of sight. “He’s like our leader, er, George Washington type guy, you know? We’re fighting a revolution.”

Ranboo looks like that’s the most scarring news he’s heard all day, “You’re fighting a revolution. For— for—“

“L’Manburg,” Tubbo finishes. He puffs his chest out and juts his chin, mimicking the way Tommy looks when he talks about their little blossom of a country. 

“Oh.”

Tubbo nods, and glances outside, frowning at the dark sky. Mobs will be out soon, so there’s not really any use of trying to get home tonight. He must have run all day. That’s going to hurt like a bitch in the morning.

“We should get some rest,” Tubbo decides. “We’ll probably be stuck here a few more hours, and then it’s a pretty long trek back.”

“Right.”

Tubbo grins at Ranboo, raising an eyebrow teasingly, “Don’t stab me in my sleep, yeah, boss man?”

“Never,” Ranboo replies. He sounds parched. Tubbo wishes he hadn’t left the bag of food and water Wilbur gave him at Dream’s camp. 

He settles back, closing his eyes. Exhaustion hits him fast, once he relaxes. The adrenaline is wearing off fast. He realizes belatedly that he’s still holding Ranboo’s hand, and his half asleep brain barely has time to wonder why it seems so right to him before he’s fast asleep.

***

The stranger is gone when Tubbo wakes up. 

For some reason, it hurts. He frowns as he sits up, looks down at his left hand, the one that had been held as he fell asleep. For a moment, he’s lost in memory, like it means more than it did. 

He dreamt about snow and zombies last night, it leaves a weird taste in his mouth. 

“Tubbo!” A voice calls, and Tubbo jumps, smacks his head on the tree he’s still crouched in. Slowly, he crawls out, one hand on his head and another on the dagger at his hip. 

When he stands, he immediately gets the wind knocked out of him by a body slamming against him. Tommy laughs, hugging him tighter as Tubbo tries to keep his balance. 

“You idiot!” Tommy shouts, and punches Tubbo’s arm as he pulls back. “You were supposed to be back in a few hours, not days, you prick!”

Smiling sheepishly, Tubbo glances around Tommy, searching the trees for a familiar crowned head. “Sorry, I sort of got caught up.”

“You couldn’t answer your com?”

“Broken,” Tubbo says, still distracted. Tommy frowns at him, reaching out to tug on his sleeve. 

“Sapnap and George aren’t around, they went back to their camp like a couple of pussies.”

Tubbo hums, “That’s good. Have you seen a tall guy around here?”

Tommy squawks, puffing his chest out and standing on his tiptoes. “Hey! I’ll have you know—“

“I wasn’t making fun of you, Tommy,” Tubbo sighs. “Just— you didn’t stumble across another guy on your way here?”

“What do you mean some guy?”

“He was around here when I was running from Dream. We hid in that tree together,” Tubbo explains, gesturing to the hollowed out trunk. “Then he was just gone.”

Tommy furrows his eyebrows, and then lifts both hands to start running them through Tubbo’s hair, turning his head side to side while he inspects his skull. 

“What— Tommy, cut it out!”

“Wilbur says people with head wounds see hallucinations, like tall men in trees.”

“It wasn’t a hallucination, and I didn’t hit my head!” Tubbo shoves Tommy’s hands away, giving his arm a pat. “Really, I didn’t get hurt. I could go for some food though, and water.”

Tommy nods, grabbing Tubbo’s wrist to pull him a ways through the trees. “I stashed my stuff while I was looking for you. I couldn’t fucking carry all of it, Wilbur gave me too much.”

That’s proven when Tubbo sees the two massive sacks haphazardly stuffed into a bush. He whistles as Tommy starts to unpack what looks like a full course meal. 

“I’m surprised he even let you come alone.”

“Hey! I am a Big Man! I can go on plenty of missions alone.” Tommy passes Tubbo a steak, squatting next to the second bag, “Besides, Wilbur’s all busy with plans and treaties and all that boring shit.”

“Right.”

“He almost came with me, but Eret managed to convince him that I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Eret,” Tubbo echoes. The idea of them giving Wilbur advice makes him uneasy, somehow.

“Yeah, Eret. The guy who’s been strategizing with us this whole time?” Tommy shoves some steak at Tubbo’s chest, “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

Tubbo rolls his eyes and gives Tommy a glare. With an exaggerated huff, Tommy backs off, passing him some water and shoving an apple in his mouth, holding it there in his teeth while he slings one bag over his shoulder and tosses Tubbo the other one.

Tubbo flinches when he catches it.

“You’re sure you didn’t see that guy?”

“A tall guy? I’ve seen plenty of those, Tubs. I'm sure you see them everywhere.”

“Mhm.”

“That was a short joke,” Tommy clarifies. Tubbo shoves him.

They start walking, Tommy humming some song from one of his discs, Cat, and Tubbo listens intently the entire time.

“Maybe he was a spy,” Tommy says, breaking up his song. “Like, sent by Dream to woo you.”

“Maybe he was a ghost,” Tubbo counters, wiggling his fingers in Tomy’s face.

“Don’t be stupid, Tubbo. Ghosts aren’t real.”

Tubbo shakes his head, widening his eyes even more, “I’m telling you! He just fucking dissappeared!”

“Before or after you fell asleep?”

“Well,” Tubbo says, rubbing his neck.

Tommy snorts. “Maybe you just hallucinated the whole thing.”

“I did not.”

“Are you sure you didn’t get hit by a poison arrow?”

“Tommy,” Tubbo groans, as Tomy sets his pack down to give Tubbo another once over.

“Not my fault you’re a pussy who gets shot by arrows—” Tommy raises a finger when Tubbo starts to protest, “ and lost in the woods for two days.”

“I wasn’t lost—”

There’s a shuffling of leaves off to the side, and Tommy tenses, hushing Tubbo and hefting his crossbow. Tubbo holds his breath, hissing at Tommy to wait when he pushes through the bushes. 

“Don’t shoot!” a familiar voice yelps, and it makes Tubbo laugh involuntarily as he starts to make his way around the shrubbery.

Tommy doesn’t share his humor, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, hello,” the stranger says. He really should be more careful, if there’s one thing Tubbo can say about Tubbo, it’s that he’ll fight anyone if given a reason nowadays. 

“Don’t hello me, you—”

“Rainbow!” Tubbo shouts, giving up on going around the bush and instead just pushing straight through, yanking his bag when it gets snagged on a twig. 

Stranger smiles, and corrects, “Ranboo.”

Tubbo steps up next to Tommy and Ranboo, putting his hands on his hips and grinning at Tommy triumphantly, “See, Tommy. I told you I didn’t hallucinate.”

Tommy makes a face, like he does when Wilbur mentions Niki or Karl says something about America. He lowers his bow and pokes Ranboo in the arm, “Can ghosts be solid?”

“Sometimes,” Ranboo says. Tubbo’s eyebrows raise on his forehead, amusement hitting him, and Tommy looks like he’s seconds away from telling Tubbo to run. Ranboo pulls at his collar, “Not that I’m a ghost, or anything. I am perfectly alive. Well, not perfect. I’m impractically alive, probably? My body doesn’t really work how it should.”

Tommy rolls his eyes and Tubbo giggles. He meets Tommy’s eyes.

“Can we keep him?” he asks. The way Tommy chokes is hilarious.

Tommy huffs, “He’s not a dog, Tubbo.”

“Yeah!”

“Plus, he’s American, so we can’t trust him.”

“Yeah— no.” Ranboo waves his hands, looking almost genuinely panicked, “No, you can trust me.”

Tommy looks him up and down slowly, “That’s exactly what a spy would say.”

“And exactly what a not spy would say,” Ranboo counters, and Tommy opens his mouth and then shuts it again, stumped.

Tubbo is more delighted by this by the second, and reaches out to grab Tommy’s shoulders. “Please, Tommy? He doesn’t have anywhere to go, and who knows what Sapnap will do if he finds him.”

“No,” Tommy says.

Wrong answer. Tubbo yanks his arms back and forth, violently jerking Tommy around, “Please? Please, please, please, please, please, please, please—”

“Alright!” Tommy shouts, shoving himself out of Tubbo’s grip and stumbling slightly before he rights himself. “Fine. Fucking hell, you just cling to everyone, huh?”

“Yep!” Tubbo says, willing to play along now that he’s gotten his way. He looks at Ranboo, “Come on, we’ll show you the way. You’ll like L’Manburg. It’s got a drug van.”

“Tubbo!” Tommy elbows him, “You can’t just go giving away our nation's closely kept secrets!”

“I’m pretty sure that one’s common knowledge, Tommy.”

“You’re common knowledge,” Tommy mutters.

Tubbo scoffs, “Don’t call me a whore.”

“How the fuck does that—”

“Who starts a nation from a drug van anyway?” Ranboo asks, Tubbo has a feeling he hadn’t even heard their continued conversation.

“We started it because of the drug van, not for the drug van,” Tubbo says. It’s kind of obvious, really. Who starts a war because of— okay, still. They wouldn’t.

Tommy nods along vehemently, marching ahead with bravado. Tubbo can see him gear up to explain his and Wilbur’s pride and joy. “Yeah. We just wanted to have some fun, but Dream and his goons decided we couldn’t have shit, so Wilbur said “that’s not quite fair, is it?” and we all said, “yeah, Will, you’re right!” so now we’re building walls.”

“Crash course history,” Tubbo says. Tommy turns to kick at his shin. Tubbo kicks him back.

“So… this is because you can’t do what you want?” Ranboo asks. Somehow, the slight disapproval in his tone makes Tubbo want to explain everything in such great detail he’ll have to understand. Like this stranger's opinion matters as much as any of his closest friends.

“This is because Dream is scary,” Tubbo says eventually. His left hand itches again. 

Tommy must sense something in Tubbo’s demeanor, like he always does, because he throws an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders and says, “Yeah, but we’re gonna win, and then he won’t scare us at all.”

Tubbo tries to agree. His throat feels full of sludge. 

The walls of L’Manburg come into view before he can linger on it. The gates are open, like always, with no guards and the flag flapping in the light breeze. It feels like coming home after years of being gone, and Tubbo blames it on the muscle aches from running so much the day before, even as he bolts through the entrance like the Prodigal Son.

Tommy and Ranboo run after him, and Tubbo stops in the middle of the field, bracing himself on Tommy, who laughs and drops his bag off his shoulders. Tubbo follows suit. 

The burger van’s door slams open, and it takes everything in Tubbo not to hide behind Tommy when he sees Wilbur standing there, or hide Tommy behind him. The feeling is gone in a second, leaving Tubbo just feeling confused. He brushes it away when Wilbur says his name, and the laugh that escapes his throat is genuine.

Wilbur hugs him, and it’s warm, and genuine, and inviting, and Tubbo fists the back of his coat and breathes in his honey and parchment smell, trying his best to commit it to memory, as if in a moment it will disappear. Maybe Wilbur was really worried, or maybe he can feel Tubbo lean into him more, but when he steps back, he keeps his hands on him, on his shoulders, his face, his hair. 

“You absolute idiot,” he says. “Why didn’t you message us? We thought you’d been captured! You weren’t captured, were you?”

Tubbo smiles, his cheeks squished by Wilbur’s hands, and pulls a jumble of wires out of his pocket, “Sorry, Wilbur. Used my communicator for detonator parts.”

“You—” Wilbur laughs, dropping his hands. Tubbo misses them immediately. “You’ll be the death of me, you know that? What did you even blow up?”

“Dream’s Nether portal.”

“Seriously?” Tommy cuts in, shoving between the two of them. He nudges Tubbo’s shoulder, “How did you get away?”

“Magic,” Tubbo says, waving his hands. Wilbur swats them away with a snort. Behind them, Ranboo laughs too. 

Wilbur’s demeanor changes almost immediately. He narrows his eyes at Ranboo, “Tommy, who is this?”

“This is Ranboob, Tubbo’s boyfriend,” Tommy says in a tone that, in Tubbo’s opinion, could use a lot more excitement. At the boyfriend comment, Tubbo punches Tommy, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“He is not! I just found him in the woods. He doesn’t remember anything, and he was all alone.”

His ring finger seems suddenly heavy then, and he looks down, expecting to see a bee or a fallen leaf drifting onto his hand. There’s nothing there. It feels naked, somehow. 

“He’s American,” Wilbur says, and Tubbo tunes in just in time to realize he’s talking to him.

“But he promised he wouldn’t stab me,” Tubbo counters with his best pouting expression.

“He doesn’t belong here.”

“He could!” Tubbo argues. It’s a good point, really.

Wilbur sighs, looks back at Ranboo, down at Tubbo, then to Tommy, “Well, right hand?”

Tommy huffs, crossing his arms. Tubbo is sure he’ll say no, but with one look at Tubbo, he deflates. “He can stay, I guess.”

“Yes!” Tubbo shouts, throwing his arms around Tommy’s neck.

“Get off you clingy bitch,” Tommy says halfheartedly, patting Tubbo’s back. 

Wilbur sighs again. “Fine, whatever.” He looks at Tubbo pointedly, “Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” Tubbo says, “Tommy gave me some steak.”

“Ranboo?” Wilbur asks. 

“Oh, me? Sorry. Yeah.” Ranboo glances at Tubbo, who gives him a supportive thumbs up. He nods, “I had some bread earlier. I’m fine.”

Wilbur hums, satisfied, and waves a hand, “Go to bed then, it’s almost dark. We’ll figure the rest of this out tomorrow.” he starts to turn, and then pauses. His smile is soft when he looks back, “I’m glad you’re alright, Tubbo.”

God, something about the way he says it makes Tubbo want to stay in this moment forever. Tommy laughs at his expression, and Tubbo turns to kick him.

“Alright, Ranman,” Tommy says, dodging Tubbo’s foot with a yelp and shoving Ranboo towards the spare beds. “Extra tent is over there, Tubbo and I are already bunking together and there is just not room for your freakishly long legs.”

Suddenly, Tubbo realizes that he really, really, doesn’t want to lose sight of Ranboo. “We could probably fit—”

Tommy slaps a hand over Tubbo’s mouth, waving at Ranboo, “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Ranboo replies, somewhat bewildered.

In a moment of panic, Tubbo pulls away from Tommy and runs after Ranboo, yanking at his sleeve. Ranboo looks down at him with kind eyes,  “Tubbo?”

“Are you going to disappear again?” Tubbo asks after a moment. He’s not sure why he asks it. He’s not sure why he cares. All he knows is that waking up in that tree alone, he wasn’t just scared for his own safety, but there was something gut wrenching and painful in the worry he had for this stranger. 

“I— I don’t know.”

He’s coming on too strong. Of course he is. Clingy. That used to be okay— is okay? Tubbo’s head hurts. He forces a smile,  “Well, don’t take too long, magic man.”

“Okay,” Ranboo says with a laugh. Tubbo runs back to Tommy before he can say anything else.

In their tent, backs pressed against each other despite there being plenty of room, Tommy whispers, “You shouldn’t pay attention to him.”

“Jealous?” Tubbo whispers back.

“Really, Tubbo. It won’t go well. Just forget him.”

It’s such a weird thing to say, that Tubbo doesn’t know how to respond. Eventually, he asks, “Why?”

“You’re happy here,” Tommy replies. Somehow, Tubbo is pretty sure it’s supposed to be a threat, or a warning. Coming from Tommy, it just sounds like a plea.

Tubbo’s left hand burns. He sleeps fitfully.

Chapter Text

For some reason, it’s been hard to leave Wilbur’s side today. 

Tubbo isn’t quite sure what it is, he doesn't know why every time Wilbur leaves his line of sight something terrible reaches into his chest and grips his heart. 

He thought it was fear, at first, but it’s different, more potent, less terror and more… sad. 

“Are you sure something didn’t happen?” Wilbur asks for the second time, looking up from the map he's scribbling on to raise an eyebrow at Tubbo, perched on his desk and watching Wilbur’s face intently. 

Slowly, he nods. “I think I just… had a bad dream, or something.”

“About L’Manburg?”

“About you,” Tubbo says. It’s the easiest explanation he can come up with, after waking up that morning breathing hard, startling Tommy awake when he bolted out of the tent to go knock on the van’s door. Wilbur had answered, rubbing at his eyes, hair disheveled. Tubbo had wrapped his arms around his waist and breathed in the honey parchment smell until he could remember how to breathe.

Wilbur smiles, setting his quill down and leaning forward on his elbows. “Tubbo. I’m not going anywhere. We’ve all got all three of our lives, remember? It’s alright.”

Somehow, those words only make the feeling worse. 

Tubbo knows what it is now. Not fear, grief. Aching, horrible grief. It feels inevitable, complete and all encompassing.

“Promise?” he asks, and he finds he sounds like— he can’t put his finger on it. Someone young, with a small voice and a sweet laugh. There’s the itch again. 

Wilbur laughs, holding his hand out with his pinky raised. “Pinky promise.”

It’s supposed to make him laugh. Tubbo grips Wilbur’s pinky with his and forces as much willpower into the promise as he can. Like kissing a coin before he throws it into a fountain. 

Wilbur’s face shifts, then. Into something softer. “Go find Tommy,” he says. The way he says Tommy is wrong, though. As if it’s a different person named Tommy than the one waiting outside. 

“You’ll be okay?”

“I’m coloring a map, man. The worst thing that can happen to me is a paper cut.”

Tubbo still doesn’t want to leave Wilbur, but the itch turns into a tug, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he's walking on the outskirts of the forest, brushing shoulders with Tommy. 

“How—“ Tubbo stops, looking around. “When did we get here?”

“You’re so weird lately, Bee Boy,” Tommy says. He picks an apple off a nearby tree and tosses it to him. Tubbo catches it. He turns it over in his hands. It reflects in the sun like gold. 

When they get back to camp, the apple is gone. Tubbo doesn’t know where he put it down. 

***

Tubbo dreams about a crater and a broken promise. He wakes up with tears on his cheeks.

***

“You used to be a what?” Ranboo asks incredulously. It makes Tubbo laugh. 

“I was a supplier! Had a good little set up on the coast and everything. Anyone who needed anything could come to me.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It was! I like helping people, and redstone, and farms. Made myself useful and stayed neutral the whole time.”

Ranboo furrows his eyebrows. For some reason, Tubbo has the urge to reach out and smooth the lines on his forehead every time it happens. 

“You were neutral? Before this?” He looks confused, almost concerned. “But that’s— wouldn’t that be better? Why’d you change your mind?”

“Ranboo,” Tubbo says, and he finds his voice is more sure than it’s been in weeks. “If one side is hurting the other, but you insist on staying neutral, doesn’t that mean you’re aiding the hurt?”

“Oh,” Ranboo whispers. 

