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Eyes on him. Eyes everywhere.
It’s okay. Just stick to the script. You know this. You’re fine.
“I’d like to thank everyone for coming to this wonderful event.”
Schlatt’s laughing. Why is he laughing? Oh god, that’s not a happy laugh, bloody hell what’s wrong?
“You got anything else in the speech?”
Fuck. He knows. Oh Jesus Christ he knows oh god what do I do?
Stick to the script. Say the line. Say the line and run, fucking run.
“Let the festival begin-”
Wait, why is Schlatt holding concrete? And Quackity too?
He takes a step, someone places a block, and Tubbo trips. Yellow dust is on his shoes. He looks up. Cobblestone.
Oh god.
Oh god he’s trapped.
He can’t move, he can’t get out, SOMEONE GET ME OUT PLEASE HELP-
“I know what you’ve been up to.”
Tubbo stammers weak excuses, heart hammering.
Schlatt laughs again. It’s cruel.
“CONSPIRING.”
Icy panic washes down his spine and lead fills his stomach. Tubbo thinks he might vomit.
“Tubbo, I don’t know if you know this, but treason isn’t exactly a respectable thing around here.”
He pushes on the concrete surrounding him. His knuckles scrape raw as he shoves, but nothing moves. He’s stuck. There’s no way out of this. Oh god, there’s no way out, there’s nothing he can do, he’s stuck, he’s trapped, he’s-
“D’you know what happens to, uh, to traitors, Tubbo?”
He’s going to die.
“Hey Technoblade, you wanna come up here for a second?”
“Uh- what do you want outta me, Mr President?”
“Techno, I need you to take him out.”
Tubbo can’t breathe. He’s going to die. He’s about to die and there’s nothing he can do. Technoblade lifts a crossbow and Tubbo stares death in the face. His death. A thing dark and dreaded and deeply personal, made public for his entire country to see. He looks at Technoblade, who he thought was his friend. Who thought he could trust.
Who is about to kill him.
“I’m sorry.”
A single deft motion of a cloven-hoofed hand, and the world slows. Tubbo sees red, white, blue, almost beautiful in their twisted sparks of color. Like tiny jewels glittering around him in the silence.
The silence doesn’t last.
With a hot crack, Tubbo’s body is wracked with blinding pain. He screams. It burns, oh god it burns, make it stop, it’s burning off my skin, it burns, it’s tearing me apart, please god make it stop make it stop-
It stops.
His vision goes white.
Then terrifyingly black.
-----
Ranboo quietly shut the door to Michael’s room after tucking him in. He stretched and muffled a yawn with his hand, glancing at the clock. Damn, it was later than he thought. Ranboo figured he’d go find Tubbo and let him know he was going to bed, and turned down the hall.
He made to check the living room first, where Tubbo usually ended up in the evenings, but Tubbo wasn’t there. Huh. He checked the kitchen. Still no Tubbo. He wasn’t in the bathroom, or the bedroom, or upstairs either. Weird.
Eventually, he found Tubbo sitting quietly in a chair on the back porch. The weather that day had been unusually nice for Snowchester, and some of the warmth still lingered. Tubbo was sitting with his feet up on the chair and his knees curled into his chest. He held a mug close to his body with both hands, savoring the heat of the drink.
The back door shut a little louder than intended, and Tubbo looked up as Ranboo stepped out onto the porch.
“Hi Ranny, ’s up?” Tubbo asked, his voice sounding tired. He certainly looked tired.
“Nothing,” Ranboo replied, “I just finished tucking Michael in and was gonna ask if you were thinking about going to bed soon too.”
“'M not very tired... hey, ‘s really nice out tonight, I wanna lookit stars with you, cutie,” Tubbo said, his words running together a bit. Ranboo gave him an odd look.
“Well, it probably can’t help that you’re drinking coffee at 11 at night, but then again it’s not like I haven’t done the exact same thing,” Ranboo poked lightly. “Can I have a sip?”
“Mm-mm, ‘s mine,” Tubbo declined with a pout. Something was definitely off.
“Tubbo, are you okay? You seem kinda off tonight, man,” Ranboo said, concerned.
“‘M fine, big man, ‘s nothin’,” Tubbo mumbled, and something clicked with Ranboo.
“Tubbo, give me the coffee.”
“Nooo... Why d’you want it so bad anyways, Mr You-Shouldn’t-Have-Coffee-This-Late?”
