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Tubbo inhales sharply as the sickeningly familiar scent of gunpowder hits his nose, and he stares down at the double chest half-full with bundles of gray dust. Some of it is clearly missing, traces of the substance linger around the empty half of the chest. Tubbo swallows tightly, lips pulling downward into a frown as he pulls out his investigative notebook. “Suspect two,” he speaks aloud as he writes, bracing the book against the top of the chest. “Has an egregious-” Tubbo frowns, crossing out the misspelled word, carefully inking in the correct spelling. “-egregious amount of gunpowder, and it looks like some is missing.” He stops writing, but continues to whisper aloud as he searches the rest of the chests. “Certainly enough to attempt to cause structural damage to the top of the prison, even if it didn’t actually cause any. He could be using it for, for potions, or for rockets, that’s true, but this is a lot of gunpowder. More than anyone needs, unless it’s for TNT, frankly.”
He finds no more evidence of explosive stores aside from some random sticks of dynamite that don’t look freshly made. He finds them at the very bottom of disorganized chests, covered in dust or falling apart at the wrappings, and Tubbo leaves them there, shutting each chest with a soft click. His voice grows steadily bolder as he continues to rummage through the chests on the floors above, more certain by the minute that Techno is nowhere around as he investigates his abode. Tubbo is proven right when he scales the ladder to the top floor, and finds the bedroom empty. There’s only a standard enchantment library, a bed, and an emerald block with a bell atop it. Tubbo stands in front of the bell for a moment, a heavy feeling settling in his chest, before he turns away and scans the shelves of the library. After a few minutes of searching, he tips his head back and catches sight of a locked chest slotted in a hidden compartment in the ceiling. Tubbo stretches up, fingers barely grasping onto the box. A flutter begins in his chest, excitement and apprehension building as he balances the box on his knee. He opens it, and the fluttering dies.
It’s nothing. Riches, armor, an enchanted compass - but no secret stores of TNT. Another letdown. Tubbo swallows down the disappointment, and focuses on the facts, the chest full of gunpowder in the room below. He leaves the bedroom and all the other rooms behind, descending the ladder to exit the house from the same basement he had entered. Tubbo stands outside the houses, staring thoughtfully at the darkened buildings.
“He could’ve gotten sand really easily,” he muses, nodding firmly. “Suspect two… contains all the materials to have committed-”
Tubbo’s words are cut off with a yelp as a flaming arrow pierces the ground between his feet. The fire is put out instantly by the surrounding snow, but the sharp whistles of the arrow and the bright flash of light is enough to make Tubbo stumble back, head whipping around as he searches for the source.
“Consider that a warning shot.” The voice is dark and cold, no trace left of the bright laughter that Tubbo used to be able to pull from the other man. That’s alright. They burned their bridges months ago. “I won’t bother to miss next time.”
“I know,” Tubbo replies carefully, ears flicking as he works to pinpoint where Phil was hiding, using the echo in his voice and the direction the arrow had come from. “Right, Phil, are you- are you standing behind the chimney?” He exhales a little shakily, heart rate still coming down from the fright the first arrow had given him. “I’m not here to attack you, so you don’t need to shoot.”
“You’re breaking into Techno’s home,” Phil replies icily, making his form visible on the rooftop. The flaming arrow notched in his bow illuminates his face, causing the grave countenance to stand out all the more. “You’re lucky he’s not the one who’s home.”
Tubbo had no idea whether his laugh was carefree or bitter. “But he wasn’t.”
“But he wasn’t,” Phil agreed, a thoughtful note in his voice. He shifted, bow lowering at his side. “What the fuck are you doing here, Tubbo? You know you’re not supposed to be around here.”
Tubbo pointedly ignores all the times he’s snuck into Ranboo’s house to have a sleepover. “Well, I’ll have you know that I’m running an investigation on the most recent crime that was committed, and Techno and you are suspects number two and three.”
