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The pain didn't appear until he was alone. Until Tubbo’s two best friends had been exiled from the very country they founded. Sure, he had everyone in the cabinet to keep him company, but L’manburg wasn’t the same without the disgraced revolutionary and his right-hand-man.
On the evening Wilbur's wails echoed from over the hills, crying out “L’manburg, my unfinished symphony. My great unfinished symphony,” was when Tubbo first felt the sharp knobs growing from his skull. At first he panicked, confused by the strange and painful sensation. Nearly blinded by the agony, he rushed out of his sleeping quarters, stumbling clumsily against the wall as he did so. Schlatt’s cruel laughter carried down the halls, coming from outside the front door. Clearly it was in response to an entirely different conversation, a universe away from where Tubbo stood. And yet, his cackles felt mocking. Taunting the brown-haired boy as he marched down the hall through the excruciating pain screaming from his skull. Somehow, he managed to find the doorknob, and twisted it open to let the cool night air seep in. On the front porch, he found Schlatt and Quackity, standing close together. A crude smile quickly slipped from Schlatt’s face as he took in the sight of the boy before him. Quackity turned to face him too. Though as Quackity’s grin grew clouded by sudden concern, Schlatt’s expression remained measured, stoically acknowledging Tubbo’s presence.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Quackity asked incredulously.
“It hurts,” Tubbo managed to get out. “What’s happening to me?”
Standing in the center of the country he had been a part of since the beginning, Tubbo had never felt so far from home. Yet a small part of him knew that the best hands he could be in at this moment were those of the ram-hybrid and the winged man. In his bewilderment, however, it would be a while before he recognized that with his conscious mind.
“Where does it hurt?” Schlatt spoke now, as he put out the cigarette that had sat unused in his hand since the moment the front door had been flung open.
Tubbo had half-expected the new president to kneel down so he could be closer to eye-level with Tubbo. It was a small gesture Wilbur had wordlessly done countless times. On nights when they had been at war, when Tubbo had still been so young. When he had awoken from nightmares of smiling masks and burning homes. Those nights, Wilbur had knelt before him and gently asked questions and provided soothing words to calm the boy. Wilbur always knew what to say, always knew the right questions to ask.
But Wilbur wasn’t here right now. A new president, with eyes the same dark brown and without any of the warmth his predecessor’s had had, stood above him instead. His broad shoulders and ram horns framed him as the devil, and his cruel demeanor only confirmed it.
Subtle recognition lit up behind Schlatt’s eyes, and he reached out to roughly grab Tubbo’s head. The boy shrieked at the sudden discomfort, but Schlatt steadily looked through his thick brown hair in examination to confirm his suspicions. As soon as he let go, Tubbo’s own hands jumped to his scalp to massage away the pain from the sudden touch.
When he looked up again, he found Schlatt’s brown eyes ready to meet his own. Now, the ram-hybrid’s scowl had been replaced with an all-too-cheery grin.
“Am- am I dying?” Tubbo’s voice came out small, weaker than he had ever heard himself.
Schlatt clapped him on the shoulder. “Nope! Great news actually, kid. You’re a hybrid.”
“What do you mean? Like- like Big Q?”
Upon hearing his name, Quackity looked up from where he had been fidgeting with his hands. “Well, not really. Right? I mean, you don’t have wings or anything.”
“Exactly,” Schlatt chimed in. “He has horns, not wings. Which means,” He wrapped his arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, nearly pulling him into a headlock, “He’s gonna be like me.”
“What?” Tubbo exclaimed, stumbling backwards.
“Hey, you’re one of us now,” Quackity responded, regaining his usual “life of the party” demeanor. He pulled Tubbo into a brief hug, but the boy quickly pushed him away.
“No, I can’t be one of you! No, no, no. I’m not a hybrid. I’m not Schlatt. I’m just… me.”
“Well those horns growing out of your head say otherwise, kid.”
Tubbo put his head in his hands as another flash of pain wracked his skull. Through his teary vision, he caught Quackity leaning in close to Schlatt and whispering something in his ear. The president raised his hands defensively, “Fine!” He said. “Tubbo,” He turned back to where the boy stood, a scowl once more woven into his expression. “I’ve got some pain relievers in my bathroom cabinet. Take some of that and go back to sleep.”
