Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He wakes up screaming again. No one notices. 

He spends a few minutes catching his breath, biting down his sobs into a pillow - and then, by the time Ranboo comes looking for him, he’s still in bed. How embarrassing, how useless, how pathetic, the way he can’t even bring himself to look up, even though his husband is right there, he’s watching as he crumbles. 

“Bo?” Ranboo’s voice is always so gentle with him. He feels more than sees him sit on the edge of the bed - they’ve never really shared one, before, not formally, but they sleep in each other’s rooms more often than not anyway, and Tommy joins in all the time too - and feels a hand brush against his own. “Is everything okay?”

He debates lying. He debates hiding it and lying. It would not be hard: he does it every day to everyone else, and they’re none the wiser. Good little Tubbo, never troubled, everything is fine. 

(Not Ranboo. Not Tommy. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t. And yet—)

(And even yet still—)

“Nightmare,” Tubbo whispers. He braces himself for what is sure to come (“again?”) and yet they never do. 

Instead, Ranboo’s fingers interlock with his own, and he breathes. “Do you— um, do you want to talk? About it?” Tubbo blinks and his eyes fill with fireworks. He shakes his head, but his mouth still opens, traitorous little motherfucker.

“I died,” is all he manages to say. “Schlatt was watching.”

“Oh,” Ranboo says. “Oh, Tubbo.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He rubs at his eyes, tries to breathe slowly. “I’m, I’m okay now. I just need to calm down.”

“Are you sure?” Fuck, Ranboo’s so patient. Fuck. His thumb draws tiny circles against the back of his hand and Tubbo melts at the gesture. “It’s Uno night today, we can skip if you’re not up to it.”

(And the offer sounds so tempting. It really does. Just staying inside all day with his husband, maybe Tommy if they can convince him to stay put for five minutes. Michael can cuddle with them in their nest pile thing that they do, left over from easier days before the war, when Wilbur tried his hardest and things weren’t as awful. They can wake up tangled in each other as Michael squeaks at them, tiny fluffy thing, and Tubbo can press kisses into his belly and make him giggle, and Ranboo can spin him around like he’s flying, and Tommy can tell him all sorts of stories and teach him piano. And it can be nice, and safe, and content. And it can be their little family, like it should be.)

“No,” Tubbo insists. “We already skipped last time.”

Ranboo looks at him for a solid moment. Tubbo wishes he had the energy to decipher whatever is going through his mind. “Fine,” he says then. “But I’ll spoil you until then, mhm, mhm.”

Prime, Tubbo thinks, as Ranboo lifts him in his arms and carries him to the kitchen, lanky bastard, what did I do to deserve you?

They do end up going to Uno night, in the end, once Tommy arrives at the mansion hours later, and they all depart together for Connor’s house, leaving Michael under Ponk’s care for the night. The oak by the yard grows healthily under Tubbo’s brother’s care, same as the thriving farm around the now-decent cabin. Eret and Wilbur are already here, sitting at the porch and - while it’s still a little tense, of course, Tubbo doesn’t really believe they’ll ever stop being uncomfortable around each other - they’re holding what seems like an amicable conversation. Bumper, Connor’s new kitten, is sleeping between Wilbur’s legs. Jambo is still in idiot cat jail for eating magnets. 

His brother is inside; he can see him through the window. Connor walks out the door, and Eret smiles at him, and Wilbur laughs. His wings flutter in a motion that Tubbo recognizes (faintly, distantly, an old memory resurfacing) as joy.

It all makes him extremely uncomfortable. They’re still out of sight, lingering at the edges of the clearing, and Ranboo squeezes his hand.

“We can still go back,” he promises Tubbo. “At any point.”  

“Yeah, big T.” Whenever Tommy and Ranboo agree on anything, that’s worrying. And yet Tommy’s hand is on his shoulder, and he’s smiling a little awkwardly at him, and for whatever reason it floods him with relief. His heart flutters. “If they make you uncomfortable or whatever shit, we leave. ”

“‘s alright,” Tubbo says, flashes a nervous grin at them both. “I can do this.”

And so they approach the cabin. Connor’s setting up the foldable table outside, by the fireplace they’ve set up earlier, and when he sees them approach he waves at them. “Hey! I didn’t think you’d come so early.”

“You said at eight, bitch,” Tommy says easily. 

“I mean, yeah,” Connor laughs, “but it’s you three.”

Tommy fakes offense, but really, Connor has never meant him any harm. He drops the snacks they brought onto the table and waves at Wilbur and Eret; Ranboo follows his lead. Tubbo lingers behind them instead, and asks Connor, “who else is coming?”

“Uh, I think your sister,” he says, “maybe Technoblade, but I’m not sure, Phil did say he was ‘hibernating’ again, whatever that means.” A loud crash and then a squeak comes from inside the house then, and everyone turns towards it. 

“CONNOR,” Schlatt shouts from inside, “CHARLIE BROKE THE COOKIE JAR AGAIN.”

“I should get paid for this,” Connor reminds himself, groaning, before rushing into the cabin. “Make yourselves at home! I’ll be back out in a minute!”

“Yo,” Wilbur says, right next to him. Tubbo jolts. When did he get here? “Are you okay? You’re not looking too good.” 

He gulps. “I’m fine,” he says, trying to keep his breathing steady. “I’ll— I’m gonna go help Connor.”

Wilbur blinks, a little confused, but nods. “Alright, don’t let me hold you back,” he quips, but Tubbo’s already speedwalking into the cabin, attempting to flee - only to bump straight into his brother, sending him tumbling to the floor. Why is everything going so fast?

“Fuck,” Schlatt groans, and Tubbo’s blood freezes in his veins, “god damn it, kid, watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry,” Tubbo shivers out. Schlatt’s dressed comfortably, a long shot from his presidential days, and his eyes are clear, kind, smart. Still, it’s hard to forget the vision of his brother just standing there, watching with a smile as— as Techno—

“Help me up, will you?” Tubbo nods. He gets the cane, helps his brother stand up again, tries to hide the trembling of his hands, to little effect. But if Schlatt notices he doesn’t mention it. “Thanks.”

Jambo meows from his little place on the couch. He’s still wearing the cone from last time around his head. He looks as miserable as Tubbo feels. 