“There’s no neutrality once war is introduced. You either fight back, or you’re complacent. Sometimes I think complacency might be just as bad as hurting.”

Weakly, Ranboo says, “I don’t think so.”

“You wouldn’t, would you,” Tubbo laughs. He punches Ranboo lightly in the shoulder. “Don’t worry, that’s why I’m gonna fight this war for you.”

It doesn’t make Ranboo laugh. 

***

“Here,” Eret says, gesturing for Tubbo to come closer. He does, shuffling forward until Eret can reach his coat, buttoning it carefully. “The thread is thin,” Eret explains, “we don’t exactly have the funding for impressive outfits. You have to be careful when you button it.”

“Thanks,” Tubbo says, straightening his posture when Eret brushes off his shoulders. Eret laughs, gives him a proud smile.

“No worries, Tubbo. That’s what I’m here for.”

***

Ranboo comes and goes, appearing and disappearing at the drop of a pin. Tubbo doesn’t question it. He just waits for the lanky frame and the split hair to walk towards him and picks up where they left off. 

It feels like a routine he’s been doing for years. 

This time, Ranboo looks almost haunted. He stares at the apple Tommy is tossing back and forth and avoids Tubbo’s gaze. 

“Everything alright?” Tubbo asks nervously. He can’t help but think this mood is his fault. 

Ranboo doesn’t answer, but he says, “Why do you think people we love just— just go away, even when they don’t want to?”

“What?” Tubbo asks. The left side of his face feels like it’s melting. He reaches up to scratch at it absently. 

Ranboo watches him, and then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

***

“Like this.”

Niki passes Tommy a small bowl of flour, demonstrating how to sprinkle it onto the pastry mat and then on her hands. Tommy watches with narrowed eyes, and then smacks his hand into the bowl. Flour goes everywhere, on his face and in his hair. He grins.

“Nailed it.”

“You’re hopeless,” Tubbo says, trying to copy Niki’s movements exactly.

“I have character,” Tommy corrects. “Eret said so.”

Niki laughs lightly, reaching out to brush some flour off Tommy’s nose. “You’re doing just fine, Tommy.”

“See, Tubbo.” Tommy sticks his tongue out. Tubbo flicks flour at his open mouth and laughs when he sputters.

“Roll it out carefully,” Niki says, passing them each a small ball of pie dough. “Not too thin, but not too thick. There’s a… balance to these things, like everything else.”

Tommy and Tubbo exchange looks, hands hovering over the dough.

“Well now I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong,” Tubbo says finally.

“No! No, it’s alright.” Niki hums, “Think of it like harvesting honey, if you take too much, they won’t be able to support their colony, but if you take too little, their hive will clog up.”

“Milking cows is like that too,” Tommy says with a curt nod. Niki giggles.

“Exactly, balance.”

As Tubbo starts to press down on the dough with the heels of his hands, Tommy watches Niki. 

“You should open a shop, teach people about peace and shit while they eat cookies.”

“I’d like that,” Niki says. “Wilbur promised me a bakery when we win.”

“You could make Jack your dough boy.”

“My what?”

“Like the delivery boys! It would be a lucrative business, Niki.”

“If you say so, Tommy.” Niki reaches over to adjust the way Tommy is holding his rolling pin. “What do you want to do when we win?”

“Oh, the same as before. Just listen to my discs and annoy Wilbur. Tubbo’ll come, obviously.”

“What about you, Tubbo?”

“Tubbo?”

Niki’s hands cover his, and when Tubbo looks up, she’s smiling at him sadly. “I think your crust is a little thin,” she tells him kindly.

Blinking, Tubbo looks down at his dough, overworked and almost transparent in how thin he stretched it. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry. These things can always be fixed.”

Swallowing, Tubbo nods. His hand itches.

***

The water is cold when they hike up their pant legs and wade into it. Tubbo wiggles his toes in the mud. 

“Jesus shit!” Tommy yelps, hopping from one foot to the other. “Will said it’d be chilly, not fucking freezing!”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.”

“Speak for yourself, bitch! I have frostbite!”

Tubbo snorts, picking his bucket up off the shore and shoving it deep into the mud. “Better hurry then, I bet Niki’ll make us hot chocolate when we get back.”

“What’s the use of mud anyway? We should just use stone for everything.”

“You’d marry stone if you could.”

“Only if it resembled a hot lady.”

They collect mud in silence for a while, dumping their bucketfuls into the wagon they brought, getting their sleeves soaked and dirty.

“Hey Tubs?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want to do when this is over?” Tommy stops digging, turning to stare at him, “You never answered Niki.”

Sniffing, Tubbo shrugs, digging into the mud even deeper. “Same as you, I guess. Live like before.”

“No dreams or aspirations?” Tommy teases. Tubbo flicks mud at his face.

“I don’t know, maybe build a giant bee dome, find out where Ranboo disappears off to.”

Tommy scowls at his name, “Lame.”

“Sure, Tommy.”

“I bet Wilbur would let you make the L’Manburg field a big bee habitat, if you asked.”

“You think?”

“Like anyone can say no to you, fucking puppy dog eyed little man.”

Tubbo makes a face, smiling. “Thank you?”

“Welcome. Now get back to work, bitch.”

***

Ranboo asks him about the stars, laying on their backs and staring at the night sky. He asks if he thinks they’re magical.

“Nah, just gas,” Tubbo says. He hums. “Eret says they’re like guides, though. A map when you can’t find your own.”

“Can you read stars, then?”

“Sure, Eret taught all of us, just in case.”

Ranboo rolls so he can look at Tubbo’s face. “Which one means home?”

Tubbo laughs. “That’s not exactly how it works.” He scans the sky, eyes shifting over the constellations and flickering lights. He lifts his hand to point at Orion. “That one sits right above the burger van, though. Sometimes I’ll get lost, and just follow it all the way home.”

“I wish—” Ranboo stops. Tubbo turns to look at him. His eyes are just as bright as the stars, and Tubbo gets the same feeling looking at them as he does looking at Orion.

“What?” Tubbo prods.

Ranboo shakes his head. “It’s nice, that you have a home.”

It should make Tubbo feel sorry for Ranboo, but his tone doesn’t sound sad for himself. It’s almost pity, there, and guilt.

***

Wilbur looks tired, sitting at the table in the van. The meeting just ended, everyone going their separate ways. Jack had dragged Tommy into helping him chop some wood, Niki and Fundy went off to the bakery, and Eret to wherever they go at this time of day.

It’s just Tubbo and Wilbur, now. Sitting in the quiet.

“What if we lose?” Tubbo asks.

Wilbur looks up from his lap, startled, like he didn’t realize Tubbo had stayed. 

“What do you mean?”

“What if we lose?” Tubbo repeats, because he doesn’t think it needs clarification.

Frowning, Wilbur sits forward. “Tubbo, do you trust me?”

“Of course.” He doesn’t hesitate.

“We’re going to win.”

Tubbo chews his lip as he nods. Wilbur’s eyes are soft, welcoming. He nods at Tubbo’s silence. Tubbo swallows. “What if we win, but Dream never lets us go.”

“Sometimes,” Wilbur says, “I regret dragging you into this war. All of you, but especially you and Tommy, and Fundy. This shouldn't be a place for children. But… Tubbo, I made a promise, that since I made you fight these battles, I would keep you safe. 

“You didn’t make us do anything,” Tubbo insists.

Wilbur smiles, then his face turns serious, like stone. “If Dream doesn’t leave you alone, I will be there. Winning is the ultimate goal, the epitome of victory over that green bastard, but there is no win if everyone who fought is gone.”

“No, there’s not.”

Wilbur ruffles his hair, then. When he leaves, the van door clicking shut behind him, Tubbo drops his head into his hands and stays that way until Tommy comes looking for him.

***

“Do you think we’ll change?” Tubbo asks, weaving pink tulips into a flower crown. Tommy is laying on his back, his ankle braced on his opposite knee and his hands folded behind his head. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like, after the war. Do you think we’ll be different?”

Tommy sits up halfway, elbows on the grass.”Well, yeah. Everyone changes.”

Tubbo nods, scratching at the back of his left hand. “I don’t want to change. I want us to be like this forever.”

“That would be the dream,” Tommy says softly. He lays back down. Tubbo flops down with him.

“What if we stop being friends?”

“That won’t change,” Tommy says with a laugh. “You are way too clingy.”

Tubbo rolls his eyes. “I guess so.”

After a long silence, Tommy says, “I wouldn’t let you. I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Me too, Tubbo replies. It feels like a lie.

***

Wilbur asks him to help brew potions, and Tubbo says yes without complaint. They brew for ages, neither of them really knowing what they’re doing, just learning as they go and making fun of the cryptid instructions in the potion book.

When Tubbo splashes some chemicals on his hand, Wilbur makes him sit down and fusses about it for the better part of an hour. Tubbo doesn’t try to stop him. 

“Would you leave?” he asks. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but it seems like the right question. “Even if you didn’t want to?”

Wilbur pauses, then, and he’s staring at Tubbo’s left hand. Slowly, he shrugs. 

“It would take a lot of loss to make someone give up what they love.”

“Do you think we could? Lose enough?”

Wilbur doesn’t answer. Tubbo doesn’t ask again. 

***

“Tubbo!” Jack calls, huffing as he stops next to him, smoothing out the front of his uniform. “Hey, Will said you’re the revolution's redstone expert.”

Smiling, Tubbo puffs up his chest. “That’s me! What can I do for you, Jack Manifold?”

“Do you wanna help me prank Fundy?”

“What’d he do this time?”

“Stole my fish.”

“Dude, you’ve been trying to get rid of that fish for ages. You offered Niki like ten gold blocks to take it.”

Jack chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, “Right, well that was voluntary. Fundy stole her without asking, I think he’s gonna cook her.”

“Do you even have gold blocks?”

“Tubbo.”

Rolling his eyes, Tubbo shrugs. “Sure. It’s not like I’m busy.”

“Yes!” Jack throws an arm around Tubbo, “You know, this is why I like you so much, always ready for some friendly chaos.”

Tubbo snorts, “As long as no one gets hurt.”

“Obviously! I’d never hurt you lot, come on.”

***

He knows it’s wrong. He has for a while. He can’t bring himself to figure out why. 

That night, Tubbo feels like he’s mourning. Tommy lays next to him, back to the door, not worried about a threat. 

“Tommy?” Tubbo whispers into the silence. There are crickets chirping outside, living in the woods. The woods that are full of animals and bees and the laughter of a tiny country during the day. It’s Tubbo’s favorite part of L’Manburg, the liveliness of it.

Tommy doesn’t reply. The silence is familiar. Tubbo thinks he hasn’t lived somewhere lovingly loud in a long time.

“This isn’t real, is it?” 

Tommy’s hand finds his. When crimson flashes in Tubbo’s vision he expects the hand to twist into something hostile. It stays Tommy’s, and squeezes his in comfort. Tubbo holds on. 

Chapter Text

Tubbo has dreams about a toddler he can’t remember the name of, with a face clouded in gray. He wakes up with longing sitting solidly across his shoulders. Tommy smiles at him, and he pushes the feeling off his back and lets himself stay unaware.

There’s a voice in his head, one that sounds like him, but it sounds like Wilbur too. Tubbo thinks it’s the real him, and it makes him want to keep forgetting all over again.

“You’re abandoning them,” the voice hisses while Tubbo’s left eye turns murky and dull.

He looks at his hands, closes his eyes tightly, and says, “Abandoning who? I’m happy here.”

Tommy asks him every morning if he’s woken up yet. It sounds trivial and routine, touching his shoulder softly. Tubbo knows the real question behind it, but he smiles weakly and says, “Five more minutes?”

Tommy never argues. Never judges. Just takes his hand and pulls him through a past that Tubbo pretends is his present. 

Ranboo still visits. His eyes are tired. Tubbo pushes down the recognition, shoves away the flickers of memory, the flashes of hand holding and gold rings. He doesn’t know what it means, anyway. In the flashes, he’s ankle deep in snow. That’s why it’s a lie.

Tubbo has always hated the cold.

It aches, that Ranboo’s presence makes him warmer. He refuses to examine why.

The woods are quieter now. Like the world around him has been deteriorating since Tubbo had realized it was a mirage. The few birds singing stay because of his own stubbornness, putting bluebirds in the trees.

He finds L’Mantree. It’s not noticeable, tucked into the swarm of forest. Tubbo puts his hand on it and whispers, “Don’t you like it better here, too?”

He doesn’t know what will happen. He doesn’t remember what the real world is. He’s still trying to convince himself this can be his real world. Deep down, he knows that the tree in front of him grows to become just as lonely and scarred as Tubbo.

The forest burns. Tubbo’s home burns. He presses his forehead against the big tree’s bark and lets it dig into his skin like it’s real.

“Why do we have to give up our happy? Don’t you miss this? When we were all together?”

The forest burns. Tubbo thinks he burns with it. He can’t recall.

Wilbur sits with him at night, when Tommy is already in bed and Tubbo is avoiding that sweet toddler laugh that makes him ache. They usually sit in silence.

The voice is getting closer now, melding into his own like two metals in a furnace. It’s scratchy, and tired, and filled with paranoia. Tubbo tries to think of bees and breathe in the smell of honey and wet grass and cast it away.

Tubbo has always been good at figuring things out. It’s never been a problem before.

It’s when a bird flies past, and Tubbo thinks there should be two, and he turns around and there they are, that he puts it together.

“I created this?” he asks Wilbur one night. It’s a question, because he’s begging to be wrong.

Wilbur nods, looks at him in that soft, kind way that Tubbo is starting to think is a fading memory now. One he’s preserving in his pocket of bliss.

Tubbo nods back, looks at the burger van, blinks. It’s on fire. He blinks again. It’s overgrown with vines. Blink. It’s rubble. Blink again, it’s a memorial site. Blink. It’s a crater. 

“Why?”

“You made a hard decision. It’s normal, when you’re overcome with guilt but still think you’re doing what’s right.”

“Normal to what?”

“Create a delusion.”

There’s a Wilbur, in the back of his mind, with sharp eyes and cold fingers. He thinks Tubbo is a traitor. He thinks they’re doomed. He thinks he’s worthless. 

“Was it really so bad, back there?”

“You tell me.”

Tubbo scowls, tgs at his left hand harshly. “I can’t remember.”

“Maybe because you don’t want to.”

He stands then, turning on Wilbur with a glare he doesn’t remember wearing on his face before now, but feels as routine as breathing. “Of course I do.”

Wilbur hums, “Alright, Tubbo.”

“Is— Ranboo, he doesn’t belong in this—” Tubbo pauses, chokes out, “memory. Did I create him, too?”

“No. He’s different. Either you both have to strong a connection to stay away from each other, or the Egg is trying to take him too.”

“No,” Tubbo breathes. He swallows. “He has to stay away, before he— before he gets stuck.”

“According to you, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Ranboo didn’t know this, Wilbur. He didn’t know us all this way.” Tubbo grimaces, tries to remember how he does know them. Eventually, he shakes his head. “If this goes away, Ranboo isn’t going to be the one who loses you.”

Wilbur has always had a knack for words, so maybe it’s what’s happening or maybe it’s because Tubbo doesn’t that he stays quiet for a long time, before he says, “I would miss you.”

It’s the voice more than Tubbo that blurts, “I really loved you.”

“You won’t believe me,” WIlbur tells him, pulling him against his side, “but I really loved you too.”

He’s wrong. Tubbo does believe him. 

He goes to bed. When he tries to imagine what Wilbur smells like, honey is replaced with damp caves, and parchment with smoke.

Ranboo looks tired. They’re watching Tommy chase a bee, one he’d promised to add to Tubbo’s nursery. It’s been an hour already, most of the others had wandered off to more engaging things after watching him for twenty minutes. It’s only Tubbo and Wilbur left, and now Ranboo.

He looks tired. Tubbo looks up and he’s staring at Wilbur. Tubbo reaches out to touch his arm. When he flinches, it hurts more than Tubbo wants to believe.

He drops his hand. “Everything alright, boss man?”

Ranboo looks pale. He looks tired. Tubbo wants to know when he last slept. He can’t bring himself to ask.

The voice begs him to take his hand, to offer comfort. It sounds desperate. Tubbo pushes it to the back of his mind.

“Is Wilbur good?” Ranboo asks finally. Tubbo forces himself to laugh. 

“Of course he is. What?” the voice creeps through, dangerous and sad, “You think he’ll go darkside and blow this all up?”

He walks away, Tommy finally having caught the bee offering a perfect excuse. He doesn’t wait to see if Ranboo follows him. The voice cries when he turns around, and Ranboo is gone. 

Tubbo dreams about the little boy again. They’re building a snowman. It’s good, and Tubbo lets himself laugh with his subconscious when the baby falls into the snow and starts squealing. 

When he picks him up, the toddler's face is covered in ash so thick Tubbo can’t see his features.

He wakes up gasping, clutching at his chest and looking around frantically for Michael, to make sure he’s okay, to make sure he’s breathing. He rolls over Tommy, ignoring his question as he tumbles out of the tent and onto his hands and knees. They’re covered with soot.

“No,” he whispers. When he closes his eyes, the snow is melting. There’s a torch in his hand. He’s walking towards Michael’s nursery. He opens his eyes and Tommy is crouched in front of him, hands on his shoulders.

“You’re starting to wake up. Take control,” Tommy says. Tubbo gasps, shuts his eyes again. He forces himself to put the torch down, opens Michael’s door and feels his throat close at the empty room. He opens his eyes. Tommy is still there, searching his face.

“No matter what the crimson does, it’s still you,” he says.

Tubbo shakes his head, gags when smoke fills his senses. “You’re— you’re the Egg— I can’t—”

“This isn't the Egg, Tubbo. You made this. You used it to create a sanctuary. In here, it’s just you.” Tommy shakes his shoulders. “Stop being a whining bitch, and fucking help them before they get hurt.”

Tubbo closes his eyes.

The smoke stings, reminds him of a time that’s still fuzzy in his head. He’s sure he’d be full on panicking if he could picture the memory fully. He looks around Michael’s nursery, dusty and abandoned.

How long has he been gone?

When he turns, moving to leave, the room flashes red. It crawls up his ankles, snaking around his knees and tracing his scars like they belong to it. 

Burn it burn it burn it, the red tells him, yanking his hand towards the torch. Tubbo cries out, dropping to his knees and pulling his arms to his chest.

“No, no. I won’t, you stupid—”

He’s in the field again. His cheek stings. Tommy’s hand is raised. He winces. “Sorry.”

“What the hell?”

“You can’t let it get in your head, alright? You do that, it’s over.”

“How am I supposed to—”

“Just don’t listen to it! It’s a fucking liar and a prick, it’ll say whatever it can to hurt you!”

