Chapter Text
Sam is quiet.
That’s okay, Tubbo supposes. He doesn’t want to talk to him anyways.
Especially not after what he did.
He doesn’t even want to see Sam. Doesn’t want to be attached to him via power-dampening cuffs, doesn’t want to look at his stupid fucking face and ignore the looks he keeps sending Tubbo. He’s stupid as shit and Tubbo wants nothing to do with him.
But still. The silence is oppressive. It leaves Tubbo alone with his thoughts. His eyes scan the streets for a distraction, for something to focus on, but they are empty, devoid of life and people.
Someone evacuated the area, then.
He limps as he walks, slowly and jarringly aware of all the aches and pains that he’s either ignored for months or freshly acquired. Stinging pain of scrapes from the rooftop, aches from the badly sprained ankle; pulsating pain from his eye that’s been steadily dripping blood onto the ground for the past few minutes.
Drip. Drip.
He thinks he should be more worried about it than he is. He also thinks it should hurt more. Not that he wants it to, but pain and Tubbo have been a pair deeply intertwined since the day he was born, and he’s well acquainted with its cruel kiss, and this one, is not harsh enough.
(He
needs
to feel worse he needs the pain to remind him how much he deserves it how much
they
deserve it—)
Shock, properly. Adrenaline, go explain how jittery he feels. How very alive.
(And by god does he wish he didn’t feel alive
)
The power dampening cuffs clink together as he walks. He supposes they’re the reason he feels so exhausted. That, or his body is beginning to leave “survival mode” as Sam put it, once.
He said that when Tubbo doesn’t feel hungry or tired or thirsty often and forgets to do things and eat and sleep and drink water, especially because of an outside stresser, it can make his body go into survival mode. He said it means that his body gets used to surviving off little bits of things, but when he goes somewhere that his brain deems safe, it leaves survival mode. Or if he takes a nap once after not getting enough sleep for a while, he’ll start to get tired more often, because his body can relax and let itself do the things it should’ve been doing.
Tubbo hates how Sam’s advice always holds true. He hates that he really believed that Sam would be different.
He stumbles over rock as they walk, breaking Sam out of whatever self-induced trance he was in.
Sam glances down at him, pity flashing in his eyes. “Not much further. I can carry you if you want.”
Tubbo growls. “I’d rather die. Stay the fuck away from me.” He hisses.
“It was just an offer.”
“And I don’t want it.”
Sam takes the hint, backing off.
(This wouldn’t be so hard and hurt so bad if Sam had never pretended to care in the first place.)
The walk in tense silence for a few more minutes until Sam stops in front of a large, fancy looking white building. Why the hell Sam is making him fucking walk somewhere is a mystery.
“Here we are.”
Tubbo squints, looking at the sign. It reads:
L’manberg Hospital
Upon reading the words, Tubbo makes a break for it.
He may have a sprained ankle, several severe burns, and can’t see out of one eye, but if he learned one thing training with Schlatt, it’s how to ignore pain.
He sprints as fast as he can, running in a zig-zag pattern and wheezing hard. His boots pound on the pavement, cuffs clinking together even harsher than before.
He knows it’s pointless, but he can’t quite make his feet stop running.
He’s only made it about forty feet when Sam catches up with him. The creeper hybrid reaches out for him, but as Tubbo jerks away from his outstretched hand, he twists his bad ankle, flying forward and sprawling on the concrete.
Pain flares up his ankle, agony licking red-hot flames from deep inside his bones, but even still he hauls himself to his feet and attempts another escape.
This time, he’s caught instantly.
“Let me go!” He screeches, twisting and jerking in Sam’s hold. “I’m not going in there! I’m not going to prison!”
“Tubbo, please–”
“No! Fuck off!”
Tubbo rears his head back, trying to knock Sam in the face, but the creeper hybrid sees it coming, and dodges. Then Tubbo jerks his head from side to side so Sam can’t predict what exactly he’ll do next, then he leans down and sinks his teeth into Sam’s arm, biting as hard as he can.
Sam yelps in surprise, arms releasing Tubbo on instinct. Tubbo hits the asphalt running, once again doing his best to flee with one good leg.
But Sam catches up to him again. He always does. ( He always will.)
Sam grabs Tubbo by the shoulders, twisting him around to face him. “Tubbo! Listen to me!”
Tubbo tries to thrash in his grip, but Sam holds him still.