“Are you doing okay?” Schlatt asks him, then. “It’s, uh… been a while.”

“I’m good,” Tubbo tells him. Schlatt winces a little as he leans on his bad leg - must be a tough day, he guesses. “Go sit down, what were you doing up?”

“I was gonna say hi to you, asshole,” Schlatt grumbles, and yet his face still flushes red. 

Is it bad that he feels relieved when his brother walks away?

The cabin eventually fills with guests. Technoblade does come by, half-asleep and being dragged around by Phil. Puffy arrives with Niki linked to her by the arm; she instantly heads to Tubbo and crushes him in a tight hug, before gently headbutting Schlatt. They wait a little longer for Fundy, but when it’s apparent he’s not coming, they start the games without him.

And it’s fun, Tubbo has to admit. He’s squished in-between Ranboo and Tommy, and Tommy keeps cheating, whispering Wilbur’s cards into his ear so they can obliterate him in revenge. Niki also seems hell-bent on revenge, and so the table turns into a warzone - something Tubbo’s an expert at. Then it’s a game of politics, the second Schlatt turns to Phil at the other edge of the table and offers him to use a +4 on Puffy if he does the same for Techno (both he and Puffy protest at this). Eret, unexpectedly, wins three of the first four games, and then Tommy threatens to stab them with a fork.

It reminds Tubbo of poker around a fire, of learning piano with Tommy, of his siblings playing tag with him. It’s comfortable, somehow, despite it all, and he feels himself sinking into his plastic chair, leaning into Ranboo’s shoulder.

Later, after a few rounds of Uno, Schlatt clears his throat. “I have an announcement to make,” he says. “That's why you’re all here.”

Tubbo doesn’t look at him, not directly. Instead he glances at Connor, who’s petting Bumper gently as he stares at his roommate. He looks tired. Everyone does, Tubbo realizes then, tired beyond their years, but there’s something about Connor, something he can’t quite place—

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by Puffy’s voice, a shout: “what?”

He watches as Schlatt flinches, as Connor breathes in deep and steps in, “please calm down.”

“You’re fuckin’ joking,” Tommy says, incredulous. What? “I— when?”

“Few weeks from now,” Schlatt replies, fidgeting with the worn edges of his sweatshirt. He’s avoiding everyone’s eyes, now. 

Tubbo decides to ask, then, “what are you talking about? I spaced out.”

Silence. Absolute, crushing. 

“We’re moving back to Live, Tubbs,” Schlatt says then, stuttering at the start of the sentence. “Connor and myself, that is.”

Their eyes cross paths, then. He wonders, for a second, what Schlatt sees in them. 

And then he chokes out, surprised, “you what.”

He’s not upset about it. 

Uno night is cut short, of course, after that, at least for Tubbo. He storms off into the forest - not a very dignified reaction, not with everyone calling out for him and Ranboo and Tommy chasing after him. The short trip home is silent, and when they get home Michael is already sleeping, so he locks himself up in the panic room and leaves his husband and best friend to sleep without him.

He’s leaving to heal. He understands that. His body is recovered enough to endure the long journey to Live and this place was never Schlatt’s home, despite Tubbo and Puffy; this is something that has been coming for a long time. And it’s perfectly fine, Tubbo thinks. He’s not keeping him chained down, either, that’s the last thing he’d want to do. No, his brother is free to leave if he wants to, that’s his business. 

Fuck him. 

He buries himself in the pile of blankets they keep there and huffs. Prime, he’s so angry for no reason. He doesn’t even like Schlatt, fucking asshole blew up his face, why is he upset at all? It would be better if he left - go ahead and pack faster, motherfucker, see if Tubbo cares. He doesn’t! He doesn’t. 

So instead of worrying about Schlatt, Tubbo starts planning ahead, focusing on anything else. Ranboo’s experiments have hit a roadblock - nothing in the server can help their cause anymore, and the experiments do more harm than good, now. So they’ve decided that they’ll go to the End. Tubbo, Ranboo and Tommy, that is. 

He’s not sure why Tommy wants to go. He claims it’s because he doesn’t wanna be left out (which, fair) but Tubbo suspects it has to do with the otherness that hides inside of him. When he discussed this with his husband, Ranboo agreed. They don’t wanna push him, though, so they let him come - and no one asks for Tubbo’s business in a strange, unknown realm either. They pack, they research, they plan. 

Not much is actually known about the End. They base most of their planning on Ranboo’s memories: thousands of years old, blurred and distorted by time and his age at the time. It’s hard for him to speak about it, even now. But the need to know is greater. That’s what drives him, what drives Tommy. And Tubbo can’t say it doesn’t interest him too, curiosity eating at him: what’s in the End, what’s beyond the gateway of stars?

According to Ranboo there’s an island of stone. There’s obsidian pillars. And there’s endermen, thousands of them. And beyond the island, even more. 

“There’s not much there, quite frankly,” Bad contradicts him, when he visits for any valuable information, and they discuss it over tea. “I’m not sure why you’d want to go, to be honest. I understand Ranboo, but you? Or Tommy, even. The islands are days away from the main one, and even then most are empty.”

“I’m not leaving them alone,” he says. Bad looks at him like he knows what he hides underneath his skin. 

“Alright,” Bad tells him, and his smile is tight, “let’s make sure you have everything you need, then.”

He tells Puffy, of course. Tells his brother, hesitantly. Puffy says, “just come home safe,” and kisses his forehead. Schlatt says, “I’ll wait for you to come back.”

They’re packing Schlatt’s things, and Tubbo is helping; they sit by the fireplace as it snows outside, and Tubbo doesn’t look at him as he replies, bitingly, with “I don’t want you to wait.”

“Maybe not,” his brother shrugs, and passes him a scarf. “You want this?” It’s soft, blue. Tubbo hates it. He still puts it onto the pile he’s taking home for Michael. “I don’t want to leave until I know you’re back safe.”

Since when do you care, he wants to scream, but he doesn’t. His face burns again. “I’ll be fine,” he insists. “What if you get sick?”

Schlatt rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna get sick.”

“That’s what everyone says. And then they get sick and die.”

“I’m not gonna die.” Tubbo glares at him. He has the decency to look at least sheepish. “I’m not gonna die again.”