Phil steps off the roof, damaged wings expanding to lower him softly to the ground. “What crime?” he asks, and Tubbo frowns at the confusion in his voice.
“Well- you know,” he begins. “What happened to Tommy.”
“What, did something happen to his- his new hotel?” Phil laughs, and Tubbo’s chest feels a bit hollow. “I promise, neither Techno or I give enough shits to vandalize Tommy’s hotel, so you can cross us off the suspect list for that.”
Tubbo’s head tilts to the side. “No, this- this has nothing to do with Tommy’s hotel, what? This is about the prison and Tommy’s- the crime that was committed.” He repeats the phrase, it jumps to the front of his mouth any time he tries to speak a certain two words in succession.
Phil still looked completely clueless, and it’s starting to aggravate Tubbo. “Tubbo, I still don’t understand what the fuck you’re on about. I don’t go into the main area of the SMP anymore, mate, I haven’t been there in weeks.”
“Right,” Tubbo says slowly. “Well, alright, I believe you, but I don’t- Techno’s still suspect number two. He owes Dream a favor, Dream could have cashed it in to get him to cause that explosion.”
Phil exhales heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “Tubbo, what the fuck are you on about? Neither of us have heard from Dream since he was locked away. He hasn’t cashed in any favor with Techno, and Techno hasn’t caused any- explosions, you said? I don’t even fucking know where to begin with that part.”
“Are you sure?” Tubbo challenged, raising his chin. “You’re sure Technoblade would even tell you if Dream called in the favor?”
“Yes,” Phil said, staring Tubbo down unflinchingly. “He would.”
His words reach into Tubbo’s heart, crumpling it with a sharp pain. “Dammit,” Tubbo mutters, clenching his jaw. “Well if it’s not you- and it’s not- I guess, if it’s not Technoblade-”
“What’s this investigation even for? Right, Tubbo, why don’t-” Phil takes a sharp breath, and looks like he’s about to roll his eyes before he thinks better of it and stops. “Why don’t we stop standing in the fucking cold, go inside, and you can give me the full story from the beginning.”
Tubbo hums in thought, gripping the spine of his book tight enough that he can feel the bindings creak. “Alright, I can do that. Lay out all the facts, present all the evidence. Yeah, sure.”
“Great,” Phil deadpans, sounding exhausted. He turns, waving Tubbo up the steps and across the bridge, and opens the door to his home. Vines cover most of the walls, spilling over onto work benches and chests. Phil leans against one wall, and Tubbo realizes that the man hasn’t taken his eyes off Tubbo once since they had confronted each other. “Right,” he says. “I’m gonna ask that you start from the beginning - what’s connecting Tommy and the prison? Did he somehow manage to commit a crime bad enough that it actually ended up with him in fucking jail?” Phil’s expression flickers between humor and confusion, searching for the right mood.
Tubbo shakes his head. “No. See, Tommy’s been… right, so he was visiting Dream, about a week ago. There was a security issue, the- the explosions, right, and because of that, Sam had to lock down the prison. That meant that Tommy was stuck inside the cell, with Dream, for over a week.”
“Uh-huh,” Phil nods in understanding. “So you’re trying to figure out who caused the explosion that got Tommy stuck in there so you can get him out, yeah?”
Tubbo blinks. “Well- no.” He so desperately wishes he could say the opposite.
“What d’you mean, no?” Phil asked, one eyebrow raised, a confused smile on his face. “I mean, once you figure out what caused the explosion, obviously-”
“I can’t get him out of the prison.” Tubbo takes a deep breath. He needs to lay out all the facts. Needs to keep this professional; this is an investigation, after all. “The explosions that trapped Tommy in the prison for a week is the crime that I’m investigating because that’s what led to Tommy’s death. His murder, if you will.”
Phil’s eyes widen. “What? Tommy was- he was murdered.”
Tubbo’s voice is steady. His eyes are dry. He is keeping it together. “Yes.”
“By who?”
