Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I...I think my biggest regret was my last words to him."

From a clipboard, Tubbo's therapist and only friend in the whole town, Puffy, looked at him softly. 

Sighing, Tubbo rolled back onto his spine. "I don't remember what it was exactly, but I think I told him to suck it up. To stop being such a fucking coward, and own up to his actions and-"

"Tubbo." Puffy's voice rang out, a moment of clarity through angry fog.

Looking down at his arms, Tubbo realized he was digging his nails into them again. "Oh."

This time, Puffy was the one to sigh. "Tubbo, I understand you and your family are all still in your own ways of mourning, but-"

"Yeah, yeah, it's been two years, we should all accept it and move on-" Tubbo interrupted. "But- it's still our faults, we could've done so much more but we 

-"

"And who knows. Maybe this time you will do the right things."

"It's not like anyone's going to get the chance to."

Puffy raised an eyebrow, sympathy in her eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Tubbo sighed yet again. "Well, Dad's been grieving, saying he hears 

voice- and Mum's voice too- Will's delirious and drugged out of his fuckin' mind, Techno just stopped caring about any of us and ran off to god knows where, I've tried to kill myself more than I have fingers-"

"That's why you're here, Tubbo." Puffy chimed in. "You need help, and you shouldn't deny yourself it."

"I feel like I deserve it though." Tubbo said.

"Which you don't," Puffy countered. "You just need acceptance."

Tubbo chose not to respond to that.

Puffy glanced at her watch. "You know, I'm more than aware about your social life."

"About how dead it is? Thanks."

"What happened to your friends in your old town?"

"Ghosted me after learning about how much of a piece of shit I am."

Puffy frowned."I have two sons, a year or so older than you. If you ever need a friend, they're both open to contact-"

"Oh, would you look at that," Tubbo cut her off. "Appointment's over. See you next week, Captain."

Puffy took a deep breath. "Alright."

Just as Tubbo was about to leave the room however, Puffy interrupted his leave.

"And, by the way Tubbo," She said. "Happy birthday."

___

"I'm home!" Tubbo shouted into the empty house. No response, as always.

After... his death, and the funeral that followed, Tubbo's family were quick to get out of town, moving hours away. Soon after, most people in Tubbo's contacts told him to lose their number, and Tubbo had then soon received a fair amount of doxing and death threats. 

He lost friends like Ranboo, Eret, Jack, Fundy, and Niki, a lot of people he was friends with for years. 

Techno and Wilbur lost a lot of their friends too: Techno had accepted this quickly, and with a few new piercings on his face, hair dyed in neon pink over bubblegum, and a pair of glasses, Techno left. Wilbur had spiralled off into the deep end, now solely operating on any drug he could get his hands on. Phil, Tubbo's dad, had also fallen, this time into a sea of hallucinations and depression. Most days, Tubbo would have to make food to keep Phil alive while he rotted in the master bedroom, calling out for a dead brother and a dead mother.

Tubbo was doing terrible himself: he was pretty sure he got expelled from school because he never even showed up. He had a dead social life, he had tried the internet only to get death threats by angry people avenging for his brother's death. He had briefly turned to trying the same fate as him only to fail each and every single time. Now he just went to therapy, go home, and rot his brain until he could find something better to do.

Booting up his Switch, Tubbo opened up Animal Crossing and began working on his island, occasionally scratching at his scarred wrists. 

Usually he'd do a similar pattern of his until he passed out from exhaustion, but today was oddly different.

Tubbo's phone buzzed.

That was new.

Pausing his game, Tubbo picked up his phone, seeing the text from an unknown number.

[1] 234-5678: Hey :D is this tubbo?

Opening up his phone, Tubbo chose to reply.

Yeah.

:D I'm foolish- my mom is ur therapist lol

Great.  Puffy was trying to make him socialize. Ew.

k

so u play games or something?

I was playing animal crossing before you yk

me too :D wb minecraft?

A familiar tightness strung in Tubbo's heart.

not anymore.

Ok well I'm outside ur house now so open up

What.

Opening up his curtain, Tubbo saw some highschool cliche of a jock, or a Chad, or a himbo- or whatever they call those types of people. Walking downstairs, Tubbo hesitated to open the doorknob. He could always leave Foolish outside, it was fall and things were starting to get cold fast. If he just. . . didn’t open the door, he’d go away, right?

But that’d be mean, and he didn’t want to be mean anymore.

Before Tubbo could ponder it longer, the door was opened and he was pulled outside.

“-and I know that you’re moving away and all and I never got to be your friend-” Foolish had rambled, and Tubbo looked at him with wild eyes.

“What.”

Foolish let go of his grip on Tubbo. “The sign? Outside your house? You’re moving away, right?”

Peering behind Foolish proved correct. A bright red “FOR SALE” sign was dug into Tubbo’s front lawn. Oh.

“Oh.” Tubbo echoed.

“Well- this is awkward.”

Tubbo hummed. He wanted to go back inside. It was cold outside. 

“So- you wanna-”

“Nope.” Tubbo cut off Foolish. “I’m going to go pack. Tell Puffy I said hi, or something.”

And with that, Tubbo briskly went inside, and shut the door.

“Who was that?”

Tubbo turned around to see an annoyed Wilbur Soot. “Puffy’s son, Foolish. Wanted to stop by since we’re moving-”

“Who’s Puffy?” A puff followed by a cloud of smoke came up from Wilbur’s vape.

“. . . My therapist.”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t need a therapist dipshit. Stop going.”

Tubbo knew better than to disagree with Wilbur. The last time he disagreed, well, his room got trashed, and bruises and circle burns littered him for weeks. “Okay- I will.”

Wilbur looked Tubbo up and down. “Get me my stash from upstairs.”

With that, Wilbur made a grand exit, leaving in a cloud of artificially flavored smoke. Usually, he’d wait about two minutes before heading back inside to yell at Tubbo for not being fast enough to get his stash of weed, coke, and various other narcotics that was kept in a box under his bed. Wilbur’s room was unfortunately across the house, and Tubbo would have to make the trek across the infamous Hall.

The Hall was, well, a hallway. One that was covered in pictures of all different frames and shapes and sizes. Normally, Tubbo wouldn’t have a problem with that, you know, family bonding and shit, but it was the contents of said pictures that disturbed him.

Since the death of Tubbo’s brother, it was an understatement to say that his father, Phil, got a little too sad. He had already lost his wife and Tubbo’s mother, and now he lost one of the last remnants of her. Back in their old house, there was no picture of their mother unless it was in Phil’s room, but now, half of the Hall was covered with her figure. No problem with that, Tubbo was glad to meet his mother for the first time. 

The bad part is, the face of Tubbo’s dead brother was plastered with her.

He didn’t want to see his brother- the twin that he failed to be a decent fucking person too. His funeral was more than enough already, all of Tubbo’s friends had yelled at his family, then decided to tell his entire school about it.

The aftermath was horribly glorious.

Phil had gotten fired from his job, which decimated not only his passion but motivation, Techno got expelled and received the same effect, Wilbur was shunned by everyone he knew, with his [now ex] girlfriend breaking up with him, and Tubbo, although not being expelled for unknown reasons, being blocked by all his friends and ridiculed until he left town. Everybody knew of the Minecrafts- the child murderers, abusers, assholes, neglectful “family”- the whole gimmick. 

Sighing, Tubbo opened Wilbur’s room, getting hit with the smell of smoke and cheap booze. It’s a wonder how the smoke detectors haven’t gone off yet. If they had any. 

Bending under the bed, he rustled around until he latched onto a box, and yanked it out, taking it under his arm and going through the hall, staring directly at the ground to avoid the feeling of Tubbo’s dead family members staring at him.

He wonders if his mom is disgusted with him, or if his twin is happy. He hopes they are. It’s what they deserve.

“Wilbur-” Tubbo called. He had almost called him ‘Will’, like he used to, but nobody was allowed to call him that anymore. “I got your box.”

Wilbur took it and shooed Tubbo off. 

Rude. Not even a thank you.

Well, back to playing Nintendo.

three days later; tubbo’s birthday.

“oW- FUCK-”

“Happy birthday.”

Tubbo held up a hand to his face, a fresh cigarette burn was branded on his already marred cheek.

Wilbur stalked off again, most likely to climb on the roof and snort more coke.

“Great start, Tubbo.” Tubbo whispered to himself. “But it’s okay- it’s our birthday, and that means we get to have cake and presents and a party!”

“You don’t have friends.”

Tubbo looked up at Techno, standing in his doorway. Techno had dyed his hair bright, bubblegum pink then let it grow out, a contrast from his habit of a lighter, fully dyed pink head. He had gold piercings, and fake gold jewelry, including one of those shitty plastic bead necklaces. 

“It’s the thought that counts.” Tubbo responded.

“Fair enough.” Techno said. “And, Phil’s up and cooking for once, but-”

Before Techno could finish, Tubbo had bolted out from the Hall and into the kitchen, seeing a plethora of dishes. He could smell that these were someone’s favorites, and with a little bit of inferencing, Tubbo knew these dishes were for-

“Tubs, don’t touch those. They’re for Tommy’s birthday.” Phil spoke, not looking up from the dish he was making. 

Oh.

“Okay.” Tubbo mumbled, walking back. 

“I was going to tell you.” Techno said, shutting his door behind him. That door would probably not open until they moved.

Honestly, Tubbo shouldn't have been surprised, or even sad about this. Phil would do this every year, celebrate a birthday for someone who had been buried in the ground, and forget that they were part of twins. Twins who shared the same birthday, born seventeen minutes apart. 

They used to argue about it a lot, Tubbo and his twin. Tubbo was born first, but his twin would always insist on doing things first because he was born second. Then either Techno, Phil, or Wilbur would remind them they were twins and could do everything together.

Entering his room again, now becoming barren and packed away as the days went by, Tubbo sighed. At least Animal Crossing remembered his birthday.

__

Tubbo wasn’t sure what he was thinking, calling Foolish at this ungodly hour in the night. It was a stupid, uncalled decison. There were so many risks, like Wilbur or Phil hearing him, Foolish being dead asleep, Puffy or Dream picking up- Puffy was fine, but Tubbo had heard things about Dream- the call ending terribly. . . Tubbo could go on.

But instead, at 2:45 a.m, Tubbo whispered to a stranger.

“It’s my birthday, y’know?” He spoke.

“ Oh wait- really? Happy late birthday then! How old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

“ Did you have a fun party? ”

Tubbo could almost hear the smile in his voice.

“I didn’t have a party.”

“ Are you going to have one later, or like a smaller one with family-”

“I’m not having a party.” Tubbo muttered. “My. . . dad, he only remembers that it’s my dead twin’s birthday, my older brothers either don’t care enough or hate me too much to celebrate it. At least I got Animal Crossing.”

“ That’s. . . depressing.”

“That’s why I talked to your mom weekly.”

“ Oh- well- happy birthday, again. Hope your next one is cooler- invite me next time!”

If Tubbo’s being honest, he’s positive that’s not going to happen.

“Okay. Bye, Foolish. I’ll text you tomorrow when we’re moving.”

“By-”

Tubbo clicked the hang up button.

Chapter Text

Who would know that a car ride could be so agonising.

For once in around two years, Tubbo’s entire living family was in one area, this time closer than a couple of feet! The gang was here!

Well, okay, it was more of positive reassurances that Tubbo had been mentally screaming at himself, as the actual screaming happened around him.

Wilbur had claimed shotgun, subjecting Techno and Tubbo to the backseat. Which was fine, if Phil and Wilbur didn’t hate each other with equally burning passions. 

“You literally smoke weed and don’t do shit all day-” Phil shouted, knuckles white on the steering wheel. 

“Well at least I know how to fucking mourn-” Wilbur retorted, popping a few pills into his mouth. “I lost a mom and an annoying ass brother, we have equal losses.”

“Speak shit about Kristen and Tommy again and we’ll make sure you lose three more family members you ungrateful shit-” 

“Me? Ungrateful? You set us all up for fucking disaster the second you fucked mom-”

“It’s called love, something a drug addict like you won’t have if you keep on popping pills and snorting up shit!”

“I had Sally, until Tommy decided to fucking kill himself!”

“Sally was a runaway! She literally stole things for a living- you two were fucking criminals, not lovers!”

“We were going to have a son together! Run away from fucking asshats like you!”

“You wouldn’t be good parents, you’d be begging me for money the second you realize that being a decent parent costs shit other than drugs and alcohol!”

“Oh- you’re the decent parent here? When Tommy-”

Tubbo turned up the volume on his cellphone, but the angry voices of Phil and Wilbur prevailed. He looked over at Techno, who had noise blocking headphones and was reading a copy of “The Art of War’. 

Techno used to be passionate about that type of stuff, Greek Mythology and all, from the heroes and figures to Greek history itself. 

At least one of them had a chance of living normally again.

From the music in his earbuds, Tubbo heard the yelling crank up a notch. 

"Please shut up. . ." He muttered, sighing. 

"What did you say?" Phil asked, cutting off Wilbur's rant and looking at him through the rearview mirror.

"Nothing-" Tubbo said.

"Sounds like he was telling you to shut the fuck up." Wilbur replied.

"Tubbo, I expected better of you honestly-" Phil said, letting disappointment seep into his words.

"Wha- I didn't say that! Wilbur's putting words in my fucking mouth again!" 

"I don't recall telling Tommy to- and I quote- to suck it up-"

"That was two years ago- I know I was a fucking asshole to him-"

" Oh, look, I'm Tubbo, I'm so smart and sad because I helped kill Tommy, ooh-" Wilbur mocked, waving his hands in the air and rolling his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up!" Tubbo screamed, lunging across the entire car to grab at Wilbur.

Although it was across the entire car, the two of them fought fiercely, yelling and screaming profanities, grabbing at anything they could. 

"Boys! Quit fighting in the car, deal with it when we get to the new house!" Phil shouted, using a hand to knock the two of them apart. 

Wilbur groaned, Tubbo leaned back into his seat, Phil tightened his grip on the steering wheel and Techno remained as indifferent as always.

Tubbo wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep.

He knew it was impending, it was a six hour long ride. He had woken up a few times when there were bits of arguing, or when someone had to switch driving the car, but mostly, Tubbo remained in his own bubble of unconsciousness.

Nearing the end of their drive, Tubbo had woken up slightly to see that they were back in their hometown, where this whole thing started. He remembers thinking, “ oh. We’re going back home.”

Tubbo wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, but he was sure that when he woke up, things were going to end badly for him.

He had woken up to his car door being opened, and being roughly shaken by an unknown force. 

Upon opening his eyes, Tubbo noticed they were back at their original house. Not so good.

Then he saw a very pissed off Wilbur. Also not so good.

Without much hesitation, Tubbo felt his seat buckle being undone, and being quite literally dragged out of the car, Wilbur climbing on top of him and aiming right at his face.

The first few hits made contact, but Tubbo had faced his brother before, and by prying out his arms, Tubbo was able to stop the barrage of punches to his head. But of course, nothing could stop the wrath of Wilbur Soot Minecraft, and after Wilbur was able to stop Tubbo’s defenses, Tubbo was yanked off the sidewalk, and began getting dragged to the house. 

“I’m going to lock you in the fucking attic and let you starve- or I’ll throw you down the fucking stairs and see how you like that-” Wilbur threatened him, his grip iron on Tubbo. 

Tubbo looked back at Phil and Techno, eyes pleading. 

They turned away.

Guess this was a solo mission.

Tubbo had been under the haze of sleep, but now he was wide awake, adrenaline pumping through his head. He began to struggle, trying to get his arm out of Wilbur’s grip.

“Let me- go-!” Tubbo screamed, shouts shortened by the pure energy he was putting into his escape. It not only hurt, but it was embarrassing. Tubbo could feel the eyes on him already, from neighbors, from the people walking down the sidewalk, most likely people coming home from school, from an indifferent Phil and Techno, from a pissed off Wilbur. 

“You heard Phil-” Wilbur shouted back. “We deal with this once we’re out of the car, and what would you know, we’re out of it.”

“What the hell- you started this, why am I being fucking-”

“Because you helped kill Tommy, now get the fuck inside right now or grab me a fucking cigarette.”

“I’ll get you a cigarette-” 

“Great.” Wilbur’s grip let go of Tubbo, causing him to stumble a bit. “Phil threw mine out the window, so run off and get a new pack. And a lighter.”

Running back to the car, Tubbo rummaged around, grabbing his phone, earbuds, and wallet. The nearest place that sold cigs was a good fifteen minutes away, and Tubbo didn’t want to risk meeting anyone he once knew.

Motioning to Techno where he was going, Tubbo began his walk.

It was actually a pretty good day. Tubbo hadn’t gone outside a lot, and he was sort of glad that he got to walk around for a while. The sun was shining, the sky clear, a nice fall breeze drifting through. The neighborhood was transitioning from Thanksgiving decorations to Christmas shit, even though it was still November. Kind of disappointing.

While on his walk, Tubbo realized he never texted Foolish.

Now, he could just completely ignore the guy, but Foolish was nice, and like his mom, and didn’t really mind that he assisted someone’s suicide, and the guilt would eat up Tubbo inside.

So, reluctantly, he opened his phone and texted.

Hey i moved

Simple, clean, understandable. Tubbo moved.

Cool :DDD we still going to talk right?

Sure ig

:DDD

Btw i friended you on ac so we can hang there

Cool

Hows the house

Its my old house so ig the same

Oh thats cool

Its really not

Oh

Anyways

Im walking bc my brother wants cigs

You have a brother??
One that smokes???

I have two

Luckyy

I only have one 

Wait

Cant he get those himself

I owe it to him ig

Either this or getting my as 

__

Tubbo was meant to say “getting my ass beat”, but he managed to bump into someone.

“Shit- sorry-” He said, looking up. Tubbo felt his face pale with dread.

“Tubbo?” Niki asked. “Is that you?”

“Nope-” Tubbo rushed out. “Got the wrong guy, I’m not Tubbo, I’m- uh-”

“Really funny.”

“Okay- I’ll stop.”

Niki crossed her arms. Like Techno, she had re-dyed her hair, the color being a nice peach color now. She looked a lot better too, with new glasses and a new style. “What are you doing here?” She questioned, eyeing him up and down.

Tubbo probably looked like a mess compared to Niki, he was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, with a firework-like scar on his face, accompanied by bruising and a probably bleeding nose. He hadn’t slept well in years either, while Niki looked like she was blessed by Hypnos. 

“Moved.” He responded.

“I hope you know that your family isn’t welcome here after what you did.”

“We. . . know. We have known.”

“And that includes you, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Tubbo, what the hell is your family thinking about coming back here? You are all fully aware that your name is just another word for-”

“I know- my name is another word for abuser, asshole, the shit family, we covered that in the last chapter. Phil’s just. . . we’re just following his lead. When I’m old enough I’ll get out of here and out your hair, now if you’ll excuse me-” Tubbo tried to move past Niki, but she blocked his way.

“Tubbo.” She said.

“Niki.” He responded.

“You know I have to tell people.”

“I. . . know.”

“And you know how they are going to react.”

“I can defend myself, Niki. I was with Wilbur for the past two years, that’s more than enough. Speaking of him, I need to run and get some cigs for him, and I’m not being late. Great talk.”

With that Tubbo was able to push past Niki and run ahead, hearing her in the distance talk to someone over the phone. 

Horrible day, alright. At least he didn’t see Ranboo, or Fundy, or Eret, or Jack, or. . .literally anyone. Especially Sapnap. The last time he saw Sapnap, well. . .

There’s a reason Tubbo has scars on his face.

But anyways, the gas station was right there, and Tubbo knew that they always had a full stock of Marlboros and at least a few lighters. So, he entered, immediately retreating to the back to avoid any faces. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to handle another confrontation.

Picking up a few boxes of Marlboros, just to get those goody-two-shoe points on Wilbur, Tubbo made sure to grab a lighter and a bottle of cheap alcohol. He placed them on the counter, the cashier looking him over.

“You’re not 21.”

“. . . Can I still get it?”

The cashier looked at him again, then looked at their phone for a good few seconds.

“You’re one of those Minecraft kids.”

“. . .Yep.” 

“Get the fuck out.”

Tubbo sighed internally. Then he glanced at the cashier. He could definitely outrun them.

Grabbing the things he meant to buy, most of it in a bag anyways, Tubbo raced out the store, the cashier yelling after him. Yep, criminal activity. Not the worst thing he’s done. Plus, they stock, like, tomorrow. They’ll be fine.

Tubbo half-jogged the way back, occasionally looking behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed. No doubt Niki had told Ranboo, Jack, Eret, and Fundy, who most likely spread that to absolutely everyone they knew. In his estimate, about half the town knew that the regular fuckface returned to the town of fuckface and was out for his blood.

Reaching back home, Tubbo found the door unlocked, and so he entered. Everything was just how he remembered it, except with the lack of furniture. It was jarring, and it was almost instinct for Tubbo to call out for his twin. 

But instead, he hesitantly called out for Wilbur.

Said man appeared in the stairwell, an annoyed expression painted on his face. 

“What the fuck do you want.”

Tubbo held up the grocery bag. “I got you your cigarettes.”

Stalking over, Wilbur grabbed the bag out of Tubbo’s hands and rummaged through it. 

“You got booze.” Wilbur notes.

“I did.”

An eyebrow is raised. “How?”

“I stole it.”

“Hm.”

Silence occurred, then Wilbur shrugged and took the bag to his room. 

With his part of the stuff done, Tubbo took it upon himself to begin unpacking. He had a few bags that he had, most of which were dumped in his new room.

Entering his old room, Tubbo was hit with a wave of nostalgia and pain. The curtain that once separated his and his twin’s rooms was removed, the space all for himself. The fan that was used was still up and spinning, there was even still some furniture that belonged to his twin was there, the desk, the bedframe, the closet, all of it. It felt so utterly empty, so wrong.

Not many people knew this, but Tubbo was the one to find Tommy.

It was a new day; spring break was coming to a nice close, with a school day tomorrow. 

Usually, Tubbo would spend this day complaining about having to go to school, not wanting to go back to that tedious schedule after a week of relaxation.

But the day had started off bad enough; yesterday, Ranboo had left in anger over the Minecraft’s treatment of Tommy, leaving Tubbo alone. He even left his stuff there, saying that he’d get someone else to get it for him. But that wasn’t necessarily the bad part, Tubbo had just woken up and it felt. . . wrong. Something was wrong. Something was missing, gone, disappeared, like it left. And it makes Tubbo’s heart pound, waking up in a cold sweat in the early morning. 

And so, he got out of bed, going downstairs to ask Phil, asking if he moved anything around in his room. A no.

Tubbo pounds on the doors of Wilbur and Techno; Wilbur says he snuck out to get high and hang out with Sally, Techno is too sleepy to be suspicious.

And so, Tubbo chalks it up to Tommy.

Marching back to their shared room, Tubbo opens the door and shouts for Tommy.

Silence. 

He calls again.

Silence answers.

Tubbo wonders if he had earbuds in. 

Tubbo cups his hands around his mouth and yells, causing Wilbur to yell at him to pipe down.

There is no response.

Annoyed, Tubbo stalks over to the curtain and yanks it aside.

And every fucking day, Tubbo wishes he never did.

Every fucking day, Tubbo remembers the eerily silent scene layed infront of him that morning. 

It had to be morning, a bright, sunny, Sunday morning. 

Tubbo remembers how Tommy was the most religious out of all of them; he would always whisper prayers when he thought Tubbo was asleep, or ask if they could go to church on Sundays. It was nothing the rest of them really wondered or even cared about. 

But Tubbo will always remember the sight of Tommy’s body, neck broken, eyes staring dead ahead right into his own, hanging onto a rope as a song, a fucking song, played on fallen out earbuds.

Tubbo had screamed, louder than he thought he cold, breaking down in screams and sobs as Techno rushed into their room. He was the second to see, his face paling and screaming for their dad. He had prevented Wilbur from seeing, but Tubbo knew that he had seen Tommy’s body anyways. Phil was the one to cut Tommy down, Wilbur the one to call 999, Techno the one to open the binder of notes, notes to friends, to family, calling people out, asking for forgiveness, leaving a will.

Tubbo had just screamed, and sobbed, and could hardly be moved from his spot on the floor, even as paramedics and police arrived. 

Tommy was long dead, he was gone hours before Tubbo even woke up, tying a noose around his neck in the late hours of night. 

There was no need for a hospital, but there was need for an autopsy.

He remembers the diagnosis: died from asphyxiation, but the noose broke his neck. Clear self-inflicted wounds on his arms, brain scan showing signs of depression, bruises and burns all over him, oh, Mr. Minecraft, what happened here?

He remembers the funeral: that final peaceful conversation with Ranboo, the yelling from Eret, Niki, and Jack, seeing the first time Techno ever cried, the first time he’d ever see Phil cry too. 

Tubbo doesn’t like to remember what came after the funeral. 

Tubbo doesn’t like fireworks and sparklers for the same reason too.

Tubbo-

“Tubbo!”

Tubbo jumped from his spot in the doorway, eyes wide. 

“You were just standing there. It’s been an hour.” Techno says. “Also, I’m ordering pizza. What toppings do you want?”

Tubbo blinks. “I’m. . .not hungry.”

“Suit yourself. I’m getting breadsticks.”

“Where’s-”

“Phil’s making a replica of the Hall.”

“Oh.”

“Cool. Bye.”

“Bye-”

And with that, Techno makes his grand exit. 

Okay. Yeah.

Tubbo can do this.

But as Tubbo reaches for his first bag, he can almost hear the sound of Tommy’s voice, his laughter, feel the presence of him around, feel the presence of his body dangling from a rope on a bright Sunday morning-

He’s not so sure if he can do this much longer.

Chapter Text

It’s been a week, and Tubbo has noticed some. . . odd things happening.

It started out with him playing some games, not too special. That is, until Tubbo’s switch promptly turns off. Did he press the power button? Did he press down on something he didn’t mean to? 

So, annoyed, Tubbo turns it back on.

A few minutes into playing again, and it shuts off. 

Turning around his device, Tubbo tries to see if he missed something. Or maybe it’s dying, and he needs to charge it.