“You haven’t exactly kept the best track record, bossman,” he reminds him. Schlatt looks at him funny. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Schlatt says. “Don’t mind me. I’ll still wait for you. Gotta make sure you don’t die like a fuckin’ idiot.” He passes Tubbo a dress shirt - Tubbo folds it, almost mechanically, like he’s done a thousand times before, and places it inside Schlatt’s old duffel bag.

“Puffy can do that.”

“I know. But I want to.”

Tubbo scoffs. “Okay,” he says. “Whatever.”

“I mean it. I promise I’ll stay for you.”

I don’t know if I want you there, Tubbo thinks. He bites his tongue. “Okay.”

Michael likes the scarf. Tubbo doesn’t sleep that night, too busy in the basement, reading fairy tales and trying to find any semblance of truth in them. Tommy stays by his side, busying himself with knitting a sweater - he doesn’t sleep much nowadays, either.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Tommy asks him, out of nowhere. He sounds tired. “We can postpone the trip, there’s no hurry.”

“If I don’t go now, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Tubbo admits, not even putting down the book. “So I’m going, whether you come with me or not.”

Tommy huffs, sinking into his spot on the couch. “No need to be so fuckin’ fussy, sheesh. Of course I’m coming.”

“Okay,” Tubbo says.

“Good,” Tommy mumbles back.

The day of their departure, Puffy, Wilbur and Technoblade are all there to see them off. Tubbo doesn’t care what the Minecrafts have to say to each other, to Ranboo, as long as they do so far away from him; no, instead, he sinks into his sister’s arms, lets her comfort him and calm down his nerves as Ranboo prepares the portal, filling the frames with eyes of Ender.

“You’re shaking,” she points out, “are you nervous?”

“I’m not,” he lies, “just excited.”

Puffy smiles at him, and there’s only love in her eyes. It’s comforting, not having to associate it to manipulation or being hurt. “It’s okay to be. I’m nervous and I’m not even going!” 

Her hands run through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes; her fingers trace the edges of his growing horns, like she did when they were kids, and he leans into her touch. It may be the last time they do this, he recognizes: he might not come back from this.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he tells her.

“Hm,” Puffy mumbles. “Well, some say distance makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

He thinks of Tommy, eyes dark as black holes; thinks of his brother planting an oak tree into the dirt. “I know,” he says. “Hey, why didn’t Schlatt come?”

His sister gives him an awkward smile. “He didn’t think you’d want him here. He knows things aren’t super smooth between you two right now.”

It’s true. “I don’t.”

“Then there should be no issue, right?”

“Right.” His stomach feels funny. His lips press into a tight line. “None at all.”

“Don’t you worry, kiddo,” she reassures him once more, smiling. “Dad would be proud of you.”

He bites his tongue and nods.

To get to the End, one needs an active Portal, a gateway into the worldcode. Bad had told him, during their chat, that those could only be found inside ancient strongholds, and activated with eyes of Ender - both rare things. 

Luckily for them, there just so happens to be several strongholds that Ranboo knows about, almost like he’s drawn to them. Tubbo wouldn’t be surprised about it, honestly. 

A loud noise reverberates through Ranboo’s lab, and both Tubbo and Puffy turn towards it. The portal, at last, has been opened. Tubbo manages to catch a glimpse of it: a pool of ink-like darkness, stars shimmering within it. It’s beautiful, he thinks, and terrifying. 

Then, a masked figure appears before them, cutting his vision of the strange thing. 

YOU CANNOT GO THROUGH, the god of Dream says. LEAVE.

“Yo, it’s God,” Technoblade deadpans, grinning. “Yooo.”

Tubbo sticks closer to Puffy. Ranboo says, “you can’t keep me here any longer. Any of us, for that matter, actually.”

IT’S NOT SAFE FOR YOU THERE, the god of Dream says. I CANNOT PROTECT YOU THERE.

“Buddy,” Tommy laughs, gesturing to his own face, to Wilbur behind him, “you haven’t exactly protected us here.”

I’VE TRIED MY BEST, the god of Dream says.

“Bitch,” Tubbo says.

“You can’t stop us from going,” Ranboo says. “You can’t stop me from going, and wherever I go these two just gotta follow.”

The god of Dream sighs, or so they think, it’s hard to tell, and vanishes.

The room is silent, for a moment, only the hum of the portal and the thrum of anticipation. 

“Well,” Ranboo says, “I guess that’s our cue.”

(The leap is -

hard to describe.

It’s falling through stardust, choking on it as he plummets.

It’s blinding, the stars stretching, the world revolving.

He keeps a vice grip onto Ranboo and Tommy.

If he lets go, he gets the feeling he’d never see them again.

The leap is - 

hard to describe.

The crash is simple, slamming against an obsidian pad.

But right before they do, Tubbo swears:

A hand brushed against his horns.)

Chapter Text

He’d never admit it to Connor, or to Puffy (well, maybe he would, but only under threat of pain and seizure), but he’s scared.

He’s finishing packing his stuff. They’re going through his very few photo albums, or the ones that survived the wars at least, hidden inside his secret little stash behind the poster on the wall at his gym, but he’s not even focusing on the photographs at all. He’s staring right through his college graduation pictures (standing all alone in all of them, save for one - captioned me and the boys with black sharpie) and worrying himself sick about Tubbo. That’s not an exaggeration. He’s done it before. 

Puffy nudges at his shoulder then. “Earth to Schlatt,” she calls for him, smiling. “You alright?”

His fingers are interlocked with hers, have been for a while. He likes human contact; for the longest time, all he’d had was Quackity (Prime, will it ever stop hurting?), and before that, decades of isolation. It’s nice, having a reminder that he’s here, he’s alive, he’s safe, and even nicer to have it be his sister, his best friend, his brother. 

His brother. 

“I’m fine,” he reassures her, closing the album and putting it on the pile he’s taking with him. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

“For how much you do it, you don’t actually get many thoughts done,” Puffy teases. He elbows her, but he’s got some semblance of a smile on his face. “C’mon, what’s on your mind?”

Schlatt sighs. He picks up the next album and flips it open - it’s photos from when they were kids, when Puffy bought him that shitty toy camera for his birthday and then they had the photos developed, when they had saved up enough money. “You already know,” he tells her. His fingers linger on a picture of the three of them around a birthday cake; nothing too fancy, but to them, he recalls, it meant an entire month of working extra shifts. It meant the world. “I’m just… worried. About the kid.”