“You are very unwell. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you might’ve broken a rib. Listen to me Tubbo,” Sam’s eyes bore deep into his own, “You will not survive past today if you don’t go to the hospital. I have a friend who works there, so you won’t have to go through all the normal hospital stuff. You aren’t going to prison. I’ll be right there with you during the examination. You can hate me as much as you want, but I will not let you die.”
Tubbo curls a lip. “Tommy said the same fucking thing. And look,” Tubbo jabs a finger up towards the blood still dripping down his eye, “Where that got him. Just let me go. I-I’ll disappear, or something. You won’t see me again.” He’s desperate. Sam knows it.
Sam sighs. “I can’t do that, Tubbo.”
Fuck Sam for pretending to care. Tubbo wishes to god that he’d just stop fucking pretending.
“Why not?”
Sam stretches up to his full height, releasing Tubbo’s shoulders- and apparently trusting him not to bolt. Sam always has been too trusting. “You’ve always known that if we met in the field I'd try to arrest you. And this,” He gestures to the burning wreckage of the Crow Father Corps. Tower, the debris scattered through L’manberg’s inner districts. “Is not something I can ignore. None of what you’ve done is something I can ignore. What if Techno hadn’t evacuated the building? Do you know how many innocent people would have died?”
“Those innocent people put my friends in prison.” He spits.
“Yes,” Sam says, “But not all of them. What about the young interns? The secretaries, and the office workers? What about the little girl in break room twelve who wanted to see her father before she went to daycare? Did they all deserve to die?”
Tubbo remains silent.
“It’s not up to you to decide who lives or dies, Tubbo.”
“Oh, but you get that privilege?”
“No,” Sam says, voice calm. “That is why heroes don’t kill people. We save those who need saving and right now, that includes you.”
Tubbo bristles. “I don’t need saving. I’m fine on my own, and I’ve been fine on my own.”
Sam’s eyes go soft and anger begins to trickle through Tubbo’s veins. “No, you haven’t been. And that’s okay. You shouldn’t have had to be okay all alone. You don’t have to agree with me,” Sam says when he sees Tubbo about to object, “But you are going into this hospital with me. That is non-negotiable.”
Just to be petty, Tubbo says: “And what is negotiable, your highness?”
“How long and where I stay in the room with you during the examinations, how we get home, what we’ll eat for dinner, and what we’ll eat for breakfast.”
Tubbo glowers. “Fuck you.”
The words are filled with vitriol. He hates Sam. He hates him.
“Okay,” Sam breathes. “Into the hospital.”
____
Tubbo hates hospitals.
He hates the smell, he hates the stupid fucking laboratory look of everything, he hates the people because they always ask too many fucking questions, but most of all, he hates that hospitals mean pain.
And Tubbo’s in a lot of it.
He’s currently sitting in a private examination office with Sam. Sam is sitting across the room (as per Tubbo’s request) and Tubbo’s sitting on the stupid bench with the paper on it (as per Sam’s request).
It’s been about fifteen minutes since they’ve arrived at the hospital (counting the escape attempts prior to entering the building) and about ten since they’ve entered the room.
“Can’t they go any faster?” Tubbo grumbles.
“Ponk is a very busy man,” Sam says, “He’s one of the head surgeons and a very proficient healer. Plus, they’re very busy today from all the people that were injured during today's events.”
Sam does not outright say that this is Tubbo’s fault, but Tubbo hears it all the same.
He glares at the floor. Well fuck you too, then.
Finally, the doorknob twists open.
“Hello!” The doctor, Ponk, greets. He’s got a little lemon sticker on his name card. “I’m Ponk, and I’ll be your doctor today!”
Tubbo resolves to just glare at him. He hates this man and this fucking hospital.
To his credit, Ponk remains unperturbed. “Alright, Sammy Boy over there briefed me on what he thinks your injuries might be, so today we’ll be checking for a possible broken ankle, rib fractures or breaks, check on your eye, and then do a basic rundown of wellness checks. Hydration, nourishment levels- that sort of thing.”
Tubbo tries to cross his arms, but the cuffs on his wrists yank the motion to a stop. The itch begins in his arms, the need to change positions, but the cuffs are in the way so he bites down on his lip, huffs, and continues to glare at Ponk.
“And how long, exactly, is all of that going to take?”
Ponk taps a pen against his chin. “I’d guess anywhere between one to three hours. Why do you ask?”