So, Tubbo plugs it in. 72% charged.

It shuts off. Again.

He sighs, pissed off. He’ll try again tomorrow.

A day or two later, Tubbo realizes things of his have been going missing. Which is odd, seeing as they’ve just moved it. He’s seen horror documentaries on people living in the attics and walls of the house, and he spent a day or so checking the walls, looking for holes, peeking in the attic, and listening for unknown footsteps. None. Nada. 

He does find his things, thrown around in the mud in the backyard. Gross.

Every so often, Tubbo swears he sees something get picked up, or float. But when he turns to really see it, it’s back where he put it. Always in the corner of his eye, and never in front of him. 

Tubbo can also swear that he’s being watched.

He jumps back on the theory that there might be someone living in the attic. This time, he really takes another step: screw sleep, it’s not like he gets it anyways. He spends a few nights sitting in different locations, listening intensely for anything. 

Nothing.

So, instead of dealing with it by maybe conversing with the other housemates he’s with, Tubbo moves outside. Not outside as in walking around, he wasn’t going to risk another surprise meetup. To the backyard. 

He goes to the attic and finds a loose board and some sturdy rope, and using Wikihow, makes a swing. It’s somewhat fun, and it makes Tubbo feel some sense of accomplishment. 

Until the next day, he sees Wilbur setting the wood on fire with his new lighter.

Just a minor problem then, Tubbo can screw Wilbur and that swing, it was shit anyway. He’ll be one of those cottagecare aesthetic people and read.

Knocking on Techno’s door, Tubbo waits patiently.

There’s not a response.

He knows it is an overreaction, but Tubbo quickly feels himself begin to panic.

He knocks again, this time louder.

Techno isn’t opening up.

“Techno!” He calls, his knocking beginning to increase in volume.

Why wasn’t Techno opening?

At this point, Tubbo was straight-up pounding on the door, screaming at the top of his lungs. He could distinctly hear Wilbur yelling at him to shut up, but Tubbo isn’t going to stop until this fucking door is opened. 

Finally- fucking finally- the door opens. 

Tubbo’s in near hysterics at this point, but Techno honestly doesn't seem to care.

“I was taking a nap.”

Tubbo’s calming down. Somehow, the droning of Techno telling him about he woke him up helps steady his breathing and stop Tubbo from freaking out.

A few minutes pass, and Tubbo’s just breathing heavily. “Book.” He says, “Can I have some?”

Techno raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you dyslexic?”

Tubbo pauses. “Not important. Books. Give.”

Techno sighs. “I have three bookshelves. Pick some.”

This is the most bonding Tubbo and Techno have done in years.

Tubbo had been rooting through Techno’s little library, occasionally misspeaking book titles, Techno correcting him. If Tubbo seemed even vaguely interested in a book, Techno would pull it off the shelf and hand it to him, telling him a quick summary.

In the end, Tubbo ended up with a stack of books, half of which he was affirmative that he could barely even decipher. But hey, if he had to re-read the same sentence over fifty times, he’d take it.

He’d noticed that going outside and doing something other than playing games all day came with some benefits. Tubbo was noticeably happier, he felt better, thought a little less self-depricating than before, and even looked better too. He looked less tired, and although it was cold outside, he just felt a lot less pale. 

Of course, nothing could ever go well for Tubbo. Or anyone in his vicinity either.

It was the middle of the night.

Tubbo had just woken up, for some unknown reason. He had almost completely forgotten about his theory about someone in the attic, and this time, he was scared shitless when he heard footsteps in the fucking attic.

He shot out of bed, turning on his phone camera and running up into the attic, wildly looking around. 

Sooner or later, Tubbo’s flashlight landed on Wilbur.

“Leave,” Wilbur whispered to him.

Tubbo’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you in the attic?”

“I said leave.”

“Dude, it’s three in the morning. Sleep.”

Wilbur slowly turned towards him.

Tubbo felt dread overcome him.

Glassy, bloodshot eyes stared into eyes. Wilbur’s face was flushed, and he looked clammy, the pungent smell of alcohol and wine in the attic. 

“I’ll leave- I am so sorry Wilbur-”

“No, no, since you want to stay so badly. Sit down, Tubbo.”

Tubbo looked back at the attic opening. Sure, he was fast, but Wilbur was much faster. There was probably little chance he could leave the attic, or escape the house since Wilbur would probably follow him if he ran to his room. So, he quietly sat down on the ground. 

For a few minutes, the two sat in relative silence, Wilbur occasionally swearing or muttering some nonsense. After a while, Wilbur had sat down as well, his head between his knees and an open bottle in his hands.

“My friend just died,” Wilbur said quietly. “I think you know him, Schlatt?”

Tubbo looks up at his older brother. “Oh- how?”

“Stroke. He was an alcoholic, just like me.”

Tubbo’s not sad; he had barely known Schlatt. He had met the guy a few times, and yeah, he could confirm the alcoholic part. Always a flask in his hand, but with strong ambition in his head. Kind of a dick, but only because of his craving to succeed. 

“You should stop then.” Tubbo chose to respond.

Wilbur remained quiet. “Why? I thought you’d rather prefer me dead.”

An odd feeling sucked into Tubbo like his ribs and organs were all pulled into inky darkness and only his heart remained. “No? Why would I- you’re my brother-”

“Tommy was our brother. We let him think that, why am I a difference?”

“He- he died two years ago. I don’t know what happened with him that it is a difference-” Tubbo reasoned. “But I don’t think me, Phil, or Techno would want that again.”

“Or you.” He added.

Wilbur sighed. “You know, I don’t think Phil is a good parent.”

“You’ve made that clear.”

A snicker arises from Wilbur. “He’s set us all up for failure.”

“What was Phil like-” Tubbo asked. “Before mum died?”

Wilbur laid down on the attic floor, dust billowing up from the space under him. “A good parent. He actually took the time out of his day to bother talking to us, uh-” 

Wilbur paused for a moment.

“I don’t really remember. Huh.” He stated. “But what I do know is- I know why Phil hates us.”

Now this piqued Tubbo’s curiosity. “Why then?”

“We remind him of mom. We all do. Or did, in Tommy’s case.” Wilbur says. The bottle in his hand is forgotten about, and for once, Tubbo can not lie and say that Wilbur’s sober.

“You have mum’s hair, I have mom’s singing voice- or had- Techno has mom’s personality, and Tommy had her eyes. He can’t stand to live with the reminder of her, so instead of dealing with it, he made us turn against each other.”

“That’s why Phil never looked Tommy in the eyes. Why he never brushed your hair, never supported my music, never interacted with Techno outside school- we’re our mom’s kids. And Phil can’t accept that.”

Now, this was a boatload of shit for Tubbo to unpack. He had his suspicions, but they were more aimed towards ideals of favoritism, not whatever this was. 

“So- uh- why do you have all these bottles? You’re sober right now, right?” Tubbo finally asked.

Glancing down at the bottles, Wilbur shrugged. “Toasting, I guess. There wasn’t a funeral for Schlatt, his parents kind of threw his body into the fire and let it burn.”

“That’s a terrible decison.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I at least have the decency to hold somewhat of a funeral.”

“. . .In the attic?”

Wilbur gave Tubbo a look. “You’ve been out. People know we’re here, and you know how they’re gonna treat us.”

Tubbo recalls his arrival a few days ago, with the gas station robbery and seeing Niki again. “Yeah.” He states, dragging out the last letter.

“Have you gotten any?”

His mind blanks. “Any what?”

Wilbur nods to his phone. “Threats? Death threats?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Check.”

Opening up his phone, Tubbo opens up his messages, oh, and what would you know. Row upon row of messages, some were genuine threats of murder, arson, and some other graphic things, others were just simple messages stating ‘kys’, others were vague threats like: “I know what you did.” “I know where you are.” “I’ll kill you.” 

“Nevermind.”

“I’ve been getting them all week, it’s so annoying. They can at least be creative while being dickheads.”

“True- like, it’s always the same three letters. Mix it up a bit. Challenge me and my dyslexia, make it five letters. K-Y-S-R-N.”

The two of them laugh, and damn, it almost feels like things are better. The small, childish part of Tubbo is alight with pure fucking joy- hoping that Techno would come out more often, Phil could starting loving them like Wilbur said he once did, that Wilbur would stop drinking and smoking- that Tommy wasn’t staring at him with those really creepy eyes of him-”

Tubbo then remembers Tommy is dead, and he screams.

After that little attic interaction, Tubbo has been seeing things.

Seeing things was a bit of an understatement, because for the past week, Tommy had been wandering around him. All the time.

At the start, it was in the attic.

Then the next time it happened, Tubbo was just brushing his teeth.

In the mirror, Tubbo saw Tommy- his signature shirt on, but his skin pae and grey, his hair still its golden blond but his eyes white- floating behind him, a very curious expression on his face.

Ignore it, Tubbo. He had told himself, making eye contact with himself in the mirror. It’s fine. It’s not real.

When he had spit out the toothpaste into the sink and washed out his mouth, Tubbo had looked up and Tommy was gone.

More and more again, whether it be in the corner of his eye or right infront of him, there was Tommy, dead as ever. Even more of a taunt, as a signal of his death, a strange black cord floated around his neck, bobbing in and out of itself, seemingly never getting tangled. The end of it floated up to the heavens, almost like a whip ready to strike.

Tubbo isn’t sure how to process it either.

He considered telling Techno, but the guy either wouldn’t care or think he’s insane. Wilbur would either be on something and tell him he saw shit too, but with the conversation they had a week ago, there could be some light in that direction. Hell, he could even ask Phil.

But he wasn’t going to take those chances.

So, he found a random mask after sneaking into Techno’s room, stole some sunglasses from Phil, got one of the old hoodies from the attic, and slung a backpack on his shoulder. Time to adventure off to the library.

In order to minimize any risks, Tubbo had hopped over the fence in the backyard, which was a suprisingly easy feat. With that, he sort of walked in between people’s lawns until he was a good few houses away, and turned to the sidewalk. 

And you know, his disguise was pretty good. The mask helped hide his face, same went with the sunglasses. Hoodie helped hide his hair, and if anyone asked him who he was, he’d give them a random fake name, and if they said he sounded exactly like someone by the name of Tuburculosis Minecraft. . . Tubbo could just say that he gets that a lot.

Plus, it was December. Nobody’s going to be suspicion of him. The amound of pure fear he’s lived in helped him think of scenarios of every possible outcome. Why he had a mask on? He had a cold. Why the sunglasses? His eyes were sensitive to light. Why the hoodie up? He not only has a cold, he is just cold in general. Geniousness, intellect, absolute smartness.

And with the library in sight, Tubbo was sure nothing would go wrong.

Obviously, you know we can’t have that.

Tubbo entered the library no problem. 

He had found what he was looking for, no problem.

Well, one of those was a partially a lie. There was this one book, at the top of the shelf, just out of Tubbo’s reach. Painstakingly close, just enough out of his reach that the tips of his fingers reached the very tip of it’s spine.

And what would you know. Nearby, there just so happened to be a very tall person.

“Hey-” Tubbo said, approaching them. “I can’t reach a book, can you grab it for me?”

The person turned around, and oh shit, it was the man, the myth, the legend himself, Ranboo.

Through a pair of red and green glasses, Ranboo looked at him. If looks could kill, Tubbo would be with Tommy right now. “Hi, Tubbo.”

“ Hey, Ranboo. ” Tubbo forced out.

“You’re here.”

“ Mhm. Yep.”

Ranboo looks down at the books Tubbo’s holding.

He doesn’t say a word.

“Well- uh- great talk. I’ll be going to get that book, haha-”

“Why…why are you back?” Ranboo suddenly asks.

Tubbo turns around. “We moved back here.”

“You aren’t welcome here- or anywhere in this town for that matter- how are you getting money, or going to school- or doing anything?”

Sighing, Tubbo puts his books down on the ground, counting on his fingers for each question. “Phil works at home now, so does Techno. Techno and Wilbur both got expelled, I just stopped going. We stay at home, usually never open our texts. Is that it, because I want to go home.”

Ranboo looks at him, bewildered. “I- what do you mean, you stopped going?”

“I…stopped going to school? After how people reacted n’ shit, I never really saw a point of going back.”

“You didn’t just- go online?”

“Didn’t really care enough for that.”

“What about Techno- he was-”

“Lost motivation too. Stopped caring about anything after he got expelled.”

“Niki texted me- she texted Fundy, and Jack, and everyone else. You robbed a grocery store.”

“According to you fucks, it’s not the worse thing I’ve done.”

“For cigarettes. And beer. And a lighter.”

“It was for Wilbur.”

“Wilbur drinks?”

“Not so much anymore, after his friend died from it last week.”

“I- what the fuck, Tubbo. You- you can’t keep on doing this. Your entire family is hiding away from what you did, like of course people are going to be mad at you, of course you are going to be in trouble-”

“Enough to have to fucking disguise myself if I want to go outside? Enough that I’ve gotten death threatted every day for the past two years? Of course we know what we fucking did, Phil himself is a living reminder that I’ve killed two of my family members, Ranboo! We’re not hiding away from what we did, we’re hiding away from all of you because if we’re caught outside, we’re going to be fucking jumped and this shit-”

Tubbo rips off his mask and sunglasses in a grand reveal, showing the firework-shaped scar on the left side of his face. “Will happen!”

And with that, Tubbo picked up his books off the floor, putting back on his mask and glasses.

“Bye, Ranboo. See you later.”

Tubbo had checked out books on the supernatural, the occult, on hallucinations. 

He took days, re-reading the same lines over and over again, trying to figure out what was happening.

Occasionally, Tommy would appear and look at what Tubbo was reading, whispering thing thats Tubbo was to occupied to hear.

And you know what?

There was nothing.

Absolutely nothing Tubbo read helped him.

He was stuck, between a rock and a hard place. He had considered trying this, but past Tubbo had been to scared to actually talk to the ghost version of Tommy. But if there was one way to solve a problem, it was to confront it.

And so, Tubbo waited.

He waited until it was the middle of the night, hopefully when the rest of his family would be asleep.

And very cautiously, and quietly, Tubbo spoke out.

“. . .Tommy?”

A few moments passed, until the slightly glowing spectre of his twin appeared.

“ ‘Sup ḅ̴̦͊̽͆i̴̲̲̫̹͊ț̶͐̑̾c̴̛̜̟h̸̢͇͚̲͋̓.”

Chapter Text

"Okay- okay. This is happening."

Floating in front of him, Tommy crossed his arms. "Duh."

Tubbo pursed his lips. "You're dead."

"Obviously, d̶̪̽ū̷̖̦͂m̴̤͕̀b̵͚͍̏a̷̝̞̾̋s̷͎̈́̕s̷͍̯͌̚."

"And now you're a ghost."

"Yep."

So far, this was making Tubbo wish Tommy wasn't haunting his ass.

"Anyways, since I'm kind of, you know, dead, how are all you ä̵̢s̴̱͒͐ş̴̬͋h̵̦͠ő̷̟l̸̛̠̅è̵̲s̶̤̩̽͌ coming along?" Tommy queried. Tubbo could tell the truth, and it's no doubt that Tommy would believe him. Tommy probably knows about the shut-in Techno, the deteriorating Wilbur, the neglecting Phil, the whole lot of him.

But for some reason, Tubbo lied. "We're doing good."

Even though Tommy didn't even have proper pupils or irises, distrust gleamed in his eyes. "Sure. How 'bout Ranboob or the f̸̤̫͆̐u̷̺͒͝c̸̻͚̈́k̵̩̏i̶̫͋̇n̷̢͙͗'̷̰̭̿ furry one?"

"I haven't seen them." Tubbo answers. "Since your- uh- since your funeral."

". . .Cool. What's up with the thing." Tommy taps his left cheek, signaling his questions about the scar on Tubbo.

Tubbo puts a hand on the rough skin. He's developed an almost dysmorphic relationship with the thing, it's been there for a while to get used to it, but not used to the looks and questions. "I'll tell you later."

Tommy frowns, sticking his tongue out. "God, you haven't changed a f̸̤̫͆̐u̷̺͒͝c̸̻͚̈́k̵̩̏i̶̫͋̇n̷̢͙͗'̷̰̭̿ bit."

"You know-"

"That it's been two years since I died? Yeah bitch. Forever fifteen, but I still know how to count." Tommy says, leaning back on pure air. "You- you're still a closed off, stubborn a̶̳͐s̴͉̟̈́š̷̼͚, Wilbur's still high and drunk off his a̶̳͐s̴͉̟̈́š̷̼͚, Phil idolizes me and mum like we're Jesus Christ- I can respect Techno though. He's fine, I guess."

"I'm not stubborn-"

"Yet you still tried to stop Will. But you refused to stop me."

That shut Tubbo up fast.

"By the way, I met mum. Let me say, she is not f̵̩̗̈́u̷͉͘c̶͉̙̆̍k̴̮͈̀̓i̸̛̼̕n̴̦̈̌'̵̜͑ happy with you lot. Disappointed, pissed, fuming, all of those could fit."

"That's. . . great, Tommy."

"So, anyways-" Tommy digs into his jean pocket, protruding a sharp object. "Imagine using a r-"

"What the fuc- give that back!" Tubbo shouts, grabbing said object in Tommy's hands. "How much have you stolen from me?"

Tommy shrugs. "A lot. It's funny."

Tubbo groans, putting his stolen razor into a random desk drawer.

"You know…" Tommy said. "If there's one thing I am, it's pissed at you a̶̮̐s̴̫̉͛s̶̛͚̣̲̓̉h̷̯̣̔ọ̷̭̜͊̀̊͑l̵̬̝͈̈́̈͠ë̴̳̭͆̚̕s̴̮͇̹̀̈́."

"You all murder me basically- and then move back here like it was nothing? I died, Tubbo. I f̸͇͊͛͜u̸͖̘̜͐͒c̵̨̲͕̪̾̆̓̌k̶͔̲͋̓͊ͅi̷̝̫͖͐̉̎n̵̲͗ͅg̴̡̫͉̼̀͊ choked to death- and who even found me, hm? Was it Ranboo? Eret? F̶̮͚̒̃͘ü̴͎̕͝ċ̶͎͕̞̃͝k̵̭͕̄͐, was it even Niki?" Tommy continued, the coil of black around his neck tightening around his neck and moving wildly as anger seeped into his voice.

"I did."

". . .You did?"

"I found you, Tommy. You were just hanging there- you were staring at me. All I could see were your eyes, they just kept on looking at me-" Tubbo said. 

Tommy remained silent for a moment. "I still hate you. You- you all abused me, and I actually thought that I was the one who did something wrong. And you know what?"

Tubbo glanced up.

"I think it's time for some payback, b̸̩͚̼͂̈̉̓ì̷͎̰̼͚t̴̡̝͖͚̓ć̵̺̠̚h̴̬͔̠̯͒̏͆͛."

Tommy disappears.

A few moments later, Techno walks in the door. “Tubbo,” He acknowledges, nodding slightly.

“Techno,” Tubbo responds, reciprocating the same energy. “It’s-” A quick check of his watch. “Two in the morning.”

“It’s also an ungodly time to talk to someone who’s very much buried in the ground.”

“Coping.”

“. . .Your coping is loud.”

“Different ways of doing things.”

“Fair point.”

Tubbo leans on his desk, supporting himself with an arm. “Is that all for tonight?”

“I guess. When are you returning my books?”

He shrugs. “In a few days? I have like four more to go through.”

“Cool. Night then.”

Techno begins to leave.

“Actually-” Tubbo interrupts. “Can we talk?”

In Techno’s eyes, a flash of fear and emotion lights up in them. “I’m tired. Just go to sleep.”

Techno leaves.

Tommy appears.

“What a p̷̬̝͙̓̽̈́̏͜u̷̡̙̬͗͒̒s̷̻͓̟̊͑͝͝s̶̹͕̟̼͆͗̓y̴̾ͅ.”

“He’s just like that.”

“He’s introverted.”

“He’s more of a shut-in. I have no clue how he even eats.”

“He has a mini fridge. I stole some soda from it once.”

“. . .You can drink things?”

“No, but it’s the thought that counts.”

Tubbo sighs. “I guess.” He stretches, yawning as well. He’s tired, this whole ghost-paranormal-haunting stuff has just exhausted his mental power. “I’m going to sleep tonight.”

“I could never.”

Tubbo waves off Tommy, plopping down on his bed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Night, Tommy.”

There’s no answer.

For once in two years, Phil wants to talk to Tubbo.

Minor correction, all his kids. When Tubbo had heard Phil actually speak, he had gotten a mini heart attack, wondering if there was some robber in the house. But no, Phil had yelled for the three of his kids to come downstairs. Fun fact: most of them hadn’t been down the stairs in weeks. There was no need to go outside when they could stay indoors.

So, begrudgingly, Tubbo went down the stairs, followed by WIlbur, and ending with Techno. The three of them were told to just sit down, and so, they all sat down in various spots in the living room. 

Sooner or later, Phil, looking the most healthy and happy of them all, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and a smile on his face, he sat down in the living room as well. 

The only sound that went through the room was Phil placing down his mug. “I’ve noticed that you boys haven’t been getting much of an education recently.”

Wilbur and Techno glance at each other, almost seeming to have a telepathic communication between themselves before looking back at Phil. They don’t utter a word.

“So, I’ve decided that it’s best for you to go back to school. Get an education, make some friends, get out in the world-”

“Phil-” Techno interrupted. “I appreciate it and all but don’t you think me and Wilbur are a bit too old to go back to school?”

“You’re just going to be the oldest in the class.”

“We haven’t been to school. In two years. I’d be, what, a Junior? “

“It’s two years, Techno. Vital, important years.”

From his spot on the couch, Tubbo could visibly see Techno’s eye twitch. 

“I’m not going back to fucking school. I’ll just get a job or some shit.” Wilbur said, speaking up in the room.

“Come on Will,” Phil said. Tubbo felt the tension in the room rise. It had become an unspoken rule to not call Wilbur ‘Will’, especially since that was Tommy’s former nickname for him. “It’s school. I want you to succeed in life, not work at some fast food restaurant. “

“I- I have money. I don’t care where I work, as long as I get paid-”

“Well if you care so much about getting paid, how about you get off your ass, go back to school, and get a job that can give you a better pay than minimum fucking wage?”

With that, Phil’s warm and honeyed complexion melted into bitterness and anger. The real Phil, the one that only Wilbur could pull out.

“Why do you suddenly care about us? You certainly didn’t in the past two years, and you certainly didn’t when mom died!” Wilbur shouted back, rising up from his slouching on the couch.

“God- can’t you fucking look? I do care, it’s just that you three are so ungrateful! I’ve done so much for you- your mother did so much for you-”

“You’ve done so much? You only cared about us when mum was alive- now that she’s dead you can’t even bother to look us in the eyes!”

“I raised you all!”

“Mum was the one who raised us! Techno was the one to raise us! I was the one to raise us! I was the one who took Tubbo and Tommy to school! I was the one who made dinners, I was the one who tied shoelaces, I was the one to not only raise Tommy and Tubbo and hell, even Techno, I raised myself while I was at it! And I still ended up about as shitty as you!” Wilbur screamed.

Tubbo believes the worst part is that Phil didn’t deny it.

“You three go school shopping soon. You’re going back after winter break. January fifth.”

Phil, like he always did, leaves them.

Wilbur mutters a few curses in Phil’s direction, and he soon plops down on the couch with Tubbo. He takes a moment to dig out a box of cigarettes, and what Tubbo believes is the best part, Wilbur looks at the box, glances briefly at his brothers, and shoves them back in.

A few days later, Wilbur decides to start being a better person.

He decides to knock on Techno and Tubbo’s doors, and invite them to go out. He expects them to say no, and for him to abandon this mission, find his weed stash, and smoke until his mind becomes the smoke that fumigates his lungs. 

But to his genuine surprise, they both agree. Tubbo glances behind him, looking at an entity that he cannot see, but looks back with a hopeful light in his eyes and agrees. Techno opens up a bit, closes the door, and just as Wilbur and Tubbo are about to leave, joins the two. 

Wilbur leaves his cigarettes and lighter in his room. 

Basically stealing their father’s car, the trio ride around town. At first, the ride was uptight and awkward. Wilbur is luckily the one driving, as Tubbo never learned how to drive completely and Techno didn’t want to. Great move, having the junkie drive the vehicle.

Eventually, the atmosphere was a bit too awkward for Techno, so he turned on the radio, and the voice of Mariah Carey herself blasted through the car.

“Oh god-” Tubbo said from the backseat. “Mariah Carey, my holiday sleep paralysis demon.. Every year.”

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

Wilbur can feel the gears turning in Tubbo’s head.

“Yes.”

Seconds later, Ariana Grande’s Santa Tell Me and Khia’s My Neck My Back mashup blared through the car. 

If you were driving nearby, you’d see three brothers laughing at each other, messing around with the car radio. Sure, it’d be irresponsible of them, but let kids be kids, you know? It’s not harmful, and maybe if you didn’t know who they were, you’d let them be.

But everyone in the town knew their names and faces, and even though Wilbur could feel the eyes full of burning hatred- and his mind begged; don’t look at me, please, stop watching me, eyes, eyes, eyes - Wilbur just changed the radio station and let his brothers switch it right back.

But all good adventures must come to an end, and they had arrived at the place on their mission. Wilbur had invited his brothers out to go get school shit, and just raid their local superstore. 

“Okay.” Wilbur announced. “We are absolutely fucked.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get jumped in a Walmart.” Techno said, unbuckling his seatbelt and checking for his wallet.

“That’s why we have parking lots.”

Techno sighs. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“Wilbur makes a compelling point. We are fucked.”

“You two are ganging up on me and it is highly unappreciated; how about we just stick together? If we want something, just stay in vision? We are fucked, but-”

“Nope, nope, I’m not going to be inspired today. Let’s go.” Tubbo says, promptly opening up the car and hopping out.

Sighing once more, Techno follows, leaving Wilbur to lock the car. 

Wilbur adjusts the rearview mirror to look himself in the eyes. “Don’t fuck this up.” He says to himself.

Wilbur opens the car door.

“So what do we actually need?” Tubbo asks, picking up a ruler at random.

