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The rain was cold and dreary as it washed the grass of what used to be L'manburg. Sometimes Tubbo would see past blood being washed away, history doomed to cascade down the stone and stain the bedrock below.
"I heard there was a special place, where men could go and emancipate," the words stung in his throat, "the brutality and tyranny of their rulers."
He'd brought candles but their light had been too easily snuffed out. Perhaps it was for the better, L'manburg had seen too many fires, multiple flames burning down their houses and igniting explosives that rained from the sky endlessly.
"Well, this place is real you needn't fret," his suit was soaked but he didn't care. He had never looked at it prior to the occasion as all it did was bring memories of a broken friendship and dismembered trust. "With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret. It's a very big and-"
He chilled. Oh how poorly the lyrics had aged. It had been a year since L'manburg's creation and declaration of independence, yet the nation hadn't survived for even half of that duration.
Maybe if he hadn't stayed in Manburg during Schlatt's cruel presidency things would be different. Tubbo wondered what would've happened if he had denied his own presidency. Would Tommy have kept it alive? At first glance, the answer was no. But despite his destruction, Tommy would've fit the role just the same if not better.
"-ubbo! Tubbo!" Tubbo froze. He was supposed to be alone. He had always made sure to be separated from everyone when he reminisced on the past. It was always a joking matter when he spoke of his traumas. No one was supposed to see him.
The voice sounded so familiar and Tubbo thought he was going insane when he saw Wilbur's brown trench coat.
"Wilbur?" He stuttered. Tubbo hadn't seen him since he'd been resurrected and he hadn't grieved since Ghostbur's death.
"What're you doing here man?" A strand of his hair was frosted white, evidence of thirteen years in the afterlife Tommy had told him about. Tubbo wondered how Wilbur was so stable when it took Tommy months to seem better. "Were you singing the L'manburg anthem?"
"Yeah," he answered, blinking back tears and hoping the rain would conceal any signs. His red discolored eyes betrayed him.
"You're so similar to me," Tubbo heard the mumbled words and his ears twitched. Wilbur made his way up the terrain, stopping a few feet away. "It's been so long, man!"
Tubbo nodded. What did people normally say to someone who had died for thirteen years after blowing up a nation? Even more so, what did someone say when they'd been interrupted during a lonely crying session?
"Look, I've been wanting to apologize for everything I did in the past and for any pain I may have caused you," Wilbur said and the goat hybrid wasn't sure if there was sincerity or false remorse in his eyes. "I'm a changed man after so many years and I'm hoping you can forgive me."
Tubbo's eyes brushed through the destroyed hole. When did grass start to grow? When did the red vines cease to exist? He had been in Snowchester when he'd heard of the news, but it didn't feel like he'd been present. Oftentimes that was a recurring feeling for Tubbo as if he wasn't fully there. A part of himself died when he saw his country blown up for the third time. Now it was just going through the motions on repeat: wake up, look after Michael, do something to keep himself preoccupied, talk to Ranboo, and sleep.
"I do," he answered. "I believe everyone can change."
Wilbur smiled. "You have no idea how much that means to me. Hearing that you preserved L'mamburg after I died is all I need, it's even better than having a grave built."
"Yeah, Ghostbur and I really went at it. New L'manburg was truly a beautiful place," He answered.
He remembered rebuilding with the ghost, a pleasant guy that cared for the well-being of everyone. And he remembered the sewers for the nation's documentaries and potions lab. There had been so many unique and interesting events in the country that he was always excited to wake up every morning. The last time he could remember being generally happy - except for a couple of other brief occasions - was when the residents played games before the Green Festival where they had planned on executing Dream.
"I've been working on a new place called Paradise and I was wondering if you wanted to take a look," Wilbur offered. "I think it could fill the pit that L'manburg left."
Tubbo was fairly quick to answer, only giving a second thought. "I don't think I want to come, Wilbur."
"Oh?" He asked, seeming surprised. "But I thought you forgave me."
"Trust takes more than forgiveness, Wilbur," Tubbo said.
His hearing was blinded by a fast-beating heart. It was all so overwhelming and loud and he couldn't think past the surprised gasps and yells labeling him a traitor.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" The yell was accusing and Tubbo trembled. "That I wouldn't know we've got a traitor in the cabinet?"
He stuttered. When had he started to be pushed back? When had his vision started to become dim and the sky almost unseen?
"Do you know what happens to traitors?" He boomed over the audience, audible questioning hums sounding through it. "Nothing good. Hey, uh- hey Technoblade. You wanna come up here for a second?" It wasn't a question, more so a threatening order.
The Blood God hesitated, mumbling words until his haunting face met eye to eye with Tubbo. He'd been forced to rewatch it thousands of times, his death repeating over and over again. It was nothing compared to the occasional nightmares of the final control room, no. This tragedy wouldn't let him sleep, waking him up to his loud pants.