Tubbo’s face crumples, tears threatening to fall. “Tommy, I don’t want to fight alone again.”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and then he’s back in Michael’s room.

Crimson pulls him by his ankles towards the door. Tubbo turns, kicking at the red vines, but every time he manages to fight one off, four take its place, wrapping around his hips, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Tubbo writhes, resembling the squirming vines. One of them finds his temple, presses into the soft skin. 

Everything goes black.

“It’s like a casino, mixed with a country. You should come! I could always use my trusty right hand, it’d be like old times.”

“I’m sort of tired of countries, Big Q.”

“Yeah? What do you call this?”

“A commune?”

“Okay, Tubbo. Whatever you say.”

The Egg tells him to give in. 

“Congrats on your office opening, Puffy! I reckon… you’ll be moving closer to the commons, then?”

“Yeah, I will. Tubbo, you know if you ever need to talk—”

“Relax, Puffy. I’m cool with it!”

He deserves to be angry, doesn’t he? Just once?

“It’s just— Niki offered me a place, yunno? It’s not personal, or anything, I’ll come visit—” 

“Don’t worry about it, Jack. I’m happy for you!”

No one will get hurt. It’s his ghost town. His alone.

“When the mansion is finished, are you going to move in permanently?”

“I— I’m not sure? I’ll definitely be around more, but I’d have to talk to Phil and Techno, if that’s okay?”

“‘Course it is, Bossman.”

Always alone.

“It’s fucking cold here, innit?”

“I guess so. Hey, when the mansion is done, we’ll have loads of spare rooms, maybe you can have one.”

“Sure, if I feel like visiting. Just got my home all fixed up though.”

“Well, obviously. I wasn’t asking you to move in all the time.”

“Obviously.”

Tubbo is so, so tired of fighting alone.

Michael’s room is empty. It’s dusty. It’s unlived in. Tubbo stands, picks up the torch.

He can’t bring himself to light the crib on fire. 

As he walks through Snowchester, he tips the torch gingerly, first the corner of Q’s old house, then Puffy’s, then Jack’s. He looks at the mansion. It’s unfinished. No sign of Foolish. No sign of life. Blinking slowly, he follows the crimson trail towards his farm. 

The water around it keeps the crops from lighting. They tint red in the firelight. Tubbo hums, satisfied, and moves back towards the houses. He climbs on top of the house he built for Foolish, just in case, before he decided to move to Las Nevadas. Sucking his teeth, he sighs, and lets the fire spill onto its roof.

“What the fuck?”

Tubbo pauses. He makes eye contact with Phil, who’s pouring water on the same roof Tubbo is lighting on fire.

“Philza,” Tubbo says in greeting. Phil’s burnt wings sag.

“This is you, isn’t it?”

“Bet you’re glad it’s not Dream,” Tubbo laughs. He snorts, “Or Wilbur.”

Phil flinches. He drops another bucket of water onto Foolish’s roof. Tubbo scowls. It’s too wet to light now.

“Mate, listen, whatever the Egg is doing—”

Tubbo rolls his eyes, “Spare me the lecture, old man. Are you sure all this excitement won’t give you a stroke?”

He laughs when Phil’s expression twists into offense, and jumps to another roof, making his way towards the mansion, dancing through the fire. He’s not sure if it’s his agility or the Egg, but the flames don’t touch him.

Tommy says something.

Tubbo’s head snaps up and he stumbles to stop, looking around, expecting to find himself back in the clearing, Tommy in front of him and the smell of honey in the air.

The air doesn’t change. It smells like Wilbur. It smells like Technoblade and Phil. It smells like Dream. It smells like him.

He hops off the roof. Tommy jumps. Ranboo takes a step back. Tubbo’s eyebrows furrow, “What are you guys doing here?”

“Uh,” Techno says. Tubbo’s eyes flick to him, giving him a once over. The torch in his hand trembles.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tommy shouts. It’s different than the Tommy back in L’Manburg. He’s angry, he’s worried, he’s paranoid. He sounds like the voice. He sounds sad. He sounds like Tubbo feels. Tommy’s lips curl around his teeth as he spits, “Do you not see the flames? Did the Egg mess with your fucking head?”

Tubbo blinks. Once upon a time, Tommy understood him without asking any questions. He just knew.

“I can see the fire,” he says calmly. 

“And?”

“And what?”

“And, bitch, fire burns!”

Tubbo rolls his eyes, gestures to his face. He raises an eyebrow at Techno. Red flashes off his scars, Tubbo can feel it in his eyes.  “Obviously I know, Tommy. That’s why I’m being careful.”

“You’re holding a lit torch!”

Tommy used to know without asking. Tubbo used to have a home where no one left, and no one shouted out of malice, and people protected each other. He sighs, “How else would I light these buildings on fire?”

Ranboo looks the same. Tubbo is sure Wilbur is right now, that he isn’t some figment of Tubbo’s imagination, but the real, actual person Tubbo married. Tubbo resists the urge to look at his ring on his finger. The Crimson holds his jaw firm.

Ranboo whimpers, “What?”

“Don’t worry, I knew Michael wasn’t here before I started.”

“I don’t think that’s what matters here, Tubbo,” Techno says slowly.

Red rage fills Tubbo like the flick of a switch, like pulling the trigger on a rocket launcher. It comes out hot, and steady, a calm kind of anger that Tubbo didn’t learn from anyone but himself. 

“Come on, Techno! You should be happy! No more country,” Tubbo coos, taking a step closer. He looks around, his lip twitches, “Well, soon, anyway.”

Techno is staring right into his eyes. Tubbo hopes he sees malice there, he hopes he sees every title he forced onto Tubbo. He hopes he fears it.

“You can help if you want, but I don’t think you ever actually cared about the buildings.” Tubbo sneers, and there’s the anger he learned from others. “After all, government is just my name to you, isn’t it?”

There’s a shout, and then Tubbo is drenched in water. The torch goes out.

His ears ring, the crimson growls. Tubbo looks up at Jack, wiping off his face, “Dude.”

“You had fire!” Jack explains, still holding the bucket. 

“Look around you!” Tubbo rolls his eyes. “Now leave, I have things to do.”

“Why?” Tommy speaks up, his voice hoarse. He is so utterly different from Tubbo’s Tommy. He looks like a bad dream Tubbo might have. Tubbo can’t remember what made him like this.

You did, red whispers in his ear.

“After everything we’ve— Tubbo, out of everyone, you weren’t supposed to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Burn someone’s home!”

“Not someone’s,” Tubbo snaps. This is the part where it’s him, where the egg quiets to a mutter, where the voice is all that comes out of his mouth, “mine! This is my home! I’m the one who built these houses, and kept the gardens and built the walls and designed the fucking flag! Everyone else left! This is my ghost town, and I have every right to do what I want with it!”

“What about me?” Ranboo asks. It makes the roar in Tubbo’s ears take pause.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Tubbo says, he’s not sure what Ranboo means, but the mansion stopped it’s construction, and Michael’s old room is covered in dust. “You and Michael, you finally have what I’ve always wanted for you.”

“So what’s next,” Ranboo whispers, “your son never sees you again?”

Tubbo has had a lot of dreams about Michael, giggling, beautiful little Michael. The soot on his face was a warning. A premonition. Tubbo remembers now, why he said yes. Protecting his family means he has to stay away. “Leave. Tell Philza to stop putting out the fires.”

“We aren’t going to do that.”

It’s Ranboo’s voice he rarely uses, the stern one, the indignant one, the one where he proves he has a backbone when he chooses to use it.

Sighing, Tubbo turns his head. He meets Ranboo’s eyes. Waits for him to look away first. It’s cruel, and cold, and it’s all the invitation the crimson needs to come snaking back to the forefront. The ground underneath them shifts, knocking Tommy off balance. 

Red vines break out of the ground, inching past what’s left of the snow. They drip red, creeping towards Tubbo, brushing at the group's ankles. 

“I said, leave,” Tubbo repeats. One of the vines wraps around Jack’s leg and yanks him harshly off the roof. He screams when he falls, and it’s Tommy who yanks him up, who grabs Ranboo’s arm and shouts at Techno to move.

He looks at Tubbo once, before he turns his back. Red tears gather in Tubbo’s eyes at the look on his face. He doesn't remember everything, but he remembers promising, once, to never let Tommy look at him again.

Standing in Snowchester, he’s left alone, again.

It’s different this time. He’s the one who made them leave.

Control, the crimson whispers. Tubbo lets go. 

He wakes up with wet hair and burn scars. L’Manburg smells like honey. The thick, curling anger is gone now, sucked away with the view of Snowchester in flames. Tubbo turns to the side and vomits on the sweet smelling grass.

Tommy is standing, leaning against the burger van. He looks sad.

“I told you not to let it get in your head.”

Tubbo shakes his head, coughing, “I don’t know why I— it’s so much different there.”

“Potent, I know.” Tommy sighs, crouches in front of him. “You have to remember the rest of it, now. That’s the only way you get out of this.”

Shifting his jaw and sniffing, Tubbo’s voice cracks, “Am I going to lose you?”

“Oh, Tubbo. When are you going to get it through your thick skull?” Tommy smiles. It’s sad. It’s familiar. It’s the kindest thing Tubbo has ever seen. “You never lost me, you just stopped seeing me.”

Tubbo hugs him. 

He hugs him tightly and presses his face into his shoulder and he remembers it all. 

Losing Eret, winning the war. Losing the discs. The tiny, brief moment of joy, the election, Schlatt, Quackity, Wilbur’s spiral, Techno’s betrayal, baking with Niki, holding Tommy’s hand in Pogtopia. Losing again. Winning again. Being president, losing Tommy, meeting Ranboo, losing himself, loss after loss after loss and the few wins sprinkled throughout in the form of laughing best friends and kind husbands and beautiful sons. 

He remembers why he said yes. He regrets it. Tommy hugs him. He isn’t real. Tubbo misses his friend.

When Tommy’s grip loosens, Tubbo grabs at him, holding the front of his ragged revolution coat and shaking his head frantically. “No, not yet. I don’t want to be here alone.”

“Then don’t be,” Tommy tells him softly. He reaches up to wipe a tear off Tubbo’s cheek. “It’s alright, bee boy. None of this is real.”

“It was,” Tubbo wails, and Tommy is gone.

In the blur of tears and numb grief, Tubbo watches him reappear, walking by Wilbur’s side and laughing. It’s different, though. He’s almost translucent in the sun, and he doesn’t give Tubbo a second glance when he passes. 

Slowly, as his bones ache, Tubbo curls into himself, and presses his face into the grass that smells like smoke.

“Come back,” he begs hoarsely. “One more time, Boo. Come back.”

He sits in silence, listens to the memories of unscarred and unscared people move around him. 

There’s a shift in the air, a noise behind him. Tubbo takes a shuddering breath when Ranboo calls his name.

“Hello, beloved.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Ranboo starts awkwardly, “no more making paper lanterns?”

Tubbo laughs, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He shakes his head, voice congested and clogged with smoke, “Guess not.”

Slowly, Ranboo sits down next to Tubbo, crossing his legs. Tubbo watches him from the corner of one eye, just barely peeking out from behind his hand. Ranboo takes a steadying breath. His lips tick up in a smile when Tubbo seems to copy him.

Two weeks ago, when Ranboo woke up to an empty bed, he’d messaged Tubbu to ask if he’d gone out. It wasn’t unusual for Michael and Ranboo to start the day alone. Tubbo was always up earlier than them, plagued with the need to be busy.

Tubbo didn’t reply. Not for an hour, or two, or three. Ranboo went to Tommy’s house, and the two of them spent three days searching, not finding anything.

When Jack hadn’t heard anything, when Quackity started asking around, a look on his face like he was reliving a memory, when even Techno and Phil started to call in favors, that’s when Ranboo really believed his husband was dead. 

“What if something happened, and a mob got him, and he’s just laying in some— some ditch somewhere—”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Tubbo, it’s that he’s resilient,” Techno had said.

Resilient. Thick skin. Ranboo just wants him safe.

It was Puffy who told them, knocked on Phil’s door with a bleeding arm and helped Tommy through a panic attack when she told them she’d gone to talk to Bad, and found Tubbo sitting with him, eyes red to match his irritated scars.

“It looked like he’d been scratching at them,” she’d said. Ranboo almost cried. Almost threw up. It was better than dead. It was worse than he thought.

Tommy told him that night, sitting on the floor of Michael’s room because neither of them could bring themselves to leave him alone, how the first time Tubbo talked to the Egg, it made him cry.

Ranboo can count on one hand how many times he’s seen his husband break down. He can’t imagine what that parasite must have said, or shown him. 

“What happened?” he asks softly.

“I made a miscalculation.”

Ranboo knows this, this speaking technically, jaw clicking like a machine. It’s Tubbo’s default, to deflect through terms he was forced to use as president. It is so familiar, that he can barely bring himself to be exasperated. 

“How?”

“I thought the Egg would help me protect you. Somehow, I always forget that people in power always lie.”

“Can you start from the beginning?” 

Tubbo laughs, then. He buries his face deeper into his hands. “It won’t help, you’ll be pissed with me either way.”

Ranboo pauses at that. Is he angry? He thinks of Tubbo at the crater, in Snowchester, just now, seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time in weeks. He thinks about the horror he felt when Puffy mentioned his raw scars. He looks at them now, swollen and dry.

There was never anger. Just worry, and longing, and grief.

Maybe he should be angry. Maybe Ranboo should vent his frustrations and tell Tubbo how much he hurt them, hurt him. Maybe he should be pissed. It would be routine, he thinks. Something Tubbo could latch onto; blame. 

Carefully, giving Tubbo time to pull away, Ranboo wraps his arms around his husband.

“Ranboo,” Tubbo whispers, like he’s begging for the touch to hurt. Never. Ranboo shakes his head, holds him tighter.

“I just want you home,” he tells him.

Tubbo’s shoulders are shaking.

Ranboo used to wonder why they didn’t shake all the time, with the weight of the world resting there. He learned as they got closer that it’s because he’s strong, and more than that, it’s because he lets himself love, even after everything. They shake now, for that same reason. 

With a deep breath, Tubbo pulls away, smoothing down the front of his shirt, his eyes lingering on the scar on his left hand. After a moment, he shakes his head, straightens his posture, and tells Ranboo everything.

It’s retched, and messy, and it makes Ranboo want to take an axe to the Egg until it’s nothing but a stain. 

Tubbo tells him like a report, eyes trained in front of him, voice soft. Ranboo’s face twists into something horrified the longer he talks.

“It amplified my anger, and hurt.” Tubbo shrugs. “I didn’t want to burn Snowchester, but it was still me doing it, justifying it.”

“It sounds like hell,” Ranboo says, because he knows something about doing things against his will.

Tubbo shrugs. “It was a good decision, tactically, on the Egg’s part. Since I can’t go home now. Because it’s not there, and because I managed to screw over anyone I could go home to.”

“Not me,” Ranboo tells him desperately.

The smile his husband gives him is sad. “You forgive like a knee jerk reaction, Ranboo. You’ll realize soon, how badly I fucked up. I mean, really, who wants to forgive someone who created all of this just to get away?”

L’Manburg is bright, beautiful. Even with the stench of smoke clinging to Tubbo’s hair and clothes, he can still smell the hints of honey in the air. He can still hear Tommy laughing. 

“Then you can’t forgive me either.”

“What?”

“I kept coming here, over and over. I slept instead of playing with Michael or helping Tommy just for the chance at seeing you.”

“Ranboo, that’s not—”

“What? The same?” Ranboo scoots until he’s sitting in front of Tubbo, their knees pressed together. “Of course it’s not the same. But we both wanted— needed something that wasn’t so… sad.”

Tubbo stares at him, eyes calculating. He scans Ranboo’s face, settles on a smudge of soot on his cheek. When he reaches out to wipe it away, Ranboo leans into his hand.

“Ask me why,” Tubbo whispers.

Ranboo shakes his head, “It was the Egg, it doesn’t matter—”

“Ranboo.”

Closing his eyes, Ranboo can imagine himself kneeling in church Prime, tired and aching. His voice cracks, “Why— Tubbo, why did you say yes?”

There’s a long, terrifying moment of silence, where Ranboo thinks Tubbo might tell him it’s because he isn’t enough, and never has been.

“Tommy died,” Tubbo says. Somewhere in the distance, Tommy laughs again. “He died, and I didn’t do a damn thing.”

“You couldn’t have—”

“I should have. I should have.” Tubbo drops his hand, the calluses on his fingertips brushing his jaw as they fall away. “I couldn’t save him, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, the threats against us. I have a son now, and Tommy back, you. I couldn’t lose someone again.”

“We have a son,” Ranboo corrects, opening his eyes. “We got Tommy back, we married each other. That’s what it is, Tubbo. Doing it together.”

“I almost told you, when the Egg first spoke to me. I wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Tubbo stands, creaking knees and a soft sigh. He looks around, something desperate and so alone on his face. Ranboo stands with him. He wants to take his hand.

“This is the last place I knew how to do anything without armor.” Tubbo shakes his head. “It was ages ago, before I was covered in— in scars that show just how naive I was. It was the last place I didn’t feel guilty to be alive.”

Ranboo chokes, and he does grab his hand then, holding it between both of his. “You shouldn’t have to feel that way.”

“I wish he’d been the real one.”

“What?”

Tubbo looks down at their hands, smiling kindly, “The Tubbo you met here, I wish he’d been the real one, and I was the dream. He wouldn’t have said yes. He would have talked to you. He was always so good to Tommy. He’d have been the dad Michael deserves.”

“Tubbo—”

“But it’s true, Ranboo. He wouldn’t have to stop playing because of aches from lost wars, he wouldn’t scare Michael with his panic attacks just because someone dropped a glass. He’d be soft.” Tubbo closes his eyes, desperate and wistful and so incredibly sad. “He would know what to say to Tommy, how to be a good husband. I wish he was the real one, Boo, because he’s the husband you deserve.”

Ranboo drops Tubbo’s hand and takes his face in both his hands, rubbing his thumbs under his eyes and over his scars. “I fell in love with you,” he says, as forcefully and filled with as much love as he can manage. “This you. Everything that you are.”

Tubbo doesn’t open his eyes, squeezes them shut tighter and reaches up to hold onto Ranboo’s wrists loosely.

“Tubbo, look at me. There is not a version of you that deserves me more, that I would love more. Please, look at me.”

Finally, Tubbo opens his eyes. They aren’t red, just the familiar blue, blinking at him through wet eyelashes.

“He’s a part of you, and I love him for it, of course I do, but there is no one I want to be married to, past you, or anyone else, more than you. There never will be.” Ranboo presses their foreheads together, bending down to meet Tubbo’s. “I am not better off without you, none of us are. Can’t you believe that?”