(It’s hard to admit it. It’s hard, pulling down the tough guy facade, the machismo deeply ingrained into his brain from years of fighting his way to the top. He understands how it’s wrong, it’s damaging, and so he’s trying to stop those habits. For himself, this time - not for Quackity and his empty rewards.)

Puffy’s eyes soften, but she doesn’t pity or mock him for it. She turns back to her own album (one with their very few baby photographs, the one they’d salvaged from the old house) and says, “well, you know he’s very capable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. “But he’s so little. So short. What’s he gonna do if an Enderman attacks him, kick him in the shins?”

“Well, I’m short, Schlatt,” she points out. 

“I’ve seen you fight. Thanks for proving my point, dumbass.”

She decks him. Deserved.

“You know I’m right, though,” he still says. “He’s not even eighteen yet. And he’s going to the End? I don’t… I dunno. It’s fuckin’ dangerous.”

“It is,” she agrees. “But he’s smart. And very strong. You know that.”

(He does. Tubbo can lift both his siblings at the same time. Tubbo is a great swordsman, and scarily good at axe combat. He’s cunning, brilliant. He knows that. He’s always known that.)

“I still don’t like it,” Schlatt grumbles. 

(He knows what Tubbo looks like when he’s injured. He knows, intimately, the way his skin goes deathly pale in seconds, the way he panics and whimpers but never cries. His little brother, covered in ash and blood, what has he done—)

“I know you don’t,” Puffy says, “but you have to trust him right now.”

Schlatt trusts him. He’s allowed to be scared regardless. Even if he doesn’t deserve to be.

And it’s not like he doubts Tubbo will come back safe. Hell, out of the three little pests, Tommy has been statistically proven more likely to die, and the kid is like a roach, always coming back somehow. It’s almost kinda gross, actually. And the Ranboo kid seems responsible enough. He remembers Tubbo introducing him to his husband, and the way Ranboo had gone from scarily overprotective to very respectful the second Schlatt had pulled the ‘I’m the Big Brother and I must approve of you’ card. They all clearly care about each other; it makes Schlatt a little nostalgic.

But he has his reasons to worry, and they’re not unfounded, alright? He knows how easy it is to harm someone else - he regrets it more than anything else - and he knows how badly it hurts. Cycle of violence and whatnot. Logically, he also knows he’d be no real match for anything trying to hurt his little brother: what good can one traumatized guy with a fucked-up leg be in a fight?

(But he’s always believed anything is better than nothing. Bad publicity is still publicity. Maybe that belief led him to where he is now, but it’s the one thing he’s never second-guessed about himself.)

He lets Connor braid his hair. It’s getting long, too long, but he can’t bring himself to cut it just yet; even shaving is a nightmare. He dozes off, though, in the comforting touch of his best friend. Wilbur watches like a hawk from his seat across from them, then looks back down to his book; they’d invited him over to hang out, like they did years ago. It’s not the same. He doubts it ever will be. But that’s okay.

“You look cold,” Wilbur points out. Bumper rubs himself against Wil’s waist, and he runs his hand along the kitten’s back. “D’you want me to get you a blanket?”

Schlatt shakes his head before he can actually think about it. Connor (a literal angel, Schlatt thinks) contradicts him, and goes, “would you? He still thinks asking for things is stupid.”

“Fuck you,” Schlatt says. 

Wilbur still gets him the blanket. He gets one for Connor, too, and brings Bumper the tiny one near his bed. As he sits back down, he looks out the window. “It might snow later,” he says. “I should get going soon.”

“Hope it snows on you,” Schlatt mumbles halfheartedly, already wrapped up in his blanket. Feeling safe.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“Grow up,” Connor chips in. Schlatt closes his eyes. The crackling of the fireplace, Connor’s hands on his head; even the slight rustle of Wilbur’s wings. It’s all oddly comforting.

(Quackity’s hands on his hair. The frigid Las Nevadas nights atop the Needle. You’re so good, he says. Schlatt knows better than to believe him.)

“When we were kids,” Wilbur says, out of nowhere, “Tommy almost froze to death.”

Schlatt opens his eyes. The world outside is growing dark, but no one makes any move to leave. Wil stares out the window, his wings enveloping his lanky body. Connor’s left the room at some point; he can hear him in the back, trying to get Jambo to stop hissing at Charlie. Even Bumper’s gone.

It’s just the two of them, then. He’s not sure he’s not dreaming.

“We were sixteen,” Wilbur continues. “Technoblade and I, we searched everywhere for him. It was a really bad snowstorm, and Tommy was like nine, and we were really scared. We all got lost. It was awful. And we had to find shelter, because we would freeze too if we didn’t, so Techno, he made me go into this cave, right? And he started a fire in there, and while I was warming up he stood at the edge of the cave and kept shouting Tommy’s name, over and over again.”

The wind is howling, outside, and Wilbur’s eyes are glued to the window.

“And I remember thinking Tommy was dead,” he says. “And Techno kept screaming his name for hours. I couldn’t do anything, I felt so helpless. And then, somehow, eventually - Tommy stumbles to us. Techno sees this scrawny little figure stalking towards us, towards the cave, right, and he just bolts into the forest and drags him to the fire. Tommy was so cold, Schlatt. Techno was too. We all were. When Phil found us the next day, I was the only one conscious. He gave us all soup to warm up, I remember.”

Schlatt still says nothing.

“Do you think the End is cold?” Wilbur wonders. He looks small, like the skinny kid he met once, long ago, in that shining city by the sea. “Tommy’s always cold, nowadays, and he didn’t… He didn’t take a coat with him. Just that stupid blue cardigan.”

(Schlatt doesn’t tell him Tommy is freezing to the touch, nowadays, just like Wilbur, just like himself.)

“You’re worried,” he says. Wil’s gaze snaps back towards him; the moment their eyes meet Schlatt looks down, for just a second, before holding his stare. 

“Of course I am. It’s Tommy. He’s my brother.”

(A lifetime ago, Wilbur wouldn’t have admitted to it. Maybe he still doesn’t, to others. To Schlatt, there’s no point in hiding it.)

