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Tubbo got the message from Ranboo about four minutes before the syndicate arrived. They’d swapped communicators for emergencies only, and he could hardly remember the last time either of them had used it.
The message was brief, to the point. Ranboo’s messages to him always were.
Technoblade is coming to Snowchester. Prepare yourself.
He stared at the tiny device for a moment, confusion mixing with fear and leaving a stale taste in his mouth. The message bounced around in his head. Technoblade is coming.
“Fuck!” he breathed out, scrambling to his feet.
Michael turned to look at him from where he sat, gnawing on the corner of one of his oversized plastic-paged books. His bright eye sparkled with surprise.
“Sorry, Michael,” Tubbo murmured, reaching out and stroking his son’s ear. It was silky to the touch, and the piglin leaned into the contact affectionately. “Don’t tell Ranboo I said fuck in front of you, okay? It’s a bad word.”
Michael just stared at him, unblinking. He and Ranboo weren’t sure if their son could talk yet, but if the first thing he said to them was a curse word, the taller boy might actually take a canon life.
“Great.” Tubbo wrung his hands together nervously. “Just be extra quiet, okay? I’ll be right back, trust me.”
Michael made a snuffling noise, which he took as an ‘okay’.
Tubbo yanked open the spruce trapdoor with a little more force than was necessary and slid down the ladder practically in one movement, feet missing the rungs in his haste. Splinters dig into his palms, but he ignored them.
Technoblade is coming.
He knew what he had to do.
His fingers barely trembled as they ghosted over the set of twisted armor standing next to the door. It glinted a dull, off-purple in the low light, its iridescent shine an otherworldly sort of dangerous. The material was worn and cracked in places, barely perceivable spiderweb fractures that Tubbo could still remember himself making as he struggled against Dream’s chest, fighting and kicking with all of his might in an attempt to throw the taller man off of him.
As he traced the largest of the chips with the pad of his pointer finger, Tubbo gave a shaky exhale. He had driven the pommel of his sword into Dream’s chest with every ounce of strength he had, and the hit had glanced off of this armor with nothing more than a scratch. Dream’s arm had wrapped around his throat, and squeezed, and there was nothing that he could have done to stop it.
Prepare yourself.
There would be time to panic later. Tubbo began the tedious process of lifting the netherite off of its stand, arms sagging a bit under the weight. The nightmare set felt too heavy and too light at the same time, the flex of the material making it seem deceptively weak. It was weighty in his hands, and as he tilted the chest plate back and forth, he caught his own reflection in the shiny surface, staring with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Determined.
It was a little too big on him, which was to be expected. While Dream’s shoulders weren’t all that much broader than his own, the other man was almost comically lanky and tall. The chest plate was a bit roomy on him, and it hung even lower over the front of his leggings than it should have. He had to hike up the pants all the way, and they sat uncomfortably against him as he tried to move, digging into his skin in all the wrong places. The boots were a couple of sizes too big as well, and after a moment’s consideration, Tubbo grabbed some spare paper and stuffed the toes. They made small clicking noises as they dragged against the stone of the floor.
The helmet was really the only part that fit him well, but his shoulders objected as he raised his arms above his head to slide it on, creaking in protest. Tubbo ignored the ache, tucking in the few brown locks that refused to slide neatly under the rim of the helmet.
Dream’s shield lay off to the side, red X slashing through the black background, a painful reminder of the heartbreak of war. Tubbo scooped it up, having to balance it against his hip for a second as he slid his arm through the leather strap on the back. Like everything else, it felt clunky, over the top. He felt like he was suffocating underneath its weight.
Technoblade is coming.
He was going to keep Snowchester safe. He was going to keep his son safe.
Letting out one last trembling breath, Tubbo readjusted the helmet and nodded to himself, pushing open the door to his home and stepping outside, warily eyeing the entrance to the soul speed tunnel. It was darkened, water sloshing unassumingly inside.
If he felt like he could move, he would have been bouncing on the soles of his feet while he waited. Instead, he stood rooted in place in somber silence, watching and worrying.