“Dream. It happened yesterday afternoon. Sam said-” Tubbo clears his throat, a heavy pressure in the back of it. “Sam said he beat Tommy. To death. Like, the final, kind of death.”
“Oh,” is all Phil says. “Well, fuck. Alright then.”
The callousness doesn’t sting. Honestly, it’s kind of refreshing. “Yeah. I’m looking for someone to blame. I think I’m angry.”
“You think?” Phil’s voice is dry curiosity. No judgement, no side glances from other people who expect Tubbo to break down sobbing at the slightest reminder of what happened.
“I don’t really know,” Tubbo replies honestly. “I’m kind of focusing all my energy on this investigation right now, but I’ve run into a bit of a dead end if you’re certain it’s not you or Techno.”
“No, it’s not,” Phil confirms. “I can tell you right now that neither of us knew a thing about Tommy, or the prison, or any of it.”
“Right. And the only other person who would know about Techno’s gunpowder is Ranboo, and that…” Tubbo trails off, abruptly shutting off his mind before it spins in impossible directions. Instead, he lays his book out on the workbench, scratching out Suspect Two and Suspect Three. “Dammit. Dead ends again.”
“If Techno was suspect two, who was your first?” Phil asks, standing behind Tubbo and peering over his shoulder. Tubbo sees blond hair in the corner of his vision and takes a moment to stare stubbornly at the ivy on the walls, reminding him of his surroundings.
“Sam. Sam has, he’s got access to the prison, he would know how to cover it up since he was investigating, the only thing missing is the motive. If he wanted Tommy dead, or if he had some kind of deal with Dream, this is such an awful way to go about it, it doesn’t make any sense!” Tubbo’s following breath is halfway between a shaking breath and a hollow laugh. “But honestly, this is only the start! There are so, so many people who could have set up redstone timers and fled to scene, or, or could have- could have worked with someone else, could have planned something like this with Dream from the start, I don’t- Tommy could have been coerced by someone to go into the prison that day, or- or forced, I don’t know, I don’t-”
“Hey. Tubbo,” Phil says sharply, placing a hand on his shoulder. It’s firm, grounding, and Tubbo unclenches his fists, splaying them across the pages of his book as he leans heavily on his palms. “You’re working yourself up, mate. Take a breath.”
“Yeah,” Tubbo grinds out in reluctant agreement. His chest isn’t cooperating, though, his lungs aren’t expanding enough to give him a full breath. They press against his ribs, and he opens his mouth, but his throat feels clogged, stuck with something heavy he can’t put any words to. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
“It’s…” Phil’s words are hesitant. “It’s okay, right, not to be okay. Tommy’s dead, and if you’re feeling-”
“I’m alright, Philza,” Tubbo bites out sharply, eyes flaring wide at the verbal reminder. “Everyone else has been on my case about- about feeling , and if you’re just going to go right along with them, then you can fuck off, alright? I don’t want to hear that, I want answers. I want justice.”
“Mm.” There’s the sound of footsteps briefly retreating, and Phil’s hand leaves his shoulder. Cold air replaces it, despite the interior they stood in. “I see.”
“I just…” Tubbo’s shoulders sag. “I just don’t know where to go from here. It’s all dead ends.”
Phil hums thoughtfully. “Well, you mentioned wanting to talk to more people, right? Get their alibis and shit, and figure out where they were. That’s a step you can take.”
“Yeah, but it’s dark out, Phil. They’re probably all asleep, I don’t want to bother them.”
“You came over here in the middle of the night, what d’you mean?” Phil points out, sounding amused. “Clearly you don’t care about waking people up right now if you were risking waking Techno up, right?” His tone drops, a little less amused and a touch more suspicious. “Or did you really just not care about waking Techno or I up?”
Tubbo turns, raising his shoulders in a slight shrug, a fleeting smile dancing across his lips. “Man. Techno probably would’ve killed me if I had woken him up, huh?”