Nodding, Tubbo found himself eagerly going back inside, grateful for some direction giving him an excuse to leave. He wandered through the halls and made his way to Schlatt’s en suite. As he passed Schlatt’s belongings, he vaguely noted the surprising amount of empty bottles that littered the President’s room. But his head was throbbing too much for him to worry about that now.
In the medicine cabinet, Tubbo had to dig through a few more pill bottles than he would’ve liked before coming across some medicine to relieve his headache. He unscrewed the cap, dry swallowed a dose, and promptly returned to his own quarters and went to bed.
A few days later, Tubbo finally met up with his friends in Pogtopia. By now, his migraine had resolved to a dull throbbing that he could at least tolerate. He just prayed that his two closest friends would not notice the two horns poking out of his head. Before leaving to meet with them, Tubbo had spent a good thirty minutes ruffling up his dark hair to make sure it covered up any traces of his newfound hybrid traits.
Tubbo arrived at a hillside in the middle of the woods. Tommy had left the entrance uncovered, allowing Tubbo to step inside and meet them at the bottom of the spiral staircase.
“Tubzo!” Tommy exclaimed, seeing his friend appear in the ravine. He ran up to the smaller boy and threw his arms around him in a tight embrace. Tubbo had never been good at physical contact, but hugged the taller back nonetheless.
“Tommy!” He replied. “I’ve missed you, big man. How’ve you been?”
“Things are actually pretty shit right now.” The blonde attempted a smile to lighten the mood, but it was clear to both that what he said was an understatement, if anything.
“Hello?” Wilbur popped up around one corner of the ravine, and strolled over to meet the two boys. “Oh! Tubbo! It’s, it’s good to see you.” His thin smile did not reach his eyes. For a moment, he stood awkwardly. During the revolution, he hadn’t been much for closeness, but this seemed different. Like he wasn’t comfortable. Like he didn’t feel the same about Tubbo as he had just a few weeks ago. A second too late, he stepped in and gave Tubbo a quick hug, clearly wanting to break the tension.
Quickly regaining his confidence, Wilbur said, “Welcome to Pogtopia. Our new country.” Tubbo smiled at the name. It was fitting, it matched them. But at the same time, Wilbur didn’t utter the name of this nation with even a fraction of the same fervor he had introduced L’manburg with.
In his peripheral vision, Tubbo caught the ex-president’s hands beginning to shake. They quickly jumped to fidgeting with the buttons of his trenchcoat. “I would love to stay and chat, I really would. But I have a lot of work to do. So I’ll let you two catch up. Nice seeing you Tubbo.”
This was his first time away from Schlatt in a week, and Tubbo was surprised to see just how much his friends had changed in that short period of time. Neither of them were wearing their revolutionary uniforms that Tubbo had last seen them both in. Tommy now was back in his red and white baseball tee paired with blue jeans. The only entirely new detail was the green bandana he now sported around his neck. “Reminded me of you,” Tommy had responded when Tubbo asked. A glimpse of vulnerability upon seeing his best friend for the first time after the fiasco of the election.
Wilbur, too, looked different. He wore a long, brown trenchcoat adorned with a black cape around the shoulders. And his once clean, presidential hands now sported fingerless gloves. Exposed fingertips blackened with coal from mining away a new country for himself. Something else was different about Wilbur, too, Tubbo noticed. Though no matter how much he examined his friend’s new wardrobe, he couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. And as suddenly as he had appeared, Wilbur turned another rocky corner and vanished into the depths of the ravine.
“Is he alright?” Tubbo asked, as Tommy led him to the other end of the small country.
“He’s fine. Or, he will be fine. I mean, he did just die a few days ago.”
Right! How could he forget! Immediately, Tubbo’s mind flashed back to the day of the election. Of his friends fleeing with arrows flying after them. And despite the invisibility potions they had taken, Punz had landed a fatal hit on Wilbur. Immediately after, Schlatt had filled his schedule with new, right-hand-man duties. Tubbo didn’t have time to mourn Wilbur. He would be back, anyway. In fact, Tubbo had died himself, once before. They all had, in the final control room. So yeah, it sucked, but Tommy was right. Wilbur would be fine. He had to be.