Tubbo laughs, gripping his wrists harder, pressing their noses against one anothers. “It seems I miscalculated.”

“You think?”

They pull away, Tubbo scrubbing at his face and Ranboo wiping at his eye carefully. They meet each other’s eyes, and both of them giggle, wiping their faces again.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Tubbo says. The merth on his face falls away. “I’m sorry. Truly, really sorry.”

“You were backed into a corner. It’s okay.”

“In a box, again.” Tubbo sags, exhaustion draped over him like a wet blanket. “What do we do now?”

Ranboo blinks, and glances around. “Oh. I didn’t… really think of that. Can’t you just leave, like you did before?”

“I don’t know. I think the Egg was letting me out, like it wanted to teach me a lesson.” Tubbo looks around warily, “I created the illusion, but I think it locked me in.”

“Okay. Okay, well that’s— that’s concerning, but I’m sure we can figure it out, right? I just have to talk to the others, explain what’s going on.”

Tubbo’s eyes widen, and he grabs Ranboo’s arm, “Tommy can’t be a part of this, alright? You have to keep him far away from it.”

“I’m not going to let him die again, Tubbo. He’s my friend too.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I know. Just— you can’t take any risks, none of you, or the Egg could get you too, okay? Not even Philza and Technoblade, god, especially not them, you’d stand no chance.”

“Hey,” Ranboo says, brushing Tubbo’s hair off his face. “We’ll be okay. Let me save you, for once?”

“I just— if any of you get hurt, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Spiral, probably,” Ranboo says. Tubbo punches him in the arm. 

“Dick.”

“Sorry.” Ranboo is smiling. “Look, seriously. Just wait here, maybe see if you can trigger whatever got you out last time, and I’ll figure it out on my end.”

Tubbo nods, and then looks around. He rubs his arms, despite there being no chill. “So I just have to stay here?”

Ranboo frowns, stepping closer to him, “What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

“Tubbo.”

“Ugh. It’s just creepy, alright? Like a… wax museum, or some shit, except instead of old historical figures, it’s all my friends? And also they can move, and talk to each other, but I can’t talk to them.”

Ranboo winces, “That is kind of creepy. I’ll try and be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Tubbo sighs, shaking himself off. “Give Michael a kiss for me, and tell Tommy—” he stops, stills. “Just… tell him when I get back— never mind. I’ll tell him myself.”

With a smile, Ranboo puts his hands on his hips, “Good. So we agree you’ll get back in one piece.”

“No.”

“Tubbo, come on—”

“No, not that,” Tubbo interrupts. He yanks on Ranboo’s arm, shoving him towards his tent. “You have to go, now. Like right now.” 

“What? Why?”

“Beloved, please just trust me on this one. You’ve got the outside covered, I have it in control here.”

“I do trust you, but you’re acting weird, and—”

The air is filled with a loud, screeching wail, like a siren blended with an achin, mournful scream. It fills the air, makes Ranboo wince, but Tubbo drops to his knees, clutching his head and groaning.

“Tubbo!” R

The walls of L’Manburg start to crumble.

Ranboo’s eyes widen, he latches onto Tubbo’s shoulder, squatting in front of him, “What’s happening? Tubbo, why is it falling? What’s it doing to you?”

“It’s the Egg,” Tubbo gasps. His eyes flash red and he pulls away from Ranboo, falling back. “It must have figured out I’m awake. You need to go!”

“If the Egg is coming after you—”

“It already has me!” Tubbo shouts over the sound of cracking stone and splitting wood. “It can’t get you too! Wake up, Ranboo! Now!”

The gates of L’Manburg tip, and like a falling tree, plumet with a resounding crash. In its place are things Ranboo only sees in nightmares.

Withers.

They’re bright red, with vines wrapped around their ribs and sickening red flowers sprouting from their eyes.

“I am not leaving you alone with those,” Ranboo insists, watching the way Tubbo pales.

Looking back at him, Tubbo’s face is painted in terror, but he still manages to smile. “It’s alright. Just go home. I’ll see you soon.”

The stone wall right next to him explodes, sending chunks of rock spinning through the air. The last thing Ranboo sees before one of them hits him in the head is Tubbo mouthing an apology.

He wakes up in his room, panting, with a headache.

Throwing himself off his bed, he scrambles down the stairs, smacking his shoulder against the wall as he rounds a corner.

“Tommy! Techno! Phil!” he’s panting by the time he skids into the sitting room, hands on his knees. “We really have to talk.”

Chapter Text

“What the fuck,” Tommy says when Ranboo is finally finished explaining. He’d asked them to wait to ask questions until after he was done, and he’d seen all of them frown, or open their mouths as if they were going to interrupt, but now, they just stare at him.

Ranboo shifts on his feet. “Yeah. That’s uh— yep.”

“Okay,” Phil starts, and then stops. He puffs out a breath. “Jesus shit, Ranboo.”

“The Egg is a lot more of a threat than I was thinkin’,” Techno says, a hand on his chin like he’s contemplating whether to believe Ranboo or not. “You sure it was actually Tubbo, and not some trick?”

“It was Tubbo,” Ranboo says, and he’s confident about it. Techno nods, shrugs.

“Good enough for me.”

“Hold on,” Phil says, holding up his hands, “so you were just… fucking off to the Egg’s mindscape every time you shut your eyes, and you never thought to mention that?”

Ranboo winces. “Technically, it was Tubbo’s mindscape?”

“Mate.”

“Alright, I know. I just— well at first I thought I was going back in time—”

“Very logical,” Techno says dryly.

“—and then uh— well then Tubbo woke up.”

“I still don’t get that,” Phil says. “He was under some sort of trance in his own head, but he was still making decisions in his own body, like when you and Tommy saw him.”

“I think— I think that was like he was… bleeding through? Because Wilbur— that day was important, so he was, you know, there.”

Phil blinks at him. “Okay.”

“Tommy, you’ve been awfully quiet,” Techno points out. Ranboo jumps, mentally kicking himself for paying attention to Tommy less than Techno, of all people. 

Tommy sniffs, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “Was he uh— was he happy?”

The room goes quiet. Ranboo’s chest hurts so bad he thinks it might burst.

“At— at first, yeah, but that was before he realized what he’d left behind.”

“You ‘n Michael,” Tommy mutters.

Phil furrows his eyebrows, “And you, mate.”

“Nah.” Tommy stands, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I was there. The me he wanted, anyway. The me you all fucking want. With braces and shit. Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna get some air.”

He leaves. The room feels dimmer without him. Ranboo bounces, watching the door. “I think I should—”

“Go.” Phil sighs. “Tech and I will start figuring out what to do about… this shit.”

“Thanks,” Ranboo calls, already halfway out the door.

It’s freezing outside. Ranboo is in his slippers and felt pajamas, and he’s really regretting not thinking this through, or at least grabbing a coat for Tommy. He looks even worse, wearing plaid pajama pants and his baseball tea, arms crossed as he shivers. 

“I’m not mad at him,” Tommy says before Ranboo even has the chance to say hi. Ranboo is sure he was quiet as he walked up. It reminds him of the woods, when Tommy had a crossbow to his throat before he even registered that he’d made a noise.

“Me neither,” Ranboo says.

“Yeah, well we fucking should be.” Tommy scowls, kicking at the snow in front of him. He’s wearing his diamond boots. Ranboo wonders if he ever takes them off. “He left, went to fuck off in his little fantasy world where everyone is happy and no one flinches and yells and gets angry too fast and has stupid shitty trauma.”

“That’s… not exactly fair.”

“I know that,” Tommy snaps. Ranboo swallows.

“He— he wanted to come back, to all of this. That includes you, you know that, right?”

Tommy doesn’t say anything for a while, eyes tracking the falling snow like he’s grounding himself with it. Eventually, in a small voice, he asks, “What were we like?”

“You mean, how you acted?’

“With each other,” Tommy clarifies.

Ranboo stuffs his hands under his armpits, trying to keep them warm. “I don’t know, Tommy. You were… you. You and Tubbo.”

“Don’t fucking lie,” Tommy spits, taking a step towrds him. 

“What is this, Tommy? Why do you want to know?”

Tommy straightens, and then turns, his back to Ranboo. He tilts his head up towards the sky. After a few seconds, Ranboo moves to stand next to him. Tommy is watching the sky. Ranboo is watching the snow gather on his eyelashes. 

Tubbo said once, after Tommy had died and they’d spent a lot of nights sitting under Michael’s trapdoor, listening for any sign of distress, that Tommy loves like an open wound. 

“People are supposed to move on, you know? Forgive people or leave them behind. Tommy doesn’t— didn’t do that. He wears love like a slashed carotid artery. It keeps bleeding, and his heart keeps pumping blood right through it.”

“Is that bad?”

“I don’t think so. But it’s fucking terrifying.”

  Ranboo licks his lips. “You miss them, you and Tubbo.”

“I’m not mad,” Tommy repeats hoarsely, “because I would have stayed too.”

“It’s not… it doesn’t make you evil, either of you, for wanting that.”

Tommy sniffs. His nose is red. “Tubbo was so much easier to be friends with back then. It’s horrible, I’m fucking horrible to say that—”

“I don’t think—”

“—but it’s true. Because he was clingy, and happy to do whatever I felt like doing. Happy to fuck off if I asked him, happy to stay as long as I would let him. We were a duo, man. Big Man Tommy and his sidekick Bee Boy.” A smile ghosts across Tommy’s face. “If we— when we get him back, he’s not going to bounce back, even if he acts like it.”

“I know,” Ranboo sighs, and Tommy snorts at how exasperated he sounds.

He sniffs again. “Fucking cold out here, innit?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is— it is so cold.”

“We can go back inside,” Tommy says, but he doesn’t move. Ranboo waits. Tommy says, “It’s a hard thing, my friend, grieving yourself. Those people you met in L’Manburg wouldn’t even recognize me. Tubbo— maybe he stayed for so long because he knew that. That when he comes back, they’ll be dead again. All of them.”

Ranboo chances it, and reaches out to put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Miraculously, he doesn’t flinch away. “You can grieve them Tommy, both of you, I wouldn't— I’d never ask you not to. But… you know that you’re not dead, right? You’re right here.”

Tommy stares at him through his snow eyelashes and rosy cheeks, red nose and scars on his jawline. Ranboo recognize the boy from the meadow in his eyes, kind and suspicious and a little bit too loud when everything else is quiet.

“I’m not grieving you,” Ranboo adds. 

Tomm looks back out at the snow, then back at Ranboo. For a second, Ranboo lets their eyes meet, let’s Tommy see the sincerity there. This is it, for him. No past selves, no wars or mistakes to hold grudges over. This is his. Tubbo and Tommy. 

“Let’s get our boy back,” Tommy rasps, jaw clicking. He reaches up to squeeze Ranboo’s wrist as he walks back inside.

Ranboo turns his face up to whatever Tommy was watching, ignoring the subtle itch of the melting snowflakes on his face.

Orion sits above them all, flickering between the sparse snow clouds. It seems to wink at Ranboo, throwing the prayer he whispered in Church Prime what feels like ages ago back in his face.

He doesn’t need to know, he decides. He doesn’t need to know what every past version of Tubbo looked like, what he acted like. It doesn’t matter. He has Tubbo. That’s all he needs.

When he walks back inside, Tommy is wearing a coat that Ranboo is sure is Technoblade’s, and Phil is bouncing Michael on his hip while Techno talks out a plan to save Ranboo’s husband.

Yeah. This is all he needs.

***

There are Withers within the walls. 

Tubbo knows they aren’t the same, the red vines hold them together like one of Michael’s puppets made from popsicle sticks and crazy glue. But they are Withers. They are in L’Manburg.

Ranboo is gone, he disappeared the second he hit the ground, and Tubbo hopes he woke up without even a headache. Ranboo is gone, out of Tubbo’s line of worry. 

L’Manburg is behind him. Logically, Tubbo knows that he should run, should let the crimson burn it to the ground with the nightmare of what took it last time.

Before he can even weigh the pros and cons, there’s a sword in his hand. Tubbo shifts it, takes a deep breath.

He charges at the army of Withers.

Tubbo is smart, and fast, and he can hold his own in a pvp when he has to, but he wasn’t built for combat. He was built for strategies, for war plans and rebuilding and presidential decrees and safeguards. There’s no time for that here, just one kid against the monsters that haunt him.

He kills one Wither. It dies with a heartbreaking wail and the red seeps into the ground, sprouting grotesque flowers where it died.

One Wither. One victory. The next second, he’s pinned against a wall, the Egg shouting in his ear and the Withers watching him with cold, dead eyes.

“This place is mine,” Tubbo growls. “You can’t take it. No one can take it again.”

“I will take everything,” the Crimson Death tells him. Tubbo lifts his chin, and waits for death by staring it in the face.

Last time, trapped in a corner looking down the barrel of doom, he cowered, hid his face in his hands and closed his eyes.

This time, he stares at it head on, and doesn’t flinch.

The Wither shrieks, leaning towards him with it’s mouth open and the stench of rot coming off it in waves. It’s all Tubbo can do not to gag.

He’s going to die. In L’Manburg. Trapped and alone and desperately wishing he was with his family.

Maybe it’s poetic, but Tubbo just wants to go home.

A whistling sound undercuts the Wither’s scream, soaring through the air and over Tubbo’s head. He doesn’t realize what’s happening until he sees the arrow buried deep into the Wither’s eye socket.

Tubbo turns his back on the enemy, and there’s Tommy, standing on top of the half toppled wall with his bow lifted, already notching another arrow.

He looks at Tubbo only once, and his eyes are confident, and kind. He fires another arrow. Tubbo watches it’s trajectory, stares in awe as it hits the Wither’s other eye dead center. When he looks back, Fundy is climbing up next to Tommy with his crossbow, face set and focused.

Someone shouts, and then there’s Niki and Jack, their own bows pulled taught, standing on top of the Camarvan. 

“You just gonna stand there?” Eret asks, suddenly next to him, holding their sword.

“What’s three Withers compared to a day spent with Tommy,” Wilbur teases, his own crossbow propped on his arm, already aiming to kill.

Tubbo looks back at the Withers. They seem almost small now.

“This is mine,” Tubbo tells it again. “Nobody is destroying it again.”

Fighting next to the original citizens of L’Manburg feels like muscle memory. He weaves around Eret, using her as cover when he needs to because she’s the only one with a shield. He stands back to back with Wilbur, knocks swords with Tommy when he runs out of arrows and joins the fray. Niki is a whirlwind, Jack laughs when he makes a bullseye, Fundy whistles and shouts as he ducks under covers and stays hidden enough to never get in firing range.

Tubbo knows this. He still knows this, after everything. He still knows the way he used to fight like it was for something other than an end to the pain.

When it’s over, the flowers born from dying Withers glare at Tubbo with the same malice Tubbo feels.

“This game ends,” they say in unison. It was another trick then, another attempt to pull Tubbo back onto its side.

“I’m flattered that you want me so badly,” Tubbo says with a confidence he doesn’t have, “but it really is enough, I reckon.”

“Fine.”

The world falls from under Tubbo’s feet.

***

They have a plan. It’s not… well, in Tommy’s words, it’s “a shit plan”, but at least it’s a plan, a general course of action, something to keep Ranboo from literally going insane.

“Figured you wouldn’t be sleeping,” Techno says.

Ranboo jumps, “Oh— uh, no. I was just. You know. So. Yeah.”

“None of that was a complete sentence, but since your husband is possessed right now, I’ll let it slide.”

“Thanks so much,” Ranboo says dryly.

Techno sits down next to him on the stairs. They creak, because Ranboo is bony and all noodle shaped and Techno is literally the opposite, but after shifting for a minute, the wood adjusts and Techno settles.

“You worried if you fall asleep he’ll still be there?”

“If he—” Ranboo pauses, collecting himself. “Techno, Tubbo is literally the smartest person I know. I’m not even saying that as an endearing husband, it’s just true. And if he can’t— if Tubbo can’t find a way to dig himself out? Then…”

“Then you don’t think anyone can,” Techno finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Then I guess he’s just gonna have to find a way out.”

Ranboo huffs an almost laugh and nods. They go quiet. Ranboo has something he wants— no, needs to ask. Because he’d decided, that it doesn’t matter who Tubbo used to be, but it still matters what happened to him.

He wishes Techno would just… know. That he’d come to the conclusion that Ranboo needs to talk about this in particular. But Techno and Tubbo are more alike than they want to think, and Ranboo knows that even if Techno has caught on, he’s content to ignore it unless Ranboo mentions it first.

“Techno?”

“Hm.”

“I think uh— I think we should talk.”

“About?”

“Tubbo.”

Techno sighs, but he doesn’t get up and leave. “This is about the festival.”

“Is that— is that where it happened? I don’t remember the details, just that Tubbo and you… just that you, um.”

“Killed him.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Is that it?”

Ranboo turns to glare at Techno, who just shrugs. “No. I— look, I know a lot of stuff happened that was… really bad, and that Tubbo is not who he was because of a lot of people but the turning point that kind of makes the most sense is— is that day. When you.”

Ranboo doesn’t want to say it. 

“Killed him,” Techno finishes again. “If you want to talk this out, Ranboo, you can’t dance around what happened. I shot him, twice. I killed him in front of everyone he loved, while he was defenseless.”

Ranboo flinches. “I know.”

“So? You want an apology? Because I can give you one, I’ll even mean it. But that doesn’t seem to be what’s buggin’ you here.”

“It’s not.”

“So?”

“Techno, Tubbo is wary of you because of what happened to L’Manburg. He blames Wilbur and Schlatt for the festival. God, he blames Quackity before he blames you.”

Ranboo remembers that. He made sure he would, writing it down every time he noticed it. Tubbo has nightmares about fireworks. He never mentions who fires them.

Techno almost looks like he’s caught off guard. He laughs, confused and a little awkward. “No, I’m pretty sure he’d blame the person at fault.”

“You’d think,” Ranboo says, looking at Techno right in the eyes. Techno looks away first. It’s almost definitely out of courtesy, but it still feels like a victory. “Techno, you have to forgive him.”

Techno stands. He looks lost for a minute, and then he offers Ranboo a hand. Ranboo takes it without hesitating, and let’s Techno pull him to his feet.

“G’night, Ranboo,” Techno says. It isn’t kind, but it’s far from cruel.

Ranboo nods.

He finds himself in Michael’s room, watching him sleep soundly in his motorized crib. Tubbo was so proud when he finished it, ranting about how he managed to dampen the sound of working redstone so it wasn’t too loud. 

He slips his finger in Michael’s hand, and smiles when the sleeping toddler wraps his little fingers around it even though he’s asleep.

“We’re going to get him back, Michael,” he promises. He swears it. To himself and to his son and to Tommy, and he swears it to Tubbo. They are going to bring him home.