“Yeah,” Phil states plainly. “Most likely, yes.”
“Huh. Yeah, alright,” Tubbo isn’t really sure how he feels about that information. Like most things recently, he feels pretty much nothing, and he’s not sure whether that’s something to be concerned about or not. His mind switches tracks, or maybe it never left this line, not since he’s had to speak of Tommy’s death to someone else. “Do you want to see Tommy’s memorial? I don’t feel like waking anybody else up tonight, I’ll be honest.”
“Tommy’s memorial?” Phil repeats, tilting his head. His eyes are piercing, an intrigue that stretches beyond what Tubbo can understand. “There’s one already?”
Tubbo laughs slightly. “Oh, yeah, I mean, loads of people have built- they’ve given him statues, and, you know, Ranboo planted flowers outside his house, but, um, I built a memorial myself, earlier. I haven’t shown it to anyone yet, actually.”
He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. Phil is a man of conflicts and contradictions, and Tubbo has memories of his endless laughter and his deadly fury in equal measure. Tubbo still has no idea where he stands with the man, honestly, although he’s pretty sure it isn’t anywhere good.
Surprisingly, his words aren’t wholly dismissed. “Sure. You’ve already woken me up, might as well.” Phil shrugs, and grabs a cloak off a hook on the wall, sweeping the blue and white fabric around his shoulders and obscuring his folded wings.
Briefly, Tubbo is reminded of the kind older man who had helped him rebuild New L’manburg, advised him as he worked over legislation, and ruffled his hair when they completed another project.
“Oh.” Tubbo blinks wide eyes, locking down memories of spruce pathways and floating lanterns. “Yeah, alright, let’s go then.” Whether he’s accompanying him out of boredom, or, if the paranoia festering in his mind is correct, if this is part of one big plan to kill him, Tubbo doesn’t care. He feels less like he might tip off the edge of the universe and disappear forever while someone walks by his side, even if the Phil would just let him fall.
Phil doesn’t pry as they make their way through the nether. Instead, Tubbo finds himself falling into an easy conversation about a honey farm that Phil’s been meaning to redo, but keeps putting it off.
“The fuckers won’t stop stinging, I can’t get close enough to reset the hoppers anymore.”
“Do you think they’re cramped?” Tubbo offered. “If they’re stinging, they probably feel threatened because of having too small an environment.”
“Probably, but I can’t exactly get in there to open up the space without them coming after me either.” Phil throws one hand up in frustration as they exit the nether portal, and Tubbo finds himself laughing quietly as he turns them both to the direction of Snowchester.
“I’m pretty good with bees, I used to have a whole aviary in L’manburg and I never got stung, maybe I could take a look sometime?”
“Maybe. I know you’re good with bees, and you like them too.”
Tubbo nods. “Yep.”
Phil frowns in consideration. “Only thing is, Techno. He’s still not a big fan of you, so I’m not sure he’d be alright with you messing with his bee farm.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to know, does he?” Tubbo replies boldly, bounding up to stand on the tunnel. “I mean, I sneak over to Ranboo’s all the time, just let me know a day when he’s not around and I’ll come over.”
Phil’s face flashes as he climbs to the top of the tunnel. “You what? What d’you mean, you’ve been sneaking over to Ranboo’s? Does he know?”
Tubbo laughs. “Yeah, of course he does, Phil. It’d be one weird sleepover if he didn’t know.”
The older man sighs heavily, raising his eyes to dark skies like he’s praying. “I swear to god, you motherfucker. How long have you two been doing this?”
Tubbo decides he doesn’t really want to answer that question. “So, yeah! Just let me know when Techno’s not around, if you’re that concerned, and I’ll swing by and help you with your bees.”
“I think I’m going to intentionally tell you to come over when he is around, actually.” But there’s a teasing lilt to Phil’s voice as he hops off the tunnel onto the grounds of Snowchester, and Tubbo grins back at him. “Honestly, though, Tubbo, if me and Ranboo know you’re sneaking around, it really won’t be long before he finds out. Techno’s no fool.”