Techno plucks the ruler out of his hands and puts it back. “Pencils, pens, notebooks-”

“Glue, erasers, highlighters, folders-” Wilbur continued.

“Calculator, ruler-” Techno takes back the ruler Tubbo had, grabbing two others. “Scissors, notecards-”

“I get it- I get it-” Raising his hands in mock defeat, Tubbo laughs. “School shit. Okay.”

“And sticky notes.” Techno says.

“Always sticky notes.” Wilbur agrees.

“Now I feel like if I get sticky notes I’ll be indoctrinated into a cult-” Tubbo says, picking up a calculator. 

“Get a graphing calculator, and a regular one.” Wilbur advises.

“Isn’t this one just fine though?”

“Two is better than one.”

“Aren’t you paying for this?”

“It’s Phil’s money.”

An evil smile goes on Tubbo’s face. “Really?”

Wilbur grins back. “Really.”

“Tubbo, that is a whole Xbox.” Notes Techno.

“I want an Xbox.”

“You have one already.”

Tubbo looks at the Xbox in the shopping cart. “You said like an hour ago that two is better than one. I’m taking your advice.”

“We are not buying an Xbox.” Techno says firmly.

Picking the box up from the cart, Tubbo sticks his tongue out at Techno. “You suck.”

“We can get you a set of legos.”

“I don’t want legos.”

“Can we get you candy?” Wilbur tries to suggest. 

“No.” Tubbo points to the console on the shelf. “Xbox.”

“How am I going to tell my future children that their uncle had a tantrum in Walmart over an Xbox.” Wilbur jokes. 

“With words, now give me my box.”

“Oh my god-” Wilbur puts his head in his hands, leaning on the cart. “Tubbo- please-”

“Uh- can I help any of you?” A voice asks.

And holy shit, that is a cute guy. 

“Can I get your number?” Wilbur asks without thinking.

He immediately feels Tubbo and Techno looking at him, and he can almost hear the two saying: “ Dude, what.”

“I mean- sure? As long as this isn’t a prank or something.” The guy responds, taking out a sticky note.

A sticky note is given to Wilbur, and the guy waves bye to them before running off.

“Dude, what.”

“Holy shit, that worked.” Wilbur muttered.

“You-you got something to tell us?” Techno laughed. “Because that-”

“Was a guy? I know.” Wilbur responds. Like before, he was cute. Dyed blue hair, curly, freckles, his nametag was covered with a sticky note that just read “Friend”, deep brown eyes that almost looked black, Wilbur could get into that. 

“Holy shit, you’re gay.” Tubbo said, connecting the dots.

“No- I’m not gay- ” Wilbur responded, beginning to push the cart. “I just like guys. And girls.”

“Congratulations.” Tubbo said. “I am. . .dyslexic.”

“. . . Very different things.”

“I know.”

Their banter continued back until they got back into their car, groceries in hand and the dawn slowly became day. 

“It’s like twelve, can we go home? I’m starving-” Tubbo complained, dragging out the last vowel in his sentence.

“Let’s just stop by somewhere, I’m too fucking hungry to drive.” 

Techno shrugs in agreement. “Let’s find somewhere then.”

They ended up at a small little restaurant, you know, supporting the local economy. Community service and all that nice stuff. A tiny bell rang when they entered, and the inside was like if you took Barnes and Noble and Panera Bread and made a child. Someone from the back yelled a welcome, and the trio hopped in line to get something to eat.

Wilbur had just quickly chosen something on the menu he liked, and added the number to his phone. Now the hard part, texting. His social skills, much like his brother’s, had rapidly deteriorated. He had no clue how to talk to anyone, nevertheless someone he liked. Just texting a “hey ;)” would be weird, a “good morning” would be wrong since it was literally mid-day, so Wilbur summed up the courage and texted a simple:

Hey, it's the guy from the store. You gave me your number :)

It was probably going to stay unread for a while, and Wilbur let out a sigh of relief. That was over with, and just in time to finally order. Lines take so damn long.

While they were ordering, the cashier had given Wilbur and his siblings a few looks. They had been getting them through the entire day, so in all honesty, Wilbur wasn’t too bothered about it. 

That is until, it was time to pay.

“Hey, are any of you Wilbur? Wilbur Minecraft?” The cashier asked, glancing in between them. 

Techno and Tubbo glance at Wilbur. “Yeah- I’m Wilbur-” He says, awkwardly holding his cup of coffee. He just wants to eat, goddamnit. 

The cashier looks a bit disgusted now. Rude. They just hand back their change, and call for the next people.

“Wha’ was that about?” Tubbo asks.

“Don’t talk while you’re eating.” Techno reprimands.

“Shh. Who was that?”

Wilbur shrugs. “No clue. There are like twenty people here that hate me and have connections, so the possibilities are endless.”

“She kind of looked like-” Techno appeared visibly nervous.

A couple walked through the door, ringing the bell.

“Sally.” Wilbur spoke, seeing his ex-girlfriend walk right through the door.

Wilbur’s phone buzzed.

Chapter Text

Things had been overwhelming for Tubbo.

Too much had been happening, some great, some terrible. Things had just been happening, and Tubbo wasn’t entirely sure how he even felt about them. There would be a good thing, and a bad thing, followed by another good thing, then a bad thing- the loop keeps ongoing. 

But Tubbo had noticed that more. . .bad things had been happening.

It happened with the occasional nightmare, or hallucination, or intrusive thought here and there. Sporadically placed throughout the last week or so. 

But it was fine- Tubbo could easily just dream about something else, or look away, or think about something else. But it always stayed there; a feeling of dread, of fear that carved a hole in his stomach and refused to crawl out.

As for now, Tubbo could organize his backpack and anxiously live through the next two days of his new school’s winter break, then it would be back to his sophomore year.

Neither Tubbo, Wilbur, nor Techno was happy that they were being sent back two years in schooling. They had all collectively agreed that they should at least be held back a year, but a whole deal was signed where if they passed well on the spring exams, got exceeding grades, and proved themselves, they could be moved up a year, or even put into their correct grades. Tubbo knew Techno would have no problem with this, Tubbo himself would struggle a bit with English, so he’d probably ask Techno for help with that. He wasn’t entirely sure about Wilbur either.

Tubbo wasn’t even entirely sure about Wilbur.

On one hand, Wilbur had been improving. He at least had been trying to become a decent person, beginning to cut down on the drug use and alcohol, but every so often there would just be a reset on all of Wilbur’s progress, and the ounce of hope that would spark in Tubbo, the once that every time Wilbur crashed again would chip away little by little, would twist up and die.

But, hey, for now, Tubbo can just watch as Wilbur sits in utter agony as his ex-girlfriend, Sally, sits with her new boyfriend and pretty much stalks them.

“We should probably hurry up,” Techno mutters, hearing the now familiar sounds of a phone camera taking a picture. “This is kinda getting weird.”

Wilbur doesn’t say a word but sips his drink with pain in his eyes.

“Well, I’m done, just waiting on you two,” Tubbo announces, tossing his paper cup in a nearby trash can. 

“We’re going,” Wilbur says suddenly, getting up out of his seat and walking out of the store, Tubbo and Techno rushing to pack up and follow him.

When said two finally catch up to Wilbur, who is already halfway in the car, the two jump into their seats and begin the interrogation.

“It’s just Sally-” Tubbo says, buckling in his seatbelt.

“And Sally is a bitch, along with that asshole Jared,” Wilbur responded, turning on the car and backing out of the parking lot.

“I mean, they are how Wilbur describes them.” Techno reasons.

Tubbo leans forward in his seat. “It’s been two years, how are they still salty?”  

Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, Wilbur doesn’t need an answer for Tubbo to understand.

“I guess this entire place is still salty,” Tubbo says quietly, sitting back and enjoying the car ride.

“So I’m salty now?”

Tubbo groans and flops down in his chair. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. How did you even hear us, too?”

Tommy shrugs. “Ghost magic.”

“How many ghosts are there?”

Tommy takes a moment to think. “A lot. As long as there are dead people, there are most likely ghosts.”

“So . . . like three?”

“Just about.”

Tubbo spins around on his chair lazily. There was a surprising lack of things to talk about with your dead brother, even though there could be countless questions to ask. 

“You look like s̴̡̧͈̜̱̗̮̔̊͂͊́̚͠h̵͈̬̜̠͔̣͗͂͆͌̈̐̇͝i̶̢͔͊̆͊̈́̾t̴̩̣̟̰̔̽̈͂̒͘,” Tommy says.

“I know. I have not had good sleep in about a week.”

“It’s literally Christmas. Of course, you’re not gonna have sleep.”

“We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Tommy looks at Tubbo bewildered. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?”

“Not after you-”

“I get that part- damn, that must be hard. Even though I'm dead I celebrate it. Mom always somehow gets me a present or two.” Tommy brags, allowing Tubbo to raise an eyebrow and remember that he doesn’t really care.

“Can I sleep now?”

Tommy grins at Tubbo, and something in his void-like eyes says that he knows a bit more about Tubbo’s insomnia and hallucinations than he’s going to be letting on. “Bye then.”

Tommy disappears.

Tubbo can’t eat.

Well, that’s a bit of an overstatement. Tubbo’s finding it hard to eat is more correct. 

Things just seem so... disgusting. He feels like his tongue was chopped off and a new one was put on, where everything he tastes is different from when he remembers it. 

Tubbo also feels like he should be a bit more concerned about that, but for some reason, Tubbo just can’t bring himself to really care. He’s nearly happy, and he wonders if that’s just going to be another addition to the list of undiagnosed illnesses he has acquired.

He can’t finish a plate of food anymore unless the portions are small enough. But Techno and Wilbur don’t really seem to notice, and Phil never notices any of them, so Tubbo continues this. 

But at the moment, Tubbo shouldn’t worry about his poor eating habits and focus on the more pressing issue. Because at the moment, he’s sitting in the back of the car, backpack in the seat next to him, fiddling anxiously with the strings of his hoodie as he goes back to school. He has no clue on how he’s even allowed in school since it’s halfway through the school year and all. 

Tubbo had been shipped off to the school year he was supposed to be in, Junior year. He had to take a lot of tests and whatnot, and apparently, he was good enough to be with his peers, except in English. He sucked at English.

Wilbur and Techno had just been put into Senior year since it was the closest thing that they were supposed to be in. Techno was upset about it, he had wanted to find a college that would accept him and just leave the house. Wilbur was planning to do the same, but with the introduction of his-well,- new boyfriend, Friend, he was planning to earn a bit more and get out of there.

Tubbo wasn’t sure about what he wanted yet. 

But sooner or later, they parked in the school parking lot. A few papers were passed around, and luckily Tubbo remembered the layout of the school enough to understand where he was going.

“Only, what, five months of this?” Tubbo muttered, putting on his backpack.

“Six.” Techno corrected. “We get off in June.”

“Great.” Tubbo steps out of the car. “Let’s get this over with.”

Luckily, people either didn’t notice Tubbo, or they didn’t care enough to do anything about his surprise appearance.

A few people looked at the scar on his face, while others’ eyes widened and they turned to the person nearest to them and whispered. But it was things that Tubbo could deal with, and he just stopped by his locker, got his things, and went to his first-hour class.

He could say that’s where things began.

There was a handful of students in the room, and a few of them seemed a bit confused when they saw Tubbo.

“Hey, are you in the right classroom?” A boy in a purple hoodie asked, clearly on their phone but nobody seems to be commenting on that fact.

“Uh--” Tubbo glances down at the schedule in his hands. “Yep.”

“Oh, you’re the new kid then.”

The conversation ends, and Tubbo sits down in his seat.

A few minutes go by, and people trickle in the room, talking with each other and whatnot.

But Tubbo was expecting to see a familiar face, and after a few minutes, Ranboo and Fundy walked into the room. And of course, one of them saw Tubbo. Before either of them would approach him, the teacher walked in and class started.

Until lunch, nobody really talked to Tubbo. First impressions really do last, as most people had assumed he was a loner. Which was fine with Tubbo, he preferred to be left alone, and then he can get this over with.

Lunch arrived, and Wilbur had soon come up to Tubbo and dragged him over to his table.

There was actually more than Wilbur and Techno sitting there, there was Wilbur’s partner Friend, a few new friends of Techno, and course, himself. Techno’s friends included Carl- not Karl Jacobs, Carl with a C. They had spoken a miniature rant about how they kept on getting mixed up. There was also a team of triplets, Steve, Baba, and Ed.  About eight people in total, excluding Tubbo.  

During the midst of a riveting conversation about the best ways to break into a prison, the table was soon passed by a group of people. A group that included a visibly angered Ranboo, Fundy, Niki, Eret, and various other individuals.

There were no words to be spoken. 

They were not welcome.

__

At the end of the school day, Tubbo is just meant to go to the bathroom. He had art as his last project, and he wanted to just clean his hands from the glue and adhesive used.

The wrong decision apparently, as Tubbo was followed into the bathroom.

“Tubbo.”

Said Tubbo turned around to see Ranboo.

“Why- why are you here?” Ranboo said, taking off their glasses.

Tubbo sighed. “Listen, I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here.  So- just- we’re not here because we want to, Ranboo.”

“Just- why- you know what you’ve done- why couldn’t you all have just stayed- ”

Tubbo finished washing his hands.

“I have to go.” He spoke quietly.

Tubbo leaves.

Phil wants them all to have dinner together. 

It’s tense and awkward, and Techno, Wilbur, and Tubbo prefer to have a silent conversation between them and just respond with as few words as possible to Phil’s conversation.

Luckily, Tubbo is being haunted by his twin brother, meaning that he gets to not listen to complete silence.

And somewhat unluckily, Tommy prefers to only show himself to Tubbo.

At the moment, Tubbo is just trying to eat his pasta, and Tommy is currently yelling at the rest of his family. He’s half phased into the table, and obviously, nobody can see him, so it’s pretty entertaining for Tubbo.

Tubbo looks down at his pasta and sees maggots crawling around in it.

He screams.

Wilbur has been having a great time recently. 

Besides the occasional crash when it came to alcohol and drug use- large tip, don’t go cold turkey immediately- Wilbur could honestly say that his life had been improving.

But that was partially a lie.

Wilbur had understood for a long time that his family was only going to end up hurting, whether that be hurting themselves or hurting others. So for the past five or so years, Wilbur had been saving up money, whether that be from jobs shoveling snow or mowing lawns, to a few part-time jobs and drug money. He had planned to take all of the money he earned, skip town, and find an apartment. Hell, recently Wilbur had additionally planned on taking Tubbo away too. Techno had planned on going to college, and Wilbur planned on letting Techno come with and save a room for him.

And one trip to a store changed Wilbur’s plan.

He had to get out. 

Fast.

He was juggling a quadruple life: hiding away every aspect of himself from everyone.

Except for one person: Friend.

Wilbur could tell Friend anything- whether that be his lost passion for music, his troubled family life, his addictions, his anxiety about the future. And Friend gave advice- good advice, that Wilbur tried his hardest to listen to. But as Friend started to be snuck over, and Wilbur realized his siblings knew that they were a bit more than friends, a new problem arose.

Wilbur knew one thing about his father, Phil.

He wasn’t very accepting.

Techno and Tubbo were, and Wilbur knew that they knew about his. . .tastes. He had even openly told them that he liked both girls and guys, and Techno knew well to not tell Phil. Wilbur would undoubtedly get kicked out, or potentially worse. And that’s why Wilbur had to utilize his new school year as an excuse to have Friend over.

But as Phil wants them all to eat dinner together, some disaster is bound to happen.

“So, how has school been?” Phil asked them all.

“Good.” Wilbur, Techno, and Tubbo responded simultaneously.

“Will-” Wilbur’s grip around his fork tightened. “Techno, anyone catches your eye?”

Wilbur and Techno’s eyes widen, and they both glance at each other.

“Eh- I haven’t,” Techno responds.

“Nope,” Wilbur says.

“Aren’t you both over 18? You can’t be alone forever, you know.”

“I want to focus on school first,” Techno says.

“Sure, of course, as long as you’re going to give me some grandkids.”

Wilbur and Techno force out a laugh, uncomfortably going back to eating.

Wilbur’s losing his appetite.

And Tubbo screams.

Tubbo’s screaming, a mix of incoherent words and bloody murder, having jumped out of his chair and landed on the floor. After a few seconds and Wilbur can pick out something about bugs in Tubbo’s food. Using the end of his knife, Wilbur pokes through Tubbo’s food.

There was nothing.

Wilbur got concerned.

In what can only be described as the afterlife, a ghost with a black cord around their neck giggles.

Guess he is salty.

Chapter Text

Tommy didn’t know he was dead at first.

When Tommy had. . . woken up after losing consciousness due to the rope around his neck, he had sat upon the ground. For some reason, his room had been stripped bare, the curtain separating the room in two removed, anything on the walls or bed gone. Hell, even his mattress was gone.

It was an odd sight, and Tommy was confused. Confused enough to gather his wits and walk downstairs.

Usually, there would be images of his mother on the hallway walls, but they were stripped bare, and many more things that Tommy was used to seeing were also gone as well. 

Tommy entered the kitchen, walking silently to try and hear if anyone was talking. There was near silence, only the quiet sounds of someone moving around in the kitchen and living room area. He poked his head around the corner to try and see who was there. Nobody familiar, only some woman with a big hat.

“Uh. . .hello?” Tommy spoke, and the woman quickly turned around.

Ah.

Tommy recognized this woman.

It was his mother.

“Oh,” Tommy whispered. “I’m dead.”

Tommy begins haunting his house.

It’s something he doesn’t have much of a choice to do: his mother had briefly explained how the whole being dead thing worked, and due to his untimely death, Tommy was thrust back into the living plane. Something about unfinished business, or maybe that was a Mandela effect. 

Tommy had gotten about a few hours with his mother, where he was able to explain how he died, and he was sure that was the angriest he had ever seen a person be, dead or alive. 

So for two years, Tommy shifted between the living and dead plane, chatting with his mother and messing around in his house. Two years, Tommy remained bored and dead, and no, he did not cry about being dead or be upset in the slightest. Or grieve. Not him. Nope.

It was Tommy’s surprise that he saw his old family walk into the door. 

Tommy was in the attic, spending his time poking around and talking to himself when he saw a car pull up. Most people had interacted with the house when people would stop by the house, like people he knew in his old school, just stopping. Some would have new people, and would point at it. But nobody in a car would stop, just slow. 

The first people he saw were Wilbur and Phil, the first to get out of the car. Next was Techno, and once Wilbur opened up the car door, Tommy could spot his twin, Tubbo, fast asleep.

Tommy doesn’t like to think about the next few moments after.

Wandering downstairs, floating through empty halls, Tommy began to spy on the three members that had advanced into his territory, Phil, Techno, and Wilbur. Choosing not to reveal himself just yet, Tommy floated near them. They all looked worse for wear, with the exclusion of Phil. Techno was pale, looking like he’d never even seen the sun in the time that Tommy had last seen him. Wilbur was gaunt and gangly, worse than Tommy himself. He looked famished, and smelled like booze, smoke, and artificial flavoring. On the contrary, Phil was healthy, although a bit pale and tired. He always had a slight smile on his face, except when he passed by Wilbur. Tommy wouldn’t smile around Wilbur if he was alive either.

A few minutes passed, and Tubbo soon came along, handing a bag of unknown materials to Wilbur. And Tommy almost gasped at the sight of Tubbo. Yeah, sure, he was pissed, but he wasn’t expecting a scar on Tubbo’s face. 

So, for the next few days, Tommy kept his distance. Checking out the new things Tubbo and his family have acquired over their absence, occasionally messing around with them. On some occasions, Tommy likes to turn off Tubbo and Techno’s consoles when they’re playing. It’s funny.

He puts things outside, or slightly moves things. He solves rubix cubes, plays instruments that had a little too much dust on them to be considered played on, glitches games, and causes minor chaos.

That is, until what Tommy dubs the Attic Talk.

Tommy finds Wilbur in his attic space, coming up there with arms full of booze, and strangely enough, a photo, candle, and matches. Oh, and some drugs. 

Floating over, Tommy begins to see Wilbur set up almost a shrine, accompanied by a picture of a vaguely familiar face. Some random guy, probably a friend of Wilbur’s, name of Samuel or Shithead, or something like that. A candle is lit, and Wilbur almost regretfully opens a bottle and begins drinking.

A half bottle in, and Wilbur is pacing on the attic floor, murmuring remnants of prayers, mutters to any god that bears to listen to the ramblings of a drunkard, and the dust of memories that Tommy was never around to witness.

With his superior sense of hearing, Tommy hears someone else enter the attic, occasionally seeing the light of a flashlight woosh by, before settling on Wilbur. Squinting his eyes to see in the dark of the attic, Tommy notices it’s Tubbo.

Wilbur notices Tubbo too, speaking one word to him, “Leave.” 

In the darkness of the attic, Tubbo’s voice echoes from the shadows that cover him. “Why are you in the attic?” Tommy hears him query.

“I said leave.” Wilbur responds, adding force into his words.

“Dude, it’s three in the morning. Sleep.”

Tommy sees Wilbur turn towards Tubbo, and it’s clear that Tommy and Tubbo see different versions of Wilbur.

“I’ll leave- I am so sorry Wilbur-” Tubbo stammers, beginning to back away, the light from his phone lowering.

Wilbur dryly chuckles. “No, no, since you want to stay so badly. Sit down, Tubbo.”

Tubbo did such, Wilbur shortly following. Tommy, who didn’t feel like being excluded like when he was alive, also sits down, hovering an inch or so in the air. “Awkward silence. . .” Tommy mutters, after a few moments pass without a sound.

Finally, after a good few minutes, someone finally speaks up. “My friend just died,” Wilbur said quietly. “I think you know him, Schlatt?”

“Oh- how?” Tubbo says, curiosity painting the edges of his voice.

Wilbur sighs. “Stroke. He was an alcoholic, just like me.”

“You should stop then.” Tubbo responded.

“Yeah, b̵̜̫̻͇͓͈͉̋̎͂̈́͌̓ͅi̴̢̮̼̪̩̽́̽̏͜ẗ̵̡̛̙̼̓ͅc̸̤̪͋̎̄̉͝h̷̭͔͍͎̦̅̚.” Tommy says, even though nobody there can hear him except himself.

“Why? I thought you’d rather prefer me dead.” Wilbur says, his voice turning from curiosity to mockery in a matter of seconds. 

Tommy isn’t very impressed.

Tubbo soon objects to Wilbur’s very unfunny statement. “No? Why would I- you’re my brother-”

“Tommy was our brother. We let him think that, why am I a difference?” 

“Well f̵̠̝̩̦̺̆̽̏̓̂̇ư̵̺̬̠͈̰͈̆̂̈́̾͆̀̿͝ć̵̛̘̪̖̟͍̟̩͎̋͊̎̋̃͠͝k̶͕͔̹̻̝̤̃̍̒̈́͊̈́ you too then-” Tommy shouts, giving Wilbur two fingers.

“He- he died two years ago. I don’t know what happened with him that it is a difference-” Tubbo reasoned. “But I don’t think me, Phil, or Techno would want that again.”

“Mhm.” Tommy hums, feeling sassy for the night. Still unimpressed.

“Or you.” Tubbo adds.

Wilbur sighs. “You know, I don’t think Phil is a good parent.”

“. . . No shit, Sherlock.” Tommy states.

Tubbo sighs, not from tiredness but more from dark humor. “You’ve made that clear.”

A snicker arises from Wilbur. “He’s set us all up for failure.”

“What was Phil like-” Tubbo asked. “Before mum died?”

Now this catches Tommy’s attention. Although he knows his mom, as the both of them rest comfortably in whatever you would call this existence after death. Wilbur lays down on the floor- rookie mistake, from an avid attic expert such as Tommy. “A good parent. He actually took the time out of his day to bother talking to us, uh-”  Wilbur pauses.

Must’ve been nice. Tommy never had a good parent.

“I don’t really remember. Huh.” He states after a brief moment. “But what I do know is- I know why Phil hates us.”

“Why then?” Tubbo asks, waiting for an answer to the age-old question.

“We remind him of mom. We all do. Or did, in Tommy’s case.” Wilbur says. 

Tommy’s eyes- or whatever you would call the luminescent orbs that make up what would be eyes- widen. Now this was something he did not know.

“You have mum’s hair, I have mom’s singing voice- or had- Techno has mom’s personality, and Tommy had her eyes. He can’t stand to live with the reminder of her, so instead of dealing with it, he made us turn against each other.” Wilbur says, an unfamiliar emotion flickering in his eyes. Tommy wonders if it’s malice, anger, hate, justice, or something that he would never see in Wilbur. “That’s why Phil never looked Tommy in the eyes. Why he never brushed your hair, never supported my music, never interacted with Techno outside school- we’re our mom’s kids. And Phil can’t accept that.”

“So- uh- why do you have all these bottles? You’re sober right now, right?” Tubbo blurts out.

“Boo, get back to the Phil part.” Tommy boos, making a thumbs down towards his twin. His invisibility and muted voice makes his complaints futile.

Wilbur looks at the bottles haphazardly strewn around Tommy’s attic. “Toasting, I guess. There wasn’t a funeral for Schlatt, his parents kind of threw his body into the fire and let it burn.”

“His parents what?” 

“That’s a terrible decision.”

Tommy and Tubbo speak at the same time, one in surprise, while the other with indifference.

“No shit, Sherlock. I at least have the decency to hold somewhat of a funeral.” Wilbur says.

“. . .In the attic?” Tubbo responds, confused. 

“Yeah, in my attic!” Tommy complains once more. “Do it ou-”

“You’ve been out. People know we’re here, and you know how they’re gonna treat us.” Wilbur cuts Tommy off, mentioning some incident that Tommy must’ve not heard.

“Yeah,” Tubbo says, dragging out the last letter. A beat of silence occurs.

Wilbur breaks the silence once more. “Have you gotten any?” 

“Any what?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy asks it in sync as well.

Wilbur motions to Tubbo’s phone, lying forgotten on the floor. “Threats? Death threats?”