Technoblade was the first one to emerge from the tunnel, stumbling slightly as he caught himself on a nearby snowbank. The piglin grinned a golden smile as his eyes adjusted to the bright whiteness of Snowchester. Tubbo felt the fear curling in his stomach solidify into a white hot mass.
Niki and Phil followed him almost immediately, neither of them quite as lucky in their landings as Techno. They brushed snow from their clothes as they got to their feet, walking to stand by his side.
Tubbo felt the shift as Technoblade’s eyes locked onto him, red pupils staring at him unblinkingly. It was eerily similar to Michael, but Techno’s state held none of the love that his child’s did.
Ranboo, the last one through the tunnel, caught himself on Technoblade as he rocketed past the dolphin at the end, his hair slightly damp and a wild look in his eyes. “Whoops,” he muttered, backing off immediately. “Sorry.”
It was enough to break their staring contest, if only for a moment, and Tubbo offered the four netherite clad people a half wave. “Welcome to Snowchester!” His voice wavered on the last syllable. “What brings you here?”
Niki and Phil were looking around, their presence a painful intrusion into his bubble. Phil reached out to run his fingers over the worn wood of a fencepost, and Tubbo bit back a small sob.
Don’t touch this place. You don’t get to touch this place.
Ranboo was brushing past him with nothing more than a ghost of fingers across his exposed wrist. Tubbo watched him out of the corner of his eyes. His husband was going to Michael, that much he was sure of. Ranboo was nothing if not protective over the small piglin.
“Just… looking around.”
Technoblade’s voice was a sharp tug back to reality, and Tubbo focused in on it. “That’s nice!”
“So,” the crowned piglin said, tone deceptively casual, “What exactly would you describe this place as, Tubbo?”
Tubbo swallowed. “How do you mean?” He replied, voice painfully chipper.
“Oh, you know…” Technoblade was looking around them, studying and analyzing with watchful eyes. “What would you consider Snowchester? Commune? Town?” There was a deadly pause. “Government?”
“No, no, no,” Tubbo practically tripped over himself to say, shaking his head quickly. “None of that! Peaceful, that’s how I’d describe Snowchester.”
“You see,” Technoblade responded, now moving on to studying the black of his nails, “I don’t exactly think that answers my question, Tubbo. I didn’t ask you to describe Snowchester, I asked you to define Snowchester.”
“I-“ Tubbo faltered, biting his tongue. “We’re not a government,” he whispered. “We don’t even have weapons…” That was a lie. “Apart from the nukes!”
Technoblade’s eyes narrowed. “The what now?”
“Scratch that last one!” Tubbo let out a strangled little laugh, waving an arm as though to dismiss it. The netherite scraped against itself with a harsh noise, nails on a chalkboard, and he winced.
“That’s a fancy outfit you’ve got on there,” Techno commented, nodding to his armor. “I haven’t seen that since, well, L’Manberg!”
Tubbo felt like the air had been punched out of him. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shrugging. A part of him registered Ranboo slinking back to stand on the very edge of the conversation.
“And I haven’t seen that shield since the war,” Niki commented, her accent thick with accusation. “Are you at war, Tubbo?”
“Of course not,” Tubbo replied, still struggling to find his voice. “Snowchester is a peaceful…
commune.”
“A peaceful commune with nukes,” Techno replied, cocking an eyebrow. “Why do you need nukes again, if you’re peaceful?” His voice dripped with distrust.
“A peaceful commune with nukes,” Tubbo agreed, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Techno. He offered the older a shaky smile. “People scare me.” Half truth. Better than a lie.
“Hmm,” Techno replied, crossing his arms. His axe glinted from where it lay, attached to his belt. “I suppose that makes sense, considering your… situation.”
“Sure, yes,” Tubbo agreed breathlessly, heart twisting in his stomach, crumbling under the phantom weight of the netherite. Next to him, Ranboo was frowning, mouth curved in distaste.
“Right. Well, we just wanted to look around then,” Techno replied dismissively, finally looking back at him. “That is, if it’s alright with you?”
“Please,” Tubbo choked out, hating himself, “Be my guest.”
Techno offered him a smile that was all malice.
