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The harsh, bitter taste of alcohol clung to the back of Tubbo's throat like pine sap. He trembled, shutting his eyes tightly in a futile attempt to keep the tears from falling as he gagged, his entire body shuddering as his stomachs tried to expel all of the alcohol from his system.
He braced himself around the bucket full of vomit, trembling like a leaf as he tried to fight back sobs. The burning mix of alcohol and stomach acid made him feel even sicker than his body's revolt against him. He clung to the bucket tightly as if fearing it would escape his grasp, not wanting to make more of a mess than he already did when he threw up initially and got it on the floor.
Part of him wanted to give in to his instincts and curl up. He wanted to cry and be wretched and hope for someone to come and find him and care for him. The more logical part of him despised the idea. He was alone in his house, now. Not even Michael was with him. Ranboo had taken him for the day to stay in his house in the Syndicate, since Tubbo had told him he wanted a night to himself. Nobody would be coming to check on him until at least noon the next day.
He forced himself to his feet, trying to shake off the dizziness as he struggled off of the floor, leaving the bucket behind to pick up later. The world tilted and spun beneath him like he was trash adrift at sea. He staggered to a wall, trying to hold himself up as his legs struggled to support him. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool wood. He felt like he was burning up and freezing all at once.
Once it no longer felt quite so much like the earth below his feet was going to escape, Tubbo slowly made his way to the bathroom. He inched along the wall, trying his best not to fall and make even more of an ass of himself. It wouldn’t do to fall and break something. He already had a feeling Ranboo would be incredibly disappointed in him if he found out what Tubbo had been up to while he was gone.
The bathroom wasn't too far, but it felt like an eternity passed before he was able to grip the sink to support himself. The lights seemed too bright, and his head was starting to ache. He had drunk too much; that much was obvious. His pathetic little body was rebelling. He turned on the sink and drank water from his cupped hands, desperately trying to chase the disgusting taste and feeling from his mouth. His tongue felt almost swollen, and he drank so much it settled as a cool weight inside of him.
He turned the sink off and looked up, catching sight of the figure in the mirror.
The person in front of him looked like the same man that had stalked Tubbo's nightmares for months. The exhausted but harsh expression. The matted brown hair. The curling black horns. Everything down to the stink in the air that was unmistakably the scent of alcohol on a man's breath brought Tubbo back in time.
He didn't realize what he was seeing until he had already put his fist through the mirror, shattering the glass and cutting his hand up horribly. He was now shaking from more than just the alcohol. The alcohol dulled his fear response, but he was still quick to realize that he had fucked up.
Panic began to set in, but it was almost distant. It felt less like a wolf's fangs at his throat and more like the far away rumble of thunder. He stumbled back, clutching his injured hand to his chest. The shirt he was wearing, which he had stolen from Ranboo, was soaked through with blood almost instantly as it gushed readily from the wounds.
Tubbo saw his reflection in thousands of shards of glass.
Each and every one of them bore resemblance to the dictator who had reigned before him.
Even in his half-drunken state, Tubbo was no idiot. He had been a soldier since he was barely sixteen, and he knew when an injury was severe enough to need immediate treatment. He tried to hold the wound with his other hand, but he had unfortunately injured his good hand. His bad hand barely functioned, and he only had two full fingers and a thumb that hurt to move. It was useless when it came to stemming the tide of blood, and all he succeeded in doing was getting his other hand sticky with it.
He recognized that he was in very real danger of losing function in his other hand, all due to his stupidity. He felt hot tears begin to stream down his face quicker as bile filled his throat. The blood came hot and fast, ruining the entire front of the shirt and dripping onto the floor. He needed help.
Outside was freezing cold, and he hadn't stopped to grab anything proper to wear before he stumbled out into the snow. The shirt he was wearing went down to his ankles, so he was only wearing boxers beneath it. He hadn't even thought to grab his shoes in his mindless panic. Blood scattered across the snow like handfuls of spilled rubies. It was almost beautiful, in a way.
He stumbled to the nearest house that looked inhabited and banged on the door with his uninjured hand. He unintentionally smeared the dark wood with blood, but in the moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His breathing was picking up, and he felt like he was near hysterics.
The door opened to reveal Foolish, who had taken on a smaller form in order to fit inside of his cozy house. He had a bright smile, but his expression quickly changed to one of shock and horror as he took in the sight of the sobbing and bloody man in front of him. Tubbo was sure he looked crazed, covered in as much blood as he was.
Foolish began to speak as he ushered Tubbo inside, asking him things that Tubbo couldn't even begin to process and understand as he began to call out to someone.
Confusingly, there were two other people in Foolish's house. One of them was a man that Tubbo had never seen before, with glasses and what looked like slime dripping from his fingers. The other was Quackity, who was looking at Tubbo with shock.
Tubbo couldn't find his words as Foolish sat him down on a couch and pulled his hand away from his chest. Blood dripped steadily down onto the floor, and Tubbo watched with a sense of muted fascination. Those stains would likely never come out. Even his blood ruined everything it touched.
"-you drunk?" Tubbo finally registered the question from Quackity, who was looking at him with disgust. Tubbo shrugged, suddenly feeling the pain in his hand grow much more intense. He tried to jerk it away, but found himself being restrained by both Quackity and the unfamiliar man. Foolish had started to stitch the various deep lacerations on his hand shut, and the pain was almost unbearable.
