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The brown, glass bottle clinked against the counter, standing still with its brothers and sisters. He really needed to clean up the place. It was starting to smell, like his old home. The stench all too familiar. No matter how much he tried to throw all the bottles away, he just couldn’t pull himself together.
Years after his father’s death, he had vowed to never become like him. Yet here he was, drinking until he passed out. His life didn’t matter anymore.
Dream was out of prison hunting Tommy, so Tommy was never around anymore. Phil was too busy helping Tommy. Everyone else was just too caught up with finding Dream.
His son, Michael, was missing. Techno said Sam had him hidden away. Michael was his sunshine, one of the two people that made him happy. The sole reason he broke off from everyone and created Snowchester. Michael and nukes. But his old hobbies had died off, along with his husband.
The day of the prison break, Sam had killed Ranboo to stop Dream. But Dream never cared about Ranboo, so the masked man just shrugged and ran off.
He sighed, slowly grabbing bottles by their necks and tossing them into the trash. This was his life now. Drinking from sunrise to sunset, then throwing the bottles away every other day.
“If you wanted to drink, why not get the good shit?” A frowning ghost glanced at one of the many fallen bottles on the floor.
“Why are you here?” He snapped, not bothering to look at the ghost. He knew well who it was.
“The door opened and here I am.” The ghost shrugs, floating to the fridge. “Never thought you were the one to buy bulk packs.”
“SHUT UP SCHLATT!” He shouted, spinning towards the ghost.
“That’s Glatt to you, Tubbo.” The ghost snorted, arms crossed over his blue sweater.
“I can call you whatever I want. No one else can see you anyway. Go melt in the rain or something.” Tubbo throws a bottle at his father’s ghost, the bottle completely passing through the ghost.
“And go back to that sad sack of blue? Not when I have the chance to be here.” Glatt shakes his head, staring at the broken shards of glass behind him.
Tubbo stays silent, only the quiet clinking of bottles could be heard. “Did you see him…?”
“Who? That tall lanky kid you married for taxes?” Glatt raises an eyebrow, chugging a bottle of beer, clearly from Tubbo’s open fridge.
"Don’t drink all of it in one sitting. You’ve gotta share this time.” Tubbo mumbled, tossing the trash bag into the bin.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him. For like a few minutes, I think. Before he disappeared.” Glatt swirled his bottle, a frown on his face.
“Disappeared?” Tubbo grabbed a bottle, closing the fridge door, and collapsing onto the sofa.
“Went to limbo probably, that’s where everyone goes for the first few years.” Glatt floated over to the sofa, tossing the empty beer bottle out the window.
“Limbo… That’s the sad place Wilbur was talking about?” Tubbo closed his eyes. He could remember the time he ran into Wilbur. The white streak in his hair similar to the one in Tommy’s hair. Wilbur had said his Limbo was a dark and bloody train station. No one else was there but Ghostbur.
“I assume so.” Glatt shrugged. “I never had one.”
“Was he okay? Ranboo?” Tubbo whispered, taking a small sip of the beer in his hand.
“He came in crying and muttering about something called Michael. I didn’t bother talking to him. He looked too out of it.” Glatt shrugged again, sitting next to Tubbo. He nodded, draining the bottle in big takes.
“Never knew he was on his last life.” Glatt whispered, not intending for Tubbo to hear.
“Nor did I.” Tubbo mumbled back.
“Want another one?” Glatt looked at him, a small grin on his face.
“I said I wouldn’t become you, but I guess it’s always gonna be like father, like son...” Tubbo sighed, waving the ghost away.
“Just don’t die of a heart attack. It’s fucking painful.” Glatt opened the fridge and grabbed a pack, knowing that Tubbo would down all of it in less than an hour. He had been watching his son drink through his days.
“You're allowed two a day.” Tubbo handed another bottle to the ghost. “Might as well enjoy it together.”
Glatt’s grin turned into a frown as he accepted the bottle in two hands. “Where’s Tommy?”
Tubbo looked at him with a look. “I thought you didn’t care about Tommy.”
“Yeah, well you’re not the same Tubbo years ago. The Tubbo who loved bees and was glued to Tommy no matter what.” Glatt rolled his eyes, prying the bottle open.
“That Tubbo died when you made Technoblade pull the trigger.” Tubbo said bitterly. Going through the pack of beer like a glass of water.
“No matter how much you drink, he’s not going to come back, you know that.” Glatt eyed the already empty bottles.
“You don’t know that. I don’t know that. No one knows that.” Tubbo responded, his words slurring.
Glatt truly frowned at his kid this time. Tubbo was never like this. When he had started drinking, Tubbo had sworn to never touch a bottle of liquor in his life.
But, the death of his husband had taken a toll on the kid. So much, that he started drinking, breaking his own promise.
Glatt was seeing too much of his younger self in Tubbo. Not that he wasn’t proud of his son, but he didn’t want Tubbo to fall into the same path as he did.
Tubbo’s head slumped onto the sofa. Seconds ago the bottle was full, now it sat on the floor by his feet empty. Glatt mumbled words under his breath thinking Tubbo was out cold. But even in his sleep, Tubbo could hear his father’s words.
“He’s still dead when you're done with the bottle.”