“F̸̭̭̻̈́̾͌͋̕u̵̖̬͔̎̅͗̉͑ç̷̭̟͍̩̲̫̊̊k̸̨̡̳̖̙͎̂̒̈́͘i̵̪͇̤̼͎͙͔̤̐̌n̴̠͐̈́͗͂̉͂̚g̸̯̪̱͓̐̋͋͐̄̏̇͠ what now?!” Tommy shouts, floating forward and almost falling into the floor.

“No, I don’t think so,” Tubbo responds, a little too casual for Tommy to shrug it off. Sure, Tommy had gotten some himself, but looking at calendars, it was two years for the living realm to get over it. It was Tommy’s goddamn turn!

“Check,” Wilbur says, followed by Tubbo opening up his phone. Tommy moves around so he can read, and what would you know, there are some nice little messages of murder, arson, and various other graphic things. There were also some odd, vague ones that Tommy made faces at. 

“Nevermind,” Tubbo says, taking back his old answer.

“I’ve been getting them all week, it’s so annoying. They can at least be creative while being dickheads-”

Tommy chooses to stop listening, it was getting boring. His two brothers exchange more laughter and conversation, and a brief moment occurs where he and Tubbo make eye contact with one another, and Tommy thinks, “ Hey, it’s almost as if he sees me.”

Tubbo then screams, and Tommy realizes Tubbo does see him.

He ending up. . . experimenting.

Tommy would wander near Tubbo, watching his twin complete menial tasks. Occasionally, Tubbo would see him, doing a double take. It would be funny, if it wasn’t causing the both of them distress.

Tommy wasn’t entirely sure if Tubbo could hear the questions he was asking himself- he had been alone for quite some time, and had picked up the habit of talking to himself to ward off the everlasting silence that reigned over the house. And Tommy wasn’t sure whether he or Tubbo would take the first step.

But luckily, he didn’t have to wait long, as one night when Tommy was simply wandering around, he heard his name being uttered.

“. . .Tommy?”

Following the sound of the voice, he ended up in he and Tubbo’s shared room- although it wasn’t shared, just half empty. At least Tubbo had the respect to leave his old room alone. Tommy took a deep breath, allowing himself to be seen by him.

Shoving away the feelings of fear, hate, and for some odd reason, joy that bubbled up in his stomach, Tommy grinned.

 “‘Sup ḅ̴̦͊̽͆i̴̲̲̫̹͊ț̶͐̑̾c̴̛̜̟h̸̢͇͚̲͋̓.”

"Okay- okay. This is happening." Tubbo says, beginning to pace. Must be something that runs in the family.

“Duh.” Tommy says, crossing his arms. He hoped that Tubbo didn’t think he was dreaming and knock himself out. Tommy can’t touch living things, and he doesn’t want to know what would be the result of an explanation for a knocked-out Tubbo.

Said boy pressed his lips together, a mixture of curiosity and concern making his eyebrows furrow. "You're dead."

"Obviously, d̶̪̽ū̷̖̦͂m̴̤͕̀b̵͚͍̏a̷̝̞̾̋s̷͎̈́̕s̷͍̯͌̚." Tommy replies. He had noticed that for some reason, whenever he swore, his voice would distort and glitch, like if someone was changing the radio while he was speaking. 

"And now you're a ghost."

"Yep." Tommy pops the ‘y’ in that. Way to go, Captain Obvious. "Anyways, since I'm kind of, you know, dead, how are all you ä̵̢s̴̱͒͐ş̴̬͋h̵̦͠ő̷̟l̸̛̠̅è̵̲s̶̤̩̽͌ coming along?" 

Tommy knew the answer of that question; he had unlimited access to the ongoing of the house and had been eye witness to some things that he did not want to see. 

"We're doing good." Tubbo spoke, rubbing the back of his neck and adverting his eyes. 

Liar, Tommy thought. But he moved on quickly. "Sure. How 'bout Ranboob or the f̸̤̫͆̐u̷̺͒͝c̸̻͚̈́k̵̩̏i̶̫͋̇n̷̢͙͗'̷̰̭̿ furry one?" 

A decent question, actually. Tommy had tried to leave the house, but every time he’d just be placed back at the opposite end of the house, as if some unknown entity rewinded time to tell Tommy, no, you can’t leave just yet.

"I haven't seen them." Tubbo answers. "Since your- uh- since your funeral."

Tommy blinks. ". . .Cool. What's up with the thing?” He asks, tapping the cheek where Tubbo had a scar, most likely from a burn, on his own cheek.

"I'll tell you later."

Tommy sticks out his tounge. Boo, tell him now. "God, you haven't changed a f̸̤̫͆̐u̷̺͒͝c̸̻͚̈́k̵̩̏i̶̫͋̇n̷̢͙͗'̷̰̭̿ bit."

"You know-" Tubbo tries to reason, but Tommy is too provoked to be stopped.

"That it's been two years since I died? Yeah b̷̻̂͐̆i̵̼͓̐̈ť̵̼̩̺͘c̵̨̼̥̱̀͑̐ḫ̴́̈́̄͝. Forever fifteen, but I still know how to count." He says, leaning back. Emotions swirl around in what feels like an empty void of a chest cavity. The black coil that swirls around Tommy’s neck feels the tightest it’s been in years as he speaks, malice lacing every breath and syllable Tommy says. "You- you're still a closed off, stubborn a̶̳͐s̴͉̟̈́š̷̼͚, Wilbur's still high and drunk off his a̶̳͐s̴͉̟̈́š̷̼͚, Phil idolizes me and mum like we're Jesus Christ- I can respect Techno though. He's fine, I guess."

"I'm not stubborn-" Tubbo voices his complaint.

"Yet you still tried to stop Will. But you refused to stop me." Tommy says, recalling the attic talk. That shut Tubbo up for a minute. "By the way, I met mum. Let me say, she is not f̵̩̗̈́u̷͉͘c̶͉̙̆̍k̴̮͈̀̓i̸̛̼̕n̴̦̈̌'̵̜͑ happy with you lot. Disappointed, pissed, fuming, all of those could fit." Tommy brags, remembering how much anger clouded his mother’s eyes when he had told her.

"That's. . . great, Tommy." Tubbo says. 

"So, anyways-" Tommy digs into his jeans pocket, protruding a razor he had found in Tubbo’s desk. "Imagine using a r-"

"What the fuc- give that back!" Tubbo cuts Tommy off, grabbing the razor in Tommy's hands, barely grazing his ghost hands. "How much have you stolen from me?" He asks, shoving the metal into a random drawer.

Tommy shrugs. He has no idea, but he keeps it equal between his three brothers. "A lot. It's funny."

Tubbo groans, and Tommy giggles.

"You know…” Tommy says, his smile beginning to fade as he speaks. “If there's one thing I am, it's pissed at you a̶̮̐s̴̫̉͛s̶̛͚̣̲̓̉h̷̯̣̔ọ̷̭̜͊̀̊͑l̵̬̝͈̈́̈͠ë̴̳̭͆̚̕s̴̮͇̹̀̈́."

Tommy physically feels heating up with all the mad he is, rhyme and reason falling out the window as emotion replaces all thinking."You all murder me basically- and then move back here like it was nothing? I died, Tubbo. I f̸͇͊͛͜u̸͖̘̜͐͒c̵̨̲͕̪̾̆̓̌k̶͔̲͋̓͊ͅi̷̝̫͖͐̉̎n̵̲͗ͅg̴̡̫͉̼̀͊ choked to death- and who even found me, hm? Was it Ranboo? Eret? F̶̮͚̒̃͘ü̴͎̕͝ċ̶͎͕̞̃͝k̵̭͕̄͐, was it even Niki?" Tommy asks, feeling the dark coil cut into his skin and lash around in the open air.

"I did." Tubbo speaks quietly.

Tommy feels himself blow out, anger disappearing in a matter of seconds. ". . .You did?" He had thought of many possibilities, and for some unknown and unreasonable matter, Tubbo was not in any of them.

"I found you, Tommy. You were just hanging there- you were staring at me. All I could see were your eyes, they just kept on looking at me-" Tubbo confirms. 

Tommy chooses not to speak for a moment, allowing himself a brief second to process this information. He decides to voice his final decision. "I still hate you. You- you all abused me, and I actually thought that I was the one who did something wrong. And you know what?"

Tubbo glances up at Tommy.

"I think it's time for some payback, b̸̩͚̼͂̈̉̓ì̷͎̰̼͚t̴̡̝͖͚̓ć̵̺̠̚h̴̬͔̠̯͒̏͆͛."

Tommy allows himself to disappear.

Time to play a game.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

A mug of hot cocoa is put in front of Tommy as his mother sits near him, her own mug in her hands. He groans, taking a sip of the liquid. Thank god they have marshmallows in the afterlife.

“I know, but I’m still mad at them! They deserve it- for everything that they’ve done to me- I just want fucking justice on them-” Tommy begins to shout. 

His mother’s expression softens. “Your coil, Toms. Don’t work yourself up, you’re safe here. No need to be hurt.”

Tommy feels his neck, and feels the ridges of the coil wrapped tightly around his neck. He takes a few minutes to calm down and drink from his mug, allowing the coil to loosen and return to its state of floating around his neck.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I just want this one thing.” Tommy says, staring down at the swirling mass of liquid chocolate and sugary gelatin that was in his hands, separated by walls of ceramics. 

His mother sighs. “I won’t stop you. Just know when to stop, okay?” She speaks.

“Okay.” Tommy nods.

A few days later, Tommy has formulated a plan.

It’s one thing: make his family feel the amount of hate, and suffering, and just every feeling that Tommy felt. And if it ended up with the same ending as him, so be it. It’s a risk he believes is worth taking.

He can’t touch his family, but he’s going to make their lives the hell they made his own.

It's time for everyone's favorite game: Tommy's Tormenting Game.

Chapter Text

Back to our regularly scheduled programme, things- like always- weren’t going the greatest for the Minecraft siblings.

Tubbo had remained blissfully unaware of a few facts for the past few weeks of schooling. First, after a long period of not talking to Foolish, he had learned that Foolish was moving to his town- not for Tubbo, obviously, but for his half-brother Dream. Tubbo had died internally- he was not ready for Foolish to know about his past failures and deeds. Another fact, Sapnap- who had been one of the few people who had so graciously given him his number one insecurity- had been suspended for the past two weeks, and surprise, surprise, he had returned. 

Fact number three- apparently his brother was gay?

Tubbo, after the reveal of Tommy’s presence in the house, hadn’t really been actively listening in the night, but he could clearly hear the sound of someone entering through Wilbur’s room.

Every day.

And Tubbo knew who it was- Wilbur, after their school shopping trip- had been looking more happy and healthier in years, his eyes glowing whenever his phone had a notification. Tubbo was obviously happy for his brother- this happiness luckily extended towards him and Techno, but Tubbo couldn’t help feeling jealous. Not for having a partner, or lover, or any of that. Having someone close to you who makes you happy.

As Tubbo is doing his homework, listening to Tommy talk about whatever he wants, Tubbo remembers that Tommy used to be that person.

“-And I was all like- it’s not my fault that you didn’t have a funeral-” Tommy says, waving his arms around eccentrically in the air.

A question pops into Tubbo’s head. “Why can’t you leave the house?”

Tommy stops talking for a moment. “One, don’t interrupt me, two, I don’t know.”

“Can you go in the backyard?”

“Obviously,” Tommy says. “D̸̨̨̮̰͎͔͍͍͘ṵ̶̕m̵̢̛̳̩̽̎̓͐̈́̓̐̓̔̈́͑b̶̛͙̯̯̫̿͆̏̋͠a̸̧̨̜̘̩̩̫̲͛̑̀͛s̷̢͉̥̪͉͙̬͇̠̅̐ṡ̷̨͙̰̤͚̠͍͖̗͎͂̍̐̍̄͌̈́̌̎̈́̐̚͝ͅ” He adds.

“Front yard?”

“Nope.” Tubbo’s ghost twin pops his ‘p’. “Any more questions?”

Tubbo pauses for a moment, thinking about shitty ghost books and games he’s played. An idea lights up in his mind. “Follow me”

After venturing through the halls, Tubbo and Tommy end up at the front door. Tubbo’s determined to see if Tommy can leave the house- and luckily remove his recently crippling insomnia, hallucinations, and very concerning urges as well. Tommy’s unimpressed, obviously having tried this before. “This isn’t going to work” He states.

“We’ll see. Just follow me.” Tubbo says, opening the door and walking out.

Tommy groans, and follows.

Instead of Tommy’s expected experience of immediately being transported back to the other end of the house, he walks- or, well, floats- out of the doorway.

It’s a sunny day in early January, the snow coats the ground, glazed with a layer of ice.

Tommy, invisible to the world, explodes in a barrage of bloody murder.

“Wow,” Tubbo says. “That worked.”

“What the f̶̨̼̐͐̋̓̈͝ụ̸̧͉̮͇̂̈̑͝c̷̨̲̣̰͎̥̞̄́̋̕k̸̫͌̏̑̕- what the s̷̼͖̩̅̇h̷̫̲̜͛͝ï̴̧̤͑̄t̷̻͜͝- how the f̷̝͊̊ủ̴̡̜͕͌͝c̶̭̥̘̒k̵̦̬̈ did you do that- what the f̴̫͐u̸̳̔̿c̸͉̾̐k̶͖̂, what the f̷̣̋u̵̡̐c̷̲͊k̵͍̈́-” Tommy says, rubbing his temples.

“Ghost games.” Tubbo shrugs. “You wanna look around?”

Tommy stops his barrage of cursing. He begins to move around a bit, moving a few feet away from Tubbo before bursting out in what Tubbo can only describe as a run. That is, until Tommy hits a barrier Tubbo can’t see, a good thirty or so feet away from him.

Slowly, Tommy turns around, and he moves back near Tubbo, an angered expression on his face. “Let’s go.”

Tubbo cracks a smile, before beginning to move, Tommy following him.

The duo walks down the sidewalk, no destination planned. Tommy, originally acting like he didn’t want to be there and that he didn’t care about being out for the first time in years, melting said facade, and began to look around, testing the boundaries of where he could go. Tommy basked in the sun, ogling birds and the people that they passed. 

Tubbo, on the other hand, just made sure to keep on walking. He had a general idea on where he could go, there was a downtown area not so far from them, which he felt like was a good area to go to. 

Of course, when they began to reach a certain spot, Tubbo began to glance around corners, praying that he wasn’t going to get ambushed like before.

Tubbo remembers how he walked down this street, a few minutes after the funeral. He had gotten screamed at by his now ex-friends, and after such, he had just wanted a break for a minute- he just didn’t know why, why everything seemed so okay when everyone around him was saying it wasn’t! Why didn’t anyone stop them, or tell them it was wrong-

Tubbo sighed and tugged his tie loose. Ranboo had most likely said it was wrong, but Tubbo was too stubborn to listen.

He probably looked stupid, walking downtown with a wrinkled suit on, eyes red and puffy. Well, now that he was in said downtown, might as well get something to drink. Tubbo was thirsty after crying and getting yelled at.

As Tubbo neared a corner, he saw a student older than him- George- quickly slip back into a nearby alleyway. But he shrugged it off, George was part of two infamous groups, the Manhunters, and Dream Teams, who were nefarious for doing manhunting games and generally causing chaos. Probably hiding from Dream or something.

Nearing the alley, Tubbo heard a hushed voice- “Three, two, one-”

Tubbo reaches the alley, and he jumps back.

Two years ago, Tubbo reaches the alley, and a firework is shot at him.

“...What the f̷̝͊̊ủ̴̡̜͕͌͝c̶̭̥̘̒k̵̦̬̈ was that,” Tommy says, looking into the alley and back at Tubbo.

The firework explodes on impact, right onto Tubbo’s face. 

Tubbo doesn’t respond.

Immediately, sparks and light shoot out, mixed in with flesh and blood. For half a second, Tubbo basks happily in the sun- it was a colder day. Then the next, he wails in utter agony as the heat knocks up hundreds of degrees.

Tubbo’s in the road, having fallen over. He’s half-unconscious too, one of his eyes is glued shut by his own blood, pain blossoming from his left cheek. Tubbo doesn’t bother to even try checking- he feels the breeze on his left arm, cloth burnt away to show blisters and third-degree burns.

From the alley, the Dream Team walked out. George remained seemingly indifferent, mouth set into a line and eyes hidden by goggles. He makes no move to stop his friends, but he makes no move to help. Sapnap has fire in his eyes and a lighter in his hands, and a grin on his face. And the leader of the team himself, Dream, has a mix of his friends. His eyes show no remorse for his actions, mouth hidden by a mask. Somewhere in Tubbo tells him Dream’s smiling, his eyes squinted.

Dream pulls out a phone, most likely stolen from someone. He tosses it on the road next to Tubbo, landing in the slowly growing puddle of firework residue, blood, and other internal fluids. 

“Call 999 yourself.” Dream says, leading his posse away.

There is no further explanation. Through the haze of pain and near unconsciousness that Tubbo is suspended in, he knows why. 

This was for Tommy.

“Tubbo!” Tommy shouts, bellowing in his ear.

Tubbo jumps once more. “FUck- fuck, you scared the shit out of me-” He says, panting.

Tommy furrows his eyebrows. “You were actin’ all weird.”

“Oh- sorry. Let’s just go.”

Tubbo wasn’t sure how he was able to even move. But through his slipping consciousness, Tubbo had picked up the phone, smearing blood on the screen, and sluggishly typed out 9-9-9.

Every movement he made was complete and utter agony, his throat dry from all moisture in his body going towards crying in pain.

But thank god- a voice echoed through the phone. “This is 999, what’s your emergency?”

Tubbo glances briefly at the spot where he had called. He can still see himself, writhing in pain, and he can still see the grey spot where his blood was spilled on the ground.

“Please. . .help.” Tubbo whispered.

“What was that?” The voice on the other end asked.

“Help.” Tubbo forced out.

“I need you to tell me where you are and what happened, okay?”

Digging into his memory, Tubbo blinked sluggishly. “Downtown. . .it hurts- please, hurry. . .”

“Downtown. . . is that main street or is that another street?”

“. . .” Tubbo nearly falls asleep, but the voice on the end kept him awake. “I. . . I think the main street.”

“Okay, you’re doing great. We have people who will help on the way. Can you stay on the line?”

Tubbo hums, sleep pulling at his eyelids. He can feel gravel dig into his blisters, blood slowly making its way down his face. Everything hurts, but as he begins to fall into unconsciousness, he feels as if it’ll hurt less.

“Alright, there are people five minutes away. Can you wait that long for me?”

. . .

“Are you still there?’’

. . .

“Hello?”

Tubbo slumps down on a bench at the park, Tommy immediately floating off to the nearby playground. After that little. . . episode, Tubbo was a bit burnt out, and for a bit, he closed his eyes and breathed for a moment.

A cane bumps into Tubbo’s knee, and he opens his eyes, seeing a former friend of his.

“Oh,” Tubbo says, blinking. “Hi, Eret.”

Eret smiles, eyes hidden under dark glasses. “Hey, Tubbo.”

“There’s an empty seat on the bench- if you want.” Tubbo stammers, moving closer to the edge to make room.

Eret sits down, folding up their multicolored cane and sitting down next to Tubbo. “So, how have you been?”

“Ah-” Tubbo considers lying to Eret. “I'm fine.”

“That's good,” Eret states. “I do have a question, if you want to answer me.”

Tubbo blinks owlishly. “I mean- sure?”

“Why are you back?”

“Back as in- back in school?”

“Back. . .here.” Eret gestures vaguely. “In town.”

“Oh. . .” Tubbo grimaces. “Uh, Phil- my dad- he wanted us to move back.” Not entirely a lie, but it’s not entirely the truth.

“That. . .sucks. Uh- how are Will and Techno?”

Tubbo sighs. “Wilbur’s doing better. You know how he was-”

“Addicted, I know.”

“Yep. Wilbur’s getting over that and alcoholism- he’s got a boyfriend now- or at least I think so-” Tubbo says. He’s not sure why he’s telling all of this to Eret- maybe it’s simply because Eret, although having an altercation with them a few times, was just there to listen. Eret stuck to her own beliefs, and he didn’t mind otherwise. “Techno’s, ah, well, he’s just there? He doesn’t really care about anything anymore.”

Eret frowned. “And what about you?”

“I said I was fine-” Tubbo says.

“I know,” Eret said. “But are you?”

Tubbo forces out a laugh. “Let me ask a question first, you’ve had your interrogation.”

Eret laughs as well, easing some of Tubbo’s paranoia. “Alright, ask away.”

Tubbo’s smile dropped. “Why. . . why didn’t you stop us?”

“Stop what happened to Tommy?”

Tubbo nods and Eret leans back on the bench, cane in hands. “I don’t know about people like Ranboo- but I can explain for myself and on behalf of Fundy, Niki, and Jack.”

Eret took a breath. “We. . . We didn't know what happened to Tommy. At first, of course. I think that most of us thought that he was sick at first. Then he was just skipping school. Then it was maybe he was on a vacation- and we realized that Tommy was missing.”

“We were all scared- Ranboo recently came to town and had no clue what was happening, and we were all running around like headless chickens. I had called Wilbur- back when he didn’t think I was a traitor- so many times, but he always told me Tommy was fine. I tried calling Techno, but he either hung up immediately or said the same. Hell, I even called Phil, and it always went to voicemail!” Eret continued.

In the background, listening carefully, was Tommy himself, hidden from sight.  “God, this family is f̷͈̮͛u̴̠̼͆͌c̵̬̏k̸̤̏ē̴̯̬̿d̴̪̾͛ͅ.’ He says.

“And Tommy shows up at my door, middle of the day. Passes out, no explanation, only a hello.” Eret says, putting his head in his hands. “I called Wilbur. I thought he was missing, that you were all looking for him. And that was the biggest mistake I could’ve ever made.”

“Tommy is- wasn’t safe at our house,” Tubbo says, almost slipping up. “But- Eret- thank you. I- I’ve wondered for a while why nobody stopped us.”

“Phil should’ve stopped you,” Eret said.

“And he didn’t. He didn’t care.” Tubbo finished. 

“And he still doesn't”

The next day, and it’s Monday. Tubbo expects the average morning routine, wake up, go to school, get home, see what horrors await him, and try to sleep. 

But during lunch, usually the normal group of Tubbo, his siblings, and a few friends gained a new member.

As in all their glory, Eret walked over, straying from their regular group who included Ranboo and the previous friends Tubbo had, and sat right down. 

“Hey.” Eret says, waving to the slightly stunned group.

They all eat in silence.

After school, Tubbo hops into the car, and Wilbur immediately turns around. 

“Hey, Tubbo, uh, what the fuck was that. ” Wilbur says, eyes wide and a thinly strained smile on his face.

Tubbo grins. “Eret.”

“No shit but why the fuck was he there? With us?”

“We talked. They’re chill.”

Wilbur inhales deeply. “She’s with the people who want us to die.”

“They could have strangled me with their cane at the park with no witnesses. It’s fine.”

Hesitance glimmers in Wilbur’s eyes, before he turns back to reverse out of the parking lot. “I’m trusting your judgement this one fucking time.”

A few seconds later, and Techno hurriedly enters the car.

“We might need to go now.” Techno says, voice straining with awkwardness and slight urgency.

“Wh- Why?” Wilbur says, raising an eyebrow.

“I punched a kid.”

Shouts erupt in the car, and Wilbur backpedals the fuck out of the lot.

Chapter Text

"I swear- to fucking God-"

Tubbo, yet again, fails to open his locker. He didn't even put anything in the way of it- there's no reason it should be closed!

He bangs on the locker, thumps rattling throughout the hall as the person next to him slowly backs away.

If fists don't work, feet will. Tubbo swings his leg back to kick his locker hard - and ends up more or less tripping someone.

"Oh- shit, sorry-" Tubbo apologizes, turning around, seeing his former friend, Ranboo, sprawled on the floor, books, and papers scattered around, people stepping on and around him.

"Uh, let me help-" Tubbo says, bending down to help pick up Ranboo's stuff, but he's soon pushed aside by Ranboo’s actual friends. Great job at being nice.

 “Or…not,” he says, standing up and finally opening his locker. 

“You’re welcome, you know.”

The face of Tubbo’s dead twin pops through the wall, making him jump. “Thanks.” He mutters through clenched teeth, keeping his voice down to avoid looks from people. 

“All in a day work,” Tommy says, floating out of the locker and over the crowd of fellow students. “But seriously, what assholes. . .”

Tubbo blinks. 

“Give me back my textbook.”

__

“School sucks.”

Foolish smiles from across the table. “Well, it can always be better, with friends and stuff.”

Tubbo blinks. Violently. If that’s something you can do. “Everyone in this town hates me.”

“ Almost- ”

“Ugh- almost everyone in this town hates me. Happy?” Tubbo says, waving his hands around. For once, he’s made a friend on his own, Foolish. Pretty big accomplishment, if he does say so himself. 

“I mean- you did do bad things and all, but there’s a lot of different things that play into it,” Foolish says, sipping his drink. “Like people can be mad at you, but at some point it’s a bit wrong?”

“I…disagree.”

“Of course you would, mom says it’s called denial.”

“I call it justice. And so does everyone else.”

“Guilt.”

Tubbo groans, slumping in his chair. “Stop therapy-ing me, dude. You just came here like, 20 minutes ago.”

His friend laughs, and shrugs. “I’m a fast paced guy.”

Waving off his friend, Tubbo glances at Tommy, who’s sitting criss-crossed in the empty seat at the cafe with them. He’s glaring at Foolish, considering many things, and most likely judging Foolish as well. Tubbo snorts, taking a drink of his own cup. 

“And also because you can’t get a job-” Foolish is continuing, explaining his reasoning for his concern about Tubbo’s wellbeing.

“Thanks for reminding me, boss man.” Tubbo grimaces.

Eyes grow on Foolish’s head, and Tubbo sees bugs and dirt in his drink, and he feels a dropping point in his stomach, like a weight was suddenly put onto his diaphragm.

“Uh, are you good? You’re kinda pale-” Foolish asks, green eyes clouded with worry.

Tommy stares at Tubbo, face blank but eyes knowing. For a moment, Tubbo can see the Tommy he- forced to kill, that he brutally murdered- knew, eyes blue and braces still on. 