“I want to get out of this hell-hole as fast as possible.”
Sam raises an eyebrow in Tubbo’s direction but doesn’t move to reprimand him, while Ponk just chuckles. “That sentiment is shared with most kids your age.” Tubbo instantly bristles at being referred to as a kid. He is not a fucking child. “As much as I’d like to speed you through it, that wouldn’t be a thorough check, and missing something could result in your death. So! Some nurses will be in shortly to take a couple preliminary tests, and after that you’ll meet me in the x-ray room.”
Sam stands up. “Thanks again, Ponk.”
Ponk pats the other man’s head. A difficult feat, since there’s nearly as much of a height difference between the two of them as Tubbo and Ranboo. “Don’t sweat it, Sammy. You know you're welcome to drop by and visit anytime. Just preferably not during my work hours. Unless you're injured. Okay bye!”
Ponk shuts the door relatively quietly as he exists. Tubbo continues to glare at the spot where he was.
“I don’t like him.”
Sam is clearly trying very hard to remain civil, and part of Tubbo finds delight in the fact that he’s causing the man anguish of any kind.
“Ponk is nice. And it was very kind of him to help us out on such short notice. And to not ask any questions.” Sam says the second part pointedly, like he wants Tubbo to know how grateful he should be.
Well fuck you, Sam, Tubbo thinks to himself, not for the first time within the past half-hour. If Sam thinks that Tubbo should be grateful for being dragged to a hospital and forced to let people poke and prod at him, then he’s going to be severely disappointed for the next few hours.
____
The next hour is what Tubbo would consider hell.
He manages not to have a breakdown or kill anyone during the x-ray, so Tubbo considers that a win. Sam, however, is a little bitch boy, and keeps telling Tubbo that it’s rude to snap at the nurses, because they’re only doing their job. Deep down, Tubbo knows that the nurses do not deserve his ire, but everything fucking hurts and he’s tired.
The x-rays tell Tubbo that he has two fractured ribs and a broken ankle, and then the nurse tells tubbo that he has second degree burns (something he’s achingly used to and had to try very hard not to let his head get foggy when he heard the news) and that his upper arms are going to have some severe scarring. (Something else Tubbo is, unfortunately, very used to.)
The stupid eye doctor person said that Tubbo is going to lose his eye. It was already fucked after it took an explosion to the face, so he’s not that torn up about it, but still. The doctor said that since one of the eyes is so badly damaged, his body might get confused and his immune system could attack his other one, causing him to lose both.
So yeah. He gets a nice surgery today on top of everything!
And finally, another fucking doctor told Tubbo that he’s not only malnourished and severely dehydrated, but he’s also running a fever and has a high chance of getting sepsis. How fun.
Ponk pops back in to tell him and Sam that they’ll have to operate today since Tubbo is, as Ponk put it “knocking on death's door.” Tubbo thinks he’s being dramatic. He’s fine. He just can’t lean over, or walk, or see properly, or breathe particularly harshly, or move his arms that much, or stand up too quickly. Besides that, he’s completely fine.
Tubbo’s back in the room with the stupid bench with the stupid paper on it again. Sam is still standing as far away as possible.
The pain has finally set in all the way, and Tubbo can’t quite bring himself to jostle every hurt thing in his body just to get up on the bench and please Sam. Sam can choke and die. Tubbo’s ankle is throbbing but he knows the pain from his ribs will be worse if he tries moving anymore right now.
He sucks in a breath at a particularly harsh stab of pain in his eye. “Do they have pain meds in here? Morphine? Meperidine? Fentanyl?”
“You don’t have to keep listing pain medications. I know you’re familar.”
Tubbo clenches a fist. “It’s keeping me focused. Hydromorphone? Ketorolac? Magnesium sulfate? Fuck. Uh, Paracetamol? Ibuprofen? Acetaminophen?”
Sam is quiet for another moment. “Can you list all the elements in the periodic table?”
“Of fucking course I can. Okay- shit- in order of atomic number, Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen…”
They keep going like that for a bit. When Tubbo the pain gets really difficult to ignore, Sam will ask Tubbo a chemistry question. They range anyway from “What would happen if you mixed Sulfuric acid and Magnesium sulfate?” to “What’s Avagadro’s number?”
Tubbo doesn’t like Sam. He hates Sam.