“I just hope he isn’t too cold,” Wilbur says. 

He ends up staying the night. It’s a pile sort of evening - Wil’s first in forever, if Schlatt recalls correctly - and they’re all a tangled mess of limbs, all of them. 

“It’s not gay to sleep in a pile with all your friends,” Connor insists. Charlie is already tucked in, slowly melting into a pool of goo. 

Wilbur lingers at the edge as Connor helps Schlatt in. “Is that what we are?” Wil asks. “Friends?”

Schlatt squints weirdly at him. “Of course.”

Wilbur is the first to fall asleep, feeling warm and not alone, and Schlatt wonders if Tubbo feels the same, wherever he may be.

(Something about shared life experiences. Something about going to hell and back together. Something about making terrible mistakes and jumping off a cliff together.)

(“Listen,” Schlatt says, munching on a banana and leaning against the walls of their temporary home as they both take a break - hopefully, it lasts a little longer than their usual shelters. It’s not ripe, and both Tubbo and Puffy have told him this, but it’s like he’s doing this to prove a point or something. “Listen, Tubbo, I’m just saying, you’re not pulling your weight in this company.” 

He says it so seriously, but Tubbo knows his brother, and he can’t hold back the grin that paints itself on his face. He clutches tightly onto his bee plushie and holds back an amused squeal. “This is a company now? What’s my position?”

“Grunt,” Schlatt snarks. “Puffy is the CEO of course.”

“Of course,” Tubbo agrees. Anything less, and she’d dump them both off whatever ship they manage to sneak onto and into the maws of hungry sharks, the second she got the chance. “When she gets back, she’s gonna kick your ass.”

“Nah,” Schlatt says. “She loves me too much.”

“She loves me more,” Tubbo counters. 

“Nope. Simply untrue. I’m just cooler than you, kid.”

“But I’m so small and adorable!”

“Damn it, he’s right.”

And his brother laughs, and for a moment, everything is a little less scary. Then Schlatt needs to keep working on the house, and Tubbo on the homework Puffy left him, and so the moment passes by. He sits on top of a chest and writes onto his workbook using the crafting table as support, watching his brother smelt down cobblestone and place wooden planks with care and precision. 

He thinks his brother could make it big out there, someday. They just got a bit of bad luck at the start. But Schlatt is smart, resourceful - and their sister is cunning, brave and fiery. And Tubbo’s just barely ten yet he already knows he’s lucky to even have them caring after him. 

Schlatt makes him go to bed after the sun has already set, but he can’t fall asleep until Puffy enters the house, carrying resources and crushing Schlatt into her embrace. 

“You were startin’ to worry me,” he hears Schlatt whisper. Tubbo can see Puffy tremble under the dim candlelight that still illuminates the room. 

She clings to his jacket and breathes him in. “I’m sorry.”

When her grip falters, there’s bloody fingerprints staining the cheap jean jacket. Schlatt doesn’t ask her where that came from - he can tell they aren’t hers.

“I wish you didn’t have to do this,” he says, clearly upset. “And I know you’re capable, I know that - you’re the strongest person I know,” he continues. “But I’m scared, Puffy. I know what the curse is doing to us and, and I just don’t want—“

(Tubbo realizes right around now he shouldn’t be listening to this.)

“Schlatt,” Puffy says. “The brunt of the curse falls on me. I’m the one who has to break it.”

“I know, but—“

“And I have to do this alone.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he insists. “If anything happened to you, I don’t know how to— what would I do? We’ve never been apart. What am I without you?”

And Puffy smiles, frail and wavering and scared, but she smiles. Takes two steps forward, engulfs him in a tight hug again - Tubbo watches from behind, clutching his bee, as his brother’s strong facade shatters and he cries into their sister’s shoulder. 

And at the moment, Tubbo is ten and doesn’t understand the significance yet. He doesn’t understand the true depths of the curse, the convoluted reasons his sister will lose her memory and his brother his sanity and himself his trust in others. At the moment he just sees his siblings and loves them, is scared for them but feels loved in return. 

And Puffy tells Schlatt, “yourself,” and Tubbo never forgets it. 

And that’s their downfall, Tubbo realizes now. That’s when things went downhill. She takes a job in a ship, sailing away, and they see her off. They settle down in a small town, unable to keep moving without their sister, and Schlatt gets a job and they rent a tiny cramped room in the outskirts of the village, and they celebrate Schlatt’s birthday without her, and Tubbo blows her candle, and Schlatt cries himself to sleep, and that’s their downfall. That’s the beginning of the end.

That night, though, Tubbo simply closes his eyes, feels his siblings slip into bed with him, feels them curl up around him, and finally feels safe enough to rest.)

(“Hey,” Puffy tells him. “Dad would be proud.”

“Of course he’d be,” Schlatt scoffs. He stands without help and watches his brother and his friends playing in the yard, running through the sprinklers like it’s a summer afternoon. “Dad would be proud of us painting stick figures.”

“You know what I mean,” she says. “He’d be proud of you.”

“Me?” Schlatt wants to laugh. “Yeah, okay.”)

Chapter Text

The most notable thing about the End, Tubbo would say, is the sky, or lack thereof. 

There is… static, instead of blue or stars. A crack runs through it, like shattered glass, spiderwebbing through the firmament. He catches Tommy staring intently at the point the crack originates from; his eyes are the darkest they’ve ever been, and his hand trembles within Tubbo’s.

There’s half-collapsed pillars of obsidian, intricate and beautiful, surrounding a bedrock fountain - it’s empty, and that’s a big problem, according to Ranboo. There’s endermen, sporadically, spread through the empty island; when they spot the group, instead of attacking, they bow their heads and promptly teleport away.

“It makes sense,” Tubbo says, writing it down, “if you are the Heir.”

Ranboo shrugs. “I guess.” Tommy doesn’t say anything at all. “Let’s keep going.”

Not much farther from the Fountain, then, they find bones. Old bones, colossal bones. They walk underneath massive ribs, feeling like they’re walking over hallowed grounds. Ranboo runs a hand over one.

“Mh-hm,” he confirms, nonchalantly, “this is definitely my mom.”

“Oh,” Tubbo says. “Are you okay?”