“I know,” Tubbo groans, rolling his eyes. “I don’t really care, honestly, the worst he can do is what, try and kill me?”
“Or actually kill you,” Phil points out.
“Yeah, but Ranboo won’t let that happen,” Tubbo says confidently, ignoring Phil’s scoff of disbelief. “Oh. Before we go to the memorial, let me check on Michael. Mind, uh, staying outside?”
“Who- you know what, yeah, fuck it, alright.” Phil leans against the balcony railing, staring at the sky. Tubbo can distantly hear him yawn as he enters his home, shutting the door behind him.
He hurries over to the bed, where thankfully, Michael is still swaddled in blankets and fast asleep. Tubbo breathes a sigh of relief, a gentle smile on his face as he adjusts the blankets. Some things are still safe and sacred. “Alright, good,” he whispers, and reunites with Phil outside.
“So who’s Michael?” Phil asks.
“Mine and-” Tubbo frowns. Maybe this is too many bombshells for one night. “My kid.”
Phil’s eyes fly wide. “You have a kid?”
“He’s adopted. Right, the memorial is over here.” As their boots crunch in the snow, heading toward the sandy shore, there’s a pang in Tubbo’s chest at the sight of the lit area out on the water, the bench and everything else left entirely untouched from when he left.
He doesn’t know what he expected. For Tommy’s ghost to be sitting there? For someone to have already destroyed something he created? Tubbo looks to Phil, whose previously alarmed face now stares solemnly out at the small island. There’s a trident in his hand, and Tubbo reaches into his inventory to pull out one of his own - though, if one were to look close enough, they’d see the word Manifork carved into the shaft.
Phil does not look, however, only nods to Tubbo and plunges into the frozen ocean, hurtling himself across the bay and onto the island. Tubbo follows him, the trident’s magic protecting him as he surges across the salty sea and pops up onto the manmade shore with only a little water dripping from his fingers.
He glances to Phil, who stands at the back of the bench, eyes swirling with emotions Tubbo doesn’t even want to bother trying to identify. “So, yeah.” His voice hangs weakly in the air as the two of them stare at grave markers and snow-covered jukeboxes. “This is the memorial I built. It’s pretty… it’s pretty snazzy, if I do say so myself.” Humor leaves his mouth all wrong, attempts at jokes disjointed and falling flat. “I think… honestly, I don’t know whether he would have liked this or not. It’s a bit, well, morbid, but that’s kind of the point of a memorial.”
“Tommy’s bench,” Phil says softly, tracing one finger over the words inscribed on the wooden backing. “This is realy nice, Tubbo.”
“Aw, thank you,” Tubbo replies. He steps around the side of the bench and takes a seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at the lantern-lit grave marker. “Only thing missing is, well, the discs.”
“Did Tommy have them on him?” Phil asks, following his lead.
“In his enderchest,” Tubbo confirms, the barest note of sorrow in his voice. “They’ll be there forever, now.”
“Guess so,” Phil murmurs. “I’ve made stuff similar to this, you know, in the past. I’ve buried a lot of people. I know a good memorial when I see one.”
Tubbo’s brows crinkle, feeling the weight behind the man’s words despite not understanding them. “Um, thank you?”
“Yeah, it’s a compliment, mate.” Similarly, Phil’s elbows rest on his knees, but his hands are folded under his chin, and he hasn’t looked away from the wooden cross once. Tubbo wants to look anywhere but.
“I don’t think I’m too great at this whole grief thing, you know,” Tubbo says bluntly, fixing his gaze on the red, white, and purple flowers, all dusted with snow. “I think everyone expects me to be- to be all emotional, to have some kind of breakdown, but I haven’t really felt much of anything in the past day. Ranboo says it’s shock, but- I mean, I’ve been in shock. This isn’t that.”