“And what have you been up to? President duties? Helping Schlatt and shit,” His voice lowered at the last part, already regretting what he said as the words left his mouth.
“Hey!” Tubbo cut in, “I am not helping Schlatt. At all. There’s just nothing I can do. At least as his ‘right-hand-man’ I’m safe. But no matter what,” He brushed the fringe out of his face to look Tommy in the eyes, “I’m always on your side.”
“I know that, big man! It’s just, you’ve been working at his side all week. And things with Wilbur haven’t been exactly easy.”
“I’m just trying to earn his trust.”
This made Tommy perk up. “Earn his trust?”
“Yep! Cause if he trusts me, then, y’know. Maybe I can be a spy or something. I can help you guys. But I need to get on Schlatt’s good side first.”
“‘Tubbo the spy.’ It does have a nice ring to it, I think.”
“A spy, you say?” Wilbur was leaning against the cobblestone wall of the corner the boys were sitting in.
“Yeah, I’d be able to help you guys more that way, right?”
“Tubbo! You can do so much for us if you’re a spy. You can give us information on the new administration, tell us all of Schlatt’s weaknesses.” His eyes lit up with a passion that Tubbo had never seen in him before. It was… unfamiliar. But at least Wilbur seemed a bit more joyful now. “You, Tubbo, are going to be the answer to all our problems.”
Over the next half hour, Wilbur concocted a plan. He explained what Tubbo would have to do as a spy, and Tubbo occasionally added some of his own input and ideas. This whole time, Tommy listened to them with ever-increasing worry in his expression.
When he was done, Wilbur giggled excitedly. “This is great. This is really, really great, guys. Tubbo, you are now one of Pogtopia’s most important assets.” With that, he returned to some dark corner of the cave he had chosen for the evening. A beat later, smoke billowed from wherever he had disappeared to. Tubbo opened his mouth to point it out, but Tommy shook his head.
“No fire, my friend, just smoking.” He sighed. “You sure you’re doing okay? Schlatt better not be doing any fucked up shit right now.”
Tubbo chuckled, “If he fucks with anything or anyone, I promise you will be the first to know.”
“Seriously though. I mean, things here have been really rough, and I can’t imagine they’re much better in L’manburg.”
“Manburg now, actually.”
“I don’t give a shit. I don’t care if Schlatt was ‘democratically elected’ or whatever.” He said, making air quotes with his fingers. “L’manburg is not his fucking country. It’s Wilbur’s. And- sorry, sorry. I was trying to be nice. What I wanted to say was, well, be safe. I don’t want to sound all sappy or whatever, but, yeah. You can tell me anything, alright?”
Tubbo’s mind jumped to his horns. He was a hybrid. Tommy didn’t know that. Neither did Wilbur. The only people who knew, actually, were Schlatt and Quackity, who were their enemies now. “Of course! And uh, same for you.”
Now that he had thought about his horns, it was all he could think about. About how Schlatt knew something about him that Tommy didn’t. How he was going to start looking more like Schlatt. And how his headache was back and oh Prime, it hurt like a bitch!
“I gotta head back now. Don’t want Mr. President getting suspicious. But see you soon, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you soon.”
With that, Tubbo went back up the spiral staircase, dragging his hand along the wall as stone turned to dirt and grass. He exited Pogtopia and stumbled his way back to L’ma- no, Manburg.
A lot happened over the next few weeks. Schlatt was planning a festival. Wilbur had TNT. Lots of TNT. Tubbo was in charge of planning this aforementioned festival. Between his spy duties and decorating for the festivities, he hadn’t noticed Schlatt’s growing suspicions.
Perhaps the blame was not only to be put on his many responsibilities. Tubbo had been avoiding Schlatt, lately. His own horns were now just too long to be covered by his hair. Luckily, they were dark enough to still be somewhat disguised. Still, he found himself unable to bear looking at Schlatt. At who he might become. It was a silly thought, but what if Tubbo was destined to be a ram hybrid as well? Would his friends be able to distinguish him from the infamous leader of Manburg?
In the end, it didn’t matter what had distracted him. He was inevitably executed, and never saw it coming.
