Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dreams are always- always- the same.

He dreams of gunpowder staining his hands as he shakily constructed bombs as he hides in hastily dug out trenches, of bowstrings drawn taut between his trembling fingers, of hiding in the mud as the war raged on vaguely above him. He dreams of drawing back an arrow and sending it through a grown man’s eye, of fighting for survival before even making it through puberty, of explosions rattling the world as TNT detonates nearby. He took his first life at the age of thirteen after following his best friend to battle, like a moth drawn to flame. He still sees the man’s face behind his eyelids. He dreams of crawling towards his best friend as they both struggle to survive after the explosion that tore through the control room.

He dreams of a life long left behind, of cold, empty alleys made to be his home, after being abandoned in a lawless server as a baby.

He dreams of death, in its many ruthless forms.

A young teenager awakens before his alarm in a still, silent, home and sits up mechanically in his bed.

The comforter rolls away from his body revealing plain pajamas underneath as he pulls his legs out and stands, taking a moment to quickly make the bed. Quick, efficient, military grade- he neatly folds and tucks the corners in the way he learned what feels like ages ago- and steps into the bathroom, barely wincing at the sudden change from darkness to harsh fluorescent light. It was strange, the things that stuck with you from the war. The sun hasn’t risen yet, dusty pink sitting at the horizon, lightening the sky from its pitch black night to a softer shade of dark blue. He prepares slowly, brushes his teeth with idle scrubs, washes his face with a facial scrub from the baker down the road- Niki- and runs a hairbrush over the unruly blond hair atop his head until it has some semblance of order, and ignores the bumps that have began to peek through his scalp and the slight slant to his pupils.

He ignores the scars etched into his flesh from battles and wars that he fought before he even truly understood what conflict meant as he changes into a soft cotton button down dress shirt and solid black trousers. He practices his smile in the reflection of the mirror until it doesn’t even try to slip away into nothingness.

He does up the brass cufflinks at his wrist, and goes about tying the red tie around his neck.

He pretends it doesn’t feel disturbingly like he’s standing at the gallows, a noose tightening around his throat, as the time slips ever closer for him to leave.

The tie isn’t perfect, but he was never really taught, and he thinks/hopes/prays it must look good enough. His socks were ironed the night before, though he burnt the toes just a bit when he left the iron on it to go get a glass of water, and he slips them on and wiggles his toes a bit. His shoes are polished. He steps into them and laces it up gingerly. He shrugs on his blazer, where Schlatt graciously allowed the boy to wear his decorative pins displayed on his chest, stars for both for his army service and for his secretarial position. His name is also displayed on a laminated badge, his clearance to enter the White House.

Tubbo Underscore picks up his briefcase and steps out of his house, as the sun rises steadily into the sky, a burst of pinks and oranges scattering across the sky as the sun peeks over the treeline. L’Manb- sorry, Manburg- was a wonderful country, one Tubbo was proud to have fought for, one that continues to prosper even without… the former president to take hold of the reigns. Shops are beginning to open as he takes the scenic route to work. He smiles shyly at the kind old lady from the textile shop as she opens her windows and waters the flowers sitting on the sill. She beckons him over and they exchange pleasantries, before she sends him off with flowers- small daisies- pressed into his breast pocket, right beside his handkerchief, embroidered with his title and name. He finds he much prefers the flowers. Along the way are children that race along the Prime Path, their laughter bright and high on the morning breeze, as they prepare for school as their parents idly stroll behind them.

Tubbo nods at the mother, who he vaguely recalls as one of the soldiers he fought beside, and she beams and waves at him. She looks much different, more alive brown hair starting to grow past her ears rather than the buzz cut he remembered her having. So many soldiers seemed to be thriving now after the war and yet he only felt more like a walking corpse with each passing day. Niki is sweeping dust out of her bakery and happens to look up as he passes.

“Tubbo!” She calls brightly, leaning the broom against the doorframe, to bound over and give him a hug. She telegraphs her movements enough that he can suppress the instinctive flinch, though he does have to clench his jaw just a bit to force himself to stay in place in her arms. He remembers- belatedly- that he should probably hug her back, but by the time the thought crosses his mind, she’s already pulling back. She looks good— brighter than he remembers- not as war weary. Her hair was the same shade of pink as cherry blossoms and woven into a braided bun, and she had gained a healthy glow to her skin, despite the scar on her cheek. She had on a pleated black skirt and a cream coloured sweater, and a pair of sensible flats. Her apron had ruffles along the edges and a cat embroidered on the pocket. Tubbo blinks for a moment and for a moment, his mind sees the woman that fought under Wilbur’s command, never quite enough to be his left hand. Remembers the battle weary expression that the woman wore between strategy meetings, the stiffness to her furrowed brow, remembers seeing her training vigorously in the fields when no one else was around. She was the most vocal in her disapproval of Tubbo and Tommy in the ranks, but he knew it came from a place of concern. Children should not fight wars, she had said before Wilbur sent her out of the War Council.

Fiercely loyal, unfaltering in her service to her country.

It’s… difficult to reconcile the two versions and yet, there’s no mistaking how happy Niki is now.

The woman urges him to wait and rushes back into the bakery, before re-emerging with a small basket of muffins and breads. “You look so thin, I doubt you’ve been eating enough— eat it all okay?” She stared at him intently until he nodded and waved her off with a laugh.

“Of course! Thank you, Niki! I’ve got to be off though, can’t keep Schlatt waiting.” The woman makes a face at the mention of the president but mercifully says nothing. She goes for another hug but he twitches back and she amends her action to rest her hands on his shoulders.

“Be safe, little soldier, sometimes I worry the war never ends for you,” she whispers and Tubbo’s plastic smile wavers ever so slightly.

“Don’t be silly,” he says brightly. “The war ended ages ago, we’re in peacetimes now!” She looks sad, as Tubbo pulls back and practically runs from her.

He passes Puffy heading the way he came, with a bouquet of flowers and an easy smile, dressed to the nines with a rainbow suit. She was also involved in the war but due to her connections with Dream, Wilbur often delegated her to simply relaying messages and tidying ammo. Her woolen hair was neatly pinned in a half-do- her horns following the curvature of her skull. She smiled at him, looking a bit nervous. Tubbo spied a slightly box shaped item in her pockets and internally cheered her on. They would be good together, the amount of pining he and Tommy had witnessed was unbelievable.

He makes his way to the imposing structure of the White House and uses his security clearance to bypass the guards. They were also soldiers, footmen, who weren’t a part of Wilbur’s inner ring but Tubbo knew them all the same.

Somehow, he remembered all of the soldiers that fought with them, especially the ones that were killed in action.

He offers them Niki’s muffins and their stoic faces crack a bit as they smile and each take one. “Thank you, General,” they said and a part of Tubbo’s brain shifted a bit and his spine straightened, heels clicking together. For a second, he was Brigadier General Underscore again- the small yet fearsome sniper specialist that was able to gain the respect of the troops far quicker than the General or the Lieutenant General. Something about his difficult background, and the fact he was fighting to protect his friends made him far more approachable than the ones who waged war in the first place, apparently.

“Of course,” he smiled.

Secretary Tubbo offers a muffin to every overworked staff member that passes until there’s only one left in the basket, which he stores away in his inventory.

Polished shoes click against linoleum, a rhythmic tapping that doesn’t match the increasing staccato of his heart, as he approaches the president’s office. Portraits of scenery line the walls, beautiful forests and flowers, one captures the sea at night with the moon in the sky, another is a haunting display of a goat sacrifice. They replace the one of Wilbur, of Tommy. Tubbo had graciously opted out that day, anxiety buzzing beneath his skin too much to possibly sit for hours for a picture.

Tap, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, tap.

The door is as white as the rest of the building, but somehow even more fearsome. Tubbo doesn’t hesitate as he knocks twice, then turns the knob and pushes his way inside, a politician’s smile carved painstakingly onto his face in the millisecond it takes to fully open the door.

The office is spacious, to say the very least, with a wall of windows with sheer curtains along the wall behind the President’s desk. Mahogany. Very expensive, very heavy. The walls were white granite, adorned with more disturbing paintings of hellfire that Schlatt often studied like he may find new meaning in the grainy canvas, and the Declaration of Independance hung neatly on the wall— too instrumental in history to be discarded. The floor was covered with an expensive luxury rug with weird patterns that were almost nausea inducing if stared at for too long. Schlatt is seated at his desk, Quackity and him clearly in some sort of heated discussion which came to an abrupt halt once Tubbo opened the door. He nods at Quackity, who smiles at him slightly, though not too fondly.

His brows are downturned, though he keeps his expression placid, likely to not worry Tubbo. They try to keep that sort of emotional display to a minimum in front of their boss, though these days, there’s not much love to be had between them with how busy they both tend to be. And how easily Quackity fell into line with Schlatt.

“Good morning gentlemen! Mr. President, here are those documents and contracts you asked me to finish checking over, and the financial summary of our latest trade deals,” Tubbo said as he popped his briefcase open to retrieve the mentioned papers. His eyes slip over the desk instinctively, not necessarily interested in what Schlatt was looking over this morning but.

A new bottle of Jack Daniels sits on the desk, already a quarter of the way empty, right besides a cup of coffee.

Tubbo’s smile becomes a touch more wooden. It’s gonna be one of those days.

Schlatt waves absently for him to add it to the growing pile of papers that needed his final review and signature, he runs a hand through his gelled hair, avoiding the horns protruding from his head and curling around his skull like it was second nature. Quackity tuts disapprovingly and fixes it, making sure every dark brown strand falls perfectly in place, before Schlatt waves his hand away with little more than an annoyed grumble. It was surreal moments like these that Tubbo remembers the rings on their fingers aren’t just a fashion statement.

His… friend had well and truly married this political nightmare.

“Marriage is just another tool, Tubbo, it doesn’t have to mean anything,” he remembers the man telling him, a hushed whisper as they walked the halls together weeks ago. “So you don’t love him?” Tubbo had asked, just to be sure. The man’s lips pressed together, eyes trained on the practical silicone ring on his left hand. He never answered and Tubbo didn’t try to ask again.

“The papers are gonna have to wait, kid, we have visitors today and I’m gonna need you to show them around and get them settled,” the president said as he sat back in his seat, stretching languidly.

“Visitors? Who are you talking about? There was nothing in the schedule!” Quackity mercifully blurted out what Tubbo was thinking. Schlatt was much more lenient with presumably dumb questions if they came from the Vice President, his husband, rather than the secretary.

“The prince of The End apparently wants to start forming deals and alliances- you know they’ve been in self imposed isolation for years, there’s no way we can turn them down. Just imagine all the ender pearls, obsidian, and just overall resources we could get from this if we play our cards right,” Schlatt says, thick brows furrowed in thought. He ran a finger over the rim of the polished crystalline glass, and neither of the other two politicians spoke while he thought.

“It’s a bit sudden though, isn’t it? We haven’t had time to prepare anything,” Tubbo slowly spoke out of turn, wincing imperceptibly when the man’s eyes locked onto him, something dark and maybe angry smoldering behind his eyes as he tightened a hand around the glass. Tubbo prepared himself to duck if he had to, every muscle tensed to throw himself to the ground. The anger wasn’t necessarily directed at the teen yet still frightening to be at the brunt end of, nonetheless. Schlatt was just a manifestation of controlled anger. He seemed to be the embodiment of the hellfire he was so enraptured by.