***

Tubbo can’t fucking breathe. 

On the second day that the explosions and Withers laid waste to New L’Manburg, when all the still living citizens were underground, shivering and crying in the tunnels Tubbo had built, the smoke had reached them.

He remembers the look on Tommy’s face, the way Jack had shoved sort-of clean cloths into their hands and ordered them to hold them over their noses. He remembers it was the first— and last— time he had ever prayed.

Tommy isn’t here now, neither is Jack. There are no explosions over his head or begging questions about when it will finally end or the bark of dogs bouncing off the tunnel's walls like a threat. 

Everything is incredibly quiet, but Tubbo can’t breathe.

He gasps, chokes, keeps his eyes shut and his forehead pressed to the ground. 

It’s okay, he thinks, and he doesn’t know if he’s praying, but he’s definitely begging, all that matters is Ranboo got out. 

He doesn’t know how long he can survive this, choking on nothing. There is no air here, not even air that’s tarnished with smoke.

Tubbo wonders a lot, if Technoblade knows they were under the city in the three days he spent ruining the third home Tubbo had built. He doesn’t think he does, and he hopes so, anyway, because he doesn’t like to think the man his husband and best friend both look up to is really a monster. 

He wonders now, if the Egg knows he’s still here, or if it’s just trying to get rid of every trace of Tubbo influence on its power.

“Stop,” he pleads, and he thinks it’s more of a croak, because there isn’t any air left.

The world turned white when the Egg gave up on controlling him. Tubbo doesn’t know if he saved his stupid dream of L’Manburg, or if he just created another horror to relive every night.

This is how Tubbo dies. Alone in a fake Utopia, far away from his family.

It’s not fair, being a dad, because every doomed thought is weighed down by the image of his little baby, sitting on the porch waiting for a father who won’t ever come home.

Michael is smart, he’s going to save the world someday, Tubbo thinks, just by being kind. He gets that from Ranboo. He gets his smarts from Tubbo. His optimism though, his refusal to accept that the bouquet of flowers Ranboo brought him died in the vase, the insistence that snow doesn’t actually melt and go away, Tubbo thinks he gets that from Tommy.

It’s not fair, being a dad, and it’s not fair dying young or being loved while it happens and it’s even less fair that it’s only now Tubbo is realizing it.

His eyes are still closed, because he can’t stomach the thought of watching L’Manburg get taken from him again.

“Think about it logically, Tubbo,” a voice says.

Tubbo’s eyes snap open. Wilbur and the Camarvan sit unaffected in front of him. Tubbo could sob, but there isn’t any air in his throat. He shakes his head, gags against the empty space where oxygen should be.

“Mind space or not, nobody can go this long without air. Not without passing out. Think about it, Tubbo.”

Wilbur is talking like he used to, when he was teaching Tubbo how to play ukulele and carefully moving his fingers to the right chords.

“Music is just math, if you think about it. You can figure it out.”

The Egg is tearing apart what he built, reducing it to an empty plane of endless nothing.

But Tubbo isn’t dead yet. And Wilbur is standing right there.

Somehow, he still has some control.

Tubbo sucks in a breath of air. 

Then another, and another, until he’s panting on his knees and Wilbur is watching him with a smile.

“Always knew you had more potential than you let on, you know. I used to tell Eret about it. The little bee boy who was smarter than us all.”

Tubbo doesn’t know why he says that, doesn’t know why his brain would conjure up a lie of a memory. Maybe just to make him feel better.

“I want to leave,” Tubbo says.

Wilbur winces. “Sorry. Doesn’t work like that. This is just your room, you’ve got to make it out of the house.”

“That’s shit,” Tubbo tells him.

“Total shit,” Wilbur agrees.

Slowly, and with a lot of effort, Tubbo stumbles to his feet. His armor is gone. So is his sword. “When I leave here I won’t— I don’t have any power.”

“Come on, Tubbo, what have I always taught you?” Wilbur asks. Tubbo almost laughs. It’s a long list. Most of it isn’t good. Wilbur waves a hand, “Before all that. What did I always say?”

“You don’t win with weapons,” Tubbo sighs.

Wilbur grins, “You’ve got better words than you think, Tubbo. Always said so.”

Tubbo realizes then, that this is the last time he’ll ever see Wilbur, even if it’s fake.

He doesn’t know whether to hug him or shout. Wilbur raises an eyebrow, glances behind him at the slowly fading Camarvan behind him. He looks a little put out by it, but there’s no dread. Tubbo wants to break his nose and he wants to cry in his arms like a baby.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save L’Manburg,” Tubbo blurts. He pulls in a shaking breath. “All you ever wanted to do was build a legacy, something important to outlive you.”

Wilbur looks at him like he loves him and says, “And there you are.” 

Before Tubbo can process the words, Wilbur’s pulling off his beanie and bending into a sweeping bow. Tubbo swears there’s a streak of white in his messy hair, but he fades too quickly for him to be sure.

He’s left standing in the desolation of his Hope, and when he puts a hand on his cheek, it comes back wet. 

So that’s the end, then. 

Tubbo feels like a conductor of sorts, the only member of L’Manburg who stayed. The only one who watched every rise and fall, every wonderful moment and horrible trauma. Every crescendo and diminuendo. He was there at the very beginning, and here he is, at the end.

It’s fitting, in a lonely, aching way, and Tubbo wishes he could wallow in it.

But he has people waiting for him, a son and a husband and a brother. Wilbur’s words echo in his head. Legacy and the people he loves. 

He has so much to do, so he closes his eyes, imagines the green meadow just inside L’Manburg’s walls, the sweet honey and fresh cut grass smell in the air, the laughter of his friends. He immortalizes it in his memory, in this imprint of himself, and then, with eyes still closed to the scene he knows he’s recreated, he turns around, and leaves.

As he goes, the chorus of seven naive, kind, and idiotic members of the start of something horrible and everything perfect reaches his ears.

“Well the darkness came and then it went, we built a home and watched it sink, and from the rubble emerged 

my great L’Manburg.”

Chapter Text

“That won’t work,” Niki says. Techno stops mid explanation and glares at her.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Niki rolls her eyes and elbows Jack, who stares at her with wide eyes and shakes his head. Once it’s clear he won’t help her explain, Niki sighs and crosses her arms. “Puffy says if you blow it up, it just turns into obsidian.”

“Aw, shit,” Phil says.

Ranboo feels the excitement drain out of his body. He sits down on the couch heavily and leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees, rubbing his forehead. “There goes… everything we had.”

“Wait, you can’t just— even if it turns into obsidian, we can still fucking— it’ll slow it down, right?”

Niki ignores Tommy, looking at the ground. Ranboo can feel the frustration replacing his anticipation. “Well?”

“We don’t know,” Jack says after a pause, sending Niki a look. “Puffy didn’t say.”

“So the only ones who know—”

“Are possessed,” Phil finishes for Ranboo. He groans, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “Alright. Maybe we can talk to Tubbo. You said the Egg still had him, but he’s like, aware, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ranboo agrees, and then shakes his head. “But I told you, when I left it was— the whole thing was turning on him, sending these red Withers to break down the walls.”

Standing next to him, close enough that his thigh presses against Ranboo’s knee, Tommy shivers. 

“Withers, you say?” Techno asks slowly. He scratches at his chin, eyes glazing over as he thinks.

“What about them?” Tommy snaps.

Techno raises his eyebrows and looks sideways at Phil, who frowns, before his face lights up in recognition. “There’s one thing that can destroy obsidian with practically no effort.”

“No fucking way.”

“God, Tommy. If it saves Tubbo—”

“And then kills all of us?” Tommy is shaking now, staring Niki down while she glares at him. “What’s the point of saving him if he dies right after?”

“That won’t happen,” Niki says.

The room falls silent. Ranboo pulls at his fingers, the image of Tubbo’s pale face flickering in his memory. “Tommy’s right,” he says, “we’d need some sort of… guarantee.”

“I think so too,” Jack says. He shrinks under Niki’s harsh look, shrugging. “Come on, Niki. I don’t really want Withers to kill me, do you?”

“We’re your guarantee,” Techno says, gesturing to himself, Phil, and Niki. Ranboo can admit, that’s pretty comforting. Tommy doesn’t let up.

“Right. Like you’ve been in the past.”

“Tommy—” Techno starts. Tommy shakes his head.

“I don’t give a shit, Technoblade. Swear it. Swear on your life that no one dies.”

“Really, Tommy—”

“Niki, come on—”

“Since when are you on Tommy’s side, Jack?”

“I’m not— I’m just trying to get Tubbo back—”

“The fuck do you mean you’re not on my side? What the hell?”

“Oh, shut up—”

Ranboo drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes. He can hear Phil shift forward, “Why don’t we all just—”

“I swear,” Techno says, interrupting all of them. “On my life. No one dies.”

Ranboo looks up. He looks at Tommy. Tommy looks back. Ranboo isn’t sure if it’s selfish or considerate, letting Tommy decide. 

“Okay,” Tommy croaks eventually.

Ranboo nods. “Okay.”

Niki relaxes marginally, Jack huffs a sigh, and Phil smiles.

“Then let’s kick some weed ass.”

“Ha,” Tommy whispers. “Weed.”

Jack laughs, and then looks surprised that he laughed, scooting back behind Niki slightly. Ranboo takes a deep breath. They can do this, fix this and everything else.

He can fix this.

***

They’re gathering intel and making a comprehensive strategy, except Tommy doesn’t want to fight, even if he acts like he does, and Ranboo doesn’t want to let him, so he volunteers them to gather weapons. It’s a convenient way to keep Tommy away from any actual conflict, if he doesn’t even know what’s happening. 

Ranboo will be in the middle of it, obviously, but he thinks there’s some sort of understanding that he’s only there for Tubbo, Eggs and possessed soldiers be damned.

“You think he’ll still be paranoid when he gets back? You know, the way the Egg made him.”

Ranboo frowns, glancing back at Tommy, who is trying to juggle three different chest plates. “I mean, if he’s not being manipulated by the Egg anymore, then probably not?”

Tommy nods. “That’s what got Wilbur, you know. That’s what gets all of us.”

“All of us?”

“Everyone who’s died.”

“Oh.”

Tommy looks up, watching Jack and Niki lug a chest that has to be filled with Wither skulls into a growing pile of supplies. He swallows. “Back me?”

It reminds Ranboo of the voice he used in L’Manburg, gesturing to Tubbo with his bow and asking him to watch his six.

“Of course,” Ranboo says.

Tommy walks over to Niki with his chin up and his hands shaking. Ranboo thinks he might be the bravest person he knows.

“Niki Nihachu,” he says. Niki stares at him with something between annoyance and amusement.

“Tommy.”

“Wilbur was shit to you,” Tommy says. He nods. Niki stares at him. Behind her, Jack’s eyebrows are furrowed. Tommy looks back at Ranboo hesitantly, and Ranboo gives him what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “So. Niki Nihachu.”

“Tommy,” Niki says again.

Tommy sticks his hand out. “We shouldn’t have gone through that shit, but we— uh, we didn’t die. Well, I did, but I’m not now. And you aren’t. And um… yes. That is our situation. Wilbur is dead though, that is his situation. So.”

Niki glances at Ranboo, and Ranboo tries to convey in one look how much this means. Because Tommy doesn’t just touch people, not anymore. He doesn’t talk and he doesn’t touch and he doesn’t do kindness. This is something like healing, maybe. Ranboo wishes Tubbo were here to see it.

Slowly, Niki takes Tommy’s hand. Her grip is soft, barely gripping his palm, fingers splayed out so they don’t touch his scars. Tommy looks at her with something like awe.

“You’re right,” she says slowly. “We are alive. That… counts for something.”

She drops her hand just as Tommy starts to twitch, and he smiles at her. “We uh— we fought good together once, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Tommy nods again, looks back at Ranboo again. When he looks back, it’s with something soft on his face, like remembering. “Guess that’s who Tubbo’s hanging out with right now.”

“Ugh,” Niki says. Her light tone barely sounds forced. “Soft, doormat, Niki? We have to hurry and get him out of there.”

Tommy barks a laugh, and Niki blinks in surprise. Tommy turns and slaps Ranboo’s arm as they start to walk away. “Puffy was right, that wasn’t complete ass.”

Ranboo snorts.

They’re almost back to their little station when Jack stops them by standing in their path, looking nervous and a little mad.

“So?” he prompts.

Tommy looks at Ranboo. Ranboo looks at Tommy and shrugs.

“So, what?”

“You made up with Niki. Where’s mine?”

“Where’s your fucking what, Jack Manifold?”

“My bloody apology, Tommy.”

Tommy stares at him, and then says, softly, “Apology? Did we stop being friends?”

Jack freezes, eyes wide and nose red from the cold. Ranboo wonders if this is where he steps in, says something to diffuse the situation and pull Tommy away. In L’Manburg, Tubbo just stayed at his elbow until he gave him a signal.

Ranboo shifts forward, just barely, until his hand brushes Tommy’s elbow.

Jack’s eyes look almost as red as his nose now. He gives a jerky, short shake of his head. His voice is choked when he says, “No, guess we didn’t.”

“That’s good,” Tommy says cautiously. “That’s pretty fucking good, Jack Manifold.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. He walks back to Niki with a dazed look.

“That was fucking weird,” Tommy says. “That’s Jack for you.”

“I guess.”

“Thanks for having my back, big man.”

Ranboo shrugs. “Any time.”

Turning back to the armor, Tommy hums. “You know, when Tubbo comes back, I have decided to give back my blessing for your marriage.”

“You took it away?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Tommy shrugs, “You were being gross. Making out and shit.”

“Shut up, man.”

Thank whatever god is out there, or maybe just Tubbo, Tommy doesn’t.

***

Techno pulls him aside, away from everyone, and Ranboo decides this is a good time to talk to him.

“I don’t want Tommy to be part of the conflict,” Techno says.

“Tommy shouldn’t fight,” Ranboo says at the same time. He frowns, “Hold on, why don’t you want him to?”

“Uh,” Techno says. “He’s bad at it.”

“That’s just not even true. At least make your lie believable.”

Techno rolls his eyes. “Fine. Maybe I don’t feel like watchin’ him have a breakdown every time he gets a scratch.”

Ranboo hums, nodding. “See, I know you meant that to sound mean, but I can tell you’re just concerned about him.”

“Shut up, Ranboo.” 

“Shutting up.”

Techno blinks very slowly at him, like he’s resisting rolling his eyes a second time. “So, Tommy stays outside of it.”

“Yes.”

“Leave him here with Michael?”

“Great idea.”

“I’m full of ‘em.”

“Shut up, Techno.”

Techno laughs, reaching out to ruffle Ranboo’s hair. “Shuttin’ up.”

***

“That’s bullshit,” Tommy says, arms crossed, standing in front of Michael’s crib.

Ranboo’s son is currently standing in his crib, hands holding the bars like he’s in a jail cell while he sucks on the wood.

“Look at him! He needs you,” Ranboo tries, giving his best puppy eyes.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Only Tubbo can do that.”

“True,” Phil says. When Ranboo glares at him, he shrugs, “What? Most persuasive kid I’ve ever met.”

“Tommy, we can’t find anyone else to watch him.” Lie. Ranboo hasn’t even asked. “Besides, it’s just going to be a lot of yelling and explosions and then Tubbo probably won't even be conscious until we bring him back here. It’ll be boring. And loud.” 

Tommy’s eyes narrow. “What did you promise Tubbo?”

“Nothing.” Lie.

“Ranboo, I will take back my blessing.”

“Again? Dang, I’m on a roll.”

“Die,” Tommy says. He crosses his arms, looks back at Michael. “You don’t even like me, do you, little child?”

“Un’ ‘Ommy,” Michael says around the wood in his mouth. “Yay.”

“Fuck you. Say bitch.”

Michael pulls back from sucking on his crib rail, tilting his head at Tommy. “Bih.”

“Ranboo, your child is a genius.”

“So you’ll watch him?” Ranboo asks, making praying hands.

Tommy sighs. “Fine. I hate you.”

“You’re the best.”

“Just…” Tommy swallows, looks back at Michael and then up at Ranboo. “Bring him back in one piece. I want him back.”

“Promise,” Ranboo says.

He and Phil leave the room, shutting the door softly behind them. Ranboo drops his head into his hands and lets out a loud groan.

Phil pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. They’ll be okay.”

“I know that,” Ranboo says. “But when we get back, half of Michael’s vocabulary is going to be swear words.”

Phil laughs at him. For a long time. Ranboo hates this family.

(Lie.)

***

They’re on their way to the Egg, decked out in armor and trying to look inconspicuous. Ranboo is sure they’re failing. 

“Bet Tubbo would like seeing you all dressed up,” Jack says. Ranboo groans and shoves him.

“He still can,” Niki says, and winks. Ranboo wants to die.

Techno snorts, “Leave the kid alone. Probably the only one of us who can uphold a healthy relationship.”

“Speak for yourself,” Phil says. Niki giggles.

“I knew we’d talk about my marriage when I told you all, but I honestly thought it would be a lot more criticism and a lot less jokes.”

“What? Us? Criticism?” Niki taps her chin dramatically. “I don’t think we know the word.”

“I am illiterate,” Techno says. Ranboo rolls his eyes.

Phil swings his sword at his side, either getting used to the balance of Ranboo’s new enchantments, just needing something to mess with, or trying to show off. Probably all three. “Tragic circumstances aside, it’s kind of nice, having the Syndicate all together.”

“Plus Jack,” Ranboo points out.

“The girls, the gays, and Jack Manifold,” Niki says brightly, patting Techno and Phil’s shoulder as she walks between them. They stare at her like she’s a crazy person. Ranboo has to hold back from laughing out loud. Jack’s face is red. They meet eyes.

Ranboo cracks, and Jack snorts, and Niki laughs, and Phil and Techno roll their eyes and hide their smiles.

Maybe, this will turn out to be one of the best days of Ranboo’s life.

***

“There’s… no one here,” Ranboo says. It’s kind of sad, considering they crashed through the door like a bunch of heroes and ended up shouting at an empty room full of vines.

“Man,” Techno laments.

Niki hushes them, “The Egg can still hear us.”

“Man,” Techno says again.

“Niki,” Jack says softly, beckoning. Once she’s at his side, he doesn’t say anything else. Ranboo pretends not to notice.

“Alright, fan out, shout if you’re in trouble,” Phil says, tilting his head at Techno and Ranboo, and then at Niki and Jack.

Ranboo follows Techno closely, focusing on not stepping on his cloak.

“You think Tommy and Michael are having fun?” he asks in a whisper.

“Sure. They’ve probably worked their way through the whole swearing dictionary.”

“Don’t say that to me.”

