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Tubbo isn’t sure what’s shaking more, the ground or him. Maybe it’s both. The TNT begins to rain down, the flashing column of it like a deadly mirror of the hanging lanterns. In the distance, he can hear the bays and howls of Technoblade’s hunting dogs and the screams as they tear into his citizens.
He stumbles over a body, and when he turns to look down at them he’s staring at the wooden floor of the van and a pair of dusty brown boots. The weight of the shield on his arm is gone. In fact, his whole arm is numb. His chest feels like it’s being squeezed by a giant fist.
He catches his reflection in the window. A stained, wrinkled suit. Heavy, curling ram’s horns. A sardonic smile and shitty facial hair.
Wilbur says something and Tubbo looks back at him. He can’t understand the words, Wilbur’s saying something but the blood outlining his teeth is too much, the sword in his chest that pours blood onto the floor like a spilled potion is too much. Wilbur points a crossbow at Tubbo, right over the crushing pain in his chest. The tip of the rocket digs in. A pair of hooves steadies the body of the crossbow.
“I’ll make it as painless as possible, Tubbo!” Technoblade says, his words seared into Tubbo’s memory like the scars on his skin. The rocket goes off, overloading his senses with pain and color. Everything is screaming, including him.
The scream jolts Ranboo from his sleep and he sits up quickly. Next to him in the dark, he can see Tubbo trembling under the covers. Another nightmare.
“Tubbo,” he warns before touching his husband’s arm. Tubbo’s head still whips around blindly in panic, before he sees Ranboo’s eyes glowing in the darkness.
“Ranboo. . ?” He’s still not sure if he’s really awake, his body feels far too insubstantial. He touches his chest, where his heart hammers. It’s still beating, not clutched in Quackity’s hand.
“Mhm. Right here.” He rests his hand on Tubbo’s back. Tubbo leans into it, moving the covers to get closer to Ranboo. The weight of his hand is solid and warm, but the nightmare was just as tangible. He imagined could taste whiskey in the back of his throat and smell tobacco on his clothes.
“Do you want the mirror?” Ranboo asks, already grabbing the hand mirror they kept at the bedside for this purpose.
Tubbo nods, touching the side of his face nervously. There was stubble there, confirming his fears. He swallows, not looking at the mirror in Ranboo’s hand. Ranboo takes his hand, wrapping it in his own and gently working his clenched fist open. He’ll worry over the deep red marks Tubbo’s nails left in his palms later. The nightmare is more important.
The first time this happened, Ranboo wasn’t there. But now that they share a home together, they’ve settled into a routine. Put out the light, say goodnight, and if Tubbo wakes up screaming, or Ranboo starts to walk, the other will wake up and soothe the memories that haunt them. Fears like theirs are a difficult thing to defeat, they’ve found.
For Tubbo, it’s a blanket, mirror, and Ranboo’s weight at his back. Tucked into Ranboo’s lap with a blanket wrapped around him, he feels safe. Ranboo holds the mirror for him and wipes away the tears with a corner of the blanket. It’s still him, after everything. Obviously. But there’s always the voice in the back of his head asking “what if”. The horns on his head are just beginning to curl and he can see the stubble on his face.
Ranboo taps his shoulder. “Hey. Tubbo. Look at me. You’re nothing like him.”
“L’Manberg blew up because of me. It was fine when he was president.”
“You were running it, weren’t you? Schlatt just did the speeches.”
Tubbo hugs his knees tighter. “I wasn’t a good president, Ranboo. I exiled Tommy.”
Ranboo hums in two tones, trying to find the right words. “. . . You did, but that doesn’t make you a bad person right now. You’ve changed. You’re better.”
Tubbo doesn’t reply. He feels the same as he did back then.
“Hold on, hold on. I have an idea.” Ranboo pulls his memory book from his inventory, flipping through it. He finds a page from a few weeks ago. Lore-wise, it was insignificant, but it meant the world to him. “Tubbo’s different than I thought he was. In L’Manberg, he was always so serious. Now that I’m spending more time with him, he’s more than that. He likes having fun, and he’s easy to talk to. He has plans to build a new home, away from all the bad memories.”
He flips to another page. “Tubbo’s different now that Dream’s in prison. He smiles way more than he used to and he looks more relaxed. I think he’s figured out that we need to choose people, not sides. He made me a flower crown today, after we brought Michael home. He said poppies remind him of me because they’re red and green like my eyes.”
Tubbo looks up at him, gobsmacked. “You wrote that in your memory book?”
Ranboo nods his head. “Well yeah, I wanted to remember it, that was a really fun day.”
Tubbo looks down at their clasped hands. Ranboo’s long, thin fingers are laced between his much smaller fingers. Both have scars and a wedding ring. He smiles and squeezes Ranboo’s hand. “Thank you.”