The man was seemingly fueled by little else than rage and spite- not like Wilbur or Tommy who were spurred on by honest love for every brick and cobblestone that built the nation beneath their feet.

And yet.

Schlatt yielded results much faster, Manburg evolved at an unprecedented rate, while simultaneously keeping Dream at bay, something Wilbur clearly couldn’t do. There was no arguing with the man’s capabilities.

“They sprung it on me late last night, what the hell do you want me to do? We need this trade deal. Especially with the way the smiley fuck has been strangling our other trades, this would open a new world of opportunity.” Schlatt downed another glass, the ice clinking in the cup, as he stood up. Tubbo’s calves tensed with the urge to bolt as the man drew closer. The smell of whiskey on his breath was so potent that Tubbo wanted to cringe away but he stayed in place. Schlatt had already berated his weaknesses enough to teach him a lesson in politics when he was first brought to office.

Never let anyone fathom what you’re thinking.

It had been difficult, at first. Tubbo used to be a very emotional boy, he was loud and honest and spoke his mind before he thought things through. But now? His face remains fixed in a pleasant, just barely curious expression, and his eyes meet Schlatt’s easily. Something pleased flitters behind the man’s eyes. Tubbo is disgusted by the traitorous, quiet surge of pride he feels in the back of his mind.

“I’m leaving it to you, only because me and Quackity have a meeting with Dream’s entourage. So I’m having you do your job for once, so you aren’t completely useless. But I promise you- if you fuck this up for my country Tubbo, you will regret it.” The threat wasn’t too bad, really. It could have been punctuated with the bottle of glass being thrown at the wall near his head, or Schlatt could have smacked the shit out of him. This was basically him being kind. He should be thankful.

“Of course, Mr. President. I won’t let you down,” Tubbo said, meeting Quackity’s eyes for a moment, wondering if the man would say anything. Quackity looks away, dark eyes inspecting the beautiful day outside instead.

“Good boy. Now, have someone help you look more presentable before you meet our guests,” Schlatt said, grimacing at Tubbo’s appearance. The meager compliment makes him want to smile, and makes him almost happy. But Tubbo recognizes the tactic like the back of his hand. Recognizes it but can’t stop himself. He should be better than this. A defensive retort nearly tore out of the teen’s lips but he swallowed it down.

“Do you not approve?” He asked instead, wincing at how pathetic he sounded- like a dog eager for approval. The man grunted as he beckoned for Quackity to follow.

“The suit’s fine but a mole rat could probably tie that tie better, and your hair- for Christ sake- find some goddamn gel!” Tubbo winced as the man tugged on a chestnut colored curl sharply as he passed. Quackity went to follow Schlatt but paused by the young teen. Swiftly, he undid Tubbo’s red tie, and quickly went through the motions- a touch too fast for the boy to keep up with, much less memorize. But at the end, the result was better than anything Tubbo had attempted.

“I can’t stick around and help your hair, but anytime you need someone to help you with things like this, you can come to me okay?” The man said, a genuine smile on his face, as he smoothed a hand down Tubbo’s jacket and cleared the wrinkles. The boy nodded.

“Good luck, you got this!” With that, the man disappeared out of the door and down the hall, to chase after their boss. Tubbo sucked in a deep breath and held it.

Compartmentalize.

Delegate.

He exhaled. The smile that had been on his face was gone and in its wake was a desolate wasteland. He stood alone in the office. He stopped by his office and pulled out his communicator to get in touch with the nicest restaurant on the server, to make a reservation.

“Jean-Claude! Hello, yes, this is Secretary of State Tubbo calling on behalf of President Schlatt?” His voice pitched lower, professional, polite and kind- just like a proper secretary. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he continued to putter about the space, weaving around his desk to grab everything.

“Right, I’m going to need a reservation for a private room? Mm… today, if you could, please?” The teen’s face faltered into an annoyed frown at the angry whispers on the other end, the man hardly letting him getting a word in before he firmly said, “I understand it’s last minute, should I direct your grievances to the president? If you aren’t able to do it, I need to look for a place that will be ready to accommodate us.” The silence was loud, and Tubbo smirked a bit to himself.

Tubbo placed a few contracts in his suitcase, in case the prince wanted to talk business today.

“So you will? Lovely, we truly appreciate your efforts. Thank you in advance,” the Secretary of State simpered before hanging up abruptly. Tubbo paused at the enderchest in the corner, before sighing and cracking it open. Schlatt would have to pay him back. Tubbo takes out a couple diamonds, emeralds, and gold and places it in the briefcase as well. Along the way, he encountered Fundy who was skulking about and was more than happy to shove the other tasks he was scheduled to prepare for onto the fox hybrid who scowled a bit but didn’t say no.

“Thank you Fundy, you’re a lifesaver!” Tubbo makes sure to say, just to watch the fox ears perk up and the man’s tail wave slightly.

Dejection morphs into self assurance and it’s almost pitiful how easy it is to manipulate him. Wilbur nor Tommy ever took the time to make sure their family member was well adjusted in society, though there was no denying that Fundy had his uses. Schlatt lets him know where the meeting would take place via blunt text message, the portals by the Church, and that the scheduled time would be in half an hour or so.

Alright, time to meet some royalty.

-

Tubbo pretended he wasn’t sweating through his suit from the borderline sprint he did to the portal when he realized he just might be late after being stopped one too many times by well meaning civilians. He also had to stop by the nicest hotel they had and threaten the staff into preparing their best room as fast as humanly possible, before he got the establishment shut down. He wasn’t proud of it, but the threat of failing the president was approaching. Tubbo came upon the entourage of endermen milling by the main portal, and stopped short.

It wasn’t enough to be concerned, a handful of personal guards dressed to the nines in military regalia. All of them had obsidian colored skin, much like the wild counterparts that roamed the land, with glowing purple eyes. None of them had hair, though if that was a genetic thing or a stylistic choice was lost on him.

Most importantly, they were tall.

The tallest person Tubbo knew was Eret, six foot three with a penchant for heels, and yet these endermen easily surpassed that height.

It was immediately apparent who the prince was based on the way the other endermen had positioned themselves to be staggered a step behind them, but still in a position to protect and attack any wrongdoers. They were slightly flanking the shorter ender-hybrid, who would still be able to tower threateningly over Tubbo who was woefully short even by Manberg standards.

The prince was a study in monochrome, perfectly mirrored halves of black and white with a few swirls of white that blended into the darker half of their face, with similarly colored long hair that was braided down their back in a simple plait that was adorned in gold beads. They were dressed in a manner that exuded royalty, undoubtedly a formality they were made to uphold. The outfit was a subtle blend between royal purple with accents of shimmering gold that balanced strategically to draw attention to their two-toned skin, in a visually appealing manner. The royal had on a beautifully tailored waistcoat with golden trimmings, and buttons so shiny Tubbo would bet that he could see his reflection in their brass depths.

The prince was beautiful in a way that destruction was hauntingly beautiful— the aftermath of devastation, the calmness that settled in the wake of despair- they were entirely composed of harsh edges and elegance. They ghosted along a quiet assurance in their step, as though they didn’t fear anything that roamed this realm, or at all. Like a soldier with nothing to lose. They were speaking to the enderman closest to them, who stood at attention, nodding when they needed to. Their teeth were sharp though their lips hid them seamlessly.

Amethyst eyes zeroed in on him from across the distance and Tubbo smiled instinctively as he crossed the gap and bowed with a flourish. He had thought about how to phrase his greeting on the way over and so the practiced phrase spilled out of his mouth.

“Greetings, your highness. L’Manburg is most honored and delighted to receive you after the Ender City’s hiatus with interpersonal affairs. My name is Tubbo Underscore, the Secretary of State.” It was strange being at the end of the Prince’s gaze, it was familiar in a way many politicians were- just as calculating, searching, and scary as Schlatt’s but there was no hostility, no animosity.

Polite disinterest.

Tubbo relaxed a bit. He could work with that.

“Hello, Secretary Underscore, I’m the Prince of Ender City, the representative for our Queen. Please— call me Ranboo.” A startling deep voice, though not quite as deep as Eret, and surprisingly young. Did Schlatt mention how old the prince was? Tubbo wracked his brain and came up blank. At the very least, they must be a teenager or whatever enderian equivalent that happened to be. He should check his study for any books on the Ender City when he returns home later.

“Prince Ranboo, then. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Tubbo said pleasantly, sticking out a hand before freezing.

Do you shake hands with royalty?

Was this some sort of social faux pas?

Prince Ranboo studied the outstretched appendage, looking at Tubbo’s clammy fingers, that did not shake or tremor, then at his face, before an amused smile appeared and they shook it. Their hand was cold to the touch, and their claw-like nails rested gently on Tubbo’s skin, careful not to break flesh.

“Yours as well.”

They exchanged a few pleasantries- Tubbo enquired about the trip, Prince Ranboo waving off the long distance and commenting on the weather, and so forth. An enderman spoke suddenly from amidst the crowd, too indistinguishable to tell apart, “Did the President not deem this important enough to come himself? Sending a mere secretary.” The accent was coarse, causing the syllables to seem harsh and the Secretary froze a bit at the question, lips parting soundlessly. Tubbo wanted to feel offended but it was a valid question. He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t qualified to deal with royalty.

Before he could say anything- he wasn’t even sure what he could say, they had a point- Prince Ranboo spoke.

The tone was hard, expression supremely unamused as the foreign language spilled out of their mouth. It was a fascinating one, with its own cadence and halting syllables that were so clearly departed from English. He would love to study it, learn what was being said for himself. Tubbo watched as one of the endermen appeared sufficiently cowed, presumably the one that spoke, and Ranboo turned to him once more, darkness cleared from their expression and a smile on their face.

“So! What are we going to do first?” Tubbo wiped his sweaty palms discreetly against his trousers before checking his watch.

“Well, I had hoped to give you a tour of L’Manburg before dinner, and then we could go over any contracts and terms to an alliance?” He said and the prince nodded.

“Sounds great. You all can go now,” the prince addressed their people. It was almost funny, how taken aback they all looked in unison. A couple in the back exchanged a look of bafflement.

“Y-your highness, you know we can’t possibly return without you…” a brave soul stammered and the Prince’s smile never faltered. It was sharp. It was scary. Tubbo was pretty sure he liked it.

“Of course not, Mother would throw a fit. I’m certain you have family around, or even on other servers- consider it a vacation! I’ll summon you when I’m ready to leave.” Tubbo wisely stayed silent but the implication that the Prince may be having a more extended stay, for whatever reason, was enough to send his mind in a whirl.

“My Prince…” At this barely whispered protest, the friendly demeanor the Prince had been maintaining dissipated abruptly. Tubbo took half a step back when he felt the air shift and the smile on the prince’s face became... sharper somehow. Much more threatening. Dangerous.

It almost reminded him of Wilbur, when the man was about to go fly off the handle after a peaceful night spent in the ravine.