The longer the “tour” dragged on, the more anxious Tubbo felt. Techno had a habit of straying dangerously close to everything he couldn’t know about, and with every careful redirect, a bit more of Tubbo’s resolve crumbled and flaked off, chipping and fracturing like the spiderwebs across his chest plate. He hated every second of it.
Ranboo was painfully present the entire tour, his teeth worrying at his lower lip and his fingers twitching as though he could reach out and forcefully stop the click of Techno’s boots across stone. He was infinitely holding his breath, stuck in a hopeless cycle of wanting to exhale and being too afraid to. Tubbo was right there with him. His chest was starting to hurt.
With one final glance around, Technoblade finally moved to leave, angling towards the soul sand tunnel. Tubbo skipped ahead, leading him closer with the closest thing he’d felt to hope bubbling inside of him.
“Thank you for visiting,” he tried, though it came out more forceful than intended. “It’s always a delight to get unexpected guests.”
“I’m sure you get a lot of them, in such a peaceful commune,” Techno replied, a harsh smile toying with the corners of his lips.
“You’re some of our first,” Tubbo replied, shrinking slightly into his armor.
“Well then maybe we’ll just have to come back and visit again,” Technoblade offered. “You’ve been such a hospitable host.”
Tubbo pulled his lips back into a grimace of his own. “I do my best.”
One by one they left, filing into the waterlogged tunnel and disappearing in a whirl of particle effects. Ranboo was the last to go, shooting Tubbo his best reassuring smile before ducking his head under the entrance and following the others. The half enderman would sneak back later, to check on him and Michael, but for now, Tubbo understood that he had to leave.
Stumbling back inside in a daze, Tubbo shrugged off the armor with something akin to desperation, casting the warm metal away from himself and kicking it into a heap. He was shaking all over, a mixture of exhaustion and fear.
“Oh my gosh,” he muttered, leaning back against the wall and letting his head hit it with a soft thunk. “Oh my gosh, I just did that.” A small laugh bubbled up out of his throat, incredulous and disbelieving.
He could hear distressed shuffling from upstairs.
Michael.
After taking a quick moment to replace the ladder, (that was what Ranboo had done when he brushed past him, apparently) Tubbo scrambled back up and pushed open the trapdoor. Michael stared back at him from atop his yellow bed, blankets wrapped all around him and tucked over the top of his head in a makeshift hood.
Tubbo smiled a bit, some of the tension leaving his body. “Hey there, buddy,” he said softly, climbing the rest of the way up and shutting the trapdoor softly behind himself. “Did Ranboo tuck you in?”
Michael nodded slowly, still clutching the yellow blanket close around himself. Very slowly, he detangled his hands from the blanket and stretched them out, making little grabby motions in Tubbo’s direction.
“Aww,” Tubbo murmured. “You want to snuggle, buddy?”
Another nod, more emphatic.
“Alright,” he whispered, walking over and slipping into the bed. Michael wormed his way into his lap, making happy little noises and giggling when Tubbo tickled lightly at his sides. “You know, we were both so brave today,” Tubbo whispered to him.
Michael showed no real understanding, still squirming a little as Tubbo’s fingers danced lightly against his ribs.
Tubbo sighed, moving to stroke Michael’s silky ears again, settling in and hoping the toddler would stop squirming. “I know I said Snowchester was a retirement for me, but I’d kill them all in a heartbeat if it meant it would keep you safe,” he murmured.
Michael was humming, a rumbling purr of contentment.
“I’d do a lot of things, if it meant you would be safe,” Tubbo continued, staring across the room and looking at nothing. “I don’t think that really sunk in until today.”
Michael’s humming had trailed off, his breathing slowing slightly as his eye drifted shut.
Tubbo smiled down at him. “Yeah, we both had a long day, huh?” he whispered, stilling his fingers. “Sleep sounds like a pretty good idea. I might-” he yawned, “-take a leaf out of your book on this one.”
When Ranboo came back to Snowchester later that night, that was where he found them, curled up in the yellow double bed, fast asleep. The half enderman couldn’t help but smile, running his fingers through his hair and letting out a small sigh, grabbing a book from the shelf and walking softly over to the spruce rocking chair across the room. He’d be there to talk when Tubbo woke up, but for now, the other boy deserved his rest.