Ranboo is quiet for a long, long moment. Tommy’s other hand reaches for Ranboo’s. Ranboo smiles at him, then at his husband, and says, “I’m okay. Let’s figure this thing out.”

His eyes sparkle violet for a moment. Neither of them mention it.

It’s not the weirdest thing among the three of them, Tubbo rationalizes.

There’s also something fascinating, from a scientist’s perspective, about watching Ranboo remember things. They’re sitting by the campfire, later, watching violet flames consume the logs they brought from home, and Ranboo stares at the fire, and it’s like something inside his head shifts. 

“When they killed her,” he starts, suddenly, “my Guardians stopped listening to me. That’s important, I think. They were looking at the fire. Things don’t normally burn here,” he elaborates, seeing Tubbo’s confusion. “There’s nothing that burns. Just the Crystals.”

“You think they were in a trance or something like that?” Tubbo asks. Next to him, Tommy’s dozing off, staring into the sky.

“Maybe,” Ranboo shrugs. “Fire always draws me in, at least.”

“It’s warm,” Tommy agrees, startling them both. It dawns on Tubbo that this is the first thing he’s said since arriving here. 

“Are you okay?” He asks him. Tommy doesn’t reply. “Tommy?”

Tommy makes a face, like he’s constipated or something like that. “Can you hear it? The fucking— sky? Or am I going fucking crazy?”

“The Void sings a poem from time to time, but most people can’t hear it,” Ranboo explains. “My Mother explained it to me when I was younger.”

“It’s not a fucking poem.” Tommy’s shivering. “It’s like— a song, or something. I don’t— I shouldn’t have come, this was a terrible, terrible idea.”

Tubbo can’t say he understands. Still, he says, “you’re going to be okay, Tommy,” and holds his hand real tight. Tommy leans into him - he’s so cold. “What’s the, um, poem about?”

“Not a poem,” Tommy mumbles.

“I can recite it, if you want,” Ranboo offers.

 “I’d like that,” Tubbo says. “Would that be fine, Tommy?”

Tommy grumbles under his breath. His face has squeezed into a mask of tension - and yet he still nods, anyway. 

So Ranboo begins, gently: “I see the player.”

They return to the problem at hand: the Fountain, their way home, is empty. 

The endermen around don’t pay them any mind as they work around the bedrock structure. Amongst any other company, Tubbo would’ve been the picture of sophisticated calm, perfectly collected as he lays out the issue and ways to solve it clear for his companions to see. As it is, though, Tubbo knows all too well that he is with the only two people in the world who can see right through his disguise, the two idiots who can tell he is terrified. 

“Don’t worry,” Ranboo promises him, bumping their foreheads together a little roughly - just the way Tubbo likes it. “We just need End Rods. We can get some of those easily.”

“Where?” Tommy grumbles. A bit of sleep did him well; his eyes are sorta-blue today, and he’s acting like, well, like Tommy, even if he’s still uneasy and on edge. Right now, he’s fidgeting with the edges of his cardigan. The blue wool is fraying. He guesses Tommy will fix it when they get back. 

(If.)

(Would Schlatt really wait forever? Or would he get tired of him? Did he even want to wait?)

“Beyond the main island,” Ranboo says, “and we’re going there anyway.” A trill escaped his throat, and the sparse endermen nearby all turn to look at them. Tubbo and Tommy quickly look to the ground, and Ranboo blinks. “Well, that was weird. Anyway, we totally can reopen the portal. It’s possible.”

“Fine, then,” Tubbo says. “Let’s fix this shit.”

“Really, we don’t have to worry too much. And maybe we can get some elytra if we’re lucky, I bet Phil would like that.”

Tommy perks up at that, but quickly goes back to pretending he doesn’t care too much. “Elytra?”

Ranboo just smiles at him. “Prosthetic wings.”

A few hours later they’re bridging across the void. There’s something about the endless darkness, about the crack running through the sky that Tommy sometimes fixates over. Something about the inescapable quiet that surrounds them. They build their path with wood they brought from home and stone they mined from the main island, cut into slabs to squeeze them truly. 

(Ranboo had said something about gateways being missing. He didn’t think too much about it.)

Then, they arrive at a new island. Covered in strange violet trees and sprinkled with endermen. The three stand there in silence, at the edge of the island, taking it all in. 

Tommy says, “guys, look,” and Tubbo turns to see what he’s pointing at. 

More islands. 

They spend the whole day (or what they think is the whole day) exploring the islands. Tubbo tries a chunk of the fruit growing on the trees everywhere, and feels as if his whole body is sneezing, before realizing he has somehow moved two feet to the right. Tommy calls it witchcraft. Ranboo says a word in Ender he doesn’t know how to translate. Tra’at, he says. 

Tubbo settles on calling it short-range random teleportation, and stuffs his pockets full with the fruit. 

( Puffy will like this, he thinks, and his stomach feels dizzy. Will he even see her again? Does he want to?)

The journey takes them days. There’s so many islands, but not much to see. There are ruins of buildings, constructed with yellowing stone, old treasure within, but only Tommy seems interested in those, always fascinated by shiny things, managing to tear his gaze from the crack in the sky. 

All in all, they remain in the outer End for two weeks and a little more. The penultimate day there they sit down and set up camp in the remains of what must’ve been an old house; they all lie down and attempt to rest, close to each other but not enough, but Ranboo keeps chirping out at every enderman that walks by and Tommy keeps shifting in his spot.

So Tubbo says, carefully, “my dad used to tell us stories about this.”

They both look at him, tilting their heads towards him. The fire they’ve started casts a violet glow over them. Ranboo holds his hand, squeezes it - “yeah?” He says.

“When I was little, he’d tell us all about this place, how he’d visited through his adventures, met so many people. He’d tell us about the Nether and the seven seas. He traveled the world, you know?”

Ranboo hums.

Tommy says, “you never talk about him.”

Tubbo says, “I don’t remember anything else from him.”

(He wonders if his siblings still do, or if he’s just another faded memory they’d rather forget.)

The last night in the End they find the City.

Tommy is the first to spot it, and he breaks into a mad sprint towards it the second he does, sending Ranboo and Tubbo chasing after him. The sight is breathtaking: a massive structure rising into the air, floating towers and buildings creating something closer to a castle but too alien to be manmade. Then, at the very top, a flying ship, the same faded lavender as the trees around them. There’s no indication as to how any of it works, how it stays there, suspended in place, but Tubbo’s mind is already racing, trying to make sense of it.