“I don’t see anthin’,” Techno says. From a few yards away, Phil shouts the same. Niki and Jack sound off right after.

They meet back in the middle, the Egg glaring at them. Ranboo pulls his shoulders in and makes sure not to touch a single vine.

“No one’s here?” Niki asks.

“No one’s here,” Phil confirms.

Jack grins, pulling a bag from his inventory. “Then let’s set some explosives, gents.”

“And Niki.”

“Gents and also Niki.”

***

It happens fast. Ranboo wonders if this is what war feels like. Tubbo told him that the explosions lasted an eternity and were over in a second. Tommy only talks about the aftermath. Ranboo can see every moment like a high definition photo, and he watches it happen at six times the speed.

They plant the tnt, stand at the top of the egg on a cobblestone platform with flint and steel in their hands. Phil and Techno are across from them, at the other end, ready to light their own flame.

Just as Jack starts to make sparks, three sets of footsteps interrupt the odd, pulsating quiet of the cavern. 

“Fuck,” Niki mutters, tugging at the elbow of Jack’s sleeve.

“What is this?” Bad asks, and Ranboo thinks Techno answers, but he’s not paying attention to anything but Tubbo.

His husband is leaning against Ant, eyes glazed over and half closed. His nose is bleeding, and his skin is pale. Jack grabs his arm, and Ranboo wonders if it’s to stop him from doing something stupid, or to steady himself.

He doesn’t care about this, about the Egg, about whatever conversation Bad and Techno are having. He doesn’t care about the concern on Niki’s face or the desperation in Jack’s grip or the way Phil is scanning the room to come up with a plan.

Tubbo looks hurt. He looks tired. All Ranboo cares about is wrapping him up tightly in his arms and never letting go.

“—won’t work here,” Bad is saying, hands at his sides, one gripping his trident.

Techno sniffs. “Well, that’s too bad.”

Tubbo tips, head bobbing. Ant barely catches him.

Ranboo sends Techno a panicked look, and his mentor nods, reaching into his cape.

“This might, though,” he says, tossing the Wither skull from one hand to another.

Bad pales. Tubbo, through his bangs and half lidded eyes, looks incredibly scared.

It happens fast. Ranboo wonders if this is what war is like. He will never forgive himself for making Tubbo a part of another one.

The tnt goes off, the Egg cracks and screams, sending Bad, Ant, and Tubbo all to their knees. Niki’s shield is up, so is Phil’s. The debris doesn’t touch them. Tubbo is far enough away that he’s safe.

The Withers Phil and Techno spawn shriek in a guttural, awful melody. The Egg screams back.

For a small, flash of a moment, Ranboo thinks the plan will work.

And then Bad screams, but not at the Withers, not at the Syndicate or at Ant or Tubbo. He looks straight at the Egg, and he screams a plee.

The ceiling starts to crumble.

“What the—” Phil starts, and then falls against Techno. They placed the tnt in carefully planned spots. The structure was supposed to stay sound, even when the Withers spawned. This is wrong.

“It’s taking us with it,” Bad says. He sounds resigned, still on his knees, trident falling from his hand. 

“No,” Niki whispers. Jack grabs her hand and Ranboo’s arm and runs.

It happens fast. They leave the way they came. Across the cavern from Tubbo. Ranboo realizes too late, turning back just in time to make eye contact with the gray eyes of his best friend. 

The ceiling falls. Someone is tugging him away. Ranboo is screaming. The tnt is lighting the room on fire and the Withers are being buried under rubble with his sweet, teasing, stubborn, wonderful husband.

They’re outside. Bad’s statue room is collapsing into a crater like L’Manburg and it is happening again except this time it’s Ranboo’s fault. This time Tubbo is not at his side, tired and bloody but alive. 

“No,” Ranboo says, and it comes out a hoarse whisper, but he repeats it louder as Techno’s arms encircle his waist and drag him away. Niki and Jack block his view of the fire, standing with their swords raised and it’s protection and it’s a wall and it’s wrong. 

Techno’s breath is against his ear as he stumbles backwards. “We have to go,” he grunts. Ranboo kicks his legs, feeling like a child, like Michael when he doesn’t want to go to bed, pulling at Ranboo’s hair as Tubbo laughs at them from the couch. 

“Let me go,” Ranboo snarls, Techno has his arms pinned now. The world is falling apart. “Techno, he’s still— Tubbo—“

The fire in front of them roars, and Techno turns so his back is to it, shielding Ranboo from the heat. Ranboo watches as Niki slides down next to them, pulling Jack with her, vaguely registers Techno covering them with his cape but the inferno licks at his exposed face and all he can do is watch. 

“Tubbo,” he rasps, and then he’s choking. It’s the smoke and it’s the grief and he needs Techno to let him go and his hand itches for his axe but Niki is holding them, squeezing them like she’s trying to provide comfort, to pump the life back into him. 

Ranboo wants to scream. He wants to fight. He wants to burn. He lets out a low whimper, Techno moves to his side. 

There’s dark at the corners of his vision. Ranboo is tired. This was supposed to fix it. He was supposed to fix it. 

Before he can slip away, there are hands on his face, and Phil’s eyes in front of him, carefully avoiding eye contact. Ranboo’s body shakes with a sob and Phil brushes the tears away before they hit his skin. 

Niki is still holding his hands. Techno has his arms around him, the three of them piled on the floor like some desperate strays huddling for warmth. Ranboo supposes that isn’t far from the truth. Jack is standing again, sword and shield raised like he’ll protect them. Like they didn’t protect Tubbo.

He wants to dissolve. He wants to fall into darkness and let someone else take over. Phil is crouching over all of them, his hands on Ranboo’s face. He doesn’t try to say anything. 

What is there to say? Grief pulls at Ranboo in every direction. The arms and hands around him are the only thing keeping him together. 

“I couldn’t—“ he starts, and then his vision goes black. 

***

He comes to on the way back to the Arctic. He’s propped between Niki and Techno, and when he opens his eyes they pause, letting him get his footing.

It happened fast. It was real. Ranboo remembers it all. He shakes his friends off and stumbles forward, hugs his torso and blinks past the tears in his eyes.

“Ranboo—” Techno starts.

“You promised,” Ranoo says softly, keeping his eyes on the ground. They keep moving. No one says another word.

***

Ranboo has been trying to figure out how to tell Tommy that he failed. He knows it will set him backwards, and will break the hesitant trust he’d earned back after everything Tommy had been through. He’ll get angry again, he’ll close himself off. Tubbo said Tommy loves like an open wound.

There is going to be blood all over Phil’s carpet.

When they get back, hunched and tired, Phil opens the door and stops short. Ranboo pushes past him and freezes in the living room.

“Foolish?” Jack asks, making a face at the demigod on Phil’s couch.

“You’re back!” Foolish says, and then hushes himself, giggling and pointing at Michael’s door. “We should be quiet, he just went to bed.”

“Uh— what are you doing here?”

Foolish blinks at Techno, standing and rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy messaged me, said you needed someone to watch Michael while you went after the Egg? I offered to help, but he was pretty set on going and me babysitting.”

“What do you mean he was set on going,” Ranboo says, harsher than he means it. His throat hurts.

“Going with you? To fight the Egg?” Foolish stares at them, eyebrows furrowed. “Guys? What’s going on?”

“Tommy was there,” Phil says.

It all happened too fast. Ranboo didn’t even look at his surroundings, didn’t even check.

“Tommy was—” Ranboo stumbles. “Tommy was there when—”

“Oh, god,” Niki says. 

Today was supposed to be a good day.

Chapter Text

Tommy described Limbo like a basement room. Something dark and a little damp and everything you avoided as a kid. They had this running joke, back when they were thirteen and pretending they ran a country, that when they died, they’d go together.

In the end, Tommy died alone, and so did Tubbo, trapped and scared and desperately wishing to go home. Maybe that’s poetic, in a way. They didn’t die together, but they died the same way.

Tubbo turns in a slow circle, staring into the inky dark. He’d left his dream world, found himself blinking awake in some red room with Bad peering over him and the Egg clouding his mind. He thinks he saw Ranboo. He thinks that when the ceiling fell on their heads, Ant and Bad let go of him and ran. He thinks Tommy grabbed him, an arm over his head and his mouth against his ear.

It was kind, like Tommy has always been. It’s too bad Tubbo’s dead.

He wonders if he’ll see Wilbur. If his memories he’d created in the fake L’Manburg would fade with one look from a paranoid, smug man.

There is no light here. Tubbo can’t even see his hands.

“Hello?” he calls softly.

“Man, this sucks for you.”

Tubbo jumps, spins in a circle and stares with wide eyes at Ranboo, standing in front of him with his hands in his pockets.

“What,” Tubbo says, “the fuck.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not dead.” Ranboo reaches up with one hand to scratch at his ear. “Probably, I’m almost sure he got out fast. That whole group he was with, pretty capable. I’d love to get my hands on them.”

Oh. Tubbo glares, pulling his lips against his teeth. “Egg.”

“I prefer Crimson. The scare factor is higher.”

“I’m not dead,” Tubbo says slowly. The Egg that looks like his husband grins.

“You think I’d give in that easily?”

Tubbo shakes his head. “You’re just playing another game, wearing his face.”

With a laugh that doesn’t match Ranboo at all, the Egg wiggles his eyebrows. “I could always bring him back, pull him in next time he falls asleep. You could say goodbye.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Protective, are we? What about the other one, the annoying one?”

Tubbo blinks at him. The Egg sighs.

“Blond? Can’t hear me? Nobody seems to like him?”

Crossing his arms, Tubbo sniffs. “You can’t even get to Tommy, he’s immune.”

“Can’t possess him,” Egg Ranboo corrects. “I could always kill him. Again.”

“Ranboo won’t let you.”

“Please,” The Egg rolls his eyes. “He could barely stop shaking the whole time he was near me. Besides, I don’t think Tommy is very… protected, at the moment.”

Next to the Egg, the dark flickers into a shape laying on the ground.

Tommy.

Tubbo tries to keep his face neutral, watching the projected form of his unconscious friend on the ground. He was right. Tommy was there, protecting him.

Tubbo closes his eyes. “What do you want?”

***

Tommy wakes up in the dark, with his leg pinned. Immediately, his breathing picks up, and he forgets where he is, forgets how to move or open his eyes or take a real breath. He’s dying again, locked away in a prison or shoved in a hole. There’s no light. There’s never any light. Tommy misses the sun.

“It’s understandable, to wake up sometimes and find yourself back there. It’s called a flashback, or an episode. Trying to leave one is hard, but you’ve done a lot of hard things, Tommy.”

Swallowing thickly, Tommy coughs on smoke, chokes on dust.

“The first step is to remember that no matter what, you are capable of taking a breath. Just one.”

One breath. Tommy manages it, puffing oxygen past the sob crawling up his throat.

“Try another one. Remind yourself who you are.”

The next breath is easier, Tommy spits out a clump of dirt and rasps, “I’m— I’m Tommy. That’s me— me. Big Man Tommy.”

“You are not with him. Who are you with?”

“I’m— Tommy. I’m Tommy, and I’m with— I’m with— shit.”

Tommy knows why his leg is pinned now. He forces his eyes open and squints in the dim light, and sure enough, there’s Tubbo, curled into a ball with his eyes half closed, pupils rolled to the back of his head. He’s laying on Tommy’s leg.

When the ceiling fell, it was instinct. There was no question or hesitation. Get to Tubbo. That’s always been his goal. He wasn’t about to be too late again. His chest heaves, and he manages to sit up, dirt crumbling on top of his head in a shower. He spits again, grabs Tubbo by his shoulders and drags him towards himself.

“Come on, Tubbo. Move your ass.”

“Sometimes, to keep ourselves safe, we shut everyone else out, even the people who care about us. It’s a defense mechanism, like building walls or wearing armor.”

There’s blood all over Tubbo’s face, and sweat dripping down his forehead. He’s thin, and shaking. Tommy remembers this, remembers Exile and forgetting to eat, letting himself waste away for the chance at escape. Maybe, subconsciously, Tubbo was trying to get out too.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Tommy coughs, pulls the green bandana off his neck, ties it around Tubbo’s head, over his mouth. They did that when L’Manburg fell, trapped under the city as tnt rained down. They covered their faces with cloths and tried to pretend they would be okay. “You should’ve talked to me, I would have— fuck, Tubbo. I could have helped.”

“Asking for help is a hard thing to do. Just by coming to see me every week, you’re deciding to seek help, to try and get better. That’s very brave of you, Tommy. And it’s very scary.”

“I know you were— of course we’re all fucking terrified, man, but—” Tommy cuts himself off in a coughing fit, pressing his face into Tubbo’s shoulder to try and get away from the smoke. His eyes widen when he sees a flash of red hanging off Tubbo’s arm.

Carefully, he reaches out, and pulls at the red bandana.

“I don’t think Tubbo will ever stop caring about you. Just like you won’t stop caring about him. Is there a reason you feel like he’s pulling away from you?”

“Bitch,” Tommy gasps, tying Tubbo’s bandana around his face. “You asshole, I thought— fuck, Tubbo.”

He doesn’t know what to do now, doesn’t know how to get out of here or even move. He needs Tubbo to wake up. He was always better at figuring things out, always better at getting out of tough places and surviving. 

He needs Tubbo to wake up. 

Shaking him, Tommy can feel tears prick at his eyes, tracking water trails down his dirt covered face. “Wake up, Tubbo. You need to wake up and fix this— apologize and— and—”

Tubbo doesn’t move. The slight flutter of Tommy’s bandana around his face is the only clue he has that he’s still alive.

“If you could say anything to Tubbo— let’s say he wouldn’t interrupt, and you wouldn’t get nervous— if you could just tell him everything, what would you say?”

Tommy looks up at the ceiling, holds Tubbo close against his chest. He sends a prayer to Prime, begging for someone to save them, just this one time, just one more time. He doesn’t know how to save them, he doesn’t want Tubbo to have to.

Tubbo won’t wake up.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy sinks back into the rubble, tugging Tubbo with him until his head is leaning against Tommy’s shoulder, like how they used to fall asleep in early L’Manburg, listening to Wilbur play his guitar while they watched the stars.

“I— I think you’re horrible, you know that?” Tommy starts softly, running a hand through Tubbo’s matted hair. “And I— fuck, Tubbo, I miss you.”

***

“You’re giving in, just like that?” The Egg laughs, Ranboo’s mouth stretching into a too big smile that almost touches his eyes. “If I’d known it was that easy, I would have tried this a long time ago.”

“Why am I even your target?” Tubbo asks, stepping between Tommy and the Egg, as if it’s not a projection that neither of them can touch. “It’s not like I’m all that fucking powerful.”

“It isn’t about power,” The Egg says. “Hell, if it was about anything like that, I wouldn’t have picked someone so incredibly stupid.”

Tubbo flinches back. He doesn’t like hearing that, not coming from Ranboo’s mouth in Ranboo’s voice.

“You’re connected,” The Egg explains. “And, at least for now, my only out.”

“You’re only—” Tubbo stops, stares at the Egg with wide eyes. Slowly, he starts to smile. “Oh. You’re dying. Whatever Ranboo did, it’s killing you.”

The Egg glares, eyes hard. “What your little friends did was barely a setback.”

“But you need a new host, to regrow all your—” Tubbo wiggles his fingers. “—tentacles.”

“They aren’t tentacles, you cretin.”

“Ha.”

Taking a step forward, the Egg looms over him, using Ranoo’s height in a way Ranboo never would. “I can tear your friend apart in a second, remember?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What?”

“See, you sort of gave yourself away. It’s strategy one-oh-one, dude. Never show the enemy your cards. Aren’t you supposed to be, like, thousands of years old?”

“I am—”

“Dying. Like you said.” Tubbo crosses his arms, puts on a smile that he hopes doesn’t betray how fucking scared he is right now. “Which means you need me to say yes, again, in order to get any power back, which means, you’re wrong.”

The Egg glares at him, and Tubbo snorts.

“I do have power.”

“And what happens if you say no, and I leave?” The Egg gestures to Tommy. “He dies. And it’s your fault. Again.”

Tubbo knows he’s saying that, using Ranboo to say that, just to get under his skin. It’s working. Tubbo puffs out his chest and says, “I call your bluff.”

The dark around them turns to flashing, pulsating red and the Egg is right in front of him, too wide smile and red, red eyes right in Tubbo’s face, hot breath against his nose and curling tendrils of smoke around his ankles.

“Do you?” the Crimson whispers.

“A lot of people here are just scared to lose what they have,” Ranboo says. “I mean— justifiably, and everything, but— I don’t know. It’s used against them.”

“So you want us all to stop caring?”

“Of course not! I just think maybe… we should trust the people we love, you know? Trust that we aren’t always in control, and that’s okay.”

Tubbo takes a slow, deep breath, and closes his eyes. “Yes.”

When he opens them, he’s met with pitch black. The Egg —and Tommy— are gone. Tubbo sits down and wraps his arms around his knees, and tries very hard not to cry.

***

When Michael wakes up, he starts asking for Tubbo. It’s been too many days of not seeing him for even a two year old not to get suspicious. Ranboo bounces him on his lap as he fusses and tries to figure out how to explain the unexplainable.

Techno and Phil are searching the rubble. They have been for almost two days. They haven’t found anything but a half incinerated Wither skull. No one will say it, but Ranboo knows what they're all thinking.

If the Egg turned an almost indestructible mob into dust, there’s no way a person could have survived. 

They won’t even have bodies to bury. Ranboo doesn’t know what to do.

Niki took Jack home, eyes red while she supported him with a hand on his back. Jack and Tubbo were close. Jack and Tommy were complicated. Ranboo overheard Niki telling Phil that she doesn’t know what she’d do if she lost Jack. Yeah.

“Dad come back?” Michael asks again, tugging at the front of Ranboo’s suit.

“I—” Ranboo stops. His face burns. He must be crying again. 

Michael watches him, contemplative as he tilts his head, and then he climbs off Ranboo's lab and toddles away. 

He tilts when he walks, side to side like a little wooden toy. Tubbo used to call him his little nutcracker.

Michael is rummaging in his toy bin, the one Tubbo built and sanded down carefully to make sure there wouldn’t be any splinters. He did the same for the wooden bed frame he built for Tommy’s room in the mansion.  

“There,” Michael announces, and walks back holding a little piece of cloth in the shape of a bandaid. One of the pieces from the doctor set Niki and Puffy made him. When Ranboo lifts him back onto his lap, Michael presses it to his wet cheek and asks, “Better?”

“Oh,” Ranboo says softly. He wishes Tubbo and Tommy were here to see this. “Yeah. Better.”

Eventually, Michael goes down for a nap, and Ranboo slinks out of his room with guilt draped across his shoulders. Techno is sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees and eyes on the coffee table.