But he admits that doing this alone, dying alone, in the back of a cop car, in some alley, or in a dingy holding cell before he even made it to a trial, to Pandora’s Vault, would have been very, very lonely.
It doesn’t take that long for a nurse to come retrieve the two of them. She leads them through the ever confusing maze that is hospitals and then pulls back a curtain and gestures for Tubbo to change into one of those stupid hospital gowns. Sam, for his part, steps out of the space of the curtain and closes it. Great for him, for being a decent fucking human being.
Tubbo changes (not without difficulty) and clambers onto the cot, trying very hard not to let the tears welling in his eyes fall. If Sam saw Tubbo crying he’d get that stupid pitying look in his eyes, and he’d try to comfort him, or touch him, and Tubbo would rather jump off the Crow Father Corps Tower than have Sam hug him again.
Oh. Tubbo has jumped off the Crow Father Corps Tower.
Well. It wasn’t really a jump. It was more like a planned fall.
Tubbo realizes with a jolt that he’s been staring at nothing in particular for an undetermined period of time and that Sam is still waiting for him. He grumbles a “I’m finished” and scowls when the curtain pulls open. He’d partly wished that Sam had left. To go to the bathroom, or talk to the nurses, or something. Anything to leave Tubbo alone.
But Sam won’t do that. Tubbo knows he won’t. It fucking sucks but it’s just how Sam is.
But fortunately for Sam, Tubbo is in far too much pain to do anything about the anger rolling in his gut other than stew in it. They sit in awkward silence while they wait for one of the nurses or Ponk or someone to come fix Tubbo’s broken body.
“Tubbo?” Sam says, and Tubbo groans internally because he’s got his ‘I’m about to ask an emotionally charged question’ voice on.
“What.” Tubbo snaps.
“You know I don’t hate you, right?”
Tubbo doesn’t know that. Tubbo doesn’t know what Sam thinks about Tubbo anymore. He clearly cares enough (like an idiot) to bring Tubbo to the hospital, but at the same time not enough to keep Tubbo’s base location a secret.
“Shut the fuck up.” Is what Tubbo ends up saying.
Sam cares about him.
Sam doesn’t care about him.
“No,” Sam says simply. “I care about you, Tubbo. You know that, don’t you?”
“Stop lying!” Tubbo screeches. “Stop lying! You don’t fucking care! You don’t! You’re nothing but a liar!”
Sam does not respond. He only resituates himself on the bench.
The nurses come back a few minutes later with a wheelchair so Tubbo doesn’t have to painfully shuffle to the hospital bed, and then escort him and Sam to his room.
His room, he notices, is a great distance away from the other patients. He pretends not to notice.
The nurses waste no time hooking him up to an I.V drip and bringing in the anesthesiologist who ignores Tubbo’s attempts to fight her and presses a mask over his face anyways.
“Count backwards from ten,” The woman says.
Tubbo counts up to ten, because he hates her, but he doesn’t even make it to five before he’s out.
____
Waking up is a slow process.
His face feels weird. His body feels weird. Where is it? Is it still attached to him?
He blinks open his eyes (how long have they been closed?)
He’s so tired. He wants to go back to sleep.
“…bo?”
Someone’s talking to him. Don’t they know he’s tired?
He moves his mouth and tries to speak, but he’s wholly uncertain if he does actually say anything.
“…been out for…”
“…needs to go home…”
“…needs rest…”
“… don’t worry…”
Words float in and out of his ears, but most of them sound like jumbled garbage. Indecipherable.
He decides that thinking is too exhausting, and goes back to sleep.
____
The next time he wakes up he’s slightly more conscious. Slightly.
He groans as he opens his eyes, blinking against the harsh hospital lights. His face still feels weird, but no part of him hurts like a bitch, so he’ll take it.
He just feels… weird. Woozy. Kind of out of it.
“…Sam?” He slurs. He has no idea if the creeper hybrid is still here. He has no idea how long he’s been out for.
He lets his head loll to one side, trying to see if he can see the other in the room, but his vision is utter shit right now, and all he can make out are colors and vague shapes.
Something large and green stirs at the sound of Tubbo’s voice though, so he thinks maybe Sam is here. Unless it’s somehow Dream or- fuck he hopes it isn’t Phil.
He squints, trying to make out more details. “Is that you, Sam?”
The green blob is closer, and Tubbo can almost make out four legs and two arms. Maybe.