But this was more tempered, deliberate.

Tubbo blindly reached for a sword that no longer hung on his hip before remembering himself. At least here, he was safe, through the powers of diplomacy.

“It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. Leave. I dare say I’m insulted by the implication any of you could protect me better than myself,” the prince said calmly and immediately there was an outpouring of apologies. It was unsettling, how quickly they were to apologize. If there was any inkling of a possibility for Tubbo to get comfortable around the deceptively kind Prince, it fled just as quickly as the endermen currently making their way through the portal.

Unbidden, the memory of a fairytale Tubbo read many years ago (huddled in a box with little more than a plushy and this tattered book he had stolen) appears in his head- ‘“Off with their heads!” cried the Red Queen’- and he wondered idly, just how socially advanced the End was or if they were still in the midst of their medieval period.

“I am still very sorry, President Schlatt would have come but he and the Vice President had a meeting with the mainland. We’re still tiptoeing around another war,” Tubbo says after the last enderman slipped through the obsidian portal. Ranboo looked intrigued.

“Another war? I’d love to hear more while we walk, if that’s alright with you. Lead the way, Mr. Underscore.”

Despite the rocky start, the tour was undeniably a nice time.

Tubbo didn’t often get a chance to speak to people who were (possibly) his age, aside from Tommy, and it was nice to impart the little anecdotes and tales about every building and every hiding spot. Prince Ranboo was also genuinely invested- asking questions in all the right places, laughing at Tubbo’s bad jokes, and seeming to absorb all of the information like a sponge.

“What is that?” Ranboo asked, pausing to hear the sound of wedding bells on the wind, and the distant sound of an organ being elegantly played.

“Oh, there must be a wedding happening in the Prime Church.” Tubbo led the prince towards the holy land.

The chapel was beautiful, of course, carved from white stone and granite, the roof towering high into the sky. Tubbo patted the wall, where a dedication was displayed to Tommy who had founded the church. There were flowers peppered along the cobbled path up to the large oak doors, which were open so the two were able to peer inside to the congregation within. Inside was even more lovely, someone clearly dispensing a lot of money into ensuring their wedding was one to remember. The sunlight hit the purple window panes just right, and colored the scene in soft tones of violet. The couple were already standing before the priest, hand in hand, as they recited their vows with cheesy smiles and teary eyes. It was all very sweet.

“Tubbo, what is a wedding?” Ranboo asked in a hushed voice, to not disturb the celebration, and Tubbo took the eruption of cheers within as their excuse to move along.

“It’s a ceremony that legally brings you and the person you want to be with forever, together. You invite your family, and your friends, and celebrate the “holy matrimony, may prime bless your union, etc”. Of course, people can and have spent their lives together without needing to get married but it’s all about how you personally feel about it. Do they not have weddings in the End?” He asked and Ranboo frowned, thinking back.

“Not that I’m aware of, or at the least, Mother hasn’t said anything about it. The only equivalent I can imagine would be merging contracts? But it’s usually not a matter of love, but of business,” they shrugged.

“That’s fascinating,” Tubbo said, trying to commit everything to memory.

“And do you plan to get married, Mr. Secretary?” Ranboo asked, but it wasn’t in that teasing manner that the old ladies at the supermarket would say it, as they hassled him about when he was going to find a nice partner.

Like he wasn’t only seventeen!

No, Ranboo was just genuinely curious, scribbling his findings down in an expensive looking leather bound journal. The teen fiddled with the clasps on his suitcase, deep in thought. When he was a child, it was a given- he would get married, have a big family and millions of friends and make sure everyone felt loved and he was loved in turn. It had been the only source of comfort for a child, living alone in a box in a cold alley. He thought about the normal civilian weddings that were so filled with flourish and excess. He remembered Philza and his dead wife who he remained ever loyal to despite it being decades since her passing, he thought about Quackity’s tumultuous marriage to Schlatt, he thought about how smitten Fundy was with Dream and that disastrous wedding day.

If he were to marry anybody nowadays, he would hope that it wouldn’t have to be such a dramatic affair.

“I’m not sure, honestly. Maybe I’ll know if I find someone I want to marry,” he shrugged.

“I’m so curious about the world beyond the End, there seems to be an endless amount of things to learn- humans are intriguing,” Prince Ranboo sighs as they make their way to the restaurant. “Maybe we can trade notes? I’d love to know more about where you’re from as well,” Tubbo replies easily.

Ranboo nods enthusiastically. They happened across the general area of the control room- apparently demolition hadn’t started yet, and Tubbo’s excitement fizzled out instantly, the mirth and amusement extinguished as the teen was plunged into memories.

“Tubbo?” He could hear Ranboo say distantly, over the sound of an explosion as the ground became unsteady beneath his feet, could hear the sound of Tommy crying from the pain of his burns, could hear Eret and Dream leaving after ruining everything. Wilbur was screaming profanities, and spewing so much vitriolic hatred at Eret’s betrayal before he died, the teen turned his head and could see the body dissipate into nothing as the man respawned at their last safe place.

He wouldn’t be able to bring potions in time.

He could almost taste the dust in the air that filled his lungs enough to make them cramp in his chest.

Tubbo rubbed at his numb hands trying to rid himself of the feeling of crawling across the dirt ridden floor to at least die beside his best friend.

A gloved hand grabbed his and he looked up into politely concerned purple eyes. Right. This was hardly the time or the place. Tubbo took a deep breath and smothered his emotions until they died back down to a quiet rumble. He smiled.

“Sorry, I’m alright, this is just… where I experienced one of my deaths.” He gestured to the small tunnel and the concerned look remained stubbornly in place on the Prince’s face, though it was clear they wouldn’t force him to speak on the matter. Tubbo gently extracted his hand from their light grip and shoved it in his pocket.

“One of them? You can’t die permanently on this server?” They asked, twirling their pen idly.

“You can. We operate on a three-life system. It should be on your wrist.” Tubbo showed off the X his wrist and Ranboo observed it for a second too long before checking their own.

He didn’t show Tubbo, and Tubbo definitely didn’t ask.

“I see… the End has limitless spawning, so long as your pearl stays intact and your friends bring it home.” Tubbo abruptly remembered the three enderpearls he had in his house, and the fact that they were farmed from feral endermen suddenly made him very uncomfortable as he stood beside their prince.

“It’s okay,” Ranboo laughed, somehow reading his mind.

“We are well aware of how much of a sought after item the pearls are. I can’t fault you guys for going after them. Maybe don’t mention it in front of Mother though, if the opportunity presents itself. She’d probably kill you where you stand,” Ranboo mutters and Tubbo makes sure to engrain that detail to his memory. He wouldn’t tell Schlatt though.

The mental image of him blundering that encounter and being burnt to a crisp was hilarious.

What?

It would be funny.

“Thanks for letting me know. Anyhow, I hope you’re hungry! Are you prepared to try human cuisine?” Tubbo asked, steering the prince towards the fancy restaurant where a line was beginning to form as the sun dipped down and painted the sky in blazing oranges and reds. Ranboo’s eyes were also trained on the sky as well, a look of quiet adoration on their face and Tubbo resolved to commission a painting of the sunset for them to bring along when they left.

“Your highness?” He tried again hesitantly, when the silence hedged on for a moment too long.

“What? Sorry, yes, of course! I’d be delighted to try it,” Ranboo said and Tubbo led them over, skipping the line. Luckily, there were no protests, the kind people of Manburg waving at the Secretary of State from their place in line. Tubbo wasn’t quite sure what he did to deserve their praise, but it seemed like everywhere he went in the town he was met with nothing but unfaltering support.

“Somebody’s popular,” Ranboo noted, smiling as they entered the restaurant. Tubbo laughed a bit, his ears warming up.

“Well, I would hope so! They did elect me after all, I want to be someone they can trust.” Ranboo hummed as they became more lost in thought. Tubbo went up to the concierge and gave his name, letting Ranboo take the lead for a moment so he could flip off Jean-Claude who was making ugly faces at him from behind a fancy divide. The restaurant was lovely, though, with a peaceful ambiance- dimly lit with candles on each table that illuminated the space and complemented the oak-wood theme they had going on. There was a jazz band playing in the center of the establishment and Ranboo looked fascinated by the brass instruments and the velvety tones of the singer that was sitting on the piano.

“Do you like music, your highness?” Tubbo asked as he thanked the waiter that led them to their sectioned off booth where they could still hear the music and the dull hum of conversations happening all around them.

“Certainly, but there’s nothing quite like this in the End. They prefer flutes, and choir based music. This is a much more diverse sound,” Tubbo tried to imagine it, the fascinating foreign language put to flute music, as they sang in unison. It must sound haunting, but beautiful. Like a funeral march.

“I’d love to hear it sometime,” he says earnestly and Ranboo raises a brow.

“I don’t sing, but if Mother ever allows me to bring guests to the End, I’ll organize something for you.” They promised.

Dinner was nice, and despite his wariness, there was no denying that Tubbo was having fun. Deep down, he might even admit that he and Ranboo got along like a house on fire, their senses of humor aligned, and the prince was a surprisingly amazing conversationalist. It was feeling less and less like a meeting for business and more like a meet up between friends. Ranboo had bluntly told him they didn’t know what they were looking at and insisted he choose for them which had been a bit nerve wracking, but it seemed they liked it fair enough. Conversation ebbed and flowed easily, even when they randomly changed tracks and jumped topics, Tubbo even rambled at some points- which he never did these days, only ever with Tommy- until he would forcefully stop himself to Ranboo’s disappointment.

And then when Tubbo was going over the mock-up for the contract, specifically the clause about: ‘The End will exclusively trade with President J. Schlatt, and Manburg, and not offer any weapons or aide to the greater country of Essempi, especially in the event of war-“, Ranboo stopped him, chin resting in their hand.

“I think I’d like to change that slightly. Rather than your President, put your name.” It was said with an air of casualness, like something like that wouldn’t get him in a lot of trouble.

The pen fell out of Tubbo’s hand in shock.

“What.”

Ranboo shrugged, waving their free hand. “I’m not meeting with Schlatt, I’m meeting with you. You took the time to put together this lovely tour and dinner with such short notice. And from a leader’s standpoint, I think you might represent this little country more. Put your name, or I won’t sign it. I’ve never even met Schlatt, how could I agree to make a deal with him in good faith?”

Tubbo wasn’t prepared for this. “I-If not meeting him is the issue, should we hold off until tomorrow?” He mentally berated himself for stammering.

Ranboo smiled a bit, like seeing Tubbo floundering was funny or something.

“No. Mother expects me to send back word of the deal today, and the rest of my stay will be more of the educational variety.” Tubbo took a breath.

“Can you give me a second?” He asked and the royal hybrid nodded.

“Of course, take your time.” Tubbo got out his communicator and typed furiously.

>Tubbo_ whispers to JSchlatt: sir there’s a bit of an issue? Are you still meeting with Dream?

>JSchlatt whispers to Tubbo: fcuk off brAt m busy. figure it out

Oh dear.

The typos did not bode well for Schlatt’s current state of sobriety. He switched tracks and messaged Quackity to the same detriment.

