Chapter Text
Tubbo finds out first.
It’s Quackity who tells him, tripping over his own feet as he dashes into the restaurant where Tubbo is mopping the floor, the day’s last customers gone only moments before.
The goat hybrid stares at his boss, who leans heavily against a freshly-cleaned table, gasping wildly, his face a tomato-red that makes the slash of white over his eye stand out even more than usual.
Tubbo has little time to guess what might be going on before Quackity tells him. The possibilities that do flash before him in those few seconds are rather mundane; it doesn’t take much to get the leader of Las Nevadas worked up. Another squabble with Wilbur, perhaps, or an encounter with Sapnap or Karl.
But for once the beanie-wearing leader has his reactions right. He chokes out the words, and at first Tubbo thinks he’s misheard, that his rocket-blasted ears have failed him, as they often do.
“What?” Tubbo demands, praying, no, begging every god and ethereal power he can think of— Tommy’s Prime, Technoblade’s Subs, Foolish, the damn Egg, Death herself— that he’s somehow misheard.
“Dream escaped.” Quackity says, and he says something else but Tubbo doesn’t hear.
He’s running by the time the mop hits the floor, and halfway out of Las Nevadas before Quackity realises he’s gone.
The next time Tubbo registers where he is, he’s banging on the door of the Wilburger van, and someone’s yelling but he doesn’t realise until Wilbur opens the door that he himself is the one screaming.
“Tubbo?” Wilbur’s voice is confused, full of an almost brotherly concern.
“Ranboo.” it’s the only word Tubbo can think of, the reason his feet have unconsciously carried him here.
A moment later, another word— another name— registers, and Tubbo’s head clears enough to make his wishes known.
“Tommy.” He manages. “Ranboo and Tommy. I need to talk to Ranboo and Tommy.”
Wilbur shakes his head. “They’re not here.” He sighs. “I haven’t seen Tommy in ages. I don’t really think he wants to see me. I can pass on a message to Ranboo next time he has a shift, though, if you’d like.”
“No.” Tubbo chokes out. “I have to see them now. I need to tell them—“ He breaks off, remembering what Tommy’s told him of Wilbur’s strange Dream obsession.
The gods do not favour him today, apparently.
“Tell them what?” Wilbur asks.
Tubbo shakes his head. “Ask Quackity. He’ll warn you. He’ll warn everyone. I can’t— I just need to make sure Ranboo is safe, and Tommy— he needs to know, it’ll be better coming from me— and Michael—“
His rambling stops, and Tubbo’s entire body freezes. Because Ranboo has gear and a vault and Philza and Tommy has Ranboo and Puffy but Michael is alone in the house, with nothing between him and Dream.
And then Tubbo is running again, Wilbur’s confused shouts lost behind him.
The trip doesn’t register in Tubbo’s mind. One moment he’s in the woods by Las Nevadas, the next he’s in Snowchester, running up the stairs of his house to Michael’s room.
There’s a figure in netherrite armour kneeling in the corner, and for a moment Tubbo thinks he’s too late.
The scarred ex-president launches himself at the intruder, trident still in hand from— he assumes— the trip down here.
The armoured figure stands and turns at the last moment, and Ranboo catches his husband in both arms, knocking the weapon away.
“Tubbo?” The enderman demands. “Why— why are you trying to kill me?”
“Michael.” Tubbo sobs. “Where is Michael, I need to see Michael.”
“Papa?” A tiny piglin clad in overalls pokes his head out from behind Ranboo’s leg.
Tubbo pulls his son into a hug, Ranboo still keeping a protective arm around his husband’s shoulders.
“Tubbo, what’s going on?” Ranboo demands softly.
Tubbo wonders if his husband will hate him for the news. Not that it matters— Ranboo needs to know, and he needs to know now.
“Dream escaped the prison.” He says.