Work Text:
Tubbo Underscore has been pondering many questions lately. The one that plagues his mind the most is when all your siblings die, does that make you an only child?
Wilbur Soot was loud and bold around people he was comfortable with, and liked to set things on fire for the fun of it, and he had bruises on his fingertips that eventually turned into calluses from playing soft, self-made songs on his battered guitar. He enjoyed nature and the smell of petrichor in the air before and after it rained, and his favourite colour was yellow because of a fluffy jumper that he'd found for cheap at a clothes sale in the nearest village. He kept journals and wrote old fashioned letters to people he loved. When he was concentrating he'd stick his tongue out and hum in the most annoying manner, and he'd often be found in the kitchen cheekily eating raspberry jam out the jar with a kitchen knife.
Tommyinnit was loud and bold around everyone, and he never sat still and was always on the go, bouncing and running and pacing and spinning until he'd pass out from exhaustion or low blood pressure. He shouted curse words with the great delight of a child who'd just learned them for the first time, and for all his talk he couldn't flirt with girls for the life of him, a secret he'd made Tubbo swear to take to his grave. He was witty and quick and sharp of tongue and he always had a comeback, using words as a weapon. He liked to weave flower chains and sleep in patches of sunlight like a cat and sing softly to himself when he thought no one could hear, and he liked when people played with his hair, practically melting whenever someone's fingers traced his scalp until he drifted off.
Tubbo Underscore was the middle child, younger to Wilbur and older to Tommy. He was good with animals and got attached to them too easily, and he was even worse with romance than Tommy was, maybe due to never having as much of an interest in girls as his brothers. He was good at swimming and spent a lot of time at the lake where he and his family lived, testing how long he could hold his breath, and he let his hair grow long so it could be fluffy, and he'd often get Wilbur to read to him so he could sleep easier at night. He could memorize songs after hearing them once. He liked chess and space and bees and science and spent hours researching topics of increasing vagueness, rambling about them to anyone who would listen.
Tubbo Underscore doesn't know if both his brothers being dead makes him an only child. Does it work like that? Is he still a brother, or is he lying to himself? Can he still say he has family left? Maybe he should ask someone. He isn't sure who would know.
Ranboo visits one day; he's here all the time, practically lives in Snowchester, so it's no surprise to Tubbo. "Hey, Ranboo," he says to his partner on this day, because he can't keep the thought alone in his head anymore. "What does it mean for me now that all my brothers are dead?"
Ranboo's breath hitches, and Tubbo realizes he's worded this wrong. "Like, you know," he starts, trying to find a way to make this make sense anywhere other than his stupid brain. "Now that they're gone, am I still a brother? A middle child? Like, when referring to myself, do I say, "oh, I am the worst brother in all the universes," or do I say "I was the worst brother in all the universes?" What am I now without anyone left? No one ever tells you this shit. It doesn't make any fucking sense."
Ranboo hand brushes his shoulder, the touch grounding him. Tubbo won't admit that it feels nice. "I can't answer that question," admits the Enderman hybrid, soft so as not to startle him. "But I can tell you that you are not, and never were, a bad brother. Never. Because you're a good person and you've always done your best."
Tubbo knows he's talking shit because he's just lost his best friend and little brother and Ranboo feels bad for not knowing how to help. So he plays it up for the taller boy to keep him from guilt, smiling up at him too enthusiastically. "Thanks, Boo," he whispers, and leans against the boy for support as a gust of cold wind nearly knocks him off his feet. "That helps."
It doesn't help and he's sure they both know it. But Ranboo lets him pretend.