>Quackity whispers to Tubbo_: meeting went pretty bad, trying to deal with the idiot, do what you can buddy! :]

Well that was no help at all.

He glanced up at Ranboo over the top of his communicator.

What could they be playing at? What difference did it make to have Tubbo’s name on the contract instead? It was still legally binding, they would have to help Manburg regardless. Tubbo wouldn’t be a part of the cabinet forever, but the same could be said about Schlatt. And if the ram hybrid never checked the contract, it’s not like it would hurt anybody.

“What are you getting at with this?” He decides to ask cautiously, rather than think himself in circles.

“…nothing? It hardly changes the contract, does it? It’s mostly for my peace of mind. I think you’re nice,” Ranboo says brightly. Tubbo thinks on it before hesitantly crossing the president’s name out and scrawling a shaky ‘Tubbo Underscore’ above it. It was an important deal, Schlatt would understand.

Ranboo beamed, and signed on the line neatly, with pretty looping cursive and a crown scribbled beside it. “Perfect!” Tubbo returns their toothy smile with his own shakier version, and tries not to feel as though he just signed away his soul to a rather fashionable devil. They sat around for a bit longer, now that the formality was dealt with, and Tubbo decided that what’s done was done, there was no use in fretting. Ranboo even allowed Tubbo to look through the notes they had been writing down diligently, and- after needling them endlessly- Tubbo had a pen in hand and was greatly embellishing the impressiveness of Manberg in the pages of their journal.

His communicator began to buzz incessantly and he apologized sweetly as he checked it.

>TommyInnit whispers to Tubbo_: TUBBO TommyInnit: TUBBS

>TommyInnit: u still coming? did u get caught???

>TommyInnit: me and wil can come rescue u bc we’re big strong men

>TommyInnit: but srsly r u coming bc wil is doing The Thing again

“The Thing”, of course, being suspecting Tubbo of being a traitor yet again, even though life would be so much easier if he just committed to the Schlatt Administration and wasn’t trying to play spy.

Tubbo checked the time and was taken aback by the late hour.

It hadn’t felt like so much time had passed. Ranboo blinked as he suddenly got to his feet.

“I’m so sorry to cut this short, I hadn’t realized the time and I have another engagement- I swear I’ll make up for it some other time? Sorry,” he apologized profusely as he typed.

>Tubbo_ whispers to Tommyinnit: oh shit srry I ddint realize it was so late! be tjere soon

“It’s… okay.” Ranboo said, clearly startled (maybe even a bit disappointed?, a part of Tubbo’s brain noted) by how quickly Tubbo was leaving.

“Here, let’s exchange handles and meet up again some other time?” They said and the teen smiled as he scrawled it on a napkin. “Definitely! Okay, I gotta go— bye!”

God, if Schlatt found out he ditched the Ender Prince, he’d have his head.

The way to Pogtopia was kind of eerie as Tubbo took to the tunnels beneath the country, the cobblestone walls that he carved out himself lined with torches that blazed day and night. His shoes clicked against the stone, as he followed the long winding tunnel for what felt like ages, until he could feel the cold air of the ravine and the quiet humming that echoed along.

A tall, gangly teen stood at the exit, wearing only a thin red and white shirt and jeans as a lacklustre barrier against the cold. Blond curls bounced as he tapped his foot anxiously as he stood in place, and blue eyes snapped up when Tubbo kicked a rock out of the way. Dirt and ash was smudged across gaunt cheeks, but it did nothing to dim the ecstatic smile that appeared on his face.

Tommy Innit— the second most wanted enemy of the state.

“Tubbo!” The boy screamed and ran forward to fling his arms around the smaller teen.

“Hi Tommy,” Tubbo sighed, relaxing into his embrace, wrapping his arms around Tommy just as fiercely.

Enemy of the state, but also his best friend.

They both paused as the sound of worn boots against the dirt met their ears. Tubbo fought the urge to sigh or maybe, panic. He turned and met Wilbur’s mad stare and tried to keep his smile in place on his face.

The man was wearing a tattered dark brown trench coat, and a red beanie that he unearthed somewhere, a cigarette hanging from his lips. His face illuminated unevenly by the flickering flames of the torches.

Wilbur Soot-- Public Enemy #1.

“…hello, sir…” Tubbo said warily, instantly disliking the wild look hidden in the depths of ruddy brown eyes.

Tommy’s arms tightened around his shoulders slightly, before his arms dropped. Tubbo felt, for a second, that the other teen was definitely cowering behind him like a human shield but it was alright. He was older, after all and Tommy probably dealt with him acting like this all day. The man glared darkly, taking a few steps closer, Tubbo took note that his hand hovered on his sword and made sure if he needed to arm himself and pull a weapon quickly from his inventory, he’d be able to.

“Hello, traitor.”

Lovely.

Chapter Text

Despite the late hour, with the moon towering high above in the sky, the Prince was not in his hotel suite, a grand and luxurious dwelling— maybe even considered excessive if not for his royal status.

No, once Ranboo had settled in, he undid the braids in his hair and changed from his royal garments into something far more comfortable. Clad in a simple white dress shirt and soft black cotton pants, with a cloak draped around his shoulders, he had taken to the streets once more. The small town was much more serene with the late hour, streetlights casting a soft glow on the cobblestone path. Most businesses were closed now, the storefronts darkened and blocked with wood to deter any wrongdoers until the following day.

Distantly, there was the sound of dogs barking, birds chirping, and nature simply existing in a way it didn’t back home.

There was no quiet hum of the Nothingness in the abyss that surrounded the End Cities, no void that held frightening archaic beings in their depths if you stared into them for too long.

Ranboo wanted to see so much more in the short time he had left before he’d be forced to return.

He walked without a goal or destination, doodling flowers he found along the path, and petting stray animals that weren’t too afraid to butt their heads against his leg. He walked until he happened across a plot of land that was close to the church but far enough to not be disturbed by any proceedings like beautiful weddings. Gravestones were lined up in neat rows, some with flowers and offerings laid before them, and some that had clearly been unattended to for months if not years. It was silent here, as though not even the insects dared to make noise in such a place.

Ranboo walked along, looking at names and the sweet inscriptions left by the grieving family, looking at the names of the people with graves that no one came to and wondered who they were in life. The cemetery wasn’t a particularly large plot of land, not enough death in this budding country to warrant such a thing but it was large enough that when he happened upon a woman in the middle, he was still a bit startled. He could have sworn there hadn’t been anyone when he arrived but, perhaps he simply overlooked her.

She was interesting to look at, with a flowing black dress that covered her feet which looked to be bare against the wet grass and a black wide brim hat with an opaque black veil that hid most of her face, curly hair slipping down her back as she hummed a haunting melody. In her hands were a strange assortment of flowers: sunflowers, daisies, lilies and violets. Ranboo hesitated for a moment before deciding to be polite.

“Good evening,” he said, voice only a touch louder than a whisper.

She turned her head towards him slightly, and he could see black painted lips tilt into a friendly smile and nothing more.

“Hello. A strange place to be meeting someone for the first time,” her voice was soft, and she sounded very melancholy as he approached her.

“I suppose it is,” Ranboo laughed as charmingly as he could.

“May I ask who you are?” He asked as he fell into line one step behind her as she continued her trek through the cemetery.

She was leaving flowers on every grave she passed. “You may, but I don’t imagine you’ll find the answer very interesting besides what you already know. I’m just a lady in a graveyard, and a mother, like any other,” She said. “Oh… are… you visiting your children tonight, madam?” Ranboo hedged, worried he might just upset her, but not enough to simply not ask. But she took the question in stride, with a soft laugh laced with fondness and sadness in equal measure.

“In a way, certainly. My boys were soldiers… They are always getting into trouble. But they’re so brave and so smart, I just wish they weren’t so hard headed at times. They get it from their father I’m sure.”

“Ha, is that so? I’m sorry for your loss, then.” The prince decided it would probably be best not to draw attention to her use of the present tense. He may be a hybrid, but he wasn’t a monster.

“What are your opinions on death, mysterious stranger?” The lady asked.

Ranboo paused as images of his life from before flickered behind his eyes. (-uproarious cheers surrounding him, eyes on him as he crouched on his end of the arena, teeth bared as blood splattered against the dirt. A cheap metal crown nestled in his hair. Fear and adrenaline humming in his chest. He wanted to live-) and he tapped a nail against the leather bound journal. Life had been so cutthroat when he lived in Hypixel, and to see another day you had to make sure someone else didn’t. Death had been… “Necessary.”

He froze.

He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

She hummed in thought, casting a violet down upon the grave of a beloved teacher. “Yes, I agree. My husband has taken many lives, often in my honor, it’s hard not to have a different outlook on it than most. You’ve killed before, right?” She asked, but in a way that made it seem less like a question and more like a statement. Like she already knew the answer.

He wondered if he just looked like someone that’s done that before. Like he carried himself in such a way that people could just look upon him and judge his sins. He looked at his monochrome hands and could still see them stained with blood, if he thought about it hard enough, could still envision the eyes of the children he won against. If you could even call it winning.

“Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” She hummed again.

“It’s not something many would agree with, but death is as much of a part of life as breathing. Killing, as well, is a part of nature,”

“Isn't it hard to think that way, as a parent who lost their children?” He asked, unable to keep the rude question behind his lips. She waves a hand dismissively with a laugh.

“Lost? Oh no, they’ll be fine without me. They have each other, after all. I’m more worried about… well. I saw you earlier, with little Tubbo. Are you two friends?” The sudden change in topic was jarring, but it’s clear that she just didn’t want to speak on her dead sons anymore, understandably so.

“Friends is probably too familiar. We only met today, but he’s… nice. It’s clear he cares a lot for this country,” The prince said with a smile.

Secretary Tubbo had been interesting- such a young person that was clearly carrying so many secrets and responsibilities on his small shoulders, yet still honest and just. He walked like a soldier, back ramrod straight, even when he was seemingly relaxed. The boy was so very unlike the council, with their careful expressions of neutrality never letting a single thought slip, unlike the whispers that followed Ranboo’s every step through the castle.

“He does. I just wish he had others to care for him even half as much as he cares for this country. Gods knows he needs and deserves it.” She said, dropping the last lily on the grave with a frighteningly short lifespan. An infant.

“What do you mean?” Ranboo asked, concerned despite himself.

“Look at him next time you meet. Truly look at him closely, and you’ll see what I mean. He hides it well, but anyone can tell that’s a boy in distress. He needs a friend, and you do too, Ranboo. You could be that for each other.” The lady said with an edge of hopefulness that nearly distracted from the fact that he never told her his name.

Nearly.

Immediately he was put on edge. “Do I know you?” He asked, still not too outwardly alarmed, though prepared to equip himself with a sword if he needed to.

“No, but I know you. I know most, if not everyone, everywhere. And I know you’re going to cause a lot of trouble in time. It’ll be nice to see this place undergo a reckoning of sorts, it’s just unfortunate that a child has to be the catalyst.” The veil of her hat shifted ever so slightly and when he stared into her eyes it felt comfortingly familiar, like the shifting darkness in the void, like the end of all things.

Like Death.

