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He wanted the world in the palm of his hand.
No longer would he be crushed by those who stood taller. No longer would he be the one to live in fear. No longer would his body be used to collect scars.
Scars, his constant reminders that were burned far past flesh.
Tommy had called them “tokens” once upon a time. He’d said it offhandedly sometime after Tubbo’s very public execution.
This, of course, was before his banishment to exile and unplanned stay in a jail cell with one of his worst nightmares. Needless to say, Tommy no longer thought of scars as tokens. Not his own, nor Tubbo’s.
Either way, before everything became so complicated, he’d told Tubbo that they were where he’d been and where he’d never be again.
The two boys weren’t doing anything that would prompt the speech.
They’d both been sitting in steady silence, Wilbur and Techno having made their way out promising a new plan to destroy L’Manberg. They both sat on Tubbo’s bed staring at the walls or ceiling when Tommy had said his piece into open air. Tubbo made no effort to reply. Instead, placing a hand on the banaged side of his face and willing a weak smile.
At the time Tubbo reasoned that he’d meant dying at the hands of “The Blade”, something they’d both done that day.
Now he realizes it was much more than that.
It was that he’d never be as weak again. He’d been the one to take charge of L’Manberg, the one to lead the butcher army, the one to create a new nation and make sure of its protection this time.
He ran his fingertips over the cool metal, some frost beginning to form on the sides. To spite the large warehouse housing such precious equipment he hadn’t thought to install many heaters within.
He’d put his people first, making sure that their houses had the ability to brace the constant Winter that roared on.
His steps were leisurely, each one set down heavy and having him slowly place his entire body weight on it. He was in no rush to do much of anything with the cargo. He just wanted the knowledge, he wanted confirmation that his people would be safe.
He paused in his steps, it was no longer just his people he’d be keeping safe, but his family. A not-so-much-husband husband and adopted son.
They made him happy, gave him a new mismatched family after he watched the old one crumble.
Nothing ever went as planned, thinking he’d prepared for the worst was always a false sense of security. He’d watched them all become consumed by something, sometimes dragging themselves out of the mud, other times accepting it as if it was just part of them.
Not him, though, he’d been so busy jumping from one situation to another for so long he’d never had a chance to be bogged down by a flurry of emotions.
He even found himself relaxed occasionally. He and Ranboo sometimes made a day of picking new flowers or collecting raw materials only to come home to the overjoyed squeaks of Micheal. It was peaceful, somewhat normal, just what he needed.
They stuck together. The family portrait that hung in Micheal’s room only sometimes reminding him of the old, worn-out picture of the old L’Manberg residents. He thought about where that picture had gone, when it had been lost. Which war it had been destroyed in.
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He finally made his way down to the other end of the building, standing stiff for a moment before spinning to face his weapons once more. A grin was quick to plaster itself on his face.
They were glorious, top of the line, and of his own design. Thankfully, no one else with an had been able to figure it out yet. Truly a wonder and blessing, if you’d been around long enough chances are you had an axe to grind. The explosions just one of these could make was devastating. Things like this had to be kept secret, had to be guarded close to the chest.
He’d seen ground zero, been right there after the blast, hazmat suit in hand. A crater isn’t something you’d normally be proud of, but there he was.
He’d never been seen as the strong type in any way back when he was still safely within the walls of the first L’Manberg. He was the pushover, the sidekick meant to be dragged along.
Now, though, now he had cards to play.
Not just cards, the deck was stacked in his favor. What good were the use of Gods if he could wipe their land off the map before they even had a chance to touch it?
At the persuasion of one Mr. Jack Manifold and the push of a few buttons everything that everyone ever loved could be gone.
Of course, Tubbo never thought of it that way, he was fair, unlike others had been to him in times of war.