He looks up when he sees Ranboo. Ranboo looks away.

“I didn’t tell him,” he says.

“Oh,” Techno responds, and then, “We still aren’t sure, yunno.”

Ranboo sighs. “I get you made a promise, but we both know—” he stops, pressing his palms against his eyes. They already hurt enough as it is. “We need to stop pretending, Techno.”

Techno doesn’t say anything. There’s not much to say. He swore on his life no one would die. Ranboo lost two of the most important people in his life. He lost his husband. There’s not much to say.

“I’m going to lay down,” he says softly, turning to walk up the stairs.

“Are you gonna sleep?” Techno calls after him. He doesn’t respond. They both know the answer.

His husband is dead. Ranboo doesn’t know what to do.

***

Tubbo keeps his face pressed into his knees as he sits in the dark and accepts that this is his eternity. He was wrong, about the Crimson. He got Tommy killed, again.

Maybe it’s ravaging the Arctic, taking Techno and Phil, forcing them to pull Michael from his crib and—

“God,” Tubbo chokes. “Fuck, fuck.”

He’s at fault, of course he is. He’s always known he’d kill his family, it’s why he pulled away, tried to stop caring. But Ranboo, fuck, Ranboo.

He was so easy to fall into love with. 

More than anything, he wishes he could go back to the singular day where his life was good. To when he sat at the dinner table with Ranboo and Michael and Tommy and felt whole.

He wishes more than anything he could hold them again, hold his son again. Being a father is unfair, being loved is unfair, loving someone is unfair.

Tubbo knows the world is a cruel business arrangement, he knows the quid pro quo. He knows that everything in life is a trade and he should have known that he would always get snaked.

Being sent back to L’Manburg wasn’t his brain giving him paradise, it was the Egg laughing in his face. Look at this, look at this home you had and lost, look at these people you loved and killed. How many more times are you going to create grief?

Schlatt used to say the presidency was cursed. Tubbo chalked it up to paranoia and alcohol. Then he died. Then Wilbur died. Both of them left destruction in their wake.

“I just wanted to be happy,” he wails, pressing his face into his hands. “I wanted us to be happy for fucking once.”

Tubbo knows how life works, he knows the arrangement. He knows he chose tragedy over love a long time ago. He wishes he could take it all back. 

He wishes, more than anything in the whole world, that Tommy was here to hold his hand like he did all those times when fear was too strong to see through.

“I think you’re horrible, you know that?”

Tubbo flinches at Tommy’s voice. Tries to block the words from his head. He’s going to go crazy in here, with the people he loves taunting him in his head forever.

“And I— fuck, Tubbo, I miss you.”

His head snaps up. 

Tommy is in front of him again, staring into nothing. He’s curled over something, his hand moving in the air like he’s trying to comfort someone. Tubbo’s red bandana is tied around his face.

Tubbo feels a ghosting hand brush his hair away from his forehead.

“Tommy,” he gasps.

***

“You’re allowed to be angry, Tommy. People have hurt you, that isn’t fair. But… have you thought that maybe, Tubbo deserves a chance to be forgiven? He’s your best friend.”

“Things have been shit with us,” Tommy says. “Since Exile, I think, because I’m still mad at you, and you’re still sorry.” he sighs harshly, pressing his face into Tubbo’s hair. “I know you’re sorry, you’ve said it enough. That’s it, right? You just fucking say it. And I— you know that I died?”

Of course he knows that. Stupid. Tommy shakes his head, forces himself to breathe.

“I know you know… but I think you also… don’t. You’re like those dogs, that sit and wait for their owners who died to come back, except they never fucking come back, and they sit there forever, waiting, just remembering who that person was and never— never seeing them again. You get that, Tubbo? You’re like a dog, waiting for me to come back, but I’m never— shit—”

He’s crying too much to see. That’s embarrassing. 

“Fuck you, because— because that guy you’re waiting for isn’t— he’s not coming back, you got that? He isn’t. Ever. He died, Tubbo. That’s how it works.” Tommy wipes at his face. “I need you to realize you’re waiting on someone who isn’t there.”

“What is it, do you think, made you and Tubbo fall apart?”

Slowly, Tommy blinks, eyes stinging from grief and smoke. “Maybe I am too.”

***

Ranboo tries to stay awake, tries to keep his eyes on the ceiling and not think about how his life is imploding. He tries not to be angry. He tries not to cry. He tries not to fall asleep. He fails at all three.

His dream is dark. He looks around and sighs, rubbing at his face. Maybe it’s mocking him, his mind. Showing him where Tubbo was, just a few days ago.

“Beloved?”

Ranboo spins, eyes wide.

Tubbo.

“You’re— oh god.”

Tubbo’s eyes are red, he’s been crying. He stares at Ranboo with something like hope.

“I’m not dead,” he blurts. “The Egg— it was never—” Tubbo smiles. “Ranboo, it was never the Egg bringing you to me, it was just you.”

“You’re not dead,” Ranboo repeats. Tubbo laughs. Ranboo breathes for the first time in two days. “Where— where are you?”

“Under the rubble, I think. Tommy’s awake—”

“Tommy’s alive?”

“Yes! We’re near the drop exit, by the spawners, remember? I think— I think that’s where we were.”

Ranboo nods, committing it to memory and begging for one more miracle, to just not forget this one thing. “I’m coming. I’m coming, Tubbo.”

“I believe you,” Tubbo says.

Ranboo wakes up in his bed, he stumbles down the stairs on weak knees.

***

Tubbo turns away from where Ranboo just stood, back to Tommy, sitting on the ground. He kneels down in front of him, holds out his hands. “Wake up,” he whispers to himself. 

Tommy starts talking. Tubbo listens.

***

Tubbo was easy to be friends with, once. He and Tommy would run through fields and pull pranks and do stupid, idiotic shit just for the chaos of it. Tubbo was weird, and happy, and followed Tommy like it’s all he had to do.

They could do anything, then. Tommy keeps thinking they still can, that Tubbo can just run away with him, spend hours with a swarm of bees or looking for turtle shells just to watch them hatch.

There was anger on Tubbo’s face when Tommy griefed George’s house. Tommy was too caught up in it to see the exhaustion there.

“You’re not my Bee Boy anymore, are you?” he asks softly. “You… grew up. No. No, we’re still kids. You just… shit, Tubbo. Did I do that to you?”

He was supposed to be president. He said no, gave it to Tubbo because he thought he’d have fun. He doesn’t think Tubbo had fun. He wasn’t even tall enough to reach the microphone, he had to stand on his tiptoes to give his acceptance speech.

“Did we kill each other?” 

Pulling Tubbo tightly against him, Tommy closes his eyes. Reaches through every memory, every good one, every bad one. He puts the pieces together of who he and Tubbo were, together and apart. Tubbo got married while Tommy died. Tubbo was a president while Tommy played pranks and listened to his discs. Tubbo is a father while Tommy is alone. Tubbo built walls while Tommy hid. 

“Tubbo,” Tommy cries softly. “I don’t think we need each other anymore.”

It’s horrible to say, not because it’s bad, or because it’s mean or evil. It’s scary, and lonely, but Tommy doesn’t need Tubbo, and Tubbo doesn’t need Tommy. 

Tommy breathes against Tubbo’s bandana, watches Tubbo breathe against his.

“Can that be okay?” he asks. “Can that be good? Can we—” 

Ranboo’s face, honest and kind and loving, flickers in Tommy’s memory and he forces as much sincerity into his voice and says, “Can we stop grieving each other?”

He’s met with silence, stuck in an alcove under the rubble. He wants to be somewhere else, but never with someone else. Not ever.

“I love you,” Tommy says.

Like a miracle, like Tubbo, Tubbo shifts. His eyes crack open, and he looks at Tommy like he used to, like he knows him.

“Tommy,” he mumbles, and then softly, proudly, “Was listenin’.”

Bent over his best friend, Tommy cries, and for maybe the first time in his life, it isn’t out of fear, or hurt, or grief.

“Hey, buddy,” he giggles. Tubbo snorts a laugh and grabs his hand.

They can be good.

***

“You’re sure?” Phil asks. Ranboo is out of breath, already pulling his coat on.

“Yes. I know where they are. I can find them.” He looks at Techno, “We can find them.”

Techno’s jaw is set. “Then let’s go.”

It’s under the Wither remains, where the Egg caused the most destruction. It’s where they wouldn’t think to look. It’s where they are.

There’s a cocoon of rotted and dead crimson under the rubble. Ranboo decides to believe it was Tubbo’s doing, saving himself and Tommy with the last bit of control he had. 

They dig for hours. Ranboo goes through three diamond pickaxes. He doesn’t care. They’re nothing, Tubbo and Tommy are everything. 

***

There’s a light, peeking through their little alcove. Tubbo can hear voices. He takes a breath, and lets his shoulders relax.

“Look at that,” he mumbles. Tommy holds his hand tighter. “Someone saved us.”

He sees Ranboo’s face right before he falls unconscious. It’s just as beautiful as it’s always been.

Chapter Text

Tubbo wakes up in a room that’s familiar, but one he doesn’t recognize. The window is open, letting cold, crisp air into the room, blowing the white curtains gently against the wooden frame. There are birds chirping outside, and the room is flooded with the soft white light of an afternoon in the tundra.

Slowly, he looks around, at the plain quilt thrown on top of him, heavy and comfortable, at the bare nightstand with just one lantern and a match. He turns his head the other way, to the matching nightstand on the opposite side of the bed.

Next to the matching lantern, there is a family portrait.

Tubbo reaches out slowly, with an aching arm and shaking fingers, and picks it up.

It’s from the month anniversary of adopting Michael, after Tommy had come back and found his shaking standing with Tubbo’s husband and son.

Michael is laughing at something Tommy is saying, Ranboo is rolling his eyes fondly.

Tubbo took this picture. There’s a smudge in the top left corner where he’d accidentally covered the lens with his finger. Ranboo teased him about it for a week straight.

It’s his little family, propped against a lantern in a room Tubbo recognizes like a dream he may have had, or a distant memory.

He misses them.

The bedroom door opens, and Tubbo watches through half glazed eyes as Ranboo walks through, carefully twisting the doorknob so it doesn’t make noise and freezing when he sees Tubbo, a glass of water in his hand.

“Hi,” Tubbo says.

Ranboo’s face falls. “You’re awake.”

“Uh. Sorry ‘bout that?”

“No!” Ranboo shakes his head, hurries to set the water glass down on the nightstand with the match. “I just— I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Something flickers across Ranboo’s face that Tubbo can’t place, and he sits down carefully on the edge of the bed. “It’s okay, Tubbo. It isn’t your fault.”

Well if that isn’t a kick to the teeth. Tubbo snorts and looks back down at the picture, brushing a thumb across Michael’s face.

“That’s um— that was a fun day,” Ranboo says hesitantly. “Do you— do you remember that?”

“‘Course I do, Minutes Man.”

He’s not sure why the old nickname comes out. He stares at Ranboo’s face on the portrait and misses him. 

Ranboo hums, “Mhm, I do too, actually. You know, for once. It was fun.”

“Yep.”

The air is stifled, despite the open window. Ranboo seems to be scrambling, finally settling on, “How are you feeling?”

“Well,” Tubbo says, clearing his throat and shifting his arms, his sore muscles straining, “like I just died.”

The room is quiet, and after a few minutes, Tubbo wonders if Ranboo has disappeared. He looks up, vaguely curious, only to find Ranboo still there, eyes shining with tears.

“Tubbo,” he chokes out, “you’re alive. You know that, right?”

“Huh?” Tubbo asks smartly.

“You didn’t— Tubbo, we saved you. You told me where you and Tommy were and we got you out.”

Waking up in Tommy’s arms. Ranboo’s face in front of him. A laugh and a sigh of relief. Light that wasn’t red, for the first time in weeks.

“It was real?” Tubbo whispers. Ranboo coos, leaning forward to hold Tubbo’s face in his hands.

“Yes.”

It was— it happened. Tubbo got out. Someone came for him. Someone loved him enough to keep finding him. He makes eye contact with Ranboo, sweet, kind, real Ranboo, and his lip wobbles.

“You kept finding me,” he blubbers.

Ranboo smiles, still holding Tubbo’s face. “Always.”

Tubbo’s eyes widen and he jerks forward, pressing his palms to Ranboo’s face. “Shit! You’re crying! Cut it out!”

“They’re happy tears!”

“Your face won’t give a fuck, stoppit!”

Ranboo laughs, gently tilting away and pulling a handkerchief out of his suit coat, drying his face with it. It’s already damp, Tubbo can tell.

“See? Better.”

Tubbo nods, sitting back in the bed. He stares at Ranboo, swallows thickly. “You— so uh—” he doesn’t know how to breach this. There are too many things to apologize for and not enough time. “How goes it?”

“Well,” Ranboo says, in the same casual tone Tubbo is using, patient as always, “I moved into Phil’s house, and he burns these awful candles every morning. And I mean awful, Tubbo, like, they smell like—”

“Ass?” Tubbo finishes. “Wilbur had the same ones. They were horrible.”

“Terrible. I’m surprised Techno hasn’t tried to get him to throw them all away.”

“Maybe he simply has no sense of smell.”

“Mhm,” Ranboo agrees. “That seems like the most probable answer. He just can’t smell anything.”

“No nose.”

“Well— Tubbo I think he has a nose, we’ve seen it.”

“Fake,” Tubbo says with the same teasing confidence he was so prone to before… everything.

Ranboo crosses his arms, leaning back slightly. “So you’re saying if I yanked on Techno’s nose, it would just come off?”

“Yeah. Like velcro.”

“His nose is velcro?”

“Yes.”

“Dang, sucks to be Techno.”

“Totally.”

They fall into silence, and Tubbo turns back to the window, staring out into the endless white outside. He shivers.

“Hey,” Ranboo says. He stands, and Tubbo braces himself to be left aone again, but all Ranboo does is cross the room and pull a throw blanket out of a chest. He drapes it over Tubbo’s shoulders, rubbing them gently. “Better?”

“Better,” Tubbo repeats hoarsely. He watches Ranboo sit down again, still a safe distance away. “Ranboo?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… are we still married?”

Immediately, Ranboo sits forward, nervousness radiating off him in waves. “I— I think so. I hope so. Do you still want to be?”

“Yes,” Tubbo breathes. “Do you?”

“God, yes.” Ranboo reaches forward, hesitantly holding Tubbo’s hands, just the very tips of his cold fingers. “I— I mean, of course this… changes things. But it doesn’t— we’re still us, you know? Even if we have a lot to talk about and— and fix.”

“Fix,” Tubbo repeats. He nods and looks down at his lap. “I’ll apologize for the rest of my life, Ranboo, I swear.”

“What? No! Tubbo, that isn’t what I meant at all.” Ranboo holds his hands for real now, palm to palm with his middle fingers resting against Tubbo’s pulse points on his wrists. “I meant fix… whatever I did to make you think you couldn’t talk to me when you were scared.”

Tubbo frowns. “What?”

“I thought something was wrong, but I didn’t ask because I thought you might just be tired, and I didn’t want to push, but I think that made me seem, I don’t know? Closed off? Like— like I didn’t want to hear about your problems. But I do.”

The picture is still in Tubbo’s lap, draped over the quilt and staring up at him like a taunt. He shakes his head. “Whatever stops me from talking to people about— about my issues, is not your fault. It’s… something wrong in my head, Ranboo. That’s always been it. Just me.”

“That isn’t fair,” Ranboo says. 

Tubbo laughs. “Nothing about life is fair, that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?’ Ranboo asks softly.

Tubbo pauses, blinking at the picture. He looks at Ranboo. He looks at the open window.

“I… I don’t know, boss man.”

“Hey.” Ranboo scoots over, wrapping one arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, still holding his hand with the other. “I don’t think I know either, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with that.”

He taps the picture. Tubbo’s throat feels full. “Me too.”

“Okay. Okay. We can work with that, sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds okay.”

“Now scoots over,” Ranboo says, hip checking him gently and yanking at a corner of the big quilt. “It’s freaking cold in here.”

“Maybe shut the window,” Tubbo argues, pretending to put up a fight with sharing the blanket.

“Yeah, well Phil insisted you need fresh air, because you inhaled smoke, which I’m like, ninety nine percent sure you aren’t supposed to do.”

“I was unconscious!”

Ranboo sniffs pretentiously, winning the fight with the blanket and pulling it over both of them, scooting close against Tubbo’s side. “Try doing better.”

“Asshole.” Ranboo laughs, and Tubbo elbows him. “Hey, Ranboo?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this your room?”

“Um, I guess? I sort of started staying here after… it was just easier, with Michael and everything.”

“A yes or no would have been good enough, big man.” Tubbo stretches, burrowing against Ranboo. “You know what this means?”

“What?”

“I woke up in your bed,” Tubbo whispers. “Scandalous.”

“Oh my god, shut up. We’re literally married.”

“Don’t you forget it,” Tubbo mumbles, eyes already closing.

Ranboo laughs, it rumbles in his chest. “You going back to sleep?”

“Yeah. Warm now.”

“You’re welcome.” Ranboo strokes his hair, presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

***

Tubbo’s list of injuries isn’t as long as he thought it would be. Irritated burns from lack of care and scratching, weak muscles from not eating, and he can’t seem to stop shaking. Phil thinks it’s got something to do with being suddenly not possessed. Tubbo doesn’t really care, as long as it goes away soon.

Tommy shows up the day after he wakes up, timid and quiet, and offers to help Tubbo downstairs.

“I’d be fine on my own,” Tubbo insists, even though he’s leaning practically all of his weight against Tommy’s side.

“Sure,” Tommy says. Tubbo shuts up.

He remembers everything Tommy said, about waiting for a dead man, about not needing each other. Every time he thinks of it, he just wants to apologize again, but Tommy is right. That doesn’t mean anything.

“I was thinking,” Tubbo says slowly, as Tommy lowers him down into a chair at the kitchen table, “maybe we could start doing something, just the two of us, like, once a week at least? When I’m— when I’m better, you know? Set a day and make sure we don’t have anything else, you reckon?”

Tommy stares at him, standing by the stove with his arms crossed. Tubbo swallows.

“Did you really hear everything I said?” Tommy asks. Tubbo watches him, the way he’s trying to hold still but his leg still bounces. There is still ash on his hairline, like all he did was splash some water on his face and call it good.

“Yes,” Tubbo says. 

“And?”

“What?”

Tommy waves his hands, stops and sighs. “Thoughts?”

“Uh.” Tubbo doesn’t know. He stares at Tommy, and tries to telepathically communicate how he doesn’t even know where to start.

Slowly, Tommy kneels in front of his chair. “I mean it. Everything.”

“I could tell.”