“Be well Ranboo, I’ll see you again, someday. Say hello to my husband and children, if you see them.” Death said as her black lips pulled into a cheerful smile and she patted his hand ever so slightly.

He never took his eyes off of her: it was just that one moment she was there and the next she was gone.

There was a beat of silence and then Ranboo felt a droplet of water land on his hand, the skin sizzling into the quiet of the night, and he only had a moment to teleport himself under the nearest shelter before the clouds opened up and rain poured down from the skies. He sat down away from the edge where raindrops were still getting under the awning and opened his journal and began to scribble furiously as his mind spun and he contemplated the implications of what Lady Death said.

He should try to meet with Tubbo tomorrow.

-

Tubbo went into work the next morning, thoroughly exhausted. He had spent over an hour assuring Wilbur he was still firmly on Pogtopia’s side, and then going over every minute detail about Schlatt’s movements and policies that would be going into play sooner rather than later, and about his meeting with Ranboo. He had left out the bit about the alteration to the contract because even he knew Wilbur wouldn’t hesitate to sink his fingers into that to really dissect the implications. Afterwards, he had to spend time with Tommy, the two listening to music and whispering about their treatment at the hands of their superiors. Tubbo wasn’t sure he liked leaving Tommy alone with Wilbur, especially with how the man’s behavior seemed to flip every other second, but his best friend assured him that he was fine, that it was being handled so he let it go.

Apparently, they sent word to Technoblade and their father, of all people, about the revolution and the warlord was making plans to join them in a few weeks time. Tubbo didn’t mention how Philza was apparently not coming. He made it home around four in the morning and had to be up for work at seven.

A headache was rhythmically drumming against his skull and he was sipping at another potion to soothe the aches and pains in his back— an injury from his youth that healed wrong and only really ached on rainy days.

Shadows smudged beneath his eyes and clutching his coffee that Niki had been kind enough to give him after he gave her a fright with his ghastly appearance on his trek to work. The security detail at the door smiled at him sympathetically when he ghosted past them on his way to his office. He gulped down his coffee in an attempt to quiet the roaring in his head which was slowly but surely dulling down as he prepared himself for the monotony of work. Tubbo had only just settled at his desk, looking through the paperwork that had been left for him to go through and sign on Schlatt’s behalf- a few trade deals, expansion requests, etc- when there was a knock on his door.

“Come in!” He called, a pen in hand as he made a few corrections and weighed which ones were most beneficial to the nation. Fundy entered, tail swishing nervously, which was the first red flag. Even as sleep-addled and exhausted he was, Tubbo knew better than to relax in the White House.

“Fundy. How can I help you?” He asked sunnily, with a smile, just to watch the way the fox hybrid wilted a bit in what might have been guilt. Fundy was often very suspicious, especially around Tubbo, but the teen still hadn’t had the time to figure out why.

“Hey, uh, Tubbo. The President would like to see you in his office… like, right now.” Tubbo’s headache picked right back up and he massaged his temples.

“Did he say why?” The teen asked as he got to his feet, adjusting his cufflinks and tie.

“Uh, no. I didn’t really want to stick around for long, just doing as I’m told,” he said, tugging his cap over his eyes to avoid looking at the boy. Translation: Schlatt was pretty pissed and Fundy scurried away with his tail between his legs to send Tubbo into the lion’s den. “Alright. Consider your message delivered. You can leave now.” Tubbo said bluntly and watched the man bristle in offense but his protest died behind his lips when Tubbo raised a brow to stare at him, daring the man to say anything.

“Fine,” Fundy bit out and exited as quickly as he arrived. Tubbo took a few steadying breaths, calmed the shake in his hands, and began a short walk to the President’s office. Show no weakness. Show no weakness. It would be fine. He opened the door and saw Schlatt sitting at his desk, the chair turned away from the door and the rustle of paper could be heard as the man flipped through a few papers.

“Sir? You wanted to see me?” Tubbo dared to speak and tried not to feel the bubble of panic as Schlatt paused. “Tubbo. So glad you could make it!” The president turned and Tubbo could see the contract he and Ranboo had gone over in his hands and his heart dropped into his stomach. He had faxed it to Quackity when he got home that morning.

The damn duck probably leapt to show Schlatt for brownie points.

The man ran a hand through his hair with a soft chuckle, before sitting back in his seat and rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I can tell by the look of dread in your eyes that you already know what this is about, so why don’t you go ahead and explain what the hell you were thinking?” He gestured idly to the contract as he spoke. Tubbo stuffed his sweaty hands into his pockets.

He tried to speak.

“Well it—“

“Because what it looks like to me is that my little Secretary is getting ahead of himself. What- do you think you’re the leader or something? Is this some shitty attempt at trying to one-up me, Tubbo? Please, I thought you were smarter than that.” Schlatt said, his tone mocking, eyes dark as he brought out a bottle of rum and took a swig from it.

“No sir, if you’d just-“ The boy’s voice is deceptively even, calm despite the way the situation was clearly going downhill very quickly. Half-baked contingency plans and emergency exits formed in the back of his mind. Maybe he could jump out the window before the man killed him?

“I thought that I could mold you into my protege, my successor. Something great. You might be a fucking idiot, but at the very least, you learn quickly,” Tubbo tried not to react to the harsh words that were spoken so softly, so gently. Flashes of anger and shame warred in his chest.

“But what’s the point, if you’re doing shit like this? Are you gonna betray me Tubbo? Are you a traitor? Working for your little friend and- and Wilbur?” The president chuckled and Tubbo’s face shut down entirely to keep from outwardly panicking at how correct the man was.

“Never, sir, please just—.”

“Never, sir,” Schlatt mocked with a high falsetto and terrible attempt at an accent, and Tubbo’s cheeks started to turn a splotchy red despite himself, embarrassed (indignant) warmth flooding his face.

“God you sound so fucking stupid!” Tubbo had only a moment’s warning to duck, biting his tongue to stifle a yelp of terror before the heavy glass bottle soared over his head and shattered against the door behind him. Alcohol and glass rained from above, soaking his suit as glass sprinkled atop his hair. He exhaled heavily through his nose, staring at the expensive rug underneath his feet that some poor attendant would have to fuss over replacing. He heard Schlatt’s chair shift back and his eyes snapped up, arms springing up in defense as insults spilled from the president’s tongue with every move he made. It was things he’d heard before, of course, he grew up on the streets and Schlatt wasn’t very creative when the alcohol was loosening his tongue.

Of course, that didn’t mean the words didn’t hurt.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if people could hear the man- could tell from his colorful vocabulary just who he was yelling at in such a manner.

If anyone cared.

The man stormed across the room, his much larger hand grabbing Tubbo’s wrist in a bruising grip to continue yelling when the shrill beeping of Tubbo’s communicator had them both freezing in place. Tubbo, in fear, and Schlatt in surprise. It could be anybody and Tubbo could only pray futilely to god that it wasn’t Tommy. The taller boy’s clinginess would be his downfall if it was.

“Well, don’t be shy. Answer it. On speaker,” Schlatt instructed, squeezing Tubbo’s wrist to a painful degree but the teen had felt far worse before and didn’t even allow himself to flinch as he reached casually into his pocket with his free hand and pressed ‘answer’ without looking at the screen. He cleared his throat to speak around the rock that found itself lodged there. “Tubbo speaking.” He almost said that perfectly, if not for the waver in his voice near the end.

“Good morning Mr. Secretary, how are you this morning?” A warm voice said, a bit warped by the shitty speaker on his comm but unmistakable with the deeper voice unlike everyone else in Manberg. The prince.

It was debatable how good it was that they were calling, but it was infinitely better than Tommy. Schlatt raised an eyebrow, something like confusion on his face, and Tubbo realized that the president had never even spoken with the royal on the phone.

“I-I’m doing great, your highness, thank you. I hope your lodgings served you well?” Tubbo winced as claws dug slightly into him, most likely an accident as Schlatt listened in. “They were lovely, thank you. I don’t mean to hold you up as I’m sure you’re very busy, I was just hoping you might be able to join me for lunch perhaps, for a bit more of the cultural exchange?” They sounded hopeful, a bit of a laugh to their voice, and if Tubbo wasn’t being hassled by his superior he would’ve felt warmed by someone seeking him out to spend time with him.

He opened his mouth to politely decline when the phone was plucked from his hand. Schlatt released him and dialed up the charisma and charm as he spun away with the communicator.

“Prince Ranboo! President Schlatt here, terribly sorry for not coming to welcome you to my great nation. I happened to overhear you and Tubbo’s chat, and I must insist you come to The White House for lunch today!” The man sounded so much different than he had moments ago, bearing down upon Tubbo with vitriolic insults on the tip of his tongue, and the ex soldier rubbed at his wrist as he glared at the President’s back. He ignored the phantom feeling of a trigger beneath his finger. The problem would be very easily resolved if he let himself revert to his much more brutal nature as a soldier.

“Well, I had only intended to meet with Secretary Tubbo for lunch, as friends rather than business. It’s rather presumptive of you to impose upon my time.” Ranboo’s voice which had been warm and friendly for Tubbo had gone flat with displeasure and Tubbo bit his lips to avoid laughing at Schlatt’s gobsmacked expression.

“My apologies. But I really would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you and talk over the contract as well as become proper allies,” The man said once he shook off his surprise.

Ranboo hummed.

“As this is a diplomatic trip, I suppose I will be able to join you for lunch today, but there’s nothing to be said about the contract. If this is about the alteration to the wording, I’m afraid I will not be changing my mind on that matter. I’ll be seeing you and Tubbo in a few hours then.” Then there was the unmistakable sound of the call being ended. Tubbo felt that was an appropriate time for a mic drop.

“What a little shit,” Schlatt said, sounding almost- impressed? In awe, maybe, that the prince would be so audacious.

Tubbo kept his mouth shut as he gingerly picked himself up, shaking his hair carefully so that the glass shards fell onto the rug.

“Well, you heard the man. Get lunch ready Tubbo, make sure there’s sage and willow salads available, and send someone in here to clean this shit up.” Tubbo scowled at his feet but his face returned to a bland expression once he looked back up. Schlatt looked at him impassively before smirking in approval. Tubbo felt like a good little robot, falling into line. “Of course, sir. Will that be all?”

Schlatt kicked his feet up on the desk, drumming his fingers in thought. “Yup.”

Tubbo nodded and excused himself. He walked briskly, snagging the first attendant he saw to go get a janitor to clean up the mess in the office. Their brows knitted together.

“Certainly sir, but are you alright? You’re bleeding…” they gestured to a spot on his forehead and when he touched it, his fingertips came away stained with blood. The glass must have cut him after all. He rubbed it away with the back of his hand and tried not to react to the burn of the alcohol on his new injury. He smiled sunnily at them, which did absolutely nothing to assuage their worries. “Are you alright? Were you attacked?” They fussed a bit, not so bold to fret over him and touch him, but enough that Tubbo felt his smile become a bit more genuine.

“Of course not, just a small mishap. Can you have someone bring me my spare suit please? It should be finished at the dry cleaners, and I can’t work very well like this,” he laughed.

They both ignored how strong the smell of alcohol was on him, and the only known alcoholic to roam these halls.