Tommy drills holes into Tubbo’s head, and he thinks he’s going to throw up.

Tubbo runs.

He doesn’t stop until he feels somewhat safe, hidden under his bed. When Tubbo was younger he had a bad habit of doing that, enough where people wouldn’t find him for hours. The amount of times that Wilbur or Techno were about to call the police to file a missing persons report- and the few times they did- were more than enough to persuade Tubbo to stop the habit, but in times where Tubbo was too stressed to care, he did what needed to be done.

His phone is buzzing, laying on the floor. It’s most likely Foolish, concerned as ever.

Tubbo shrinks away from the device, further towards the corner of the room. He can barely fit under his bed, but it feels almost like a claustrophobic hug, which he’ll gladly take.

“Tubbo.”

Said Tubbo cups a hand over his mouth.

“ Tubbo. I know you’re in here.” Tommy says, voice low and angry. Tubbo can feel the atmosphere in the room turn, the temperature dropping, and the ring of static filling his ears as Tommy moves back and forth in the room, searching.

“I guess you know then. Glad you figured it out, detective.” His brother says. Tubbo can hear the cord around his neck thrashing, the sound of a rope hitting flesh and it cracking through air interrupting the silence as Tommy looked for his brother.

“Shame. Guess it’s my turn then.”

The atmosphere in the room becomes a pressure Tubbo is used to, the room heating up, and his ears adjusting to emptiness.

He removes the hand from his mouth, quietly sighing. His heart is beating rapidly, tears forming at his eyes and a headache on the brink of forming. In all honesty, Tubbo was scared shitless. Tubbo’s not sure what Tommy was even talking about- he didn’t know shit, why Tommy was saying it was his turn- he didn’t know!

But as Tubbo calms himself down, Tommy appears in front of him, his neck broken and skin pale from a lack of oxygen. His eyes are no longer pure white, but black caverns with no destination. His mouth is a deformed cavity, and his nose is missing, only showing thin slits where the nasal bones would lay. 

Tubbo screams.

__

Tubbo wakes up to yelling, and for a moment, he wonders if it’s coming from him, or from someone else. 

He’s too tired to care.

Tubbo falls asleep.

__

Wilbur isn’t quite sure how he got here.

End of January, fresh in a new town full of people who understandably want him dead, a senior, and with a man in his bed.

That last part was slightly surprising, but probably the part that was surprising in a not so good way, was his dad walking in.

For a moment, Wilbur, Friend, and Phil stared at each other in utter shock. Friend turns to Wilbur, a blanket luckily covering them, pursing their lips. “We should’ve locked the door.”

Immediately the room erupts into chaos. Phil is yelling things that Wilbur is positive he doesn’t want to hear, Friend is yelling back, and Wilbur can only make out that Phil wants him out. 

Good for him, Wilbur’s been waiting for this.

He rushes out of bed, pulling on the first clothes he can find as Phil throws random things in his room at him. Wilbur pulls out a suitcase and backpack, already packed with things that he thought he’d need if it came to running away. 

“-and of course you’re a fucking-” Phil shouts, Friend motioning for Wilbur to call him as he jumps out the window. Wilbur’s positive that Friend gave the middle finger to Phil as he jumped.

“Of course me, the one you never fucking cared about!” Wilbur shouts back, digging around for his third box of money that he had. 

“You’re a fucking drug addict, you’re an alcoholic, you dropped out  of school, and now you’re a homo! Of course I’m not going to care about a fucking disappointment like you!” 

“Fuck you! You’re a deadbeat father, you never did anything for us except give us things to live off of!” 

“I have done everything for you, and this is how you want to fucking treat me?” Phil says, reaching down to throw a book at Wilbur.

An encyclopedia is thrown at Wilbur, and Phil must’ve rolled a Nat 20, because it hits him right into his glasses, cracking one of the lenses and hitting his face. Wilbur curses, tears pooling at his eye as he holds his face. A ruler hits him, followed by another hit. Phil found something he can actually hit Wilbur with, and out of pure rage, Wilbur is continually attacked, until he manages to escape for a split second.

Wilbur books it, turning the lock on his door and shutting it close to give himself a head start. Tubbo is still gone, most likely asleep. Both good and bad. 

Techno is luckily in the hall, confused as he sees Wilbur emerge from a room of shouting, Wilbur’s opening doors in the hallway, and he sees Techno, pulling out a sticky note.

“Give it to Tubbo. I’ll explain everything-” Phil opens up Wilbur’s previously locked door, shouting still coming from him. “I have to leave.” Wilbur says. 

Techno nods. “Go.”

Wilbur can hear Techno stop Phil in the hall, asking for what happened and giving Wilbur the split second he needs to burst out of the house and begin to run though yards and streets in the middle of the night, ignoring anyone who tries to speak to him or stop him. Wilbur barely makes sense of anything, the only thing keeping him moving is pure adrenaline and pure fear.

What did Wilbur do to have to be so scared of his own father, at twenty?

He’s walking down streets, cutting corners and moving as fast as he can. At some point, he looks behind him, as flood lights shine on him, and holy shit, a car is following him. Wilbur’s heartbeat picks up, and he tightens his grip and begins to run. He can faintly hear someone call his name, but the sound of wind rushing past makes the noise woosh away.

He keeps on running, until he runs out of breath and he begins to have cramps in his stomach. At some point, Wilbur’s sure he nearly blacks out, but he’s beginning to get a little too cold, and snow is beginning to fall. He doesn’t want to be caught in this weather with only jeans and an old shirt on, no jacket or whatsoever. 

Wilbur slows down, sitting at a bus stop. He needs a home, as now his current situation is that he’s a bit homeless. Luckily, Wilbur had planned for this, and he had a mid-rise apartment with his name on it.

He stands up from the bus stop, adrenaline wearing off. In all honesty, Wilbur feels like he’s about to either throw up, pass out, or jump off a bridge, and all of them didn’t seem too bad at the moment. 

Eventually, after a few hours of walking, Wilbur walked into his new home in the dead of night. It was bad enough that it was in the negatives already, but it began to snow, and out of pure exhaustion and cold, he lays down, kicking the door close, and falls asleep.

__

Wilbur doesn’t wake up for about a day. He’s utterly exhausted still, and his hands and feet feel numb. His clothes are sopping wet, and Wilbur feels disgusting enough to get up off the floor and get adjusted.

He starts by first- assessing injuries. Looking in the mirror shows that his glasses lens was cracked pretty badly, a big bruise on his face accompanied by a few paper cuts as well. That was going to hurt like a bitch. Second, he had a lot more injuries from being hit by various books, mainly bruises though. He had scraped elbows from falling down a few times, and Wilbur can guess he has some mild hypothermia. It’s not like he has medical insurance to cover anything, so he’ll just run with it.

Might as well solve that hypothermia problem.

__

Tubbo wakes up once more, his head pounding. And the door.

He realizes someone is knocking at the door, quietly but urgently. Crawling out from under his bed, Tubbo opens the door, and there’s Techno.

“Hey?” Tubbo says, yawning. “What time is it?”

“We’re leaving.”

Tubbo is thrust out of his sleepy state. “What?”

Techno stares at Tubbo, eyes alight with passion Tubbo recalls he hasn’t seen in a while. “We have to go. Now.”

“Wh- why? What about Wilbur? What happened?” Tubbo says, and Techno puts a finger to his mouth. 

“Look out your window, but hurry. Get anything you need. Wilbur got kicked out,” Techno whispers, heading downstairs. 

Tubbo is aware now that all the curtains in the house are closed, and as he pokes his head through a gap in the curtains, he can hear police sirens in the distance and people outside their yard.

Not people, students.

His eyes widen, and Tubbo immediately jumps into action. He scrambles for a backpack, shoving a bunch of things into it. He knows he has an unpacked suitcase of clothes, and he pulls it out of the closet. He manages to pull out chargers of some of his devices and shove them into another backpack. With that, Tubbo races out of his room and joins Techno in the kitchen. 

“Where’s Phil?” Tubbo asks, unlocking the back door and occasionally peeking back at the lights coming from the front of the house. 

“Looking for Wilbur.”

“...Where the fuck is Wilbur then? I heard yelling-”

Techno shoves a bag of canned foods and boxes into a suitcase, zipping it up. “Got kicked out. Phil saw him with Friend. We have to go now. Before they go into the backyard.”

“Okay-” Tubbo says, following his brother as they run out the back door. The both of them end up hopping the fence, just as they hear the fence gate open.

“Hey, the back door’s open!” They hear someone- Tubbo recognizes it as Punz- yell. 

“Raid it!” Another- Sapnap- shouts, and both Tubbo and Techno look at each other.

“Robbery?” Tubbo whispers.

“Nope,” Techno says. “Murder.”

Techno grabs Tubbo’s hand, and the two march on through the night.

__

“Wilbur has an apartment?”

Tubbo glances at Tommy, floating behind him and Techno. He shrugs. Tubbo didn’t know either.

“Wilbur has an apartment?” Tubbo repeats, following Techno into an elevator. 

“Apparently so,” Techno says, handing a sticky note to Tubbo. It’s somewhat decipherable, chicken scratch for handwriting. It leads into this building apparently, where nobody knows where they are.

Nobody knows where they are.

Tubbo feels relieved for once.

The elevator dings, and Tubbo follows Techno until they stop at a door, knocking a few times. 

A minute passes, and Tubbo sees a glimpse of someone peeking through the peephole, and a second later, the sound of a lock or two being unlocked is heard, and the door opens. Wilbur opens the door for them, letting them all in. 

“Did Phil follow you?” Tubbo hears Wilbur ask quietly, closing the door. Tubbo notices the multiple locks added onto the door, alongside the closed windows. 

“I don’t think so,” Techno responds, just as hushed as Wilbur. “But I do know that some of the Manhunters kinda broke into the house.”

“They broke in the house?!” Wilbur whisper-shouts, Techno shushing him. 

“Police were called too.”

“Police were called?” Wilbur actually shouts this time, and Tubbo gives him a raised eyebrow. “Sorry.” Wilbur says. “ Fucking police were called?”

“Listen, I don’t know whether they were called for you, or the people breaking into our house. Let’s just try to not give away our locations, or something.”

Wilbur sighs, his eyes adverting to a small collection of bottles on the counter. Tubbo can tell he’s considering it, and he knows Techno does too.

“Now that we’re here though, we did bring some stuff,” Techno says, pulling out a few bags. 

“Thank fucking god- is that my guitar?” Wilbur asks, seeing the case on the ground. 

“Yep,” Techno pops the ‘p’. “I just kinda grabbed it.”

“I haven’t played.”

“I know.”

“In years. ” 

“I know.”

Wilbur looks exasperated, and he takes a bottle of water and sits down next to Tubbo on the couch, turning on the TV.

Tommy, being as exploratory as always, uses the small apartment to wander around, glitching the TV occasionally when he passes through the screen. 

“The reception here is fucking shit,” Wilbur mutters, changing the channel from a random medical show to a few others, ending on the news. 

“ -locals report the house was raided, and reports were unsure about whether it was set on fire or not. And what’s worse about this raid, is that the three teens that live here have been all reported missing by their father. We send our condolences, and we’ll play the message. Please contact local police if you have any information.” The news reporter said, a picture of their house coming up. 

“Already on the news? Guess we’re famous,” Techno says, a box in his arms. “Where do we sleep by the way?”

Wilbur glances up. “The couch is a roll-up, so Tubbo can take that one. You want to share a bed?”

Techno shrugs. “Sure- is that fucking Phil?”

On the TV, was Phil being interviewed by police, begging for them to go home. A dark look crossed Wilbur’s face as he changed the channel, cutting off Phil’s words short.

“Or not,” Techno says, taking back his words.

“He gave me hypothermia,” Wilbur says, preferring to watch a random cartoon. “And made me effectively homeless.”

Tubbo’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to messages from Eret and Foolish. The both of them had at least sixty messages each, asking where he was, how he was missing, that his picture was on the news, what happened…the whole five w’s.

“Hey, is it okay if I tell Eret and Foolish where we are?” Tubbo asks, prepared to text them both.

Wilbur’s face tightens, and he takes a minute to think. His face drops, becoming calm. “Sure.”

Tubbo soon just gets a call from Foolish and Eret, and without hesitation, answers.

“ -WHAT HAPPENED?!” Foolish shouts, causing all of Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno to all jump.

“We all kinda ran away,” Tubbo says. “From home. Without telling anyone. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“ Are you okay? Are you safe- is everything good where you are?” Eret asks, and Tubbo tries to answer each question before being cut off by the next one.

“I’m okay, Wilbur has a place that me and Techno are going to be staying at. We’re all okay, you can calm down boss.” Tubbo responds, chuckling awkwardly to ease the stress.

“ And I mean- my brother Dream just came home, I think he knows you guys aren’t home. Just-” Foolish said, his voice crackling occasionally. “ I don’t think that it’s a good idea for you guys to go outside. Like ever. He’s pissed.”

“Damn, it must be hard,” Eret laughs. “ Stay mad.”

“Eret, my brothers and I are unironically being hunted down.”

“ . . .Stay sad.” 

“Also- you should turn off your locations, Dream knows people like Punz, who can do literally anything if he’s paid enough.” Advises Foolish, passing over Eret’s words.

“Oh, yeah, Techno also kinda said that.”

“ Dream’s coming up, I should probably get off.” Foolish whispers, and in the background, Tubbo can hear angry shouting and stomping. And after a second, Foolish hangs up.

“ I’ll go too, stay safe Tubbo,” Eret says, a smile in their voice. The telltale beep of the call ending comes from Tubbo’s phone, and he turns it off. 

Techno pops out from the bedroom, hair tied up in a loose ponytail. “Is it a good idea to order Chinese takeout for dinner?” He asks.

Wilbur and Tubbo both turn around. “No?” They both speak simultaneously.

Techno purses his lips. “Too late.”

“ Dude- ”

__

“-at ten in the night?”

“Who’s calling?” Tubbo asks, taking out his headphones.

“Phil.” Wilbur responds, watching his phone ring on the counter. 

“Wait-” Tubbo quite literally falls over, tangling himself in a blanket. “Really?”

Tubbo soon joins Wilbur and Techno at the counter, watching the answer screen turn to voicemail. 

“Do we listen to it?” Tubbo asks.

“Sure.” Techno says, messing around until the voicemail begins to play.

“ Wilbur- or the other two, if they’re with you- I want you to get home. Now. You are all are in so much fucking trouble with me or the law. The second I see you, I am going to call the police on you and get you arrested. I'll tell those people who got Tubbo hospitalized where you are, and trust me, I’ll do more.”

“Get home. Now.” 

Phil’s voice cuts off, and a robotic voice announces the voicemail ended.

The three brothers sit in silence, until Techno chooses to speak. 

“So. . .does he want us home, or does he want us arrested?”

“I guess bo-”

A knock interrupts Tubbo, and he moves forward to open the door.

Ranboo’s standing in the doorway, glasses gone and eyes staring at Tubbo.

“Eret told me where you were. We need to talk.” Ranboo says.

Tubbo closes the door.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

“He’s not leaving.”

Tubbo sits on the couch, head in his hands, contemplating how he’s gotten himself in this mess. 

“Well, let him in then. Hear him out,” Wilbur says, leaning on the kitchen counter. Techno’s at the door, occasionally peeping through the peephole at Ranboo, who’s tapping his foot outside their door.

“When did you become such an empath?” Techno says. “Plus, that’s a bad idea.”

“We can just kidnap him if he tries to snitch,” Tubbo suggests.

Techno shrugs. “Bet.”

The door is opened, and Ranboo walks through the threshold, dumping a bag down onto the floor. Nobody says a word, only awkward glances to one another.

“Oh, and Tubbo?” Wilbur speaks up, turning the attention of the room onto him.

“Uh, yeah?”

“I told you so.”

Everyone in the apartment- alive and dead- ends up congregating on the couch. Mostly because it was the only room that had the capacity to hold everyone, but nevertheless, in the living room.

“So,” Techno begins. “Why’re you here?”

Ranboo fidgets, wringing his hands and tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Well, you’re all kind of runaways at the moment. Eret-” Wilbur mutters traitor , covering it up with a cough. “-was the one to tell me where you all even were. Uh- a lot is happening. With a lot of things.”

Techno raises an eyebrow, telling Ranboo to go on.

“Okay- first, Phil isn’t the best at the moment- he’s worried about where you guys are.” Ranboo starts, earning a few dirty complexions.

“Yeah, no. He’s not worried.” Tubbo corrects. “Play the tapes bossman.”

On cue, Wilbur plays the recent voicemail from Phil, motioning towards it.

Ranboo grimaces. “All right then- a lot of people are worried…?” He tries.

“If you think someone is worried, we’ve already told ‘em where we are.” Techno states. “Sworn into secrecy.”

“Except Eret.” Wilbur pipes in.

“Yep. Fuck Eret.” Tubbo adds.

Sighing, Ranboo carries on. “Just, what are you going to do? About the police, about school, food- all of that?”

Techno leans forward, staring at Ranboo with a deadpan expression. “Why do you care?”

“Can I not?”

“No, no,” Techno argues. “You can. It’s just that it’s a bit weird for you, a guy who hates us and has openly opposed us, suddenly has this interest after we’ve run away. Kind of weird.”

Ranboo raises his hands in mock surrender. “No! It’s not like that, it’s-”

“Then what is it like?” This time, Tubbo speaks up. “The only time that you actually liked us was the month or so before Tommy’s death-” Cue a, “ I’m right here!” from said man himself. “-so what is it like, Ranboo? ”

“Fine,” Ranboo deadpans. “I’ll tell the truth. I want answers.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The attention turns to Wilbur, who’s advanced towards the rest. His eyes are burning with fury and frustration, and he’s decided to take it out on Ranboo.

“I did not get kicked out of my home, get disowned, run across an entire fucking city in the dead of night, get hypothermia, and get snitched on by my own brother’s friend, just so you can come up to our house for answers!” Wilbur yells, his voice crescending with each statement. “I have worked my ass off to find a way to get sober, not for you, but for my own family, for my own partner, and so I could leave that goddamn house!”

“I-” Ranboo attempts to get a single vowel in, only to get immediately humbled.

“You have no right coming in uninvited, you selfish asshole! You may be, what, seventeen, but you could’ve done so much more. ” For a moment, Tubbo is scared that Wilbur’s going to hit Ranboo, or do something reckless that’ll get them all arrested.

“Sure, my family may have started abusing Tommy, and we sure as hell ended it, but you stood by and watched!” Wilbur shouts. “You aren’t better than us, Ranboo! You were in our house, and you just complained as my little brother deteriorated right in front of all of us! We’re all doomed! We’re all going to die someday and get sent to whatever hell awaits us!”

“Tubbo,” Tommy mutters. “Tell Will to shut up.”

“I tried!” Ranboo shouted. “You never listened! You probably never will!”

“I was addicted, high or drunk off my ass all the time!”

“You’re making as many excuses as I am, Ranboo!”

“Can you both- stop making excuses-” Techno says, backed up in the corner of the couch.”

“Agreed,” Tommy mutters. “Don’t like them mutterin’ ‘bout my passing.”

“Shut up, Techno!” Wilbur shoots back, seething. “Unless you have something useful to put in for fucking once, shut up like you always have and go play another game!”

Tubbo purses his lips. He can tell that things are only beginning to heat up, no doubt Techno is bound to join in. 

“Wilbur-” Techno spits. “How about you sit down and have a drink? ”

“Oh, you fucking-”

“What are you going to do?” Techno says, the same fiery passion and fury lighting in his eyes. Wilbur might be a fire, but Techno is one hell of a flame. “ Hit me? ”

“Tubbo, this is wrong.” Tommy insists, but Tubbo stays silent. He knows better.

“And what if I do?” Wilbur fumes back. “You’re just going to stand by and watch like you always fucking do.”

“I at least didn’t hit anyone.”

“Good thing I didn’t waste shit all the time!”

“At least I didn’t get kicked out for being gay.”

“You’re fucking insane- when was the last time you left our house besides the times you were forced? When was the last time you left your room, huh?”

“When was the last time you weren’t sober or drunk?”

“Oh, you want to see drunk?” Wilbur says, moving behind the counter and rustling. “I’ll show you-” He pulls out a bottle, a nice bottle of Smirnoff. “ -fucking drunk!”

Holding the bottle by the neck, Wilbur stalked towards Techno, who had grabbed the nearest object he could fight with. And just as the bottle was in Wilbur’s hands, the bottle was raised in the air and brought down near Techno, breaking on the nearby table as Techno barely got out of the way.

Across the room from each other, Ranboo and Tubbo looked at each other with wild eyes, and running past, Tubbo grabbed Ranboo’s arm and pulled him down the small hallway, entering the master bedroom and locking the door behind them.

Tommy floats through the locked door, surprisingly silent.

“Does he normally do that?” Ranboo whispers after a few minutes of heavy breathing. 

“No,” Tubbo says. “Well, not recently. He used to. He was getting better.”

Tubbo slides down the locked door, back pressed up against the wood as he covers his ears to drown out the yelling and crashes coming from the living room. “ He was getting better-” He sobs, his voice getting caught in his throat. “ Why- ev ery time, every fucking time things get better for once , it gets worse-”

Ranboo quietly sits down next to Tubbo, his eyes drifting back to the racket coming from behind them.

“Just-” Tubbo looks at his former friend with tears in his eyes. “ I can’t do this anymore, Ranboo.”  

__

“Wait, are you actually-”

“Yes.”

Tommy blinks at Tubbo. “Why?”

Tubbo glares at Tommy with red eyes. “Go haunt someone else for tonight. I’m going to…visit Foolish. His mom is- was- my therapist.”

Although Tommy looks at him with suspicion and distrust, he doesn’t press onward. Or say anything. He just fades into oblivion, leaving Tubbo. Luckily for Tubbo, it’s nearing two in the morning, meaning that if he hurries, he’ll be undisturbed, and hopefully gone within the next hour.

Walking outside the apartment complex, Tubbo silently walks, slightly shivering in the cold night air. He has a destination in mind, and although it’s a bit sentimental and depressing, and Tubbo will probably traumatize a good few kids by the time he’s found, he’s chosen the park bench he and Tommy used to hang out around when Tommy was still alive.

The same park bench that Tubbo had blindly decided to trust Eret at.

Tubbo does feel a bit bad for lying to Tommy, but they’ll have eternity to work out those kinks. And plus, there’s always the relief and good Tubbo’s going to be doing. 

After a good thirty minutes of brisk walking, numb fingers, and a cold face, Tubbo reaches the park. He does have a bit to do, so he’s just going to hurry it up a bit. Tubbo dumps his backpack onto the bench, sitting down and pulling out a notebook and pen.

He’s not sure what to actually write- maybe just a quick apology to anyone and everyone who knows him, a small explanation, his thoughts and feelings, who’ll get his things, who’s the next scapegoat in all of this junk. Tubbo also chooses to write longer letters to Phil, Wilbur, Techno, Foolish, and Ranboo, as they’d probably be the ones more associated with what he’s about to do.

Tubbo’s temptation to explain what Phil did overrides his overwhelming guilt for bringing this to his family.

Twirling the pen in his hands, Tubbo opens up his notebook and hastily begins writing.

“Will.”

It’s 2:30 A.M, and whoever the hell is waking Wilbur up is going to get smacked.

“ What ,” Wilbur mutters, mouth dry from dehydration and cheeks moist from tears. He feels just as shitty as his personality.

“Will. Get up.”

Wait.

Wilbur recognizes that voice.

He recognizes that nickname.

From his bed on the couch- Techno had locked him outside the master bedroom alongside all the substances and alcohol in the apartment- Wilbur shoots up, eyes wide.

And standing- no, no, fucking floating- right there- between the kitchen counter and the fold-up couch bed is fucking Tommy.

“. . . Tommy? ” Wilbur echoes, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

He knows this isn’t a dream- because that’s his brother right there. He’s different, of course, his eyes are pure white, his skin pale and veiny, a black cord like the noose he once hung on moving around his neck, sporadically whipping violently every few moments. Tommy’s obviously a ghost- Wilbur remembers the split second he saw his brother’s body hanging eerily silent on a rope, hearing Tubbo’s screams and Techno’s attempts at blocking the view from at least one of them.

Wilbur recalls that view is the reason why he turned to alcohol to drown out the image in his head that never leaves it.

“Yeah, prick,” Tommy says, his voice urgent. “We need to go.”

“Wh-” Wilbur shoves his blanket off of him, feeling around in the dark for his glasses. “Wait, what? How are you here? What’s happening- where’s Techno? Where’s Tubbo?” He asks.

“Shut up.” Is what Tommy replies. “Tubbo’s- I think he’s in danger.”

Wilbur finds his glasses, pushing them up his nose and finding a jacket, rummaging around for socks and shoes. And a hat. It’s cold out. “From who? Do we need to call the police?”

“From himself. We have to hurry.”

Wilbur understands. “Wake up Techno. Where is he.”

Tommy’s uncolored eyes glaze over, whether it’s with tears, emotion, or nostalgia, it’s anybody’s guess. “Our bench.”

In a second, Wilbur’s out the door.

__

In a minute, Techno’s out the door, Tommy’s ghost popping in between the two.

“Why can’t you stop him?” Wilbur asks while sprinting down roads, jaywalking, and ignoring all road safety. 

“I can’t interact with living things,” Tommy responds. “Go left, it’s faster.”

Wilbur nearly slips on a patch of ice as he skids to the left, entering into a park. He knows the way now- racing in between trees and bushes and grass. 

2:59:38.

Wilbur can barely see the bench in the distance. He can see Tubbo, sitting down with something in his hands.

2:59:45

Wilbur’s running out of breath, but he keeps on pushing. Pushing past the taste of alcohol that’s in the back of his throat, pushing past the smoke that resides in his lungs, pushing past stomach cramps and the want to vomit. 

2:59:54

He’s almost there, only fifty feet away.

2:59:56

He’s so unbelievably close.

2:59:58

He’s not going to make it.

3:00:00

“ Tubbo!”