“Yeah?” Phil hums. “It’s alright, Tubbo. Not everyone grieves the same way. You don’t have to grieve by having a cry if you don’t want to.”
“Feel like it’d be easier to get it all out if I did,” Tubbo says honestly. “I just- I can’t, I don’t know.” He shifts, looking to Phil. “How did you grieve? When Wilbur died.”
For a moment, he gets no response. “We all grieve differently, and you grieve differently over time,” Phil gently dismisses, though Tubbo doesn’t miss the way his shoulders tense at the purposefully ignored question. “What you’ve done is nice. Sometimes something like this can be enough.”
Tubbo frowns. “Well- no, because I’ve still got my investigation. I think the only way I’ll really be able to find- peace? Solace, I guess, in his- in what happened, is if I know who caused the explosion that got Tommy trapped in there in the first place.”
“Justice,” Phil summarizes.
“Yeah, and bring them to justice,” he agrees, running his hand along the arm of the bench. It’s too rough, the brand new wood hasn’t formed grooves where his fingers run like their first bench did. Tubbo pulls his hand back to his lap.
“And what about after?” Phil asks, and something cold sets in Tubbo’s heart.
“After?” he asks weakly. The flowers stop swaying in the gentle breeze.
“What will you do after, when you need to accept the truth, when you move on?” Phil asks. His voice isn’t challenging, isn’t demanding. It’s only curious, like he’s looking for an answer on a survey. “What comes after?”
There is a crushing weight on Tubbo’s chest, choking him from the inside out, threatening to consume him whole. If he allows his mind to waver, the weight becomes grief, becomes despair, becomes sorrow, and Tubbo clamps a hand over his mouth, choking down any audible indication of those words. “I don’t know,” he says with a strained voice, pressing on hand into the arm of the bench so hard it hurts. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”
A hand on his back stops his shaking shoulders, and Phil rubs a gentle circle into his back. “Oh. Mate, it’s alright. Tubbo.”
Tubbo isn’t sure it is. The looming concept of the after is crowding his vision, trying to imagine a future further than a few weeks where Tommy isn’t around every corner, and it’s unimaginable.
“It will be alright,” Phil says firmly, and Tubbo finds himself nodding. “You’re right. You’ll cross that bridge when you get there. It’s alright, mate.”
Tubbo stands abruptly, a cold wind brushing over his neck. “Right. I need to focus on the investigation, anyway. Sun’s close to rising, I reckon.”
“Right,” Phil concedes, standing as well. “Well, when you do find out who did it, and if you need help getting justice, give me a ring.” There’s a grave look on his face, though the coldness isn’t directed at Tubbo, for once. “I think I’d be happy to help.”
“Really?” Tubbo tilts his head. “I mean, I know Tommy cared about you, but I didn’t… I mean, after what happened, he never thought you cared for him at all. I’m surprised Phil.”
Phil’s expression crumples minisculely, and he nods. “I see. That’s… Tubbo, let’s call this my own form of grieving, then.”
“Huh.” Tubbo shrugs. “I mean, alright. I can’t exactly argue with that, since I’m doing much of the same.”
“Yeah.” Phil reaches out, and Tubbo’s eyes go wide as he ruffles Tubbo’s hair. Suddenly, he’s all kinds of self-aware of how tangled his brown hair is, that he hasn’t showered since he started his investigation, but Phil doesn’t seem to care. He ruffles Tubbo’s hair, and pulls his hand back, giving him a kind grin. It feels like the weight of responsibility on his shoulders again, only this time it’s a mantle that Tubbo is more than willing to take up, more than willing to give everything up to uncover the truth. Even if it weighs down twice as heavy. “You’ve got this, Tubbo.”
“Yeah,” Tubbo says determinedly. His mind is spinning, but he locks it down and puts it in control, organizing his thoughts to people, locations, motives. The after looms before him, but he pushes it down, focusing on the new day and the sun peeking over the horizon. He could handle today, if nothing else. “I absolutely do.”