“Oh,” he says, excitement bubbling under his skin, “we are going up there.”

“Yup,” Ranboo grins. “You’re gonna love this.”

“It’s a big fucking sky-city-thing!” Tommy cackles, eyes dark and glossy. “No way!”

The thing is desolate, not even endermen inhabiting the place. There’s no staircases, just strange ‘parkour sections’ (Tommy’s words, not his) with glowing sticks serving as footing. “These are End Rods,” Ranboo tells them, clearly hyped up too. “When we come back down, we can just grab a bunch of these and fix the Fountain.”

“Hell yes,” Tubbo laughs, climbing onto the next rod and helping Tommy up. “Let’s explore this shit.”

They climb through increasingly-treacherous towers and wide, spacious rooms. Everything is empty, quiet. Ranboo tells them about how these used to be full of life, eons before his first life, tells them how people came here to hide, to thrive, and coexisted with his people. He doesn’t know what happened to them. They find chests with not much inside. They don’t find much of anything, actually, which is a little disappointing, but the views are amazing, at least.

Then they reach the ship at the very top of the citadel, after an hour or so. They stand at the edge of the bridge, watching it simply stand there, perfectly still in the air. Tubbo climbs onto it first, putting on a brave face, and the way it sways as he walks onto the violet slabs reminds him starkly of getting onto Puffy’s ship back home. 

The ship is also empty, at first glance. There’s a dragon skull at the helm, which makes Ranboo flinch when they notice it, only for them to realize it’s just carved out of dyed clay. Tommy checks out the eagle’s nest, but there’s nothing there. Then they head into the cabin below, and Tubbo bumps into Ranboo, almost crashing down.

“Boo, what—“ he starts.

“Someone was here,” Ranboo says, strained, and pulls out his sword.

The room is well-lived in. There’s a dying fire by the window, lilac embers barely glowing anymore. There’s a cot of sorts by a corner, rags at this point. There’s a single old, torn starmap; Tommy is the one to recognize it as the Hypixel skies. Tubbo’s heart hammers in his chest.

Then, they climb the ladder to the treasure room, slowly, quietly. Obsidian lines the floor, cool and polished; there’s two chests by the opposite wall, and an empty frame. Ranboo’s eyes remain glued to it.

“Tell me what’s going on, bossman,” Tubbo whispers.

“The elytra,” he replies. His hand points to the frame. “It’s gone.”

They wander into the room. There’s no traps. No nothing. The floor has ashes scattered around, but nothing major, and the walls have scratches every now and then, tallying the days they presume. But beyond that - nothing.

It’s still a beautiful ship, Tubbo considers, as he leans against the wall. He imagines, for a second, rainbow flags flying from the mastle, his sister leading the flight; he imagines his brother dozing off in the eagle’s nest, as Tubbo fills in a coloring book next to him, and… 

(He misses that. He doesn’t want Schlatt to go. He doesn’t want Puffy to leave, either, even if he knows it’s inevitable, even if he knows change is unstoppable. He never wanted them to leave him.)

He rubs at his face. Tears won’t come out, anyway, but just in case.

“Yo, Tubbs,” Tommy calls out for him. He’s kneeling next to one of the chests, holding a worn journal in his hands. “Isn’t this you?”

Ranboo, looting the other chest (only containing worn wool blankets and stone), turns to Tommy at the same time Tubbo does. Tommy’s holding up the journal, now, showing off one of the pages, and the sight of it steals his breath away.

“Oh,” Tubbo breathes out, and with three wide strides he’s falling to his knees right between Tommy and Ranboo, grabbing the journal within his hands.

It’s a painting of a young ram hybrid. Dark curls almost cover his eyes, and he’s grinning wide, missing his front teeth.

“It’s like your baby pictures,” Ranboo points out. “Really similar, at least.”

His fingers trace the painting, feeling the texture of the paper and the paint, the faint feeling of the sketch beneath it.

“It’s not me,” he admits, feeling a little like he’s drowning. “It’s Schlatt. His eyes are dark.”

(He remembers the baby photos Puffy had shown him, one of those Uno nights. He remembers feeling conflicted about how he and Schlatt looked like twins.)

He flips the page as Tommy scoots closer and Ranboo peeks in. There’s more paintings, countless, of his brother, then his sister. Their childhood home - Tubbo still remembers it, vestigially, in the sense that he couldn’t picture it clearly before, but seeing it illustrated before him makes those memories burst open like ripe pomegranates. There’s even a painting of his mother. He stares at it for a long time. 

He didn’t remember her face, either.

There’s writing in-between the paintings. Lists of items, small notes - I need this, I have to do that. And then, at the last entry, he sees it. A proper journal entry.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out. Tommy and Ranboo pull in even closer, eyes widening at the page, at the not-too-old ink. 

It’s signed. There’s a photograph of the man himself at the end, an old, faded one, the size of Tubbo’s thumb, safely preserved within the pages of the diary. He looks human. He looks tired.

It’s signed, Tubbo repeats to himself, picking the photo from the ridge between the pages, and he cries. 

He gathers everything he can carry. His husband and his best friend - the blood of the covenant and all that, twilight running through all their veins - help him with it. He carries the journal close to his chest as they walk across the void once more, terrified of dropping it, of losing it. The road back is significantly shorter than earlier, taking around half the time; when they arrive at the core island, though, it's overcrowded with endermen. Tubbo averts his eyes immediately, but Ranboo and Tommy don’t. They all grip each other’s hands and attempt to approach the Fountain - they pass through the Dragon’s bones, past their first campfire, and only then does Tubbo look up. 

The Fountain is already active. They didn’t do anything, and yet it’s open. 

He looks at the journal, and fights back the tears threatening to burst. He’s cried enough tears for a lifetime. 

“Well,” Ranboo says, annoyed. “We didn’t need the rods, then.”

“Guess not,” Tommy huffs. His eyes are glued at the crack in the sky once more, one final time. It seems to twinkle at him, one last goodbye. “The song is ending,” he mumbles, and looks back at the Fountain, then at his companions. “Ready?”