“ 999, what’s your emergency? ”

“He-hello? Uh- my little brother, he just stabbed himself, and we think he overdosed as well-”

“ Please- my little brother- he hung himself- ”

“Okay, I need you to tell me where you are, and I need you to tell me where the injuries are.”

“ I- I think he’s dead- he’s just staring at us, please just hurry-”

“So Kinoko Park, on the east side, okay. You’re doing great. I need you to put some light pressure on the wound, and elevate your brother’s head. Make sure his fingers or toes aren’t greying, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“ ...I can’t cut him down. I’m sorry- Tommy, I’m so sorry-”

“Sir? Are you there?”

“I’m sorry- please, come back, please, don’t leave-”

“We need dispatchers to Kinoko Park, east side. Look for three people near a bench, hurry. If you’re still there sir, I need you to respond.”

“It’s all our faults, I’m so sorry, I’ll let you break my guitar, I won’t hurt you- why- why am I so fucking stupid, why, why did I do this-”

“Sir?”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Wilbur, come on.”

Wilbur sits numbly, a black notebook in his hands.

“...Wilbur?”

A flash of pink, and Techno lowers into Wilbur’s hazy train of vision. He looks somewhat concerned.

“I’ll just get you some water. I’m going to be right back.” Techno says, walking away down the hospital halls.

Wilbur blinks.

This has happened before.

For the first time in a few hours, Wilbur adjusts himself, looking at the ghost of the brother he lost- read: failed - looking at his other brother through a closed glass window.

“How-” Wilbur coughs, dehydrated from the night. “How is he?”

Tommy pokes back through the wall, floating over until he sits near Wilbur. “S̸̞͚͖͓͎̦͐͝h̴̬͈͙̉̂ị̵̡͙͓͋͑̓̕͠ṭ̵̛́͑͂.” He states. “Looks like it too.”

“. . .Is he alive?”

“Obviously.”

Wilbur breaths out, his knuckles white around the notebook Tubbo wrote in. “He was listening to your favourite song.” Wilbur said to Tommy.

“I was listening to it too,” Tommy says. “When I died.”

Wilbur glances over to the ghost next to him. “How did you die?”

Tommy snorts. “Bit rude.” He laughs, but his smile slowly drops. “I don’t remember, exactly. I kind of just…fell asleep. And when I woke up, I was in an empty room like mine, went downstairs, saw Mum, and realized I died.”

“Hey.” Techno approaches the duo, two bottles of water in his hands. “You look like a ghost.” His eyes glance over to a visible Tommy. “No offence.”

“Lots taken, thanks,” Tommy mutters.

Wilbur silently takes the bottle of water and opens it, taking a small sip. 

A doctor soon emerges from Tubbo’s room, clipboard in hand, followed by a nurse. Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno all look up, eyes glistening with anticipation.

“He’s going to be okay.”

It’s 9 A.M, on a dreary Sunday morning.

And nobody has ever been more glad to yank a curtain aside.

Chapter Text

"Yeah. . .no."

The doctor looks up from a clipboard, raising an eyebrow."Sir, as the legal guardian, I must request that you keep your child here for his own safety and wellbeing."

Wilbur sighs, putting his head in his hands. "I can't afford it."

"We have plans for low-economy wor-"

"I have three people to feed, a house to rent and take care of, three minimum wage jobs, and a maximum of $100 in my bank account. I can't afford it. " Wilbur stresses, speaking in harsh whispers.

The doctor sighs, knowing that Wilbur won't budge on the matter. A few more words are exchanged, and Wilbur hands over a check. There goes his retirement fund.

Laying in his hospital bed, IV disconnected from his arm and heart monitor unplugged, Tubbo stares into relative nothingness, looking at something and nothing at the same time.

Techno knocks on the door, walking in with a backpack in hand. "Yo," He drawls out, raising another hand in greeting.

"Hi." Tommy states plainly, floating after Techno and shutting the door close after him.

Tubbo waves, leaning back into the bed. There's an overwhelming amount of guilt he's in- he should've been faster, less hesitant, now Wilbur's gonna have to get another job to get the hundreds of dollars lost, everyone's going to be so utterly disappointed and mad at him, and-

"I can hear the survivor's guilt radiating off of you right now." Techno says, sitting down in a flimsy hospital chair.

"Sorry-" Tubbo apologizes. 

"Stop apologizing."

"Oh- sorry-"

"You're defeating the point of what I said."

"So-"

"Oh my god, can you two shut up." Tommy says, hands clapped over ears.

Tubbo snorts, and Techno rolls his eyes. With perfect timing for Tommy, Wilbur soon pops in the room. A new wave of guilt shrouds Tubbo as he realizes how absolutely decimated Wilbur looks.

Wilbur's obviously been crying, his eyes are bloodshot and puffy, his nose red as well, and he has noticeable eyebags as well. BUt despite his blatant exhaustion, Wilbur smiles at Tubbo. "Alright, let's go."

"How many people know about my uh...incident?" Tubbo asks, drinking from a warm bowl of soup.

Techno shrugs in the counter, pouring soup into Tupperware and containers. "Dunno. My guess is maybe a few-"

"A few fucking hundred- everyone knows!" Wilbur shouts, bursting through the bedroom door.

Techno turns to Tubbo. "I was gonna say a few people, but there we go."

"What are they saying?" Tubbo asks, leaning off of the couch he's been residing on for the past few days.

Wilbur's expression shifts into anger to something of shame. He passes his phone over to Techno, who looks at the screen, occasionally tapping and scrolling. His face tightens as well, and after a minute or two, he tosses the phone to Tubbo.

Tubbo knows that his face is akin to his brothers, and he can briefly hear Tommy mutter a curse or two. 

Displayed right on the screen is what can only be described as romanticizing.

There are posts, after comments, after videos, after accounts talking about him- people Tubbo was sure that wanted him dead, people Tubbo was friends with, some strangers he never knew. All were talking about him, his name in black text. Apologizes, vents, praise, compliments, hate, information both wrong and right floating in Tubbo's vision.

He digs around, Wilbur's phone laying forgotten on the couch. Tubbo finds his own phone, opening it to potentially hundreds of notifications. There are people admitting crushes, people telling him more methods, DMs about being like him, telling him to get better-

"Nope."

Using the other end of the phone, Tommy slips the phone out of Tubbo's hands. 

Tubbo sighs laying back down. Wilbur takes his own phone, most likely off to find another job opening. 

"So...clout, am I right?" Techno says.

"-and people are gonna start showing up at our house, and-"

"Calm down, Will." Tommy says, laying down midair. 

Wilbur flips down on the bed, tugging at his hair. "This is terrible." He says, voice muffled by the blankets and pillows.

"Mhm." Tommy mumbles. "Tub's lucky though."

Wilbur moves his head so he's no longer face planted into the bed. "How?" He murmurs, glancing at Tommy with tired eyes.

Tommy looks away, watching the darkening landscape outside the window. "Nobody cared that much when I died."

"You're wrong." Wilbur replied.

"I am?"

"Why do you think everyone hates us? Why do you think Techno doesn't do anything anymore? Why do you think Tubbo has that scar of his?"

Tommy silently urges Wilbur to continue.

"I'm sorry to say this Toms-" Wilbur says, regret lacing his voice. "But people cared. Just not us."

"Where's Tommy?"

Wilbur turns around, seeing Tubbo out of bed and looking ar him. "I dunno."

Tubbo sighs, hopping away from the counter and moving, shouting out for his twin. A few moments later and Tommy pops out from the wall. He's clearly upset.

"What's up wi-"

"I hate you, f̵̠̝̩̦̺̆̽̏̓̂̇ư̵̺̬̠͈̰͈̆̂̈́̾͆̀̿͝ć̵̛̘̪̖̟͍̟̩͎̋͊̎̋̃͠͝k̶͕͔̹̻̝̤̃̍̒̈́͊̈́ you." Tommy says, knocking over the pot of boiling hot water Wilbur has on the stove.

" Fuck!" Wilbur curses, jumping back. He luckily misses most of the water, but a few droplets fall on him. And just in time, the doo is knocked on.

Tommy materializes infront of the door. "Ooh. Guess who."

Wilbur feels water soak through his clothes, hot and wet. He glares to his ghostly brother.

"Niki, Fundy, Jack, Eret, Foolish, and Ranboo." Tommy murmurs, a sly grin growing on his face. He tilts his head, foxlike and mocking. "Would be a bit impolite to not open up, right?"

Wilbur narrows his eyes, his nasals burning from embarrassment and shame and the onslaught of tears approaching. "Don't. You. Dare." He mutters through clenched teeth.

Tommy undoes the first lock. "Oops."

"Tom, don't. "

"Or what?" Tommy says. "You don't care, right ?"

The lock is undone, and the door opens.

Tommy evaporated in an instant, even though it's been proven that nobody outside a handful can see him. Niki marches in, followed by Eret and Foolish.

Foolish is the first to notice Wilbur on the floor, and he waves awkwardly. Wilbur waves back silently.

Niki soon notices, and she turns around, threateningly.

Her glare turns to confusion.

"Must've left the uh- door unlocked." Wilbur says. He tries to get up, but slips and falls yet again the hot puddle.

"We heard the door unlock." Fundy says, slinking in through the crack in the door. "Why the fu-"

"Why are you all here." Wilbur evades, using the counter to finally stand up. His clothes drip with water. Gross.

"Tubbo." Niki states. "We're here for Tubbo."

Wilbur feels his face drop. "No."

"Why?" Jack says,  closing the door behind him. "Got something to hide?"

Wilbur sputters for a moment, removing his water logged jacket. "Wh- no! Unless Tubbo says so, I don't want any of you near him, or in the same house as him!" 

"No, we want to see Tubbo." Niki says, stalking forward until she's face to face with Wilbur. "Unless we're going to have another repeat of Tommy, of course."

And in all honesty, Niki's next words kill Wilbur inside.

" I wouldn't be surprised."

Techno returns home at nearly ten in the night- he had been doing trips for supplies and food and an interview or two. 

The first red flag Techno had was that the hallway of their apartment reeked of alcohol and smoke. It's a fucking marvel that a smoke detector hasn't gone off yet.

The second: usually, Techno would unlock the front door with a copy of the master key, but as he went to put in the key, he bumped the door open.

It was unlocked.

The third: a puff of smoke and the pungent smell of booze infiltrated Techno's senses, alerting him that something was wrong.

He opens the door, abandoning the groceries at the door. Techno feels his tie tighten, the cuffs of his sleeves and pants feel loose and short, and there's the pressing matter that something isn't right-

The door opens.

It's eerily quiet: not a sound echoes.

Glass is shattered across the floor, water is spilled on the kitchen floor, a pot laying abandoned near it. The windows are closed, curtains shut tight, and the doors of the house are all wide open.

". . .Wilbur?" Techno asks quietly, his voice resonating through the apartment.

Something shifts, and out of the corner of his eye, Techno can see his brother's tangled brown hair poke out of a corner. The second he turns towards the doorway, it shoots back into whatever depths it came from.

"So...what's up with the glass? Oh, and the smoke." Techno asks.

"...Uh-" Techno can hear Wilbur murmur. "People came. To visit."

"Do you-" God, Techno was bad at this. "Do you want to talk about it…?"

" I'm sorry." Wilbur whispered. " Techno, I'm so sorry-"

Techno moved closer. "Will, what happened?" He urged.

" They took Tubbo."

"Uh-"

Tubbo's sitting in the backseat of a car, surrounded by former friends. "Can I go home now?"

"We're taking you back home." Niki says.

Tubbo glances back in the direction they came from. "But Will's house is back there?"

"Oh no, not Wilbur's. Phil's."

Dread washes over Tubbo.

"Shit." He mutters.

Chapter Text

“Phil Minecraft interviews with police- he states, “ I’m just so grateful to have my son back. And I’m utterly devastated to know how my other two, William and Technoblade, not only kidnapped my poor Tubbo, but abused, hurt, and have done so many horrors. ” Investigators hope to question Tubbo Minecraft for the whereabouts of Wilbur and Techno Minecraft, and what he endured.” Techno reads.

He looks up from the newspaper, looking at Wilbur on the couch. 

“. . .We have to speak out, you know.” Techno says, his voice cutting through the silence that has prevailed over the house for the past two weeks.

Similarly, Wilbur is silent. As he’s been for two weeks.

“At least eat. Or move.”

Wilbur states into the air, face moist from tears coming out from his eyes. 

Techno sighs. “You need to sleep. Just trying to move your consciousness somewhere else isn’t gonna solve anything.”

Wilbur’s eyes close. Techno knows he’s trying to pretend that he’s sleeping.

“C’mon, you’ve been like this for two weeks. I know you’re devastated right now, but can you stop for about three days so we can solve this?” Techno bunches up the newspaper, tossing it into the trash.

Techno waits a second.

“I know you’re not sleeping.”

Wilbur seems to know this as well, opening his eyes and blankly looking at Techno.

The two look at each other in a moment of emotionless silence. 

Techno feels very awkward.

(He’s not very good at this whole sympathy thing. Or empathy, for that matter.)

Techno sighs. 

“Do you…uh, want a hug?” He asks. 

Wilbur doesn’t say anything for an answer, but with the hug he envelopes Techno in, it’s a yes.

The both of them ignore the growing wet patch on Techno’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, Tubbo has resorted to hiding.

All the time- for the past two weeks - he’s been locked in his room. He can hear things being smashed- glass, bottles, plates- anything fragile, most likely by Phil, at all hours of the day or night. One of these days, a window is going to be smashed open.

The windows are basically boarded shut- Phil took weird extra caution to make sure the windows can only be opened from the outside, and even so, with a key. The bedroom door can only be opened with a key from the outside- with an extra slot where things can be slipped in, about the size of a large book.

Tubbo was handed a list of rules the second he was dropped off at Phil’s house, then immediately locked in his room. There wasn’t much, obviously not too though. 

He was allowed to leave the room under three circumstances: one, for police or investigators- which he had to say whatever Phil wanted, or in Phil’s words, “There’d be consequences.”  Two, for bathroom breaks. Three, if he was needed for something.

Tubbo doesn’t like to think about the third one.

He rubs the bruises on his arms, breathing quietly under his bed. He almost wishes that some of the alcohol that was taken from Wilbur’s room and put in the kitchen cupboards were put on his cuts, or they’ll get infected.

Tubbo’s been alone for a while.

In all honesty, he’s not sure how long it’s actually been. After his first few escape attempts, Phil had covered up the windows, essentially closing the shutters and making Tubbo lose most sense of time. Any and all electronics Tubbo had were taken away.

Tubbo flinches as another crash erupts from downstairs, accompanied by a few curses and shouts from Phil.

He feels his blood turn to ice as he hears Phil begin to move upstairs.

The footsteps walk down the hall.

They inch closer and closer.

Anger is in each step.

Phil stops infront of Tubbo’s door.

Tubbo’s eyes widened with fear, his body shaking with hunger and horror.

Phil punches the door, yelling something about how horrible kids were.

The footsteps leave, and Tubbo feels himself relax to the point of dragging him into sleep.

As he falls asleep, a thought echoes in his mind.

Please let this stop any day now.

“We have a warrant.”

Techno looks through the crack in the door. He raises an eyebrow. God, he is not awake for this shit. “For what?” He asks.

“You, and Wilbur’s arrest.” The police say on the other side. “Open up, or we’ll have to use force.”

Techno sighs. “Yes, sir. Give us a moment.”

Cuffs are placed on two brothers; one emotionally indifferent, and one absent from the world, staring numbly ahead.

“Are you a-”

“Yes, I am aware that anything I say may be held against me in a court of law. I am also aware of my rights.” Techno says.

“Making this easier for the both of us then.” The officer states. “You, Technoblade Minecraft, are suspected guilty for acts of child abuse- both physical and emotional, child endangerment, kidnapping, and neglect. Are you aware of this?”

“Yes.” Techno responds. “I fully am.”

“Let’s start.” The officer pulls out a manilla folder, sorting through some papers. “Do you remember the night where you supposedly kidnapped Tubbo Minecraft?”

Techno thinks for a moment. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Tell me about it, please.”

“Well-” Techno starts. “My brother- Wilbur- I think he was found with his partner- a guy- and Phil didn’t like it, so Wilbur was essentially kicked out of the house. He gave me the address, and I knew that Phil was probably going to take anger or something out on me or Tubbo, and that it wasn’t a safe place to be in, so I told Tubbo to pack up. And around that time, some people that, uh, don’t like us, per say, were planning to find us, or something, so we got out of the house just as they got a way in.”

“Mhm, and where did you go after?”

“To the address. The apartment that you arrested me and Will in.”

“How long were you all staying there before your arrest?”

“About…two to three weeks? A month?” Techno guesses. 

“What happened while you were all staying there?”

“Okay-” Techno breathes for a moment, steadying himself. “I know some people came to visit- I think a few former friends, uh, a group of ‘em took Tubbo back to Phil’s. We all just sort of lived together? I went out for groceries and stuff, Wilbur did the cooking and cleaning, Tubbo cleaned or helped wherever he could, and T-” 

Techno pauses for a moment. He forgot Tommy was dead. “And Tubbo also helped me with supplies.”

“Did Tubbo or any of you go to school during this period?”

“Uh, no.” Techo says. “We wanted to stay away from the public eye for a while.”

“Interesting.” The officer mumbles. “Mister Techno, I hope you are aware that this contradicts everything your brother Tubbo has said about this.”

Techno leans forward. “Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry to say, but I can’t disclose what Tubbo has said on this. Do you mind answering more questions?”

Techno leans back on his chair, looking at the observation window. “I want a lawyer.”

Tubbo wakes up, a mission in mind.

He rolls out from under his bed, being as silent as possible to not attract Phil’s attention. 

“Tommy-” Tubbo whispers, cringing at the raspiness of his voice. “Tommy!”

Said Tommy soon appears in the air. 

Tubbo notices how utterly angered Tommy is. “Uh- can you help me?”

Tommy looks Tubbo up and down. “No. F̷̢̹̱̪́̂̀̄ư̶̠̯̱̣̎̌͠č̴̦̓̅̒͝k̶̪̭͈͐͗̊̚ off.”

He disappears.

“No-” Tubbo says. “Tommy, please. This is an emergency.”

“So what?” Tommy says, having appeared once more behind Tubbo. “Was I?”

“An emergency?”

“Yeah.”

Tubbo feels a bit confused. “I- no?”

“Then screw you. Die alone here.” Tommy says before vanishing.

“Tommy.” Tubbo insists. “I don’t know what happened, but I need help.”

There’s no response from his dead twin.

Tubbo continues. “I need a Morse Code thing. I- the next time someone asks me questions, or something, I need to let them know I need help.”

Tubbo can hear a sigh, although there’s no visible source. “Three short, three long, three short. That’s all I’ll give you.” He can hear Tommy say.

He sniffles. “Thank you.”

If Tommy was there, he didn’t respond.

“Hey, Will.”

Techno sits down on the other bed in the jail cell, greeting his brother. 

Wilbur, similarly to the past few weeks, lays silently, staring quietly into the ceiling. 

For the sake of stimulation, Techno pursues a conversation he knows won’t come. “How was your interrogation? Mine was cool. The cop guy, at least. Pretty chill. Let me know my rights.”

Wilbur doesn’t respond.

“Cool.” Techno awkwardly says. “Nice cell we got. Concrete beds. Concrete walls.”

Silence.

“You think there’s a song about concrete? Or bricks?”

Wilbur blinks.

“Alright.” Techno says. “You know, I’m trying to be positive right now. But fuck that. We’re probably going to go to jail.”

Quiet.

“...I almost mentioned Tommy?” Techno tries.

Muteness.

“Uh, Mom called, she’s alive again?”

Fucking silence.

Techno gives up on words.

He gets up off his bed, taking the blanket and pillow with him. He moves onto Wilbur’s bed, laying right next to him, closing his eyes.

For now, he’ll nap. When he wakes up, he’ll deal with Wilbur.

Tubbo wakes up to the sound of a paper being slid through the slot.

He crawls over, snatching the letter off the ground. Through bleary, sleepy eyes, he makes out the words, “court notice”, “lawsuit”, a few names, and a list of charges.

Locked away in a room, the sun going down and the moon rising, Tubbo clutches a letter with his brother’s names on it, stating how they’ll be charged for crimes they never did against him, and he cries.

Three short.

A police officer enters Technoblade and William Minecrafts’ cell, ordering them to come with. It is the day of their court appearance, and the hope of the general public is that these monsters will finally be locked away for good, and they’ll never hurt their brother, Tubbo Minecraft, ever again.

The two of them are loaded into separate squad cars. Neither are allowed to choose the outfit they will be appearing in court in.

It had been notified to the court that William Minecraft has been currently rendered mute for unknown reasons, and so, Technoblade Minecraft has chosen to voice on William’s behalf. 

Three long.

Phil and Tubbo Minecraft are both escorted to the courthouse. Both will be serving at witnesses and testifiers against Technoblade and William Minecraft on accounts of child abuse, child endangerment, kidnapping, and neglect.

As the jury and courtroom fills up, Tubbo almost runs out of his seat the second he sees Techno and Will be escorted in and sat in the accused chairs.

Phil’s iron grip on his shoulder locks him in place, frozen.

Three short.

Tubbo blinks.

Three short. Three long. Three short.

He blinks again.

“And tell me, Tubbo, how do you feel you were treated overall?”

Three short. Three long. Three short.

The custodial service officer is looking at him oddly.

Three short. Three long. Three short.

Tubbo recites words he’s been fed. “Terribly. I don’t want to even leave my room anymore, I’m just so terrified of halls and apartments now.”

Three short. 

Three long.

Three short.

“Excuse me- Your Honor-” Tubbo’s lawyer calls out, the custodial service officer standing nearby. “I’d like to request a recess to discuss some matters with my client.”

The judge sighs, checking their watch. “For what reasons?”

“There is something important to be discussed, something that may change the trial.”

“Fine.” A gavel is banged. “Five minutes.”

Tubbo is almost immediately pulled away, and he slightly flinches as the bruises on his arms are pressed on. 

“-nearest empty room okay? Alright. Hurry.”

Phil walks out of the courtroom just as a nearby officer walks off. “What’s going on?”

Tubbo’s lawyer steps forward. “We’d like to have a private discussion.”

“Of course,” Phil says. “Where?”

“Ah,” Tubbo’s lawyer says. “With Tubbo only, as he’s the sole witness of the horrors in the apartment. We’d like to clarify a few details just to make sure this goes right.”

Phil gives Tubbo a look that reads, “Don’t fuck this up, or I’ll kill you.” His face changes back to a polite smile in a split second. “Can do.”

Tubbo’s lawyer and the security officer usher him away as Phil turns back to the courtroom.

Tubbo ends up in an empty meeting room.

“Tubbo,” The security officer says, crouching down to his level. “Are you okay?”

Tubbo glances around. “What day is it?” He whispers.

The officer looks surprised for a moment, before checking their watch. “March 15.”

“Oh.” Tubbo whispers.

“Are you aware that you were blinking SOS?” The officer asks.

Tubbo looks up, and his lawyers motions that they’re watching out for Phil. He’s in the clear. He nods yes.

“Who do you need help from? We’re here to help you, however we can.”

“Phil.” Tubbo whispers. He tugs his sleeve up, and he can hear the officer’s breath hitch. HIs voice hurts too much to elaborate further. 

“There’s a first aid kit, do you want to put some band-aids over some of those cuts?” The officer asks, rummaging around and pulling a bright red box out. Tubbo’s eternally grateful, and he nods.

While multi-colored, Disney, and Emoji band-aids are being pressed on bright red cuts and scrapes, the officer and Tubbo’s lawyer switch places.

“Tubbo, what did Phil do to you?” They ask, sitting next to him. 

“Threw stuff. Locked me in my room. I couldn’t see outside until today.” Tubbo says, taking a minute between each statement to soothe his sore throat.

A bottle of water is given to him, and he eagerly drinks it. “I wasn’t allowed out-” Tubbo continues, talking coming easier as his throat didn’t feel like it was being pulled into two. “Only if it was for a bathroom break, for interviews, or for when Phil wanted to- uh, hurt me.”

“Hey, hey. Take your time.” His lawyer says.

“Okay.” Tubbo says. “He’s making me say all of this.”

“All of what?”

“Everything against my brothers.”

The lawyer looks up, presumably to the security officer. 

“They didn’t hurt me, or kidnap me, or neglect me. They did everything that Phil didn’t, which is basically be a decent fucking parent and more.” Tubbo whispers. “Will only hurt me when he was blackout drunk, or high off his ass.”

“When was the last time Wilbur was high or drunk?”

Tubbo shrugs. “He went cold turkey the moment he got out of Phil’s house.”

“Was Phil ever high or drunk?” The lawyer asks cautiously.

Tubbo nods. “Yesterday. The day before. Everyday.”

“Recess ends in a minute.” The officer says.

“I know,” The lawyer responds. “Tubbo?”

Tubbo looks up, teary-eyed.

“We have that all recorded. I want you to be completely honest from here on out.” The lawyer says. “I promise, nobody will be mad. Just tell the truth.”

“And nothing but the truth.” Tubbo finishes, voice quiet as ever.

“Recess adjourned. Court in session.”

The gavel rings through the courtroom.

Tubbo stands alone as the witness.

“-me, nor Wilbur, would have ever hurt or neglected him.” Techno states, claiming the innocence of not only himself, but of Wilbur as well. Even as the odds are stacked against him.

“Tubbo, would you have considered yourself hurt or neglected under Technoblade or William’s care?” The judge asks.

Phil looks at Tubbo, a knowing look on his face. He expects a yes.

The court looks at him, and Tubbo knows everything that happens at this moment is dependent on him.

“No.” He states.

Phil’s face drops. The room grows silent.

“Pardon?” The judge asks. “Could you please repeat that for me?”

“No.” Tubbo states again. “I would not consider myself hurt or neglected under Techno or Wilburs’ care.”

The jury mumbles for a bit, and Phil looks seconds away from combusting. 

“Order in the court!” The judge says.

“I’d like to make a confession, if I may.” Tubbo says.

The judge turns to him. “You may.”

“I apologize for this, deeply, but I am afraid I haven’t been truthful for this trial.” He says. 

The entire courtroom is dead silent.