He didn't have anything to fear and he didn't at that moment. Tommy had said Technoblade was on their side. He could hear him trying to stall for a time that would never budge.
The loud shouting brought him back. "You're going to murder Tubbo right now on this fucking stage!"
"Schlatt, are you sure?" Quackity asked. They were the only two who had tried to save the situation. Not Tommy, nor Wilbur. "We can have him locked up. Surely that's enough, right?"
"It's not," he answered. Tubbo trembled. This was the part where everything collapsed. It was when he'd realized he wasn't going to survive. He was sweating, head aching.
He heard the crossbow string being drawn back and his hands shook. "Technoblade?"
The last thing he heard was Tommy's scream before his entire body was engulfed in the blazing heat. The pain had only lasted for a second in the worst areas, skin blistering and red before his nerves were damaged beyond touch.
He could only feel nauseating agony before his entire world went dark. He had died then, a gut-wrenching numbness washing over him.
"You know, I still get nightmares-" he ground his teeth together, “-about the fireworks.”
There was a brief pause. "I know you- at the festival with Technoblade? I’ve never spoken to you properly about this. I-” he huffed, “I could’ve saved you.”
“But you didn’t.” And Tubbo would know, he sees it every time he closes his eyes or sees fireworks during a celebration or is in a small confined space that makes the boxed walls all too real.
“I'm sorry for that." Wilbur hesitated before apologizing again. "You're so strong for having to experience it again. You've always been strong, Tubbo."
But he couldn't stop thinking of every time Wilbur had called him a 'yes man' in the past as if he was someone easily moved.
"You don't have to stay, I just think it'd be neat to give you a tour," he added. "Ranboo and I have been working on it. You know Ranboo right?"
His eyes raised quickly to see his husband shuffling behind Wilbur, eyes avoiding contact but obviously concerned. He hated it. Tubbo didn't want anyone to see him and he especially didn't want it to be Ranboo. He wanted to be alone where fireworks weren’t loud enough to trump its silence.
"Yeah, we've met," Ranboo answered. They had agreed to never speak of their close relationship or Michael unless it was with people they trusted - like Tommy. After the prank Sam had pulled on them, it was a distasteful thought and they'd rather not cause needless harm. He didn't mind times like these. Tubbo often found himself feeling worse when others tried to comfort him. Knowing how comforting Ranboo strived to be, always wanting everyone to feel better than himself, Tubbo knew he would only make it worse even if his itensions were good.
"I don't think I'll be going with you," Tubbo answered. “For you to gain my trust back, you have to prove it first. I can’t just give it out anymore. I used to be able to, but I just- I just can’t.” He didn't trust Wilbur and it seemed Ranboo didn't either if he wasn't giving much information. It was probably just a project for the enderman hybrid to focus on, much like Snowchester and their outpost near Las Nevadas for himself. He understood the need to try and fill the void, Ranboo had undisclosed problems too.
"That's alright," Wilbur said, clearly disappointed. He could feel himself breaking, his eyes watering again. He just had to hold it for a few seconds. "Let's go, Ranboo."
"Alright, I'll be there in a second." Ranboo looked at Tubbo more clearly and he could imagine the questions that must’ve been racking his brain. "Do you need me to stay here?" He had asked when Wilbur was far enough away.
"No, I-" his voice gave away his strained and wavering emotions. "I'd like to be left alone, please."
"Are you sure, I can stay-" his voice was comforting and it hurt even more. Tubbo would not let himself be coursed into even more of a distressed state. It would all be okay later. He would return as if nothing had happened and then brush it off as though everything was normal like he always did.
"Yes." His voice was taut. "I'm fine."
Ranboo's expression never changed. They had wanted to say something, Tubbo could tell, but they let their shoulders slack and walked away, following Wilbur reluctantly. They gave each other space when needed.
He glanced at his hands. He was solus again with the empty shell of what L'manburg had once been. He cried, weeping over what he'd lost.
There were still times when he could feel the extreme heat against his skin that turned cold. His hearing was forever damaged and his eyesight was only in slightly better condition.
He hated himself for never feeling full after L'manburg's death. He had an eventful friend that never left him alone. Ranboo was his husband who had commissioned a whole mansion for them to be preoccupied in. And Michael was their adopted child, a hyper baby zombie piglin that they had saved on valentines day. Yet Tubbo never felt as happy or joyous as he was in the nation.
Tubbo looked over what he had indirectly destroyed, now a vacant nation. He let his eyelashes overflow with tears as he continued the little tune attributed to a time of togetherness.
"My L'manburg, my L'manburg. My L'manburg," he said in a sing-song voice, "my L'manburg."