“Tubbo, when I said we don’t need each other—”

“I get it,” Tubbo blurts. Tommy watches him. “I— I know what you meant. That our survival doesn’t rely on each other like it used to. That you’re… my best friend but you’re not my— my fucking— what’s the word.”

“Codependant?” Tommy asks, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a tiny smile.

“Yeah.”

“Is that okay?”

“I think it’s supposed to be great,” Tubbo says. “That we don’t need each other to survive anymore.”

“But,” Tommy prompts. Tubbo knows this is like pulling teeth. He knows he’s never been good at speaking about feelings. He’s resolved to try, for Tommy.

“But it’s scary.”

Tommy hugs him.

It happened in his dream L’Manburg, hugging Tommy. It felt like a goodbye and it felt like desperation and it felt like if he let go he would never see him again. It felt like life or death. 

Reaching up to hug Tommy back, Tubbo doesn’t feel anything but warm.

“You’re my best friend,” Tommy says. “Got that?”

“Got it.”

“I missed you.”

“Fuck, Tommy. I’ve missed you for ages.”

Tommy, softly, against his ear, says, “I’ve been right here.”

Tubbo hugs him tighter.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Long enough that Tubbo’s back hurts from hunching over and his arms hurt from prolonged use. Eventually, Tommy stands, ruffles his hair, and says, “How about Thursdays?”

They can be good.

***

He’s been back for one day and a half, and Ranboo is sitting at his bedside, writing in his journal. Tubbo is pretty sire he thinks Tubbo is asleep.

“Is Michael napping?”

Ranboo jumps, quill slipping out of his hand. Tubbo snorts at him.

“Uh— no, I think he’s with Tommy right now?”

Tubbo nods, playing with the edge of the blanket. “Am I allowed to see him?”

“What— Tubbo.” It’s that voice again, the one that means Tubbo has said something that makes Ranboo sad. He hates that voice. Ranboo shuts his journal and sets it aside. “I was waiting until you were ready to see him. Of course you’re allowed, he’s your son.”

“You’re not… worried?”

“Why would I be?” Ranboo asks, and then, in a more teasing voice, “Tommy already taught him basically every swear word, anyway.”

“I bet I can come up with more,” Tubbo says shakily. Ranboo laughs, standing to help Tubbo up.

“I believe you.”

They hobble down the stairs, carefully stepping across the wood. Tubbo sighs. “I feel like a wooden nutcracker.”

Ranboo watches him with watery eyes, his lip wobbling. Tubbo elbows him and he shakes his head. “Sorry, just remembering something.”

“Maybe that’s why you forget stuff, so you don’t burn the shit out of your face.”

Rolling his eyes, Ranboo rubs his eyes wth his arm. “Sure, Tubbo, that’s it.”

They stop in front of Michael’s door, and Tubbo can hear him giggling inside. He freezes with his hand hoveirng over the doorknob.

“Want to do it together?”

It’s cheesy. It’s very in character for Ranboo. Tubbo nods.

Ranboo’s hand is warm over Tubbo’s, and together, they push open their sons bedroom door.

Tommy looks up when they walk in, and his eyes light up when he sees Tubbo. He seems to have a silent conversation with Ranboo over his head. Tubbo doesn’t care. He’s watching his son.

Michael doesn’t look up, too enamored by his toy farm, carved crudely out of junglewood. Tubbo would recognize Tommy’s craftwork anywhere.

Holding up his cow proudly, Michael shouts, “Moo!”

Tubbo thinks he laughs. Maybe it’s a sob. The sound makes Michael turn, and the cow falls out of his hands.

For a terrible, terrifying second, Tubbo thinks he’ll be mad. That he’ll demand to know where Tubbo went and throw his toys and hate him for leaving him.

A grin spreads across Michaels face, and he stands, running over to Tubbo on toddling, wooden soldier legs. He throws himself at Tubbo full force.

“Careful, buddy—” Ranboo starts, but Tubbo is already on his knees, ignoring the ache completely and wrapping his son into a hug.

Michael squeals into his shoulder, tugging at his shirt and hugging him back in a sparatic, toddler way that just makes Tubbo’s chest aches.

“Back!” Michael announces, patting Tubbo’s cheeks with both hands. “Dadadadada,” he continues excitedly, bouncing on Tubbo’s legs.

“Hi, Michael,” Tubbo rasps. He can barely manage a whisper. “Hello, buddy. I missed you. I missed you so much.”

Michael, because he’s a baby and because he is wonderful and the light of Tubbos existence, laughs, loud and giddy and doesn’t seem to remember ever being hurt at all. He scrambles off Tubbo’s lap, back over to his farm. 

“Play?” he asks, bouncing on his knees. He holds out the chicken toy, his favorite animal. “Play?”

Ranboo purses his lips, likely watching the way Tubbo’s legs are shaking. “Maybe we should let dad sleep?”

“It’s okay,” Tubbo says, scooting forward. Tommy cups his elbow to help. “It’s okay. I’ll play with you, Michael.”

Michael hands him his chicken reverently. “Cluck,” he says seriously.

Tubbo laughs. Tommy grabs a farmer, handing it to Michael. “Michael, my man, tell Tubbo what the human says.”

“Bitch!” Michael shouts. Ranboo groans. Tubbo grabs his hand and yanks him down next to them. 

“That’s right, Michael,” he says seriously. “Do you know what else they say? They say cunt.”

“Yeah!” Tommy agrees. 

Ranboo picks up the sheep and pushes it against Michael’s face. “Baa,” he says, as if he’s crying. “Humans are so baad.”

“Oh my god,” Tubbo says, “shut up.”

Michael drops his cow. “Shit.”

Tubbo doesn’t think he’s laughed this hard in a long time.

***

Ranboo is helping him walk back and forth, some sort of dumb physical therapy exercise he’s been insisting on. Tubbo hates it, it’s frustrating and painful and reminds him of the things he did with Tommy after the festival, when his burns where stiff and healing and he could barley move his left side.

“Almost there,” Ranboo says softly, guiding him a few more feet. Tubbo stumbles, and Ranboo is there to catch him, arms around his torso so Tubbo can fall against his collarbone. “I’ve got you.”

“Fuck,” Tubbo whispers, attempting to make his legs stop shaking. “That was barely anything.”

“Hey, small steps, right? You aren’t going to heal overnight.”

“Ugh,” Tubbo says. Ranboo helps him sit on the bed. The window is open. They’re both wearing coats. “This sucks.”

“I know it does, I’m sorry.”

“I just—” Tubbo looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. He promised himself he’d start talking, no matter what. “I could barely do anything after the festival.”

Ranboo reaches up to rub the back of Tubbo’s neck. “Yeah?”

“I was layed up for fucking weeks, just sitting in Pogtopia like a useless lump.” Tubbo scowls. “It just makes me a burden.”

“I like doing this with you,” Ranboo says. His voice is low and soft. “I know it’s not fun, but it… it lets me do something to help you. And it just proves how strong you are.”

Tubbo rolls his head to the side to give Ranboo an unimpressed look. “Suck up.”

“I’m not lying!” Ranboo laughs, tugging Tubbo against his side. “I’m serious. You’re not the most patient person, but you’re still doing this, every day.”

“The other option is death,” Tubbo says dejectedly.

“You mean there isn’t another option?”

“Yes, Ranboo.”

“That’s what I thought.”

***

Tubbo can do this. All he has to do is take like, five more steps. That’s nothing. He’s got the wall to support him, no big deal. He’s fought in fucking wars, for christs sake.

He slips in the hall and falls directly on his ass.

“Fucking— shit,” he hisses.

There are footsteps on the basement stairs. Tubbo resigns himself to asking Phil for help.

It is not Phil who peaks around the hall corner to stare at him.

“Uh, hello,” Techno says.

Shit.

Tubbo leans back on his shaking elbows. “Sup, Technoblade?”

“What are you doin’?”

“Chilling.”

“In the hall.”

“Yes.”

“On the floor.”

“Uhuh.”

“At two am.”

“Is that what time it is?” Tubbo asks innocently. Techno stands a few feet away from him. It sort of makes Tubbo feel better that he looks just as awkward as Tubbo feels.

“So,” Techno says, “were you getting water?”

“Yes,” Tubbo gives in, sighing. He manages to scoot back against the wall, taking some weight off his back and arms. “Didn’t want to wake up Ranboo.”

“Why not? That guy literally waits at your beck and call.”

“I know. It’s annoying.” Tubbo knows he’s smiling, and that his voice is fond. Techno snorts.

He leaves, and Tubbo isn’t sure whether to cry or sigh in relief. He doesn’t have time to decide before Techno is back, a glass of water in hand. He sits down next to Tubbo, just a few feet away, and holds it out.

“Thanks,” Tubbo says awkwardly, taking the cup. Techno put a straw into it. That was nice.

“No problem.”

Tubbo sips his water. Techno taps his fingers on the floor. They both stare at the wall in silence.

“So—” Tubbo starts.

Techno says, “Hey—” at the same time. They fall silent again.

“Thank you for helping my family,” Tubbo says eventually. “Ranboo and Michael, and Tommy. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Ranboo’s Syndicate,” Techno says with a casual shrug. “We take care of each other’s people.”

“Even if they’re government?”

Techno looks at Tubbo, studies him carefully. “I may have… misjudged you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Um.” Tubbo sets the water down. “Me too. About you, I mean. I guess you’re not so bad.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.” Tubbo wiggles his feet, pulls at his fingers. “I’m sorry about how it happened,” he says finally. “You never saw the good bits.”

“I guess I didn’t.” Techno shrugs. “I didn’t need ‘em, anyway. I had my own things.”

“You had your Tommy,” Tubbo says smugly, nodding to the emerald around Techno’s neck.

Techno stares at him, like he’s thinking. “I guess I do.”

“So…” Tubbo puts on a blank face. “What’s the Syndicate?”

“Yeah, don’t even try that. I know Ranboo is a blabber mouth.”

Tubbo laughs, snorting and giving Techno a shrug. “You decided to add Mr. No Sides to your compound.”

“I did do that.” Techno stands, offering Tubbo a hand. “Speaking of, you should probably get back to bed before Ranboo wakes up and freaks out when you’re not there.”

“Overprotective,” Tubbo grumbles. He takes Techno’s hand.

“I think that’s just being married.” Techno puts a hesitant but firm hand on Tubbo’s back as they walk. “Bummed about not gettin’ a weddin’ invite, by the way.”

“Eh, there wasn’t really a wedding. We cantalouped.”

“Uh. Eloped?”

“Whatever.”

***

Jack and Niki bring him cookies. They’re chocolate chip, but they’re shaped like puffer fish. Niki and Ranboo stand there looking absolutely confused while Tubbo laughs so hard he thinks he might throw up.

“I knew you’d like ‘em,” Jack says proudly. Tubbo reaches out to pat his arm, maybe leaning on it a little more than he normally would. That’s okay, Jack won’t let him fall.

“Jack Manifold, how I have missed you.”

Jack grins, “I missed you too, mate.”

Tommy stomps into the room, and Tubbo freezes, eyeing him and then Jack and Niki.

“All you brought were cookies? Lame ass.” Tommy holds up a large picnic basket, “As always, I am simply the Bigger Man.”

Jack rolls his eyes, looks at Niki. “Can you believe this guy?”

“To be fair,” Niki says, “he did kind of outdo us.”

“Betrayal!”

“Ha! I’m Niki’s favorite, anyway.” Tommy walks past Tubbo and towards the door. “I’m everyone’s favorite.”

“Puffy has started inviting him to dinner with us,” Niki tells Tubbo softly. “I think it’s gone to his head.”

“Tommy? Letting something get to his head?” Ranboo shakes his head, “Never.”

Tubbo watches in awe as Tommy and Jack bargain with Michael to try and get him to put his coat and boots on.

“What?” he asks. Ranboo smiles, and drapes an arm across his back, supporting him. 

“We have a surprise for you.”

***

Snowchester is being rebuilt. 

They step through the water tunnel that Tubbo managed on his own, and he gasps.

Foolish is waving from a roof, holding a hammer. There aren’t any scorch marks in sight.

Ranboo takes his hand, squeeing it gently. “We’ve been working on it since we got you back. Well, they have.”

Techno and Phil are carrying a stack of logs, arguing about something with smiles on their faces.

“Hey, I rebuilt that,” Tommy says, pointing at a giant wooden penis in the middle of a walkway.

“I don’t think that was there before,” Ranboo sighs.

“Your mind is failing you, Memory Boy.”

“It’s the marriage,” Jack says. “Rots your brains.”

“Ignore them.” Niki beckons, “This isn’t even the best part.”

Tubbo doesn’t understand how it could get better. Ranboo holds one of his hands, and Michael holds the other as they slowly make their way through a rebuilt Snowchester. 

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Ranboo says, “but my stuff isn’t at Phil’s anymore.”

Eyes widening, Tubbo stares up at the mansion. The windows are lit with a yellow glow, and the doors are open. He can see flowers around the handrails of the grand staircase. Pink tulips.

“It’s your housewarming party,” Tommy says quietly, leaning over to talk in his ear, “if you hadn’t picked up on that.”

Tubbo refuses to cry in front of this many people. He elbows Tommy instead. “Bitch, I can’t believe you kept a secret.”

“We had to stop him from givin’ it away like, every ten minutes,” Techno drawls, hands in his pockets as he joins their group.

“Fuck you, Technoblade. I am the best man here.”

“What does that even have to do with the conversation we’re havin’ right now.”

“Die.”

“Nah.”

Tubbo laughs, looking back up at the mansion. He huffs. “Man, that’s a lot of stairs.”

Ranboo nods, and then pauses when he sees Tubbo looking at him expectantly. “What?”

“Uh. Newlyweds. New house. Put the pieces together, Beloved.”

Phil nudges Ranboo with his elbow. “I think he’s asking for a ride, mate.”

“Oh.” Ranboo grins. “Yeah, okay.”

He scoops Tubbo up bridal style, and Tubbo is carried into his home flipping off Tommy and Jack while they catcall. It’s a good day.

***

Puffy’s therapy office is welcoming. It actually looks really nice. There’s a garden outside, full of different flowers. Tubbo notices the alliums are planted a little more haphazardly than the rest. He sends Tommy a sideways glance that his friend resolutely ignores.

“You ready?”

“No,” Tubbo says. He sticks his hands in pockets. “Does this feel harder than going to war for you?”

Tommy grins. “The doc is gonna have a field day with that, but yeah. It’s scary as shit, man.”

Taking a deep breath, Tubbo turns to Tommy, “You’ll wait outside?”

“Sure, big man. The flower garden needs some help anyhow.”

“Okay.” Taking a breath, Tubbo knocks on the door.

***

Tubbo bounces his leg, watching Ranboo pitter around the kitchen. He thinks he’s making pancakes.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Ranboo turns, frowning. He watches him, like he’s trying to find the best way to respond. 

“Do you think I’m two feet tall?” he asks finally. Tubbo snorts and throws a napkin at him, Ranboo bats it away with a spatula. “How many berries?”

“A fuck ton.”

***

“Are you staying over?” Tubbo asks. Tommy shrugs, stretching.

“I’ve got a room here, don’t I?”

“You know about that?”

“Dude. I literally helped furnish this big ass place.”

“Right.” Tubbo shifts on his feet. “So… are you like, staying?”

Tommy grins, throwing an arm over Tubbo’s shoulders, “From time to time. Free food is free food, my friend.”

“So true.”

“Hey, Tubzo?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go find turtle eggs and watch them hatch tomorrow?”

Tubbo grins, “Can we bring Michael?”

“Obviously. He’s my favorite guy in this whole family.”

“Besides you?” Tubbo asks.

Tommy’s face lights up, the fear lines between his eyebrows almost completely disappearing. “Besides me, of course.”

***

Tubbo whispers, “Tell me about the stars?”

“What, ones like you?” 

Tubbo laughs, and Ranboo thinks it’s the single most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “You know what I mean you great big… smelly man.”

“Smelly?”

“Mhm. Like flowers. Now— stars, you talk about them so beautifully.”

“Yeah,” Ranboo says quietly. He takes Tubbo’s hand, squeezing it tight. They’re laying on the mansion roof, just above Michael’s window and next to the bee dome. “You know we all like to look up at the stars and think they’re only there for us, that’s what Phil says. And then he says, ‘typical of humans, really’.” 

Tubbo snorts, and Ranboo smiles as he continues, “He says stars aren’t there for anyone, not for you or me or Michael, or even Tommy.”

“Well, yeah. They’re there because of science.”

“That’s only the start of it. They sing, you know. Out there in the big dark nothing where they’re the only light for light years and light years… they sing, so they don’t feel so lonely.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Tubbo says, swatting at Ranboo’s arm.

“I’m not! You said people write songs for the stars, where did you think they got the idea from?”

Tubbo blinks ever so slowly, scanning the night sky above them. Ranboo reaches over to stroke his cheekbone with his knuckle. Tubbo hums, “That’s really very sad.”

“No, not really,” Ranboo replies, watching Tubbo watch the stars. “It’s beautiful. They’re out there, with no one to love and no one to see, just floating forever in their designated parking spot, and out of all the things they could do, they decide to sing themselves lullabies.”

“I wish I could hear it, what they sound like.”

“You will. One day I’ll take you into space and we’ll bring Michael and Tommy, and we’ll listen to them sing.”

“They won’t be alone, then.”

“No,” Ranboo agrees. “They won’t.”

“Take me tomorrow?”

“Nah, but maybe Tuesday.”

“Bitch. It’s a date.”

Ranboo laughs, it’s like taking a breath for the first time in his life. “It better be.”

“Hey, you can see Orion from here,” Tubbo says. He sits up, pointing. “Right there. See?”

Not looking away from Tubbo’s face, Ranboo nods. “I see.”

“We should make paper lanterns with Michael. I’m sure Tommy still remembers how.”

“Homemade stars.”

Tubbo looks at him, eyes sparkling. “You ever think about legacies? Like, building something that will outlive you. Something wonderful?”

“Like Snowchester?” Ranboo asks.

“I used to think that.” Tubbo hums, laying back down and tipping his face against Ranboo’s, so his cold nose presses against Ranboo’s jaw. “I reckon it’s people, though. Like Michael.”

“Our little legacy.”

“Exactly.” Tubbo sighs, he sounds content. He hasn’t sounded sad in a long time. “Ranboo, I think that maybe, the point of life is home.”

“Not Snowchester,” Ranboo echoes. He kisses Tubbo’s temple, watches his cheeks turn pink and grins at it. “I love you.”

“Oh, you sap.” Tubbo smacks Ranboo’s chest. He turns back to look at the stars. “I’m surprised you can see so many stars from here, with Snowchester being so light all the time.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I do love you, Mr. Underscore.”

“Love you too, Mr. Beloved.”