Technoblade’s eyes had been rimmed with tears, but his hand had been steady on the rocket launcher.
Explosions shattered the world. Trillions of bright lights sparkled across the stage. Fire ripped through every cell of his body. Unforgiving concrete caught his rattled bones. BOOMS and CRACKLES and his best friend’s raw screams echoed in the depths of his skull. And at the last second, he turned his head, hoping — no, praying — that if any of him remained after this, it would not be those damned horns.
Once before, he had been killed. Once before, he had been betrayed by a friend. Only once, had he been killed by a blade. Only once, had he been blown up by a rocket launcher.
Once before, he had come back to life in Tommy’s arms. And once more, his friend’s frame wracked with sobs as he clutched Tubbo’s newly respawned body.
This time around, his death left him with scars. Fiery red burns covered the right side of his face. Up and down his arms and torso were also burned and blistered in too many places to count.
But Tommy was there. He changed Tubbo’s bandages and stayed by his side for days, weeks, until he knew Tubbo was okay.
He had also managed to do a good job of giving Tubbo some peace and quiet while he healed. Every day, he made sure to remind Wilbur that Tubbo needed to rest, needed to be alone. Somehow, Wilbur complied, and Tubbo could not have been more grateful.
One night, Tommy reluctantly left his friend’s bedside to gather more supplies. Minutes after he was gone, Wilbur waltzed in to greet Tubbo. He still wore the same trenchcoat, but his eyes were sunken behind his glasses. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping, and this habit of smoking was certainly not helping either.
“Two weeks is surely enough time to feel well enough for a visit from your old pal, Wilbur, don’t you think?” He chuckled, but his eyes refused to crinkle at the corners like they used to. “I am truly sorry about what happened. Honestly, I didn’t even think Techno had it in him to shoot you.”
“He was peer-pressured. It’s- It’s fine, Wil. I’ve made peace with it, and I forgive him.”
“Said like a true soldier,” Wilbur excitedly clapped his hands. “But reassurance of no infighting is not all I came here for. What I also wanted to see was,” He trailed off as he sashayed across the small room. Before Tubbo could protest, the elder reached his hands into his mess of brown hair and ran his fingers over the cones of keratin protruding from his skull. “So Dream wasn’t lying! You are a hybrid.” His eyes narrowed. “Like Schlatt.”
In response, Tubbo’s eyes widened in panic. He felt the right side of his face burn as he reddened with panic. “I’m sorry! I- I- I was going to tell you, but- but then I got so busy with- with the festival and all. And the spy stuff and I- I didn’t really think it would like, affect my duties or anything, Sir-”
“Sir?” Wilbur laughed coldly, “So the bastard really has made an impression on you. You’re already turning into him! Just a little ram, you are. Following in Daddy’s footsteps and all that.”
“Schlatt’s not my father! I am nothing like him!”
“‘Nothing like him?’ Then why do all your suits match his, huh? Why are you calling me ‘sir’ and following Schlatt around doing everything he says. And why, pray tell, do you have fucking horns like he does?”
Laying in his cot, Tubbo hated how vulnerable he felt. How Wilbur was able to tower over him now even more than usual. He doubted he could even stand to face him, the tendrils of death still holding a grip on his strength. “I can’t help it!”
“Sure! And I bet you’re probably still on his side, too.” The elder’s voice took on a mocking tone.
“He literally just had me fucking executed, Wil.”
“So? You forgave Technoblade! Who’s to say you won’t forgive your beloved president as well. It’s probably all some plan you two had to take down the big bad Wilbur Soot.”
“What the hell are you on about?”
“Shut up! Just- just don’t think I’m gonna let you go back there before I tell everyone your little secret about being a hybrid. They’ll never look at you the same, knowing you’re just going to turn into another Schlatt. But hey! At least you’re not turning into me. I’m sure everyone’s grateful for that.”
“You’re not thinking straight right now.” Oh, how he wanted to just go back to sleep. “I think it’d be best if you clear your head You- you’re not being- being rational, right now.”
“Fine! Just don’t come crawling back to me when all your friends turn on you once they find out who you truly are!” Pivoting on his heel, he left, the hem of his coat billowing behind him and the door slamming shut with his exit.