“…yes, sir. They’ll get it to you shortly.” The attendant promised.

When he got to the office, he peeled his suit jacket off and tossed it into the attached bathroom, where he went to dab at the shallow cut on his forehead. Tubbo looked awful. His skin was paler than before, making his bags and the traces of blood stand out even more starkly against his face. His eyes which had once been a solid green grew bluer by the day and his pupils were almost at a full horizontal to match Schlatt’s. His roots darkened every day as well. “-mold you into my protege. My successor-“ the words echoed around in the boy’s skull. Could Schlatt have meant that… literally?

Was there even a way for someone to be transformed into a nonhuman in such a way? Through exposure? Magic? ‘Unless he’s been lacing your food with potions,’ a dark voice whispered sinisterly in the back of his mind.

They had lunch together often, not necessarily a willing sacrifice on Tubbo’s part, and it would be easy, and he has been inexplicably exhausted these days. There weren’t even any witches near Manberg and yet he couldn’t even put that past the man, it was something he wouldn’t be above doing. He shoved the thought to the side. What did it matter if he was slowly changing into something else without his consent? Morphing into… some kind of monster?

He was an expendable soldier, important but never important enough.

Rather him than anyone else, right?

Right.

He had work to do anyway.

Tubbo wondered if he should be more upset.

Crying, maybe?

Angry?

He knew he shouldn’t be treated like this, no one should. But he was beginning to get rather used to it. He washed his face of the blood and used a wide tooth comb to run through his hair and ensure any remaining glass fell into the porcelain bowl of the sink. He carefully smoothed his hair back and ran a wet paper towel over the back of his neck and arms to rid himself even slightly of the nauseating bitter smell of alcohol that was clinging to him. As he waited, Tubbo messaged the kitchen staff to prepare a nice lunch within their means, with an extra perfect salad for Schlatt, and massaged a bit of bruise cream into his wrist.

As he waited for his spare suit to be brought to him, he took the time to sign off on a couple more reports, allocate some more funds into the schools that were being built. It posed the question if he would have to attend, since he technically never went to school- but he also felt like it was a bit too late to begin that journey of higher education. Considering the position he held, the office he sat in, it kind of felt like he cheated the system just a tiny bit. A frazzled intern arrived with the spare suit just in time, minutes before lunch, and even held him tie his tie properly as they complained about the service of the dry cleaners. The suit jacket was a sleek black color, one he usually reserved for important meetings, so it felt a bit silly to wear for a simple lunch meeting- granted royalty would be present. Tubbo made sure to sneak some emeralds into their bag as a tip as he adjusted his cufflinks and gelled his hair in such a way that the angry red skin of his scalp that was pushing its way upwards to make way for what he could only pray weren’t horns, were covered completely by neat curls.

He waited outside for Ranboo, near the meet time, the sun helping dry any remaining water off his clothes, as he diligently took up position near the guards, idly chatting with them about their days.

“Secretary Underscore!” He heard a bit down the path and their conversation paused as Tubbo turned and smiled happily at the approaching Prince.

The boy didn’t think he would ever become used to the sheer height of the enderians, the way he had to crane his neck up a tad and look up at Ranboo through his lashes. Though they were no longer in royal regalia, the dress they had on was still very ornate and beautiful, a royal purple dress with white frills beneath each layer of the skirt, and decorative silver chains hung at the waist. They had on black leather boots that matched the strap of their sword sheath. A silk black cloak neatly settled around their shoulders, with the metal clasp at the hollow of their neck. Suddenly, Tubbo was very glad he switched to the fancier suit jacket, lest he feel woefully underdressed.

“Hello Your Highness,” he said with a slight bow and the guards startled slightly at that before bowing as well, lower than Tubbo had. Ranboo waved a hand dismissively as Tubbo straightened.

“No, none of that, we’re friends, are we not?” The prince declared smoothly, not an ounce of hesitation in their tone. Tubbo’s eyes widened a bit, a blush dusting the tips of his ears.

Were they?

“Uhm, sure…” he floundered, feeling his face warm, and the taller of the two smiled softly.

“Well, as this is my first time here, I’ll let you lead the way. Take me to your leader,” Ranboo said sarcastically and a laugh escaped Tubbo’s lips as he gestured forth with a flourish.

“Right this way, my liege.”

Somehow, with Ranboo at his side, the halls of the White House were suddenly much less oppressive. He was sort of excited as he led the prince from room to room, weaving around surprised interns and attendants that seemed to stare as they passed. Ranboo was clearly accustomed to the feeling of eyes on their every movement, because they easily shook it off, even going so far as to smile politely at any errant attendant that stumbled into their path with their gawking.

“This is my office!” Tubbo announced as he pushed open the door and Ranboo politely clapped in awe at the very bland space. They took a few steps in, head much closer to the ceiling than Tubbo’s own head, and Tubbo smiled as they ran a hand over the dusty tops of the shelves.

“Are you here all day?” Ranboo asked, parting the drapes at the window to allow more light in, which the Secretary admittedly didn’t allow much of when he was stuck signing papers.

“Well some days, sure? But I’m usually running around doing stuff for Schlatt.”

“I see, do you think you’d be able to find any time in your busy schedule to spend some time with me later? I’m sure there’s still plenty to see.”

“I’m sure I could work you into my schedule, your highness,” he said. He might have to take some work home, but it was nothing that hadn’t been done before. Ranboo’s eyes swept over the room as Tubbo diligently packed his briefcase, picking up the little things that were out of place in the small office. His scope of vision was generally larger and farther than a human’s, as part enderman, and it came in handy with seeing all there was to see from his vantage point in the center of the room. There was a suit kicked off to the side in the adjoining bathroom, Ranboo could see the arms of the jacket on the floor and there was a concerning amount of glass sprinkled in the sink beside a comb. Tubbo had a cut on his forehead, irritated and red but small enough to not initially raise any flags, until it was paired with the blossoming yellow bruise on his wrist.

None of which had been present yesterday. Ranboo’s arms folded over his chest, but he smiled when Tubbo came closer to usher him out to wherever they would be eating.

The White House was an interesting piece of architecture, the builder within him identifying every type of block and material used to create such a structure. In his inventory, a very perfectly cubed block of grass sat, waiting to be held.

Ranboo politely inclined his head to anyone passing by, as Tubbo rambled on about a newer policy, nothing too important to speak on, clearly hoping for a second opinion, which the prince gave. The venue was a dining hall in the White House, a long dark wood table with a rich red table cloth and three spots neatly set out, one at the head of the table, and two on either side. Prince Ranboo got his first look at the President and was somewhat unimpressed. It wasn’t about what he wore or anything- no, the man was clearly dressed in the most expensive suit that money could buy, with a rich red tie neatly tucked between the apex of his lapels, and every brown curl was perfectly coiffed in a way that drew attention to the horns curling around his head, but not excessively so. It had been one of the things that had drawn the Prince’s attention— the president’s hybrid nature— considering his own hybrid status.

But if the man was a danger to Ranboo’s new friend? An abusive threat? Only politics could keep him from lashing out immediately. A smirk curled around the man’s lips and he stood up to extend a hand out for a handshake with the royal teen. Prince Ranboo shook out, exerting the tiniest amount of strength to not exhibit any weakness, and contenting in the feeling of bones grinding in the man’s hand. Schlatt’s smirk became a bit more rigid, more fixed, and he let go rather quickly.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Ranboo said, feeling the bureaucracy drip from his honeyed tones, like his mother instilled in him.

“Likewise! It’s a great honor to have you here in Manberg. How have you enjoyed your stay so far?”

Tubbo tuned out the pleasantries and let the words wash over him. He was still exhausted despite the “excitement” of the day, and the prince would be more gentle about getting his attention than Schlatt would. They were seated at the table and the kitchen staff quickly brought an array of lunch dishes out. Tubbo carefully sipped at the he had ordered, which kept his mouth occupied and warded off any questions, though he was sure he would be left alone with Schlatt’s chance to scope out the Prince. Minutes slipped into a half hour and Tubbo could feel the tension growing and it was getting tough to stomach his slice of cake.

Schlatt kept making snide little comments like: “You’re surprisingly civilized, your highness, no disrespect of course,” or “I’m surprised you of all people is so well-versed in the Art of War,” little things that weren’t grounds to dissolve a contract but were snide enough to get under Ranboo’s skin. Tubbo watched as the polite smile Ranboo had been wearing tilted, shifting into something far darker. It was similar to that feeling when they had been addressing the other endermen by the portal. Their gem-like eyes shifted from hues of violet to something darker, probably an indicator that their mood was shifting towards something more agitated. Tubbo was a bit confused as to why Schlatt was provoking the royal in such a way, but was also impressed that Ranboo’s composure never cracked.

“So, your highness, how have you been finding Manberg?” Schlatt asked as he lifted a forkful of greens to chew on.

Ranboo carefully sliced the steak before him into neat cubes, studying the nearly raw meat and the red staining his knife with a blank expression with a touch of amusement. It would seem someone was particularly uninformed, or perhaps it was an insult to his character, a subtle harsh assumption that if the endermen in the wild were such savages, they must all be partial to foods like this. Which was… incorrect. Endermen weren’t particularly fond of any food outside of the chorus fruits native to their homeland. They were even less partial to meat. It went so far as to make certain endermen ill.

Ranboo was a hybrid, however. And he had eaten far worse things in his life.

He ate the steak while staring Schlatt in the eyes, his sharp teeth pointedly piercing the venison. “Oh yes, Manberg is certainly a beautiful little country, indeed Secretary Tubbo showed me around yesterday. I’m positively charmed by it. I can see why you needed the treatise for resources,” Ranboo said, sympathetically. A subtle reminder that he was the one who held the most power on the grander scale. Schlatt's smile twitched.

“Yes, well, it seems despite our best efforts the Esempi’s leader seems insistent on urging things towards war, and with the current state of our resources, we’ll be crushed in a second. Which brings me to your little… edits to the contract,” Schlatt’s eyes were horizontal slits that burned red like hellfire, and they were almost too menacing to look into but Ranboo was undaunted by the man’s paltry attempts at intimidation and instead made himself look a bit more doe-eyed and confused, like a stupid kid who was unaware of his actions. Tubbo had tensed up just a touch where he sat, eyes firmly kept on the table before him and Ranboo wondered if maybe the contract is what led to his… new injuries. Dredges of guilt tugged at his stomach.

“Whatever do you mean?” The prince of the end inquired, voice lilting curiously towards the end.

“Let’s not play any games, clearly you know that you changed the wording from aid to Manberg, to aid specifically for my tenacious secretary here, and I’d like to know what exactly you’re playing at,” Schlatt said, his tone still lighthearted and genial even but underlined with steel.

Ranboo sneered, shifting to sit back in his seat a bit and angled his chin up a bit. The condescension practically dripped from his posture. Ranboo had long since mastered the persona of the arrogant and cruel prince, and he slipped into it like a second skin.

“Does it matter? I wanted to change it so I did. I like Tubbo, I think he cares a lot for the nation, and I am incredibly doubtful that he would ever harm Manberg or even plans to leave, so what does it matter? It only makes him a bit more important to your government and he’s already in the perfect position to help.” Too valuable, in fact, to hurt.