“For further clarification-” Tubbo continues, ignoring the red-hot stare Phil is giving him and the tens of eyes on his face. “I was never kidnapped, nor was I abused, neglected, endangered, or hurt under Techno or Wilbur. I was put into a safer home where I did better.”

Techno’s mouth is slightly agape, in utter awe. Tubbo swears there’s tears poking at his eyes.

Wilbur looks slightly more awake now.

The judge fixes their glasses. “Could you please explain the myriad of injuries discovered on you?”

“I can gladly.” Tubbo says. He does one thing.

He points at Phil.

“Phil’s responsible for my injuries. If there’s anyone that should be charged for child abuse, endangerment, and neglect-” Tubbo continues. “It’s Phil.”

(And nobody hears, but a ghostly voice speaks.

“ It always has been, hasn’t it? ”)

Chapter Text

It’s March 15.

The sun is out, the snow freshly melted.

Although Wilbur is in a semi-unconscious state, sluggish and tired, and as Techno is just as tired with worry lines creasing his face, Tubbo happily leads them out of the courthouse, dragging the both of them out by the arms.

Guilty.

Less than an hour ago, the judge had made their final decision. 

Guilty.

Tubbo had stood in the witness stand, Techno and Wilbur sitting in the accused. Phil was frozen in his spot between the prosecution and defense, and the judge, hearing and seeing the evidence, smiled.

A gavel was banged, signifying that the final decision had been made.

Looks were given, eyes locking and adverting away.

“I see Technoblade and William Minecraft, on the charges of child abuse, child endangerment, child neglect, and kidnapping-”

Phil had looked so utterly hopeful at that moment, while Techno gripped Wilbur’s hand in bone crushing fear. 

“Not guilty.”

Techno had let out a sigh of pure, utter relief, leaning forward to lay his head on the stand. Wilbur blinks, putting his head in his own hands. 

“And I see Phil Minecraft, on the charges of child abuse, child endangerment, child neglect, and kidnapping-”

Tubbo looks to his father, the man who was indirectly responsible for his near death, his hurt, and for showing him how to kill a brother, and he has no sympathy. He only smiles, and shrugs.

“Guilty.”

The pure and utter joy that radiates Tubbo causes him to jump over the witness stand and rush over to his brothers, ignoring the sentencing and any attempts to stop him. He bolts into Techno and Wilbur, crashing them both to the ground in a mess of tears and relief.

Sentenced to thirty years, no parole.

Thirty years.

Thirty years from now, Tubbo would be long gone, far away from this godforsaken town, far away from all of this.

Guilty.  

Phil has screamed, cursing out Tubbo and his brothers, being pulled away by law enforcement. There was no clue what would happen to the house, but in all honesty, neither Wilbur, Techno, or Tubbo cared.

They had walked all the way home, Techno and Wilbur still decked out in prison jumpsuits that they tied around their waists to avoid suspicion. They stopped by different shops, picking up ice cream, renting movies, and getting cakes and candies to celebrate. 

And they all ignored surprised and concerned looks, pushing past their exhaustion and tiredness to celebrate.

“Home swe-” Tubbo begins to speak before slightly gagging. “Oh, it smells like shit in here.”

“Thank Wilbur for that one.” Techno says, pulling a Lysol can out of god knows where, spraying it around in the air. And in Tubbo’s face, making him cough.

Wilbur only groans, laying down on the ground.

“You good?” Techno asks.

A wail comes from Wilbur’s mouth.

“Cool.”

Tubbo takes the bag of movies and furiously starts rummaging through it, plopping down in the middle of the living room.

Techno eventually drags Wilbur over, laying him down on the couch as Tubbo slides a DVD disk into the player. 

The movie begins, and of course it’s a fucking Barbie movie.

_

Wilbur wakes up a few hours later, the end credits of the third or fourth movie playing quietly. Tubbo and Techno are both fast asleep, and a quick check of the time shows it’s the middle of the night.

“ Go to the roof .”

A voice speaks, and Wilbur nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks around, in an attempt to find the source of the voice.

Nothing.

“ Get to the fucking roof, loverboy. God- your brother is stu- oh, I’m still doing the thing. Get to the roof.”

Wilbur creases his eyebrows, leaning forward. “Schlatt?” He whispers.

“Get to the fucking roof, Wilbur!” Schlatt- or at least Wilbur thinks it is, shouts.

“Fine, fine.” He mutters, slipping out of Techno’s lax grip. He finds socks and shoes, and a jacket, walking out of the apartment.

He takes the stairs, as the elevator doesn’t take you to the roof. The lock is surprisingly opened, and Wilbur opens the heavy metal door after taking it off.

The night greets him, stars twinkling above him. The moon casts a faint light, illuminating the concrete roof and showing Wilbur the twinkling town below him. Two ghosts also greet him; one he hasn’t seen in a while, and another who finally decided to make an appearance. 

“H-” Wilbur begins, tripping. He forgets he’s been entirely stagnant and borderline comatose for the past three weeks. “Hello.” He says, steadying himself by leaning on the door.

Tommy doesn’t say anything, just staring blankly at him.

“Hey.” Schlatt says, waving.

“You look like shit.” Wilbur comments.

Schlatt looks at him relatively unimpressed. He’s covered with burn marks, similar to Tubbo, and in a similar fashion to Tommy, his eyes lack a proper iris and pupil, the entire sclera replaced by a charcoal black. “...Thanks.”

“No problem. So, why was I called up here at-” Wilbur checks his watch.”One eighteen A.M?”

“You wanna go first-” Wilbur can hear Schlatt ask Tommy, Tommy responding in a low voice, so Wilbur could only see lips moving. “Okay then. Touche.”

Schlatt turns back to Wilbur. “So, we’re done with the whole living thing now.” He says.

“What.” Wilbur responds.

“With the whole-” Schlatt vaguely motions to his ghostly being. “Ghost thing. Unfinished business, and all that shit.”

“I didn’t even do anything for you.”

Schlatt crosses his arms. “I was yanked here by your brother. I know that, dipshit.”

Wilbur looks at Tommy. “Why’d you take Schlatt out of Hell?”

(Schlatt mutters something about being in Heaven, or the closest thing to it.)

Tommy sighs, fishing something out of his pocket. He pulls out a piece of paper, wadding it up and throwing it to Wilbur.

The paper lands a few feet away from him, and Wilbur inches forward to pick it up. He opens it, and he takes a few moments to read it.

“I-” Wilbur says, speechless.

In his hands is a note. 

A note from Tommy.

Two years ago, the night where he died.

“You wrote a note?” Wilbur asks, piecing together the words with shaking hands.

“Three.” Tommy says. “To all of you.”

“Why- why didn’t we find it?”

“Phil.” Schlatt said. “Phil found them. And he kept them. I- for some reason- have access to your house, so I was recruited to find ‘em.”

“I’m leaving, too.” Tommy suddenly says.

Wilbur looks up from the note.

“I can’t explain it, but I know I’m done here.” Tommy continues. “I-  can I see, uh, Techno and Tubbo, before I go?”

Wilbur gets up, his legs shaking from his own weight. “Wait- when are you leaving?”

“Tonight. At the time I died.”

“What time did you die…?”

Tommy blinks. “Three A.M.”

Wilbur checks his watch, paling. “That’s in an hour and a half.”

“Then let’s go.” Tommy says, slinking down into the roof, presumably to wake up Techno and Tubbo.

Wilbur and Schlatt look at each other. 

Schlatt shrugs. “Go follow. See you when you keel over and die, loverboy.”

A pop of air, and Schlatt’s gone.

A door opens, and Wilbur’s gone as well.

Wilbur opens the apartment door, seeing Techno being woken up by Tubbo. 

Tommy’s waiting on the both of them, extremely casual for the amount of panic he’s causing.

“You guys done?” Tommy asks, looking up from picking at his nails.

Tubbo gives him a thumbs up.

Tommy pulls out two more papers, throwing them to Techno and Tubbo respectfully. They both take the time to read them, and they both have similar reactions to Wilbur.

“Alright, can I go now?” Tommy says, seemingly ready to stop being a ghost.

“Wait-” Tubbo interrupts. “Wait, wait. There’s at least an hour-”

“Nice observation, Sherlock.” Tommy quips.

“You’re leaving? ” Tubbo finishes, exasperated.

“ Yes. ” Tommy insists. “I’ve already said that to each of you once.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave.” Tubbo whispers.

“That was when I was alive,” Tommy responds. “And as Wilbur said-”

Attention turns to Wilbur, who’s standing slightly shell shocked and frozen in the entryway.

“You don’t care, right?”

At that moment, Tubbo looks utterly betrayed. 

“No- no- wait,” Wilbur begins.

“Wilbur.” Techno says. “Why the fuck would you- god, you are fucking stupid.” He puts a hand on the bridge of his nose, rubbing where his glasses would sit. 

“That’s not what I meant -” Wilbur continues, trying to justify himself.

“Then what did you mean?!” Tommy shouts. “You said that you didn’t care! That nobody did!”

“People cared- but not- fuck, what did I even say…?” Wilbur asks himself, losing his voice as he speaks.

“Tell me!” Tommy says, black ink spilling out of his eyes. He seems to gain gravity, floating down from the air and landing onto the floor. For a second, it seems as if he’s alive again- blond hair, fiery temper, made of passion and power alike. “Or am I just not enough for you!”

“Was I ever enough for any of you?!” Tommy continues, spinning to face Tubbo and Techno. 

Tommy motions to Tubbo. “Am I being sensitive? Am I acting like a f̶̡̗̰̭̿̆ù̷̳̼͔̬͋c̷̹̯̖̤̅͗̑͠ͅḱ̵̛̺i̴̘̒͐͑͘̚ṇ̷͛ģ̷̤̍ kid? Am I a lazy disappointment like you agreed with Phil?”

Tommy turns to Techno. “What even am I to you? Did you even care about me? Do you even care about anything? Probably f̶̡̗̰̭̿̆ù̷̳̼͔̬͋c̷̹̯̖̤̅͗̑͠ͅḱ̵̛̺i̴̘̒͐͑͘̚ṇ̷͛ģ̷̤̍  not!”

He faces nobody in particular. “I f̶̡̗̰̭̿̆ù̷̳̼͔̬͋c̷̹̯̖̤̅͗̑͠ͅḱ̵̛̺i̴̘̒͐͑͘̚ṇ̷͛ģ̷̤̍ died! I died! My happiest memories with you f̴̢̖̰͆͘ư̶̜͈͙͗̈́c̵͎͑̎̾̏k̶̤̝̻͊͌̒s̴͖̖͚̱͍͋ was a gooddamn hallucination! I was choking to death as you-” Tommy points wildly to Tubbo. “Were talking with Ranboo! While you-” Tommy directs his finger to Wilbur. “Were getting high again! And while you-” Tommy ends on Techno. “Was having a happy fun time with Phil!”

More ink leaks from Tommy’s white eyes, splattering on the ground as they roll off his cheeks. “You don’t care! You all don’t! Don’t try to convince me you do- I don’t want to hear your excuses again, I don’t want to see you again, I don’t want to be here again!”

Tommy falls on the ground, curling up into a ball. 

“I’m not happy.” He whispers.

He looks at Tubbo, faded blue iris peeking through the white. “You asked. At my funeral, to Ranboo. If I was happy.”

“ I’m not .”

For over a precious hour, they all sit, tears rolling down their faces.

Tommy’s laying behind the couch, in a puddle of inky darkness. Wilbur sits with his back pressed to the front door, growing wet patches on his sleeves and jeans. Techno’s in the living room, on the other side of the couch as Tommy, moved to the floor. Tubbo sits in the center of the living room, movie credits casting colored light onto his back.

“ I’m sorry. ” Wilbur whispers. “ I’m so- fucking sorry. It-” Wilbur clears his voice. “It wasn’t meant to be like this- to go this fucking far. I- I don’t know why this even started anymore. I don’t know anything anymore, Toms.”

Tommy can only weakly nod. 

“Who’s fault-” Tubbo speaks up. “Who’s fault even is it?”

“Ours? Phil’s?” Techno suggests. “I don’t think it even matters anymore. It doesn’t matter who’s fault it is, or who paid the price. It’s over.”

“It’s over?” Tubbo weakly echoes.

Techno nods. “Figuratively and literally. There’s fifteen minutes until it’s Tommy’s time, and I think it’s due time for a fucking apology.”

Techno stands up, grabbing Tubbo and motioning for Wilbur to come over. They all sit near Tommy, who’s still curled up behind the couch.

“I’m bad at this.” Techno admits. “I don’t care, I don’t think I can anymore. I just wanted it over with. So-”

Making a move, he grips Tommy’s hand.

It doesn’t pass through his hand.

“I’m sorry. Really.”

Wilbur, taking the initiative, takes Tommy’s other hand. “My throat hurts. A lot.”

Tommy chuckles, squeezing his hand. 

“Even so-” Wilbur squeezes back. “I’m sorry.”

Tubbo, having no hand to hold, shuffles forward and hugs Tommy. 

“ I’m sorry. ” Tubbo whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry. ”

Pulling his hands out from their grip, Tommy pulls his two other brothers in. Sighing in the feeling of touch for one in years.

He recalls a dream he had, two years ago, when he was alive and well. Fueled by a goddamn playlist on Youtube, called on by violent thoughts for himself and others. One where it was a hug like this, warm and perfect, captured in a memory of tears and the last remains of loss. A hug that grew impossibly warm, until he was thrown back into a harsh reality.

But this harsh reality began to tick, and tock, until-

2:58.

The hug grew tighter as the last few tears and apologies were said.

2:59.

Farewells, goodbye’s, and the last wishes were shared.

3:00.

The air pops, and for the final time, Tommy leaves.

It’s 3:00 A.M, and Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno cry, in the comfort of each other.

A space remains in their arms, a presence fleeting from its memory.

Despite the tears, the sobs of mourning and loss, of pain and injury, of memories resurfaced and more forgotten, one thing remains.

Happiness.

Chapter Text

A lesson to be learned: recovery is hard.

There are bumps. There is rubble and juno littering the path. There are mountains to climb, valleys to cross, blood to be bled, tears to be shed, nights of hugs and comfort. There are relapses. There are days where you feel like it’s finally over, and days where you can’t get out of bed from the emotion gripping you down like a weight.

There are accidents.

Accidents like-

An extra cake being made, and lit, at an 18th birthday party.

An extra cake that is never blown out.

An extra cake that is never eaten.

Accidents like-

Crying in the middle of the night, as the clock hits two fifty-nine.

Crying with your family in the middle of the night, as the clock hits three.

Accidents like-

Setting off a firecracker, only to remember someone was hurt by them.

Never being able to use fireworks or firecrackers, but it’s okay, because there’s always the pool, and there’s always the bonfires, and there’s always camping trips, and visits to museums and zoos, and who needs those anyways?

There are bad days.

Worse days, where a bottle is found in a hand and more litter the ground.

Worse days, where there’s a visit to an anonymous group, and there’s a promise to never go to a store alone to prevent it happening again.

Worse days, where someone hurts themself.

Worse days, where arms and legs are bandaged, and the day is spent at home, watching movies and painting nails.

Worse days, where someone overworks and distracts themselves from feeling anything.

Worse days, where there are pillow fights and “power outages”, and prank wars.

And there are terrible days.

Terrible days, when your father requests to see you after a year.

Tubbo sits on the kitchen counter, glancing at his own letter.

Wilbur and Techno sit at the table, reading their own. 

“There is no way I am seeing him.” Tubbo states, slapping the envelope on the counter.

“I mean-” Techno begins. “I want to.”

“Why?” Tubbo asks. “He’s a fucking cunt! A dickhead! A bitch, even!”

His brother shrugs. “Answers? Closure?”

“What do you need closure for?”

“Phil was the nicest to me.”

Wilbur huffs. “Lucky. But I’m going too.”

Tubbo groans, hopping off the counter. “Do I have to go with?”

“Yep.” Techno replies, popping the “p”. “You don’t have to see him, though.”

“Good.”

A few hours later, and a car pulls up to a hotel in a town that was supposed to remain forgotten.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna hate us for being here, Wil.” Techno reassures Wilbur.

“I know, but what if!”

Techno pats his brother’s shoulder. “It’s only an “if”, Wilbur. Not a “will”.”

Wilbur groans, rubbing his face and pushing his glasses up his face. “Fine. Can we go sleep?”

“Yeah-” Tubbo says, yawning. “Can we?”

“Once we get in the hotel.”

Wilbur and Tubbo glance at each other. 

“First who gets in the room gets dibs?” Wilbur asks.

“Fuck yeah.” Tubbo agrees.

The two scramble, unbuckling their seatbelts and opening the car door.

Techno sighs. 

“I live with kids.”

Techno’s the first in the room.

“Dibs.” He says, causing Wilbur and Tubbo to both yell and complain in frustration.

“You had the room card!” Wilbur says, shutting the door behind him with a foot.

“Hoes mad.”

“I will strangle you-” Wilbur wildly looks around, snatching a coat hanger off the rack. “With a coat hanger.”

Techno raises an eyebrow.

“And I-” Tubbo grabs another coat hanger. “Also will.”

Techno looks slightly amused.

He takes off his backpack, and pulls out three grey objects. He tosses two to Wilbur and Tubbo, and he presses a button on his, making it light up and make noise.

Techno swings his arm, showing off a red lightsaber.

Tubbo opens up his green one, Wilbur opens up his blue one.

“Let’s duel, men,” Techno says, steadying himself.

Techno ends up winning, by a long shot.

“...It was a one versus two…” Wilbur mumbled, face-planted on the hotel floor.

“I think you mean winner versus losers.” Techno “corrects”, smugly tucking his saber back in his backpack. 

“And I think you suck.”

Tubbo ends up joining Techno and Wilbur.

He wasn’t peer pressured, or forced to go, he just sort of wanted to in the end. Maybe it was for closure, or whatever Techno had said a few days prior. And who knows. Maybe Phil died at some point, and they never would know until they got there.

But as Tubbo crams into a visitation booth with Techno and Wilbur, Phil sitting down, eyes glaring on the other side of the protective glass, he could’ve only wished.

Picking up the phone, Techno begins.

“Hey, Phil.” He greets, smile lines creasing his face despite the tight line his mouth is in.

Phil only nods, his hand on the phone in a white knuckle grip. “Techno.”

“So,” Techno continues. By the way he’s turned away from Phil, his arms crossed, and the way he forces out his words, Tubbo can tell he’s annoyed. “Why did you want us?”

Phil smiles. 

“You know, I never did anything.” Phil says.

Phil must’ve noticed the confusion and slight anger that crosses over his children’s faces.

“For you to abuse Tommy, that is.” He elaborates.

Tubbo snatches the phone from Techno, stretching the coiled wire. 

“You fucking shitbag-” Tubbo hisses. “Tommy was our brother ! I was following you fucks!” He devolves into a yell, straining his voice.

Wilbur slips the phone. “I was high all the fucking time. I was drunk , all the time. I needed fucking counseling, or AA for Christ’s sake. Not you telling me how to kill my younger brother.”

Phil frowns, half-heartedly shrugging. “You still did. You three need to learn that it’s your fault. You all are remembering things wrong.”

“Don’t fucking manipulate me.”

Phil leans forward, his eyes taunting. “I wouldn’t do that, Will. ”

“Oh, you fucki-” Wilbur begins, before Techno sits him down.

“You are a shit parent.” He says. 

“If I’m so shit, why are you here?”

Techno digs out his letter. “Because of this?”

Phil only snorts. “Techno, always so prepared. Always so dramatic. ”

Techno looks visibly hurt.

The phone clatters to the ground.

Tubbo mouths to Wilbur, asking what’s happening.

Wilbur glances at Techno. “Phil’s never called him any names, nothing bad. He was Phil’s golden child.”

From the phone, Phil’s voice speaks, static mixing in.

“I don’t have time for this,” Phil says. “Bye-bye.”

He smiles, being escorted away by an officer.

Techno slides off his seat and on the floor.

Wilbur and Tubbo join him.

It takes a while for them to get back on their feet. 

Not literally- they were more or less kicked out as there were plenty of people to see their incarcerated loved ones, but figuratively.

Techno had been in a state of ruin, the rest processing and decided that the best option was to disown Phil. Change their last name, and get a restraining order.

By the new year, Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno ,Minecraft became Tubbo, Wilbur, and Technoblade Soot.

By summer, Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno return to a town, one they promised not to return to.

Tubbo walks down the streets, his memory spotty but giving him directions.

He can almost laugh at a firework attack, nearing three or four years ago.

His hair is bleached, dark brown fading into blonde. It feels natural, not in a way that Tubbo is Phil’s child, but more of that he’s carrying a part of Tommy with him, always. It’s a thought that comforts him, even when he has meltdowns and panic attacks, seeing things that are long gone and feeling things that were long felt. 

It’s a thought he carries with fucking pride, instead of guilt.

And it’s a thought he intends to bring with him.

His backpack is light, only having a few things. Wilbur and Techno are driving him to his college, and they decided to stop in this fucking town for a bit, for a rest stop and a goodbye.

Tubbo enters the park, a park where at one night, he had taken a weapon to himself.

(He hasn’t since.)

Walking past groups of teenagers, children, and parents, Tubbo’s strides falter upon seeing a certain bench.

The other park benches have been redesigned, apparently made with a more “environment-friendly” material. More like plastic. But this bench- this fucking bench- stays the same, made of iron and wood.

A single, golden plaque rests on top of it glistening and shining in the sunlight.

Dedicated to Tommy Minecraft.

Tubbo sighs.

He places his bag down on the bench, digging around in it. No need to ask, but Tubbo has a lot of useless things and various oddities lying around in there.

Eventually, he finds a Sharpie, black in color. Uncapping it, Tubbo scribbles out that stupid ass last name, doing the best he can.

And as carefully as he can, he writes.

A few moments later, Tubbo steps back, admiring his handiwork.

  SOOT

Dedicated to Tommy M̶i̶n̶e̶c̶r̶a̶f̶t̶

“Perfect.” He says, grinning.

The next stop is Tubbo’s final.

He walks through a garden of stone, weaving his way through plaques and names and dates, the lives of many buried under his feet.

He stops at one in particular, a framed image embedded in the stone.

Once more, Tubbo takes out his backpack, pulling out two plate-like objects, sleek and black.

He places them side by side, leaning against Tommy’s grave.

Tubbo takes a deep breath.

“Hey.” He says.

The wind rustles the trees.

“So, uh, it’s been a while, huh?” Tubbo says. “I’m nineteen now? I think that’s cool, now that I’m four years older.”

If anyone was around, they would most likely smack him. Deservedly.

“I brought your discs! Cat and- uh, Melon? Hello? Melon hello?” Tubbo says, squinting at the tiny writing. “Sorry about not visiting either, last time Phil kinda traumatized Techno so we kinda left.”

Tommy’s framed picture smiles at him.

“So…yeah!” Tubbo cheers, before his excitement quickly dies. “Shit, this is awkward.”

Putting on his backpack, Tubbo puts his hands in the pockets of his university’s hoodie. “Well, I actually have to go. I’m going to college, for editing and video making. Oh- shit, I forgot, Wilbur’s in a band, and Techno’s going international for an essay competition, and…”

Tubbo thinks for a moment.

“And I think that’s it.”

The world is silent for a moment.

“Bye, Tommy.”

Once again, the leaves of the tree rustle and whisper in the wind.

Tubbo smiles.

“Stay happy, wherever the hell you are.”

Chapter Text

The judge bangs their gavel.

“Guilty.”

Tubbo feels himself die, his face turning white. 

Across the room from him, Techno slumps in his chair, fucking defeated. Wilbur looks helpless, stuck in a state of numbness, his eyes bloodshot and staring at the ground.

Across the room from him, Phil has never looked so fucking happy.

With tears falling down his face, Tubbo can't take it anymore, and he promptly collapses on the podium.

Tubbo regains consciousness nearly a month later.

Consciousness might be the wrong word, however. Tubbo's been awake, eyes blinking and looking around at the world around him, but he's just been in a state of dissociation and numbness, similar to the last time he saw Wilbur.

He’s in a car, bags packed, traveling out of that fucking town. Not even a year later.

Not even bringing his brothers with him.

Tubbo slumps in his seat, the leather warm from his slowly dying body heat.

He stares off into space, creating a place where everything would finally fucking work out.

Tommy understands that this may or may not be entirely his fault.

On one hand, he was the one who opened the apartment door and got Tubbo kidnapped, creating a domino effect where Will and Tech were both charged for various inhumane crimes.

But on the other - they kind of deserved it.

So Tommy really shrugs. Too late to change things now. Sure, some people- a.k.a, Tubbo- would not be the happiest, nor would Will and Tech, but Tommy sure as hell was. Getting to wander around new areas, he’s having a good time.

He’s having a good time, if he ignores the ever-so-present feeling of guilt buried in him.

But that’s just when Tommy has bad days! He admits that he can get a little emotional and overreact at times, but it’s no big deal! Everything is okay! Everyone is happy!

Tommy watches silently as he sees the consequences of his actions displayed on bloody, beaten, numb platters before him.

He shouldn’t have done that.

Phil pays for Wilbur and Techno’s bail, nearly six months into their sentence.

At first, everyone denies it, but as the price goes up, and so does the greed for riches, and sooner or later, Wilbur and Techno are spat out of jail.

They don’t come out the same as they went in.

The both of them, despite only being in jail for half a year, come out tired, their bodies looking as weary and exhausted as they are. Tubbo, once seeing them, the same tiredness pulling at his own body, knows that nothing between them will be the same.

Nothing, nothing they ever could do, would give them the life they lived in a span of fewer than four months. All of them are runaways, living in an apartment with a ghost of a brother.

Delusional.

If Tubbo could muster it in himself, he would call Phil delusional.

He’s starting to think he’s becoming delusional himself: Tubbo’s been in his mind for god knows how long, only himself and his thoughts to occupy his time. He no longer even touches his games, a thin layer of dust collecting on the screens. The only time he’s ever moved, or forced to do anything, is when Phil moves all of them- Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno- to sit in the living room for a photo or celebration, or to eat dinner.

Like fucking dolls.