Where Tubbo still had some sensation on his face, he felt hot tears falling. “What the fuck,” He whispered to himself. His thoughts were swirling, and the healing potions he had been taking weren’t much help for his mind. So he let himself shake, let the tears pour, and allowed himself to cry. The healing potions weren’t strong enough, he told himself. But in truth, it was Wilbur’s words that brought this on. What he had said stung, and the younger did not take well to being yelled at.
When Schlatt would yell, Tubbo would be quiet. It was all he could do, and during his time working for him, he had quickly learned that silence proved the best way possible to get through the torturous days.
But soon, Tommy would be back. And if Tubbo couldn’t find it in him to speak, his friend would know something was wrong. To push his worries away, he tried to lay down comfortably and go back to sleep. But all his thoughts appeared to be capable of at the moment was reliving every second of what had just happened with Wilbur.
At some point he must have drifted back into the grasps of unconsciousness, as he woke up groggily to Tommy entering the room. The blonde sighed loudly, taking a seat at the edge of Tubbo’s cot. “Wilbur’s being a bitch again.” Tubbo nodded, mind already swimming as he recalled his conversation with Wilbur earlier. “I just wish he’d calm down a bit. He hasn’t been himself lately, y’know?”
“Yeah, I- I’ve noticed that too.” He had to tell him. Sooner or later Tommy would learn his secret. It was only a matter of time before his best friend saw him as Schlatt, too. “Tommy, can I tell you something,” His voice betrayed his attempts to stay calm, wavering and breaking as he spoke.
Tommy pretended not to notice the shakiness of his friend’s tone, “Of course! Uh, what is it?”
“I’m,” Spit it out.
“I’m,” Just tell him.
“I-” Any semblance of ‘okay’ he had left in him vanished. Again, he felt his tears stream down his face. The small room blurred in his teary vision and all he wanted to do was return to his dreamless sleep.
“Hey, hey, hey. It’s alright. You- you’re okay. Shit. Fuck! I- uh- it’s ok?” Tommy reached out to awkwardly pat Tubbo’s forearm, but at the last second opted to ruffle his hair instead. Just as awkwardly.
Tubbo would have appreciated the touch. He was never much good with physical contact, but a small ruffle of his hair was tolerable. Nice, even.
Except now he found himself tense up exponentially as he awaited the inevitable.
Tommy’s hands brushed over his tender horns.
Tubbo braced for the worst. His sobs only increased as he waited for his friend to speak.
The younger drew his hand back. There was no shuddering or fear or disgust in his bright blue eyes. Just… curiosity?
“Are those- are those horns?” The older one nodded in between his heaves. “That’s fuckin poggers, innit?”
“Wh- what?” Tubbo managed to get out.
“Yeah, man! So that makes you a whatsitcalled… a- a hybrid, right? Like Techno! And Fundy, and- and Big Q! Well not exactly, cause you have horns and they have different shit. Wait!” Here it was. Tubbo felt himself grow even more tense, knuckles turning white as he gripped the sheets of his cot. “You have horns right? So you’re just like Henry!”
“Tommy I- wait, what?”
“You know, my cow Henry? He was one of ‘em cows with the little horns and all that! I’ve been missing him a lot lately,” He glanced down, blinking back the few tears that had formed as he mentioned his deceased pet. “It’s so cool that you can be a sort of reminder of him, y’know?”
“Um, yeah. I guess that is pretty nice.”
“So that’s what you wanted to tell me? And that’s what made you start crying like a baby?”
“Hey!” He playfully swatted at Tommy. “But, yeah, I guess the whole hybrid thing is what I was so worked up about.”
“Why?”
That was… a good question. Yet, it was one Tubbo already had the answer to. “It’s just… I didn’t exactly expect you to think I was a cow hybrid, alright?”
“What do you mean? What else would the horns be for?”
Tubbo’s gaze hardened. “Tommy.”
It only took a moment for the younger’s blue eyes to widen in realization. For his knitted eyebrows to raise as he realized what the older was implying. At this, Tubbo half-expected his friend to retract all the kind words he had just uttered. To erase the conclusion he first came to and instead join Wilbur and see Tubbo for who he truly was.