Of course, Schlatt still could.

But if Tubbo complained or even left, with him went the support of the kingdom that the president so desperately needed. Plus, President Schlatt was in no position to force him to change it or Prince Ranboo could simply withdraw his support and be done with Manberg. Sure, it would be sad to see them be crushed in the war– it really was a flourishing nation with a lot of promise– but... tragedies happened everyday. It wouldn’t be his fault even if his hand tipped the dominoes into falling. Ranboo could see the man making the same connections and the confused furrow to Tubbo’s brow beneath the mess of hair and smiled sweetly, before biting into his bloody steak and letting it stain his teeth as he smiled.

“So nice meeting you, Mister President. Lunch was impeccable. I think we’re done here.”

__

Tubbo was taking the front steps two at a time to catch up with The Prince who had swept out of the hall once they had finished eating.

Schlatt had been gobsmacked, then enraged, and the boy was more than eager to get out of there. That was definitely a Quackity problem more so than a Tubbo problem.

Ranboo had summoned a shawl from their inventory as they made long strides towards the exit. Somehow the White House staff were all stumbling over themselves to get out of their way, and subsequently falling into Tubbo’s path. “W- excuse me- wait, your highness!”

He winced at the glare of the sun but scurried over to Ranboo’s side, where a quietly thunderous expression was drawn upon their face that morphed into pleasant nothingness once Tubbo was properly caught up to them. Luckily, Tubbo was quick and wasn’t out of breath from the slight jog.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Tubbo blurted out, unknowingly unleashing puppy dog eyes on Ranboo, a genuinely upset look on his face. Ranboo smiled softly, probably just placating the young secretary.

“It’s alright Tubbo, you don’t have to apologize on your boss’ behalf. He just made me a little mad.”

Clearly, it wasn’t just a little. The words did nothing to assuage Tubbo’s worries but Ranboo swiftly changed subjects. “Join me for a walk?” The prince obligingly shortened his strides and Tubbo mostly led the way, steering them down a scenic route and away from the small construction projects here and there. A group of children had shrieked upon seeing Ranboo but one brave girl had stepped forward, drawn in by ‘the pretty dress’ and Ranboo had been patient, answering their questions about why he looked like that and if he was a monster, before Tubbo managed to flag their parents down with an exasperated glance and ushered the prince forward.

Ranboo managed to prod Tubbo into talking about his latest interest in the scientific field– something he never got a chance to speak about because Tommy thought it was “too boring” and everyone else were just work colleagues. If he even attempted to talk physics with Fundy he feared the fox hybrid’s brain would collapse. Ranboo kept up surprisingly well. Not everyone knew about nuclear physics but Ranboo hummed and asked questions that suggested at least a surface level understanding and Tubbo’s mood had lifted significantly by the time he led them to the bench. The one the two kids had crafted themselves painstakingly, that overlooked the town and left the L’manburg tree on full display. Fall was approaching and the leaves on the massive tree were beginning to turn pleasant shades of orange and red.

It was usually his and Tommy’s spot, the place where they sat after an eventful day with music and pleasant company. He hesitated for a second, and Ranboo let out a quiet sound of confusion. “I used to hang out with my friend Tommy here, before… he was exiled,” Tubbo explained.

The prince’s expression softened. “It’s pretty up here, I understand why you would.” Tubbo nodded and sat down on the bench, smiling invitingly at Ranboo, who perched himself beside the smaller teen.

“Why was Tommy exiled, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Tubbo expected the question but was uncertain how to answer. He could tell Ranboo about Schlatt’s pettiness, but it was a bit more convoluted than that. “Wilbur… the previous President and former war general, was ambitious. One could even say that he was obsessed with L’manberg’s potential? Understandably, he did build this land from the ground up. He and Tommy fought the most with Dream to secure our freedom. And Tommy… there’s nothing he’s more loyal to than his brother.” And Tommy could be the most stubborn, annoying force of nature for the people he was loyal to, Tubbo didn’t say.

Tommy could dismantle a country, with the way he managed to convince people to fight for him. Tommy was the kind of person that you just wanted to help. It was how Tubbo had ended up as a child soldier right alongside him. Ranboo hummed, more than capable of reading between the lines. “I guess, it’s a good thing that they weren’t forced apart then?” the prince said lightly.

Tubbo thought to his friend– face dirtied, fearful and living beneath the ground like some kind of animal, too blinded by his loyalty to see how it just may be burning him. Instead of leaving, and making something of a better life for himself and his brother, Wilbur wanted– needed?-- to take everyone down with him. And Tommy would let him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “At least they’re together. We keep in touch of course, but I just… I worry.” Ranboo nodded and patted his hand on the bench comfortingly.

“Of course you are, you care so much, even I can see that and I’ve known you for all of two days. You’re a wonderful friend.” Tubbo’s cheeks burned a ruddy red but carefully kept his expression neutral as he squinted at him. “Why do I feel like you’re buttering me up for something?” Ranboo let out a laugh, not expecting that, and his grin put every sharp tooth on display and made Tubbo snicker quietly.

“Well I do mean all of that, but sure. I had a really weird encounter yesterday and wanted to know what you made of it?” Tubbo’s amusement slipped away slightly as he steeled himself to be told that the Ender Prince had been met with anything other than warm welcomes.

God forbid the citizens had harassed them. He had faith in the people of L’M— Manberg, ugh– but he didn’t know the ideals of every individual citizen.

No. Apparently the prince was met with "the literal embodiment of Death"?? Was that worse???

Ranboo explained the fairly brief encounter, leaving out the minute details of his own past, and burst out laughing at the truly baffled expression on the other’s face.

“Oh so you didn’t know she was around?”

“Your Highness I– what?”

Chapter Text

Ranboo’s mother sent word that he was to return by the week’s end, one of the braver endermen from the Prince’s entourage having undoubtedly told on him, and so he spent most of it with Tubbo– who was getting used to taking work home now. Between balancing it all, Tubbo had virtually no time at all, but it was kind of nice in a way, to be too busy to even think. It distracted him from the impending stress of everything looming in the distance. Schlatt had even been leaving him alone for the most part, which made work blessedly uneventful.

Tubbo prepared himself in the morning with a bit more of a bounce in his step, ignoring the way the brown was overtaking his hair as the days slipped past. Ranboo hadn’t said much about it aside from a pause as slender fingers touched a strand that was entirely brown now. Tommy had been a bit more shocked.

“Tubbo! Wh- What the fuck happened to your head?!” Tommy had gasped loudly, drawing the attention of the other two men in the cave. Wilbur’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously and Technoblade had snorted but ultimately hadn’t cared.

Tubbo’s lips had gone thin, his face warm with embarrassment and unfounded shame. “Nothing. Just trying something new.”

He skipped his next haircut appointment, and let his curls grow out more. If his hands shook a bit more whenever he passed a reflective surface, it didn’t matter because hey- at least he was making friends with the foreign dignitary.

Ranboo was, surprisingly, a breath of fresh air.

The enderman hybrid was almost always awake, and always answered Tubbo’s messages no matter how bizarre, and as a result their chat log was getting increasingly long. And they often met up for breakfast no matter the ungodly hour, the cafe owner pleasantly surprised but happy to let the two in as soon as they opened. They had lunch together when Tubbo could afford to take the break, and often roamed the town looking for dinner. The townspeople were also becoming used to the tall enderman, bowing slightly as the news of Ranboo’s status spread like wildfire. Tubbo had never made such fast friends with someone, outside of Tommy, and hanging out with Ranboo was as easy as breathing for some strange reason.

It never really felt like he was talking to a prince and after the third day Tubbo was able to feel relatively comfortable around the royal.

And thus, he was starting to feel sick with guilt whenever their time together was cut short by Tubbo’s frequent trips to Pogtopia. Part of him desperately wished to be able to let Tommy and Ranboo meet. He was fairly certain they would get along, but another part of him really wanted to keep Ranboo out of Wilbur’s sights. Something about the intrigued gleam in the former President’s eyes when Tubbo had listed off the resources that Manberg would be receiving from the Ender Kingdom set his teeth on edge.

So for now, he had to keep them apart.

But still.

Ranboo would understand.

The revolution plot and the unique position of spying that Tubbo had found himself in was very delicate information and Tubbo would love to talk about it with someone. The words practically pressed themselves against his teeth, at risk of tumbling out. The two of them were sitting in a quiet alcove in the library, Ranboo had a knee tucked up against their chest as they read a novel and their hair was free from any plaits, hair falling in monochrome curls that spilled over their shoulders. Tubbo was out of his suit for once, not having had to go into the office today, and had on his most pleasant jeans and a baggy olive green hoodie. He was still doing work, he rarely wasn’t, but he had begun to feel a hint of cabin fever in his house and had practically jumped at the chance to join Ranboo in the library. Ranboo was also dressed down, apparently he had found a white blouse here in Manberg and had paired it with soft black slacks and chunky heels that made them even taller. Ranboo had taken one look at him and startled just a bit, before giving him a friendly hug and a concerned look.

“Are you okay Tubbo? You look a bit pale…” The soft tone of concern and the gentleness of their hands as they pressed a palm against his forehead could make a grown man crumble.

He shouldn’t let Ranboo get so close to him.

Tubbo was probably messing up some kind of decorum about keeping an appropriate amount of distance with their allies. It was almost frightening how perfectly at ease the visiting Prince had managed to make him feel in so little time, and a part of him had worried if maybe he was being manipulated, swept up in some sort of long term political overhaul plot– but Ranboo never asked for anything except his time.

Maybe it was okay for him to be a little selfish? Just for this?

Tubbo had been up late, Technoblade having randomly enlisted his help to go resource mining so the man could begin the task of forging weapons and armor. They had gone a few miles out, under the cover of night in case they ran into anyone in the Greater Esempi and Tubbo had only managed to drag himself into bed in the early hours of the morning.

So.

Well.

He just said it, okay?

Ranboo was leaving tomorrow and the thought of having to return to the monotony of his life before was enough to make a cold sweat gather on his lower back.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them and he sucked in a breath like it would suck the words back in.

Ranboo’s brow lifted and their hand paused in the air before lowering carefully. The prince looked at the wideness of Tubbo’s eyes and the general tenseness in his small frame and nodded slowly. “Okay?” Tubbo sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Not here though.”

Fundy had been tailing him lately, he was pretty sure.

It wasn’t too hard to shake him off since Tubbo was pretty sure that the fox wasn’t trying very hard, probably on orders from one of their bosses.

Ranboo nodded and abandoned their book there, carefully gathering Tubbo’s work for him before the Secretary of State could even think to do so himself, and Tubbo quickly led the prince through the town to his humble home and slammed the door shut behind them. From there, the words spilled out of him like a man possessed. Ranboo had hands on his forearms and felt like the only thing holding him up as he finally confided in someone for the first time in nearly half a year.

Ranboo didn’t interrupt him or placate him, just nodded solemnly to his words, a solid and real presence in front of him. Tubbo told Ranboo about Dream's obsession with Tommy, Tommy’s first death, the subsequent conclusion of the war that led to the election.