“Yes,” The other says, voice soft. Tubbo sags in relief, tension he didn’t know he was holding leaking out of him. He didn’t really think it was Phil, but the worry was still there.
“Mmm,” Tubbo hums. He still feels weird. “I thought you were Phil. I can't see stuff very well.”
Sam chuckles softly. “Ponk said that would happen. Do you want to hear how your surgery went?”
“Mmm, yes.”
“They ended up having to leave your eye in because you started crashing during the surgery. Ponk was actually able to use his ability since you were officially in a life or death situation, and managed to heal it a bit. It’s not healed all the way, so he said you might need to get glasses or contacts, but you can see out of it again. Your ribs were set and so was your ankle, but Ponk still recommends that you stay on bed-rest for at least another week.”
Tubbo squints harder, trying to see what his other eye can see, but he’s disappointed when he’s met with darkness.
Sam chuckles again. “Your eye is bandaged right now, so you won’t be able to see out of it. Also, it’ll take some time for it to adjust, so don’t be surprised if you don’t see much of anything right away.”
“That’s stupid. Can’t I just take potions?”
“Not until you’re better. Because your body’s weak right now, taking something as strong as a potion will just send you straight back here.”
Tubbo grumbles, but otherwise doesn’t protest. He’s too tired.
“Where am I staying?”
The question has been bothering him for some time now. Sam hinted that he’d be staying with him when they first got here, but Tubbo doesn’t know if he’s changed his mind now.
“With me.”
Tubbo folds his arms. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re mean.”
“Oh?” Sam breathes, and Tubbo can faintly hear him settling down on a chair of some kind. “How so?”
“You lied to me.”
Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat. “When?”
Tubbo opens his mouth to answer, but cuts himself off when he hears his breath hitch. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Sam. He doesn’t want to cry at all. This is stupid. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid–
“Hey hey hey,” Sam coos, and Tubbo feels a hand settling oh so gently on his arm. Sam’s hold is feather light, like he’s letting Tubbo know that he can pull away.
He doesn’t.
“I told you,” Tubbo sniffs. He misses when Sam would hold him and he misses when Tommy loved him and he misses Techno and Ranboo and everything is just awful. “I told you where my base was and then you told them and now my friends are gone. Hannah and Fundy and Punz. They put them in Pandora’s Box just because they worked for me, and because I was stupid and I told you where we were.”
Sam is quiet. “Oh, Bo,” Is all he says and then he’s wrapping Tubbo in another hug and Tubbo can’t help but latch onto him and cling.
He knows it’s stupid and he knows he can’t and he knows that this is never ever going to be real–
“I didn’t tell them, Tubbo. I would never, ever tell them. We got an anonymous tip of your guys location, and then after surveillance they confirmed it. I never told them that I knew, and I never helped them.”
“But you were there!” He wails. “You were there, at the raid!”
“I was,” Sam amends. “But not for the reason you think. They were supposed to send Puffy in for negotiations, and the only reason I came was to keep trying to talk them out of it, and to ensure that you made it out okay.”
“Then why?”
Sam doesn’t ask what Tubbo means. “Wilbur jumped the gun and convinced a good portion of the others to go with him. I don’t think he’s… I don’t think he’s very well right now. He forced Puffy and I to stay behind using his power. I tried so hard to get to you but by the time I broke free, you were gone.”
“So you don’t– you didn’t–”
“No,” Sam whispers, tucking Tubbo even closer to him. “I love you, Tubbo. I would never and will never betray you to them.”
Tubbo can’t help the wailing sobs that rip free from his chest, but Sam doesn’t admonish him for being loud or tell him to loosen the crushing grip he has on the other. He just holds Tubbo on that hospital bed, and lets him cry.
____
Tubbo stays in the hospital for three more days after his surgery so that they can monitor his progress and make sure he won’t die the second he leaves. The three days pass quickly, courtesy of Sam. One the first day he brings Tubbo books (that Sam reads because Tubbo’s eyesight is shit right now) they talk about anything and everything, and then when Tubbo gets tired Sam will read until Tubbo falls asleep, because he knows he gets lonely.
He’d also assured Tubbo who’d woken in a panic that Michael was fine, no Sam didn’t just abandon him at home, he’s staying with Aunt Puffy, and no Clay hasn’t done or said anything to the child. According to Puffy, the other had left the child fairly alone. Which was great, because Tubbo didn’t want Michael bonding with Clay. XD and Drista (wherever the fuck she is) are okay, but not fucking Clay.