“Oh.” But Tommy refused to falter. “And? I mean, sure, Schlatt has horns. But why would you be anything like that bastard? Even if you end up being a ram hybrid and not a cow, the only problem with that is that Big Man TommyInnit’s prediction was wrong. Tubbo, listen to me, okay?” Suddenly, the oceans of his blue-eyed gaze took on a wisdom well beyond his years. Or perhaps, it was only the kind of wisdom that could be thought up by a sixteen-year-old. Whichever it was, no one would ever know. “You are not — and never will be — anything like Schlatt. I promise.”
The line of assurance was said with the sincerity of all the planets in orbit in the universe. That innocent honesty that no one older than a boy could understand and share with the world. Because of that naive irrefutability, Tubbo had no choice but to take Tommy’s words for truth.
A lot had happened by the time winter arrived. The struggles of Manburg and Pogtopia all lead up to a war. A war that consisted of more fireworks and explosions and swords and blood. He had seen it all before. Everyone had. But that failed to lessen the pain. The death’s of the two nation’s respective leaders left Tubbo to pick up the pieces.
He was the president now, and Tommy was his vice-president. This was supposed to be their happily ever after. Things were supposed to be okay as they restored L’manburg to its former glory.
Oh how wrong he was.
As president, he had to be responsible. It was his duty! And he refused to let his country down.
So why did it hurt so much when he chose the good of his people over one person. When he chose his nation over his best friend.
He hadn’t meant to! Push came to shove and Tommy’s antics were clearly signs that he wasn’t fit to be a leader. Tubbo, at sixteen, had witnessed one too many wars in his time. And he was not about to lead his nation into another.
So why did it hurt so much when Tommy finally came to his senses and pointed out the obvious. It was about time, wasn’t it?
“You can’t be the next Schlatt. If you exile me, don’t you realize you’d be following in his footsteps?”
Though the words stung, Tubbo had stood his ground. “As long as I can’t be the next Schlatt, you can’t be the next Wilbur.” He too, knew what to say to get through to his best friend, even if he hurt him in the process.
Tensions escalated over the next few days as they awaited the final verdict of Tommy’s potential exile. And with it rose the poison in the words the friends spat at each other. Between frantic meetings and planning, Tubbo and Tommy managed to find the time to go back and forth about rights and wrongs. Most of the bickering Tubbo found he couldn’t recall. But one particular incident would stick with him for a long, long time.
“You’re turning into him, aren’t you.”
“For the last time, Tommy, I’m not that fucking alcoholic dictator!”
“So why do I see him every time I look at you?” His face paled as he spoke, visibly wishing to take it back as soon as he said it. Tubbo instinctively reached for his horns. They had grown well past his hair now, easily visible and out in the open. When it was no longer possible to hide them from everyone, he found comfort in the memory of what Tommy had said to him that day in Pogtopia. No one would see him as Schlatt! How could they, when Tubbo was so obviously a cow hybrid. A cow like Henry. Never anything at all like the ram hybrid who was hated by everyone in the SMP.
With one sentence, all of that comfort vanished. The problem with the wisdom of a young boy is that it is always honest. Irrational and thoughtless, sure, but always voicing what he truly thought in that moment. And for another young boy, ‘this moment’ was the only moment that mattered. The present always stretched for infinity. So for the infinity of the present, he would feel every ounce of that pain those words had left him with.
His chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe. This was how he felt all that time ago when Wilbur had compared him to Schlatt. How carelessly he spat the harsh words at Tubbo. The harsh truth, surely. And he couldn’t breathe. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who was taking after his predecessor, he thought smugly. But he couldn’t revel in his own hurtful imaginings for long, because he couldn’t breathe.
“You don’t mean that,” He gasped, eyes narrowing.
Tommy scoffed. “And you don’t plan on throwing me out of here tomorrow.”
“That isn’t fair, I have responsibilities now.”
“Responsibilities my ass. Whatever happened to us, Tubbo?”
“There is no ‘us,’ Tommy. Don’t you get it? We’re the leaders of a country right now. L’manburg is our first priority.”