“Don’t make me use the puppy dog eyes,” Ranboo prodded, only half serious.
Tubbo looked away with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Fine…” He mumbled, and handed it over reluctantly. Ranboo took a sip. Yeah, that did not taste right. The coffee was cold but somehow still burned on the way down.
“Tubbo,” Ranboo said, fully serious now. Tubbo didn’t reply. “Tubbo, you’re drunk.”
“I know,” Tubbo muttered, still not looking at Ranboo. Ranboo set down the mug next to the chair and gently placed his hand on Tubbo’s cheek, turning his face to look at him.
“Tubs, why are you drinking? What’s going on?” Ranboo’s voice was full of concern. His husband was hurting, and he didn't know why, but he wanted so badly to fix it all and make his Tubbo feel okay again.
“I jus’ wanna forget.” Ranboo’s heart twisted painfully.
“Bee, did you have another flashback?” Tubbo pursed his lips and tried to force back the tears quickly welling in his eyes. He hesitated, and nodded slowly.
Ranboo hated that he knew what to do. He hated that he wasn’t panicking, wasn't scrambling for the right thing to say. He hated that he had done this before. Without needing to say a word, Ranboo reached over and pulled Tubbo into his arms, and Tubbo curled into him like a child after a nightmare. Which, scarily, he was. They were seventeen. Tubbo was a kid. Living a horrible, horrible dream.
Ranboo looked down at Tubbo, curled into a ball on his lap, and felt his heart break at the sight. He looked so small.
“It’s okay,” Ranboo said softly, running a hand up and down Tubbo’s arm comfortingly. “You’re safe, honeybee, I promise. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“It hurts so bad, I can still feel everything, I jus' wanna forget, Ranboo, why can’t I forget?” Tubbo whispered, his voice cracking.
Ranboo pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tubbo’s head. “It’s okay. It- it hurts real bad, I know, I’m so sorry, Tubbo.”
Tubbo cried. He cried, and cried, and cried, until he couldn’t cry any more. It hurt Ranboo to see, knowing just how much his husband had gone through. He had fought a war, worked as a spy, and after being found out, was publicly executed, fought another war, was forced into a presidency he never asked for, and was killed again just minutes after watching his country, his home, blown to fucking Hades. At seventeen years old.
No wonder he was fucked up.
Tubbo’s sobs slowly subsided into hiccups and shaky breaths after a while, and Ranboo reached up to card his fingers through Tubbo’s hair. He gently scratched around the bases of Tubbo's horns and felt him let out a soft breath. Tubbo leaned further into Ranboo and pressed his face into his chest.
“I dunno what to do, Ran,” he mumbled. “Nothin' works. I can’t forget.”
“I know,” Ranboo whispered. “Please, please come to me next time, Bee, I wanna help.”
“Didn’t wanna bother you.”
“You could never bother me, Tubbo. I promise.”
“Okay.” Tubbo still sounded a little unsure. Mostly, though, he just sounded exhausted.
“No more drinking, though, okay? Please? You really scared me with that.”
“M'kay. Didn’t really work anyways, jus' made me dizzy,” Tubbo mumbled. Ranboo held him a little tighter and craned his neck around to look him in the face.
“You want some help getting to bed?” Ranboo asked gently. Tubbo scrubbed at his cheeks, trying to wipe away some of the tears before they dried, and nodded.
Ranboo, taking extra care not to jostle him too much, lifted Tubbo into his arms and stood up, carrying him back into the house and down the hall to their bedroom.
As he carefully laid Tubbo in bed, Ranboo slipped a glance at the window. Tubbo was right, the stars were beautiful out here in Snowchester. Maybe sometime... He shook his head. They could worry about that later. Ranboo walked around the bed to the other side and slid under the covers alongside his husband, pulling the duvet up over them both. Tubbo was still curled into a ball as Ranboo slid his arms around his waist. Tubbo silently found one of Ranboo’s hands and gripped it like a lifeline, leaning backwards to press his back against Ranboo’s warm chest, to feel something wrapped safe around him, securing him in the here and now.
Ranboo reached over to shut off the light and slumped back down beside Tubbo. The two laid wrapped around each other tightly, Tubbo curled in on himself and Ranboo curled around him, with Tubbo clinging to the arms wrapped around his waist. Their scars were deep, and their memories deeper, rooted in hurt and tragedy and loss, but for now, safe with each other, they figured they could make it one more night.