Because that’s all Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno are to Phil.

That was all Tubbo, Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy were.

Dolls, in a dollhouse.

Made to be dressed up, in fancy clothes, hair brushed and styled, a smile painted on their face.

Made to play with each other in made up stories.

Made to push one another until they die.

Tubbo, in his hazy state of detachment, can vaguely see Phil whispering things to Techno and Wilbur.

As a doll, Tubbo knows his purpose now.

Made to die.

Techno and Wilbur don’t say anything.

Their faces don’t move, even when Phil bandages and treats their black eyes and cuts, filling their cheeks with fat. 

Their eyes don’t move, always staring at nothing and something at the same time.

Phil’s the only one who talks, pulling out outfits he bought or made, dressing them up in them. 

He positions them so they seem to be making fun of Tubbo, or hurting him.

Phil stops caring for Tubbo, letting him fester and rot until he begins to fade away, his consciousness slipping day by day.

There are no doctors, or hospitals this time.

One night, Tubbo’s tired.

More tired than he’s usual; it’s a hollow, deep tiredness that hurts his heart and gives him a throbbing sense in his head.

For once in a while, Tubbo stands up, off of his bed.

He walks, his feet silent against the floor. Must be well oiled.

Or maybe he’s too light to make noise.

Tubbo enters the bathroom, finding a bottle.

He doesn’t look at the label, or what side effects it has.

He downs the whole bottle.

He wants to say goodbye.

He walks into his brother’s room, and pulls them off their beds with fading strength, and increasing dizziness and pain.

He falls to the ground, losing his coordination.

“Will-” Tubbo speaks, his voice raspy and throat dry from a lack of use. “Techno,”

Tubbo wraps their arms loosely around him, in a mock hug.

“I think I gotta go-” Tubbo says, a bit confused. His mind hazily tells him he’s dying, that he ate pills, he needs to call- “I dunno where, but d- don’t follow me, ‘kay?”

His voice is slurring, his eyes drooping. 

His chest hurts.

It hurts to breathe.

“I-” Tubbo continues, feeling sleepy. “I say hi, to Mum and Toms, ‘kay?”

There’s no response, but Tubbo feels like he should apologize.

Where were his mom and Tommy anyways? 

He saw them in one of the many windows on the walls, they must be outside.

“Sorry,” Tubbo whispers.

Phil finds Tubbo’s body, wrapped tightly in Wilbur and Technos’ arms. 

Tear tracks dampen their face.

There is no funeral.

Over the next year, it would happen again.

Phil, called on by hallucinations of dead wives and dead children, would lead whoever remains in his family to a town where they weren’t welcome, put through hell, only to leave.

Wilbur and Techno’s spirits grew weak, dying slowly as they can no longer handle this anymore. They live in a perpetual state of isolation, separating themselves from reality and from the loop they live in.

So, it’s no surprise, that when Phil brings them back to the same house, the same room that Tubbo died in his brothers’ arms-

It’s no surprise that Wilbur is next.

He dies, in his brother’s arms, in the middle of the night just as the clock hits three.

He dies of solitude, relishing in human contact and care.

He dies, blood coating the floors as they drip from arms and legs.

Techno dies, the final member of a loop that would keep on going and going until he was the last left.

Gone, reduced to hunger and loneliness, wishing to be with his family.

Not Phil, his family.

He dies, alone in a room of ghosts.

Techno would wake up, in what you could only describe as the afterlife. Not heaven, not hell. If you didn’t believe in them, of course.

Techno wakes up, surrounded by his family, and for once, they are united.

And for once, all together:

They are happy.

Chapter Text

2:59:54

He’s almost there, only fifty feet away.

2:59:56

He’s so unbelievably close.

2:59:58

He’s not going to make it.

3:00:00

Wilbur stops running.

Techno runs past, seemingly in slow motion.

Sinking to the cold stone ground, Wilbur only watches helplessly as the minutes tick by. Red and blue lights flood his vision, medical personnel rush by. He hears bones being broken in, shouts being said, underwater voices speak to him in languages he can no longer understand.

Amidst all the chaos, as Tubbo is being loaded into an ambulance, Techno looks at Wilbur.

They both understand.

Wilbur has to be the one to deliver the news.

Techno’s swamped with preparations, and finances, and all the things Wilbur still doesn’t understand, so Wilbur was given the envelopes and the cards, and set off to deliver.

He silently drives the car. No music is played, it just…wouldn’t be right. It’s not right.

“Make a right.”

Wilbur mutely heeds the instructions of Tommy, who’s giving him directions. He hasn’t been to Ranboo’s house, and he knows that he’s not in the right mindset to drive there. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

“Stop.” Tommy says, pure white eyes staring straight ahead.

Wilbur stops the car, his own gaze blankly looking at the road.

“Just-” Tommy says, his breath hitching. An inky black liquid leaves his eyes, like tears. “Just deliver the f̴̘͆u̷͈͕͕͌c̴̯͍͔̾̂͊ķ̴̟̯̿i̵͉̓n̵͎̓͘g̴̮͇̓͜ letter, Will.” He whispers.

Picking out a letter from the ziploc bag of them, Wilbur steps out of the car.

Phil’s house looms in front of him, the yard unkempt from weeks of remaining uncut. The air, cold from winter but pollinated from spring, bites at him, but Wilbur makes no move to do anything about it. He’s dressed in a shoddily done white button-up and slacks, and he can vaguely see someone nearby stop and turn in the other direction.

Wilbur rings the doorbell, waiting for a few moments.

Phil opens the door, and once seeing him, looks like he’s about to punch him.

Before Phil can get a word in, Wilbur blankly hands the envelope to him. 

Taking the envelope, Phil begins to open it.

Wilbur doesn’t stick around for his reaction.

Tommy’s waiting for him, his face a mess of black watercolor and dried ink. “Let’s just go.” He says.

Wilbur feels a string of sympathy for Ranboo.

He’s had to attend one for Tommy, and now he has to do it again for Tubbo.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ranboo asks him, his voice quivering with grief.

Wilbur can only silently shake his head.

“. . .How?”

Wilbur collapses, a dilapidated mess of everything and nothing at once.

Tubbo’s funeral passes by with relative ease.

It’s a quiet procession- barely anyone says a word. Techno had to be the one to read Wilbur’s speech, looking seconds away from either murdering himself or someone else. Tommy sits in Phil’s seat, looking around impatiently.

Phil didn’t come.

Tommy’s impatient, waiting for someone.

Wilbur hates that he knows it’s Tubbo’s ghost.

He hates how this is the second brother he’s lost, he hates how it’s the other half of the twins, he hates how their own father proves the point that he never cared by not bothering to show up, he hates how like the last time, the remaining family is yelled out, and cursed at, and hit, and scared-

-and Wilbur hates, he hates how he knows this is his fault.

And for once, he doesn’t deny it.

It’s not long before Wilbur deteriorates completely.

Techno has already turned to overworking himself, applying to more jobs than he has limbs, working on writing projects, and theses, and collaborations. Every day, Wilbur heras typing and pens scratching on paper until Techno passes out from hunger, sleep deprivation, or his body forcing him to take a break.

Wilbur turns to the same thing as always.

Bottles pile up on any surface that can hold them- Jack Daniels, vodkas, wines, shot glasses, lime, salt, anything. They line the halls, they cover Wilbur’s bed, his desk, his floors. They surround him like fragile walls, holding him hostage in a place where he feels so safe.

He drowns himself, mostly figuratively, sometimes literally. If the whispers of regret, shame, guilt, and responsibility dare poke up for more than a second, Wilbur finds the nearest bottle and takes a nice, long, swig. If they persist, he finds the nearest towel, puts on his head, and pours alcohol on himself until it feels like he’s drowning in the stuff.

Day after day, bottle after bottle appears in the cupboards and counters, slipping from his hands into his mouth. 

Wilbur vaguely recalls a day where someone- a friend, no, Friend- comes. Blue hair cover shameful eyes, boring holes into the wreck of a man Wilbur has become, bearing news of splitting up. 

For thirty minutes, Wilbur is sober.

For thirty minutes, Wilbur cries in an ice-cold shower, mourning the loss of a brother and mourning the loss of a lover.

The second he steps out, he punches the mirror, grabs a bottle, and drowns.

He vaguely wonders, in the rare moments where Techno leaves his room in the apartment, he sees his brother and wonders whether they’re worth saving.

Wilbur knows there’s a lack of a ghost, and he knows the answer is an easy no.

His words are permanently slurred, his walk unsteady and staggering. His head is hazy in an alcohol-induced dream, and his vision waves and bobs around, making him dizzy.

A few times a week, in a drunken stupor, Wilbur stumbles out of the apartment, wandering the streets. Sometimes, he takes the elevator, numbly pressing buttons until he’s on the ground floor. Other times he falls down the stairs, making bruises and bumps appear on his body.

He walks in the dead of night, usually with a bottle in hand, drinking the night away. Sometimes people will pull him into a bar, moving past bouncers and other drunken people in belief he had wandered outside during the night.

Techno, being the only one sober, shrouds himself in work about the thought of a particular night- Wilbur had been led into a bar, bought a few drinks, and coerced into their car and into their home.

It was a terrifying night- Techno’s phone rang in the middle of yet another study. He was so used to ignoring it- for the first three times.

Three times, Wilbur had desperately called his brother, hiding in the backyard of someone’s house, no clue where he was and head pounding from a hangover and from the effects of some drug. 

The past hours had ecstasy, one for Wilbur, and a different one for a stranger.

The fourth time, Techno had finally picked up.

“ What.” Techno said, anger and annoyance in his voice.

Despite a call at what, three in the night, Wilbur can hear scribbling and papers on the other end. He chokes back a sob, curled up behind shrubbery as he speaks.

“C-can you pick me up?” Wilbur asked, stuttering from the cold night air. He can smell the alcohol on his own breath, mixed in with saliva and things he doesn’t want to think of.

“No.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened. His surroundings were blurry, his glasses missing from his possession. They must’ve fallen off at some point.

“No- no, no, Techno-” Wilbur whispered, hurriedly speaking. “I need to be picked up- I don’t know where I am, or what happened-”

“Then stop being drunk or high all the time. You can only blame yourself for this one.” Techno said, his voice cold.

The call ends.

Wilbur had stumbled in the next day, red, blue, and black covering his neck and legs. 

Techno was in the rare occasion of being in the kitchen, most likely stocking up on food to lock himself up for another month or so.

The two look at each other.

And nothing is felt between them ever again.

It’s May, when Wilbur is the next one.

After the night where Techno refused to help, Wilbur completely lost himself. There was nothing he cared about anymore, solidifying the fact that everything was his fault. More than just alcohol entered Wilbur- anything that made him lose his consciousness or leave reality went with it. 

Wilbur is surrounded by a haze of smoke and booze, when he takes a final swig, toasting to those he failed.

He dies shortly after, a mix of alcohol poisoning and a drug overdose.

Like the rest of his family, there is no will, no legacy. Only grief, only loss, only regret and shame, and only a funeral.

As Techno has to deliver yet another speech, blindly preaching the wonders yet another brother did to the world, he knows, deep down. 

He’s next.

Two months later, Techno is next. 

In bright, sunny July, as fireworks are set off, numbness envelopes half of Techno, a wave of fatigue and lightness enveloping him. He feels weak, his vision blurring the words on the papers he’s looked at for months. 

It’s painless, lasting for a few hours.

Air leaves him, as his vision blurs into black. 

No air returns.

If you were to walk around town, and see an unkempt house, with untrimmed grass, dirty walls and a deteriorated roof, and ask who lives there, or what happened, most people would not give you an answer.

They would look at the house, a solemn expression on their face.

It’s not their place to tell.

But if you were to ask certain people- let’s say someone like Niki, Eret, or Foolish, they’d look at you for a moment, before telling you, “Oh, just Phil.”

There is one person, however, who would tell you the whole story.

If you asked Ranboo, if you asked who or what happened, he’d tell you the story.

“So, uh-”

Ranboo stops on the sidewalk, turning to the designated “new kid” in town, Eryn.

“What the fuck happened to that house?” Eryn asks, pointing to a dirtied, two-story home.

Ranboo looks, and he takes a moment to remember days of ignorance, neglect, hurt, and things people didn’t deserve. “Uh- it’s a long story.” He says, eyes bored into the shuttered-covered windows of a second-story room.

“And?” Eryn says. “Tell me, was it like a murderer’s house? Is it haunted?”

Ranboo snorts. “No, no. Uh- that used to be the Minecraft house.”

“Used?”

“Only the dad- Phil- lives there.”

“So were there other people?” Eryn asks, catching up to Ranboo, who has begun to move.

“Yes,” Ranboo says. “There were the twins, Tommy and Tubbo, and the brothers Wilbur and Techno. All brothers, actually.”

“Ooh, what happened? Did you know any of them?”

Ranboo’s steps falter. “...Yeah.”

“Which ones?”

“Tubbo. He was my friend.”

“What happened to him?”

Ranboo picks up his pace. “Let me explain for a minute- the Minecraft family were kind of dicks to Tommy-”

“Why?”

“I…” Ranboo says. “I don’t know. They just were. But- what happened was that they neglected and hurt Tommy a lot, and one day he uh- he hung himself.”

“Oh.” Eryn says, regretting his question on whether or not the house was haunted or not. 

“After Tommy’s funeral-” Ranboo continues. “Tubbo got jumped- you can kinda see the burn marks from the firework people used right there-”

Eryn looks on the downtown street, vaguely seeing the remains of charcoal and copper. 

“The rest of the Minecrafts move away- until the beginning of this year,” Pushing onward, Ranboo continues his mission. “They moved back, and nobody really liked it, because you know, they kinda assisted Tommy’s suicide. And after a while, Wilbur got outed as…gay? Bi? I dunno. He was just dating a guy.”

“Can respect.” Eryn quips in.

“Wilbur gets kicked out, Techno and Tubbo follow.” Ranboo picks up a bouquet of flowers, handing money to the salesman. “Tubbo uh- after a while, I don’t remember all of it, bad memory, he stabs himself.”

Ranboo leads Eryn into a park, leading them to a specific bench.

A written message is on the park bench, and Eryn takes a moment to read it.

Dedicated to Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, and Techno.

“This was Tommy and Tubbo’s bench- they hung here almost everyday before they all hated Tommy. This was also where Tubbo, uh, stabbed himself. And died.” Ranboo says.

“O- oh.” Eryn mumbles.

“C’mon. There’s more.”

Following Ranboo, Eryn is led out of the park and into a graveyard. The two of them walk down lines upon lines of tombstones, leading to five tombstones.

Taking a few flowers from the bouquet, Ranboo places flowers on each of the graves. 

“Who’s Kristen?” Eryn asks once Ranboo finishes. 

“Oh-” Ranboo says. “Tubbo’s mom. Their mom. Also died.”

“I can see.”

“Continuing on-” Ranboo plops down. “Wilbur kinda deteriorated. He died of a drug overdose, or alcohol poisoning. As long as I knew him he had problems with that. Techno died, like, two months after him, from a stress-induced stroke.”

“Wait, when did the Tech guy die again?”

Ranboo checks his digital watch. “Last month?”

“Last month? ” Eryn repeats, disbelieved.

“Yeah.” Ranboo confirms.

“I- that all happened in six months?”

Ranboo nods.

Eryn joins Ranboo in silence, looking at the graves of people he never met.

He hopes that wherever they are, in whatever afterlife they’re in,

They’re happy.

Chapter Text

"Okay- okay. This is happening." Tubbo says, beginning to pace. Must be something that runs in the family.

“Duh.” Tommy says, crossing his arms. He hoped that Tubbo didn’t think he was dreaming and knock himself out. Tommy can’t touch living things, and he doesn’t want to know what would be the result of an explanation for a knocked-out Tubbo.

Said boy pressed his lips together, a mixture of curiosity and concern making his eyebrows furrow. "You're dead."

"Obviously, d̶̪̽ū̷̖̦͂m̴̤͕̀b̵͚͍̏a̷̝̞̾̋s̷͎̈́̕s̷͍̯͌̚." Tommy replies. He had noticed that for some reason, whenever he swore, his voice would distort and glitch, like if someone was changing the radio while he was speaking. 

"And now you're a ghost."

"Yep." Tommy pops the ‘y’ in that. Way to go, Captain Obvious. "Anyways, since I'm kind of, you know, dead, how are all you ä̵̢s̴̱͒͐ş̴̬͋h̵̦͠ő̷̟l̸̛̠̅è̵̲s̶̤̩̽͌ coming along?" 

Tommy knew the answer of that question; he had unlimited access to the ongoing of the house and had been eye witness to some things that he did not want to see. 

"We're doing good." Tubbo spoke, rubbing the back of his neck and adverting his eyes. 

Liar, Tommy thought. But he moved on quickly. "Sure. How 'bout Ranboob or the f̸̤̫͆̐u̷̺͒͝c̸̻͚̈́k̵̩̏i̶̫͋̇n̷̢͙͗'̷̰̭̿ furry one?" 

A decent question, actually. Tommy had tried to leave the house, but every time he’d just be placed back at the opposite end of the house, as if some unknown entity rewinded time to tell Tommy, no, you can’t leave just yet.

"I haven't seen them." Tubbo answers. "Since your- uh- since your funeral."

Tommy blinks. ". . .Cool. What's up with the thing?” He asks, tapping the cheek where Tubbo had a scar, most likely from a burn, on his own cheek.

"I'll tell you later."

Tommy sticks out his tounge. Boo, tell him now. "God, you haven't changed a f̸̤̫͆̐u̷̺͒͝c̸̻͚̈́k̵̩̏i̶̫͋̇n̷̢͙͗'̷̰̭̿ bit."

"You know-" Tubbo tries to reason, but Tommy is too provoked to be stopped.

"That it's been two years since I died? Yeah b̷̻̂͐̆i̵̼͓̐̈ť̵̼̩̺͘c̵̨̼̥̱̀͑̐ḫ̴́̈́̄͝. Forever fifteen, but I still know how to count." He says, leaning back. Emotions swirl around in what feels like an empty void of a chest cavity. The black coil that swirls around Tommy’s neck feels the tightest it’s been in years as he speaks, malice lacing every breath and syllable Tommy says. "You- you're still a closed off, stubborn a̶̳͐s̴͉̟̈́š̷̼͚, Wilbur's still high and drunk off his a̶̳͐s̴͉̟̈́š̷̼͚, Phil idolizes me and mum like we're Jesus Christ- I can respect Techno though. He's fine, I guess."

"I'm not stubborn-" Tubbo voices his complaint.

"Yet you still tried to stop Will. But you refused to stop me." Tommy says, recalling the attic talk. That shut Tubbo up for a minute. "By the way, I met mum. Let me say, she is not f̵̩̗̈́u̷͉͘c̶͉̙̆̍k̴̮͈̀̓i̸̛̼̕n̴̦̈̌'̵̜͑ happy with you lot. Disappointed, pissed, fuming, all of those could fit." Tommy brags, remembering how much anger clouded his mother’s eyes when he had told her.

"That's. . . great, Tommy." Tubbo says. 

"So, anyways-" Tommy digs into his jeans pocket, protruding a razor he had found in Tubbo’s desk. "Imagine using a r-"

"What the fuc- give that back!" Tubbo cuts Tommy off, grabbing the razor in Tommy's hands, barely grazing his ghost hands. "How much have you stolen from me?" He asks, shoving the metal into a random drawer.

Tommy shrugs. He has no idea, but he keeps it equal between his three brothers. "A lot. It's funny."

Tubbo groans, and Tommy giggles.

"You know…” Tommy says, his smile beginning to fade as he speaks. “If there's one thing I am, it's pissed at you a̶̮̐s̴̫̉͛s̶̛͚̣̲̓̉h̷̯̣̔ọ̷̭̜͊̀̊͑l̵̬̝͈̈́̈͠ë̴̳̭͆̚̕s̴̮͇̹̀̈́."

Tommy physically feels heating up with all the mad he is, rhyme and reason falling out the window as emotion replaces all thinking."You all murder me basically- and then move back here like it was nothing? I died, Tubbo. I f̸͇͊͛͜u̸͖̘̜͐͒c̵̨̲͕̪̾̆̓̌k̶͔̲͋̓͊ͅi̷̝̫͖͐̉̎n̵̲͗ͅg̴̡̫͉̼̀͊ choked to death- and who even found me, hm? Was it Ranboo? Eret? F̶̮͚̒̃͘ü̴͎̕͝ċ̶͎͕̞̃͝k̵̭͕̄͐, was it even Niki?" Tommy asks, feeling the dark coil cut into his skin and lash around in the open air.

"I did." Tubbo speaks quietly.

Tommy feels himself blow out, anger disappearing in a matter of seconds. ". . .You did?" He had thought of many possibilities, and for some unknown and unreasonable matter, Tubbo was not in any of them.

"I found you, Tommy. You were just hanging there- you were staring at me. All I could see were your eyes, they just kept on looking at me-" Tubbo confirms. 

Tommy chooses not to speak for a moment, allowing himself a brief second to process this information. He decides to voice his final decision. "I still hate you. You- you all abused me, and I actually thought that I was the one who did something wrong. And you know what?"

Tubbo glances up at Tommy.

"I think it's time for some payback, b̸̩͚̼͂̈̉̓ì̷͎̰̼͚t̴̡̝͖͚̓ć̵̺̠̚h̴̬͔̠̯͒̏͆͛."

Tommy allows himself to disappear.

Time to play a game.

He wakes up, his heart beating rapidly, sweat soaking his sheets, breath labored.

A quick glance at the clock showed the time in digital numbers, 3:00 A.M. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” He mutters, laying back down on his bunk.

A head pokes out from the top of the bunk beds, eyes sleepy but curious. “You good, boss man?” His bunkmate asks, raising an eyebrow in question.

Silence envelopes the room.

“Yeah Tubs,” Tommy breathes out. “Yeah, just a stupid nightmare.”

“Did I die?” Tubbo asks, curious.

Tommy thinks for a moment. “You almost did. I was dead.”

“You would not die,” Tubbo says, snorting.

“Well I did-” Tommy halfheartedly argues back. “I fuckin’ hung myself on the fan.”

“On the fan? Hanging? What are you, a witch?” Tubbo laughs.

“I know, it’s not even a cool way to die.”

The two sit in a tired silence.

“Night then, bossman.”

“Adiós, fuckass.”

The next morning, Tommy could say that he was having a really good day.

It was one of those few days where he woke up naturally, without exhaustion, to a quiet house for once. The groceries were bought, and his dad, Phil, had remembered to actually get him his favorite cereal. Although his nightmare from last night had shaken him up for a bit, Tommy was chilling. He was doing fantastic.

Checking on whatever shenanigans were happening Reddit or whatever apps Tommy had, eating his cereal while his dad made eggs for the rest of them.

“We have eggs, why are you eating-” Wilbur picks up the box of cereal on the table, having entered moments prior. “-Cookie Crisp?”

“It’s a good cereal-” Tommy says, making his point by taking back the box and pouring himself a bowl. “Nice and flavorful.”

“It’s, what, seventeen percent sugar?”

“It’s twenty-two, actually.” Tommy states. “And, I brush my teeth.”

“You do not,” Phil laughs from the stove. “Only when I tell you to.”

Tommy sputters for a moment. “The fuckin’ dentist says I only need to floss! It makes my gums bleed!”

“Because you don’t floss,” Wilbur chuckles, thanking Phil as he takes his own breakfast. 

“Shut up.” Tommy seeths through a mouthful of cereal.

“Oh, be nice to each other.” Phil says from the stove, setting two plates aside for the other two brothers.

“Fuck no.”

“-and I was like, you look so pretentious right now, and he googles it!” Tubbo says, chatting to Tommy.

“The new kid?” Tommy asks, glancing up from his game.

“Yeah- Ranboo!”

“Oh, Ranboob.”

Tubbo’s face drops. “It was funny the first time.”

Tommy cracks a smile. “It still is.”

“Hey, are you two done yet, we gotta go.” Techno says, poking into the twin’s shared room.

“We’re going somewhere?” Both Tommy and Tubbo ask, heads tilting in confusion.

Techno furrows his brows. “Yeah. To school. It’s Friday.”

“...Wait, what time is it?” Tubbo asks, glancing around to see the time.

“Five until seven.”

Tommy and Tubbo look at each other, dressed in comfy pajamas.

“Fuck.” Both say in unison.

“You two are so stupid.” Phil jokes from the front seat, glancing at both twins in the backseat furiously brushing tangles out of their hair. 

Wilbur sits unimpressed between them, Techno having called shotgun.

“Nobody fucking told us it was Friday!” Tommy complains, finally fixing out his hair.

“I- we don’t need to?” Phil says, averting his eyes back to the road. “Did you just skip over an entire day?”

“Yes!” Tubbo says, exasperated.

“Techno, can I have shotgun tomorrow?” Wilbur asks, dragging out the end in a whiny tone.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday?” Techno says, looking behind.

Wilbur groans in frustration. “You know what I mean.”

“Nah.”

“Please?”

“Nah.”

“ Please?”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Tommy says, plugging his ears to cover up his brother’s whining.

“I wouldn’t need to if T-squared wasn’t annoying all the time.” Wilbur shoots back, pushing up his falling glasses.

“I’m not annoying.” Tubbo pips up.

“Yes you are.” Tommy says. “Maybe if you weren’t all stupid, I wouldn’t bug you all the time.”

“You just admitted to being annoying.” Wilbur laughs. 

Tommy makes a variety of animalistic and odd noises, sort of like a keyboard smash made into a sentence. He pushes at Wilbur, shoving him into Tubbo, as Wilbur laughs at him. 

“Why did I have kids?” Phil mutters.

“No clue,” Techno responds, pretending to be oblivious to the fight behind him. He occasionally bumps forward as Tubbo kicks his seat. “See ya’ later, dad.” Techno states, climbing out of the car.

Tommy, Wilbur, and Tubbo all stop fighting as they realize they’re at school already, and the three immediately spring into a barrage of shouts and seatbelt clicking as they orient themselves.

In a matter of seconds, they’ve all said goodbye to Phil, backpacks on, hair untousled, smiles on their faces as Phil drives away, in peace for once.