“Whatever!” He brushed past Tubbo and reached for the door. “See you tomorrow.” The door slammed shut on his way out. Across the room, the portrait of Tubbo fell off the wall. Well, the frame stayed in place. No one had been able to figure out how to unfasten it from the wall. Instead, Tubbo and his cabinet had elected to plaster Tubbo’s portrait over the previous one of Schlatt. Clearly, whoever had put the new portrait up had not done good enough of a job, because the slammed door turned Tubbo’s shy smile into Schlatt’s crude grin.
He still couldn’t breathe, but Tubbo desperately wished to laugh at the irony. Maybe he was turning into Schlatt! Wouldn’t that be absurd? He could recall that night of agony on the porch like it was yesterday. Of Schlatt’s cold eyes being the first ones to comfort Tubbo when he realized he was a hybrid. As the president’s thoughts swirled and spiraled, he felt his knees give way and he slid to the floor, slumping against the desk at the center of the room.
Some indefinite amount of minutes later he heard a knock at the door. “Tubbo?” It was the deep voice that belonged to none other than the minutes man. Ranboo, wasn’t it?
When the president couldn’t find the strength to answer the knocking, Ranboo took it upon himself to open the door and enter the office. The gangly half-enderman-half-something hybrid cautiously stepped towards Tubbo. “Are you okay? Should I get help?” Tubbo shook his head forcefully. “O-okay. Um, I can wait here, if that’s alright with you?” Still struggling to speak, Tubbo nodded.
Wordlessly, Ranboo approached the desk and sat on top of it. Perching on the edge, his long legs dangled next to Tubbo, showing his presence but avoiding too much physical closeness. Together, they sat in a comfortable silence. The president began to wonder if he had underestimated the competence of his minutes man. Ranboo hadn’t seemed like anything other than ‘The New Guy’ his first couple of weeks here. Perhaps there was more to this amnesiac kid.
“So, that’s the guy who used to run the place?” Ranboo asked, breaking the silence. His gaze was fixed on the portrait of Schlatt that had been revealed on the wall.
“Mhm.” It was… a response. Tubbo’s lungs seemed to be working again. Hurricanes of spiraling thoughts had calmed. His mind’s rampage had ceased and he started to feel slightly more capable of taking part in conversation. Or at least, capable of making audible noises of acknowledgement. It was a start.
“He looks so… scary. I guess it’s a good thing I never met the guy, huh?” He chuckled.
“Yeah, he was pretty awful.” Tubbo agreed.
“I can try to put your picture back up. It looks way better than that creep. Big emphasis on ‘try,’ though,” The enderman hybrid smiled, “I’ve never been too good at building and stuff.”
“What’s the point? It’s practically the same picture anyway.”
“I- what?”
“Schlatt and I. Is there even a difference, really? Both presidents, both shit at being president, both barely keeping it together while trying to run a whole country!” Fresh tears began to form in his eyes, and he blinked them away. “We even look the same.”
Brows furrowed in confusion, Ranboo quickly glanced between the president before him and the one in the portrait. “That is just not true”
“Open your eyes, bossman! Have you not seen my fucking horns? I’m probably gonna be a ram-hybrid and look just like him sooner or later. And after that, it’s just a matter of time before all my friends turn against me. The resemblance will be uncanny when I die alone, same as him.”
“You- you won’t though. I mean, I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, but from everything I’ve heard, you’re legitimately way better than Schlatt. Just look around, people are happier! Even with a couple of weeks, Schlatt’s old cabinet is already doing so much better with you in charge.”
“Whatever! That doesn’t change the fact that people will only ever see me as him.”
“Why do you keep saying that? Even if you’re the same kind of hybrid, that doesn’t mean you’ll look just like him. I mean, what about Puffy? She’s a sheep hybrid, right? She’s got horns and stuff and no one ever says that she looks like some dead president.”
“No- Puffy- she’s differe-”
“And what about Quackity and Phil? They both have wings, and nobody’s ever gotten them mixed up. Not to mention every non-hybrid here! It’s not like they’re all carbon copies of each other!”
“I-”
“No, come here.” Ranboo hopped off the desk and turned to face Tubbo. He held out his hand and hauled the shorter boy up before pulling him over to the wall where the portrait was. “See? Me, the new guy with memory issues is now looking at you and Schlatt, side-by-side. I can say with certainty that you two absolutely do not look alike at all.