On the second day, Tubbo regains enough vision in his uninjured eye that he can kind of read, but he gets bored of reading quickly and decides to mess with the medical equipment in the room because his hands itch to be doing something. He messes with the wrong thing, though, because the nurses come running into the room and Sam (who had left to get food) and Ponk reprimand Tubbo for fifteen minutes straight.
On the third day, Sam brings eight different lego sets, and a laptop. Tubbo was hesitant to open the legos, because legos are kid’s toys, but Sam had opened and started a box of his own, so Tubbo decided to open one so Sam wouldn’t feel alone in his lego building.
(And for absolutely no other reason.)
After some deliberation, Sam agreed to let Tubbo watch Criminal Minds. The other was hesitant at first, concerned that some of the scenes might set Tubbo off, but he assured him that he’s seen the entire show (read: seasons one through seven) and that it’s sort of a comfort show for him. He likes watching them solve the crimes.
Sam had not held back on which lego sets to buy. Apparently, he only brought the smaller ones to the hotel and had the bigger, cooler ones back at home.
“You’re gonna be on bed rest for two weeks,” The creeper hybrid had said. “And until your eye gets better, I don’t feel comfortable with you tinkering with electronics. Thus, Legos.”
Tubbo had to use crutches to get out of the hospital because his ankle is still busted, but he gave up quickly when he realized that just riding on Sam’s back was an option. Honestly, Tubbo doesn’t know why he’d walk anywhere anymore when Sam is right there and ready to be ridden like a horse.
They’ve just arrived home now, and honestly Tubbo is exhausted. Technically the day has only just begun, but still.
“Tubbo?” Sam says after Tubbo got himself situated on the couch. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Tubbo’s hands, previously fixing a blanket, freeze in their ministrations.
“It’s nothing bad,” Sam soothes. “I just wanted to have a proper discussion about it.”
Tubbo can’t help the way he shrinks in on himself at the words, curling in protectively and only stopping when his ribs begin to ache. “Okay.”
Sam sits in front of the couch, resting one of his hands on Tubbo’s. That’s a Thing that Sam does, Tubbo notices. Now that Tubbo’s allowed it, he’s always touching Tubbo somehow. He likes holding Tubbo’s hands absentmindedly, or sometimes he just rests his hand somewhere on Tubbo’s body. He favors his back and hair, running his padded fingers through Tubbo’s curls and occasionally rubbing or scratching at the base of his horns.
It’s nice.
(Too nice.)
“I’ve signed you up for therapy.”
“Oh.”
Sam begins rubbing Tubbo’s hand with his thumb. “I know that you don’t think it’s a good idea, but I really do think it would help. You need somewhere where you can let out all the things you keep in your head, and you need someone who can help you heal.”
Tubbo swallows apprehensively. “Is it Puffy?”
“No. Legally, she can’t do it because she’s related to you, plus she’s already Tommy's therapist. It would be a conflict of interest.”
“Oh. Who is it then?”
“Badboyhalo.”
“Bad?” Tubbo says quizzically. “But– Isn’t he a hero?”
“He’s not anymore, actually. He retired after the whole Schlatt thing. He’s had a therapist license for years, but it was suspended when he started hero work. Now he specializes in heroes and vigilantes.”
Tubbo frowns. “But I’m not–”
“A hero or a vigilante, I know. But I did some research, and I don’t think that a therapist who specializes in ‘rehabilitating villains’,” he makes quotes with his fingers, “Would be good for you.”
“When’s my first appointment?”
“Next week. You’ll have them weekly, every Saturday, unless you’d prefer a different day?”
Tubbo flops back on the couch cushions. “No. Saturday is fine.”
Sam smiles. “Good. Shall I go get the big lego sets and turn on Criminal Minds?”
Tubbo cracks a grin. “You know it.”
Slipping into familiarity and domesticity with Sam is easy. Too easy. Even still, Tubbo can feel bits of anger and bitterness begin to float back into his chest unbidden. He doesn’t want them, and he doesn’t want them to ruin the relationship he’s crafted with Sam so carefully, but Tubbo would be lying to himself if he didn’t think that this happiness would last.
He knows that he’s going to fuck it up somehow. He knows that. He knows.
But it’s nice to pretend for a little while.