Ranboo looks back at his mother’s bones, at the endermen fluttering around her remains. “Ready,” he replies, and approaches the Fountain. “Tubbo?”

Tubbo squeezes the book between his hands and breathes out. “I’m ready.”

(The leap is -

hard to describe.

It’s falling through clouds, like how he imagines flying to feel like. The sun is rising, the stars fading, the world revolving. 

He keeps a vice grip onto Ranboo and Tommy as they fall.

If he lets go, he gets the feeling he’d never see them again, and he can’t do that; they’re family, they’ve dug through the thick concrete walls he’s built around his heart and made themselves at home in there, like the little plagues they are. He can’t afford to lose them, not anymore. 

The leap is - 

hard to describe.

The crash is simple, slamming against stone bricks, worn and faded by time. 

But right before they do, Tubbo swears:

A hand brushed against his horns.)

Tubbo wakes slowly, like he’d just been having a wonderful dream. He stares at the stone ceiling and stretches - everything hurts a little bit, but not too badly, like the morning after a day of hard work. He feels bodies tangled with his own; Tommy is holding onto him like a possessive koala, and Ranboo is sprawled on top of the two of them, forming a weird pile - not that he’s not used to that. He’d missed them, actually. Missed the feeling of mild suffocation and warmth. 

Carefully, he peels Ranboo’s tail from where it has wrapped itself around his arm, and slides out of Tommy’s grip with the practiced ease of someone who’s done so for years and years. He looks at them as they sleep, revels in their peaceful expressions for once, and tiptoes out of the room, gently closing the door behind them. 

He’s at Puffy’s house. He should’ve guessed that would be the case. His sister sleeps on the couch, looking exhausted, and there’s a blanket spread over her; he recognizes it as one from Schlatt’s, one of those he was giving away. Bitterness and regret floods him: he must be long-gone by now. He didn’t even say goodbye, not really. He’s still not sure he even wanted to, to be honest, but the closure would’ve been nice, and Schlatt deserves to know about what he found. He exhales and rubs his hands across his face, pops his lips, and stumbles into the kitchen, where—

Where Schlatt stands, making pancakes. 

“Uh,” Tubbo blinks. Schlatt looks at him and the smile that covers his face is too big to be faked, too natural and not strained at all, too unlike Manberg.

“You’re up!” He says, awkwardly tender. “You sleep a lot, you know that? It’s been like a whole fuckin’ day.”

Tubbo’s throat tightens. “I thought you’d have left by now,” he admits. “I thought...”

Schlatt looks back at the pancakes, flips one with the spatula. “I told you I’d wait for you,” he says. And then, “sorry, if I made you uncomfortable. Maybe it was a little selfish of me.”

A tense silence follows. Schlatt’s leaning on his good leg as he cooks; it probably hurts, doesn’t it. Tubbo approaches, picking the maple syrup from one of the cabinets, and says, so quietly he’s not even sure his brother can hear it, “I’m glad you stayed.” 

And he finds that, somehow, despite everything, despite the hurt and the pain and the deaths, he still means it.

Schlatt doesn’t look at him, but Tubbo catches his brother’s faint smile from the corner of his eye, and the way his ears twitch. Schlatt says, “well, now you gotta tell us all about that trip of yours. Everyone’s gonna be so jealous I got to find out first.”

“I think you’ll like it, bossman,” Tubbo tells him, and with sticky fingers he swipes a bite of the lukewarm test pancake - the first one’s always ugly, after all. He makes a face as he tries it. “Prime, Schlatt, this tastes like shit.”

“Hey! Next time, make your own breakfast, you fuck!”

(But his brother’s laughing, like he hasn’t in years.)

A groan filters in from the living room: “you fucks are so loud!” Schlatt cackles louder at their sister.  

(His brother is laughing. His sister is here.)

Tubbo grins, wild, and narrowly dodges a pancake to the face. He cackles. He can’t help it. 

(That morning, after breakfast, after Tommy and Ranboo tell the tale of their adventure, after they both head home without him - Tubbo remains. 

“I found Dad’s journal,” he tells his siblings. The twins listen to his story, listen as he tells them of the flying ship once more and of the things they found inside, and then, only then, he shows them the journal. 

Puffy’s fingers trace the painting of her twin, just like Tubbo had done. “Oh, Schlatt,” she says, “you were so small back then.”

“Look,” Schlatt points, smiling oddly. “It’s the old house.”

“Do you think it’s still there?”

Schlatt shrugs. “Maybe. Hey, we could go together.”

They all know his leg can’t handle such a trip. But they smile anyway. 

Finally, they read the journal entry together. They sit by the fire as the sun goes down, as snow falls outside Puffy’s home, and they read the words out loud. They fall asleep like that, too, early into the night, whispering about times long past.

And he knows his brother will still leave, of course. And he knows his sister will go next. And yet… he’s okay, he thinks. Or he thinks he could be okay, eventually, if not tonight. 

Tonight, Tubbo has no nightmares, and maybe that’s enough.)

December 23rd

Today marks yet another birthday of my son Tubbo. He must be eighteen today, if I’m correct. Happy birthday! A grown man, and I’ve missed it all.

It feels strange, thinking about it, and knowing I can’t come back just yet. There is no sky here, nothing beyond the static above, and clocks don’t work, so keeping track of the time has been a task, surely. But I’ve managed, I hope. Being stuck in the End has not been kind, nor an easy task, and yet I can’t help but feel entranced by its beauty. The floating islands, soaring through the chasms; even the odd taste of chorus fruit has grown on me.

I miss home, though. Miss my boys, my sweet Puffy, and my dear wife. Soon, I hope, I’ll see you all again, now that I’ve gathered the crystals needed. I hope, wherever you all are, you’ve grown into wonderful young people, hope you’ve done good for yourselves.

I hope to see all you’ve accomplished with my own two eyes. I hope you’re still around, and I hope you’ll be willing to have me.

I should go prepare for the trip. The core island is a few days’ travel from here, but I’m confident the elytra won’t break on me, now that I’ve enchanted it. If my theory is correct (End, I pray to you it is) then I’ll be able to refill the Fountain and I’ll meet the grass and the blue skies soon enough. From then I just need to get home.

You’re all so close, I can almost hold you. I can’t wait to have you in my embrace.

- Jordan.