Even if you were his identical twin, there still would be no resemblance. Y’know why? Because you, Tubbo, wake up every day and try to be good. Everything in L’manburg’s been so intense lately, but you always do your best to make the right decision. To do what’s best for everyone. And aside from all the bad stuff I’ve heard about your predecessor, just looking at his picture tells me he’s nothing like you. Everything about him is so- he was not a good person. Literally 100% of the information I know about him tells me that.
So no, Tubbo. Not everyone will see you as Schlatt. I, for one, won't. And if anyone does? Then they’re stupid! They’re jumping to conclusions that are just entirely wro-”
He was cut off then, as Tubbo stepped away from the wall and wrapped his arms around the taller boy. Neither were very touchy people, and the hug was a bit stiff and awkward. That didn’t matter, of course. Because this, like everything for young boys, was honest. This hug, no matter how unfamiliar it felt, was authentic and true and came from the warmest place in each of their hearts.
Time continued to pass, as that’s the only thing you can rely on it for. Things, once again, changed. Perhaps pieces of the true words spoken by a half-enderman-half-something boy would fade into sour falsities. Just because someone disagrees with Tubbo doesn’t make them bad. What was bad was picking sides. Through it all, however, his loyalty to his president refused to waver. One consistency in his turbulent ideologies was that Tubbo was a good person. Ranboo was confident that could never change.
L’manburg died in Tubbo’s arms. The shithole of a nation hadn’t even lasted until it’s next election. But in the short time he had been it’s leader, Tubbo served his country well. It took a while, but eventually, the hybrid boy could say with certainty that he had done his best and, given the track record of the previous presidents, he had done a damn good job.
And some indefinite amount of time later, Tubbo found himself lying beside his two best friends on the snowy lawn of his residence in Snowchester. This country — this home — it was his. Here, he didn’t have to worry about having anyone to live up to. He could make history by being himself. By living here. By being happy.
Across the fields of glittering white, he spotted a herd of cows. Here, in the climate of Snowchester, the cows’ hair grew thick, covering their eyes. Each of them had a small pair of horns, as well.
Deep down, Tubbo noticed he felt a vague sense of kinship with these creatures. It was a small epiphany, one he had made peace with not knowing the answer to. The universe, strange as it was, had seized this moment to let Tubbo know who he truly was.
No, he wouldn’t think like that anymore. Who he truly was was, well, himself. A kid, a leader, a friend. It didn’t matter whether he was a ram or a cow or whatever else.
From the beginning, Ranboo hadn’t cared about whatever kind of hybrid Tubbo was. With time, Tubbo had learned not to care either. Eventually, Tommy came around, too. Maybe he always had. He was, after all, the first to reassure Tubbo that he wasn’t like the president that came before him. Sure, there had been bumps along the way. At some point, Tommy may have genuinely believed that Tubbo was no different than Schlatt.
The minds of young boys, fortunately, are ever-changing. It hardly mattered what Tommy thought during the days Ranboo had been no more than the minutes man. What mattered was that all three of them had dealt with more than any young boy should. In the end, they had each other.
The friends. The brothers.
The friends. The husbands.
The friends. The partners in crime.
One of those nights on that desolate island, between his clothes turning tattered and ocean-blue eyes turning grey, Tommy’s perception of Tubbo had returned to something of what it once was. He stopped seeing Tubbo as another president. With time, he stopped seeing Tubbo as a ram-hybrid. The blonde boy resumed the designation that his best friend was a cow-hybrid. He had cared for a cow once. He had cared for his friend once. A little communication and time was all it took to care for him again.
Tubbo allowed this small epiphany to rest in his mind for a while. He was a cow-hybrid. Now he knew that wouldn’t change anything. His friends would love him all the same. He would let them know soon. For now, though, he cracked a grin. If Tommy knew that he had managed to predict what kind of hybrid Tubbo was, it would go straight to his head. That, he thought, could wait. A small laugh bubbled out of him. When he was ready to tell them, his friends would be here. But for now, they were still young boys. And young boys had all the time in the world.