Panic coursed through him at the feeling of being trapped, and he began to sob as he realized that he couldn't escape. A million thoughts coursed through his head as he tried desperately to move. It felt like he couldn't breathe. He needed to escape, but he couldn’t.
He wasn't sure how long it took before his hand was being wrapped in bandages. He had a potion shoved into his face and he drank the cloyingly sweet liquid, gagging even as the pulsing in his head went down and the pain in his hand began to dull. He was released, and he just slumped down onto the couch, unable to fight back any longer.
"What the fuck happened to you, Tubbo?" Quackity demanded, and oh, he sounded angry. Tubbo brought his bandaged hand to his chest and tried to signal that talking was too hard right now, but Quackity seemed to either not understand or not care.
"Foolish, Charlie," Quackity snapped, looking at the two other men. "Give us a minute to talk in private." 'Charlie' bounded out of the room happily, seemingly completely unable to comprehend the severity of the situation. Foolish gave Tubbo a concerned look before following after him, and then Tubbo and Quackity were alone.
"What the hell happened to you, Tubbo?" Quackity demanded, reaching out and seizing his wrist of his bandaged hand and dragging it in front of his face as if to show him. "What did you fucking do?" Tubbo felt like he was going to throw up again as he forced himself to speak.
"Punched the mirror," he said, weakly tugging his wrist in an attempt to escape Quackity's grasp. His touch made Tubbo's skin crawl. He hated being touched by anyone other than a very select few, and even then only with permission in certain situations. Quackity was definitely not one of those people, he had not received permission and this was not a situation where he was comfortable.
He wanted to curl up in a ball. He wanted to cry and call out for Ranboo akin to how a scared child calls for their mother. Quackity's grip only tightened.
"And why," Quackity said, voice going dangerously low, "Would you think that was a good idea?" Tubbo felt his thoughts stutter to a halt as the urge to vomit came back full force. He wanted to leave.
"Thought..." Tubbo said, pausing to swallow the sickness that struggled to escape his throat. "I thought I saw Schlatt," he whispered, shuddering as Quackity's grip tightened even more. He was definitely going to bruise there, with how delicate his skin was.
"You what?" Quackity said, but Tubbo couldn't force any more words out. He began to sob more as he tried to yank his arm out of Quackity's grip once again, this time hurting more in the process. He had already been having a dreadful day. He had hoped that the alcohol would have dulled the sense of dread and drowned out the memories that dragged Tubbo's brain back to the past, but all it seemed to do was make things worse.
After a moment, Quackity released his wrist and Tubbo brought it back to his chest. Tubbo began to rock slightly in an attempt to soothe himself. He normally was much too self-conscious to stim around anyone other than Tommy and Ranboo, but at the moment he was too upset to really help himself.
Quackity looked down at him with a mix of disgust and pity.
"This isn't a situation I ever wanted to be in again, Tubbo," Quackity said. Time had passed, though Tubbo was unsure of how much. It could have been seconds or hours. It was long enough at least for the panic to drain out of him, though he continued to rock in order to calm down. He just felt exhausted now.
"I look like him," Tubbo rasped out, and Quackity snorted.
"Barely. Just because you're the same species doesn't mean shit, Tubbo."
"Not just that," Tubbo said, looking down at his legs. "It's my eyes. And the way I carry myself. And the way I think. It's like I'm becoming him, Quackity, and I don't know how to stop it."
If anyone in the world could understand Tubbo's complicated feelings about Schlatt, it would be Quackity. Both of them had been incredibly close to Schlatt in the beginning, and both of them took the brunt of Schlatt's rage. Quackity knew better than anyone how Schlatt's influence was like a poison. It spread like a disease. Tubbo saw it in himself, and he saw it in Quackity.
"I know you see it," Tubbo whispered, before falling silent once more. Quackity let out a deep sigh and sat down on the couch beside him.
"Tubbo, you're a good kid," Quackity said. "You and me both were fucked up by that guy. We just have to work on being better. Look at yourself, man. You're nothing like him."
Tubbo didn't see what Quackity meant. Sitting miserable and half-drunk and having to be talked down out of a panic attack by Quackity sounded exactly like something Schlatt would go through. Quackity seemed to realize where Tubbo's train of thoughts were going, because he shook his head.
"You've never been cruel. You have a family, and you treat them well. You're nothing like him. Trust me, Tubbo. I knew Schlatt better than anyone. He never gave a shit about being good or bad."
Tubbo sniffled and nodded. He supposed Quackity was right. He just felt tired now, though. He wanted to go home and sleep forever, but he was covered in blood and he knew he had a mess to clean up.
He flinched and froze when the door to the house slammed open. The initial panic he had felt melted away almost immediately when he saw that it was just Ranboo, who looked out of his mind with worry. He reached out to him weakly with his uninjured hand, and Ranboo was in front of him almost immediately.
Tubbo was finally able to relax, zoning out as Ranboo checked him over,feeling secure in the knowledge that he was going to be okay now. Quackity and Ranboo talked for a few moments. Tubbo didn’t pay any mind to what they were saying, instead focussing only on Ranboo’s gently touches and the comforting hum of his voice.
After whatever conversation Ranboo and Quackity had was over, Ranboo gently lifted Tubbo off of the couch, cradling him in a way that made him feel safe and secure. He allowed himself to go limp, letting his thoughts slip away from him. He made brief eye contact with Quackity, who gave him a tight-lipped smile. Tubbo hadn’t seen Quackity smile in a long time.
He made a mental note to go and visit him tomorrow. They had a lot to catch up on.
That was his last coherent thought of the night.