He whispered his relation to Schlatt, how shocked he had been when the man had emerged as a random contender in the election along with Quackity, and how no one expected them to win over Wilbur.

He tells them about the look on Wilbur’s face on the day the ballots were counted and announced, and recites Schlatt’s speech that sometimes emerges in his nightmares, verbatim.

He explains how he had wanted to leave when Tommy was exiled, but Wilbur had latched onto the fact that Schlatt wanted Tubbo on the cabinet and insisted he stay on as a spy.

Anything and everything related to Pogtopia spilled out of him– including Wilbur’s quiet descent into madness that everyone else seemed content to ignore, and Tommy’s dubious safety, and by the end he was weirdly out of breath. Ranboo was silent for a moment, smoothing a hand over their face, before nodding.

“Okay,” The prince said simply.

“Okay?” Tubbo asked, thrown by the lackluster response.

“Thank you for trusting me with this. What do you need me to do? Can I help?” Ranboo asked, rubbing mindless circles into Tubbo’s skin and the boy blinked owlishly. He wasn’t sure why but he genuinely hadn’t been expecting Ranboo to offer even more help, he mostly just wanted the prince to know everything, but the gesture made warmth build behind his eyes though the tears never spilled.

“Um… no. No, it’s- it’s okay… Sorry, I know that was… a lot to drop on you at once,” Tubbo said.

Ranboo smiled encouragingly.

“Don’t be silly, we’re friends. And this is a lot for one person to have to deal with alone. If there’s any way at all for me to help, just let me know. Even if it’s just someone to talk to.” Tubbo huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, I know… thanks… for everything.” Ranboo looked a bit confused so Tubbo pressed on.

“Y’know, with Schlatt and everything? He… he must hate me or something because he’s always so awful and he has this way of convincing you that he’s right about every horrible thing he says about you. And- and when he’s drunk, it's even worse. But, he’s been alright, while you’ve been around.” The Prince’s face dropped impossibly fast, a scarily blank expression on their face.

“He doesn’t hurt you, does he?” Ranboo asked.

Tubbo doesn’t flinch but it’s a near thing. To be fair, Schlatt hurts everybody.

It’s like everything he touched, he destroyed– it was the same when he was a kid hanging off his older brother’s legs in a cutthroat city.

His silence speaks volumes and Ranboo sighed.

“Whatever he says to you, he’s wrong okay? And he definitely shouldn’t hurt you. I’m so sorry Tubbo,” Ranboo says, eyes far away and Tubbo runs a hand through his hair.

“It’s fine. It’s not like it happens often, and Wilbur says they’ll be making moves soon, so I just have to hold out until then,” He says, a faint smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes and they lapsed into silence.

It’s a quiet night, Ranboo offering a few tokens of advice to move forward, ideas that Tubbo could bring to the members of Pogtopia that might be able to usher them into launching an attack sooner rather than later. But then, Ranboo had to leave, apologetically saying they needed to get something before they left tomorrow and that they would see him first thing in the morning before they had to leave.

–

It was earlier than Tubbo expected, when there were insistent knocks at his door that roused him from where he had fallen asleep on his desk, ink pressed into his cheek. His hair was messy and he carried his cold cup of coffee to the door as he opened it with a yawn. Ranboo was there, hand poised to knock again and Tubbo’s instincts had him swerve to the side to avoid a fist to the face.

“Sorry!” Ranboo gasped, pulling their hand back quickly.

“No harm, no foul, your highness. Everything okay?” Tubbo asked lightly.

“I needed to see you before the procession got here. Open your hand,” The prince ordered and Tubbo raised a brow before offering an open hand to the taller teen. Ranboo dropped something in his hand and folded his fingers over it, a serious expression in his eyes, not letting go.

“I can’t promise that Schlatt or Dream or even Wilbur will remain on their good behavior once I leave, but if, at any point, he tries to hurt you again, or if anyone tries to do anything to you- use this. Just a drop in his drinks every so often.” Tubbo was waking up very quickly with the gravity in the Prince’s tone.

When Ranboo let go, Tubbo opened his hand just a touch before paling and holding it closer to his chest, looking around as though the neighbors would be up at this ungodly hour.

“Ranboo!” he hissed. The glass vial was unmistakable, and Tubbo was intimately aware of the look of poison– the purple tinted, translucent mixture.

He’d worked with it once in his potions years ago, when he was casually dabbling in biological warfare under the General’s orders. It was the type of poison that one procured from the witches that were far, far, to the south, slow to act and impossible to detect. One couldn’t make it in a single day without the use of an elytra and a couple boats. Or, he looked at the Prince’s face, teleporting.

“Neat trick,” Tubbo said flatly, and instead of looking chagrined, the Prince flashed a smirk at him, before it faded in the next second.

“Before you get mad at me– I’m not saying you have to use it. I will just feel better if you have it. As a last resort,” Ranboo said softly, the type of tone Tubbo couldn’t say no to.

The one that was so clearly just looking out for him. In their own, murder-y way, apparently.

Tubbo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ranboo, I can’t just k-” he lowered his voice, suddenly very aware that he lived next to normal, law-abiding citizens.

“I can’t just kill the president for being an asshole!” Ranboo’s brows furrowed.

“You’ve killed before haven’t you? You were a soldier.” Tubbo’s mouth dried, lips pressing into a line. (-he hadn’t been aiming there but the man moved suddenly and then there was an arrow piercing the man’s eye and-)

“That was different!” he insisted.

Prince Ranboo looked almost exasperated. “How? Look- it doesn’t matter. If it really, truly, bothers you- you can throw it away. Or give it back. But, please. It couldn’t hurt could it? Having a contingency plan?” They were silent, eyes locked together as they had a silent argument, before Tubbo’s shoulders fell and he shoved the vial in his pocket, and Ranboo’s lips quirked upwards in victory.

“I’m not going to use it,” Tubbo warned and the prince shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“Prime. Are you coming in? I can’t believe we had this conversation on my bloody doorstep,” Tubbo burst out angrily, stepping aside to allow the other inside.

“Sure I can spare an hour but I really have to leave soon, to get ready.” The prince said, slipping past.

Tubbo cast one more suspicious glance outside, hoping against hope that nobody had happened to be listening, before kicking the door shut behind him.

–

Ranboo looked very fancy, Tubbo thought, as he stood next to President Schlatt and Vice President Quackity, as they waited to see the prince off.

Ranboo’s hair had been braided into a fancy ornate half up-half down, that drew your attention to the crown nestled in their hair. They must have done their makeup because their eyes had eyeliner sharp enough to stab a man. The prince wore a very intricate suit jacket that looked like something one might wear to a gala, with glittering silver chains attached to the buttons and a matching cravat that might seem pretentious on anyone else. It was paired with a modest skirt that swished at their ankles and dress shoes.

Tubbo belatedly realized King Eret and Ranboo probably would have gotten along famously, if nothing else than for their chic fashion sense.

Behind him the Endermen from the first day had arrived, lining up behind the Prince with gleaming weapons of obsidian hanging off their bodies and the sheer height of them forming a dark wall behind their leader. You would never think the Prince had been at his house in the wee hours of morning, offering a quick and lethal solution to Schlatt’s reign. Tubbo could feel sweat gathering on his back, the vial of poison hidden in his house haunting him as he stood next to the man it was supposedly intended for.

If he needed it.

Ranboo’s eyes met his first, a soft smile tugging on their lips, and Tubbo could feel his panic slip back down to a more manageable amount. He would worry about that later, he firmly decided. Ranboo was leaving after all. The Prince’s kind expression was gone by the time they were standing before the President and they inclined their head politely.

“President Schlatt, thank you very much for your hospitality. I feel I’ve learned much in my time here together and I can only hope our new alliance is mutually beneficial. I’d love to see how Manberg grows in the near future,” Prince Ranboo said diplomatically and Schlatt relaxed just a bit, offering the teen a hand. Ranboo looked at it for a moment before giving it a decisive, firm, shake.

“You’re welcome here any time, your highness, thank you for doing business with us,” It was probably as close to an apology as the Prince was going to get.

Quackity received a similar farewell, more perfunctory than anything, given that Ranboo had avoided the White House after the disastrous lunch on the second day and hadn’t had a chance to speak to the man.

Tubbo straightened up when Ranboo stood before him.

They had already said their proper goodbyes that morning, complete with lingering hugs and murmured assurances that the Prince would be back as soon as possible. They couldn’t really afford to be too obvious about their friendship in front of Tubbo’s boss and Ranboo’s entire procession.

Still, the warmth in Ranboo’s eyes made a soft smile wiggle its way onto his face.

“Thank you for taking the time to show me around, Mister Secretary. Our time together has been educational and invaluable.” Ranboo said and they shook hands, probably for a second too long.

“No, thank you,” Tubbo said meaningfully. Ranboo gave him one last smile and then they were disappearing through the portal, one by one, until the last two endermen bowed politely and walked through. There was a moment of silence before Schlatt clapped.

“Alright, gents! Back to work!” Schlatt said and headed towards the car waiting nearby for him.

“What was that about Tubbo?” Quackity asked, brows high on his forehead.

Tubbo shrugged listlessly trying not to feel weirdly sad about the whole thing.

“Are you coming with us?” The VP asked when the car honked. The boy shook his head.

“No, I’ll walk, thanks.”

–

It didn’t take long for Schlatt to go back to normal.

Honestly, Tubbo was surprised that the man had held out for as long as he did. It was perhaps a week of peaceful quiet before he was back to his acerbic comments that left Tubbo’s ears ringing and Quackity leaving him to fend for himself more often than not. Maybe it was because Schlatt knew him better than most– and wasn’t that a thought. The man had realized that Tubbo’s pride would almost certainly get in the way of him threatening to tell on him to Prince Ranboo, like some child scurrying to hide behind their mother’s legs.

Tubbo was old enough to handle a few mean words, a couple rough tugs– it was fine.

Besides, he couldn’t expect Ranboo to fight his battles for him. Hey, at least he was getting pretty good at dodging bottles. He had asked only once, when the two of them had been going over a contract together, finally sharing a moment that wasn’t filled with tense antagonism and the question was begging to be asked.

“...What made you come here?” Tubbo had whispered quietly, heart hammering in his chest and eyes affixed to his desk.

Schlatt looked up, brows lifted in confusion.

“Are you high? The hell are you talking about this is my office-” The gruff man began before Tubbo was leveling an annoyed stare at him.

“You know what I mean… J. What made you come here after so long? You must have known I was here. You haven’t even changed.” Tubbo said, hiding his shaking fingers by curling them into fists.

The man went silent, sitting back in his chair as he stared at his younger brother. Tubbo felt like he was five again, sitting on the floor of a dingy apartment, staring up at his stressed brother the day before he was to be abandoned.

“I didn’t know you were here, brat. I was doing Quackity a favor, and I am always happy to knock Soot off his high horse, but I was just as surprised to see your scrawny ass in the crowd. I’m surprised. You turned out just like me.” Schlatt said simply, tone still mild.

Somehow- that was worse.

He didn’t come back to make amends, probably still didn’t give a fuck about him considering the way he was still acting.

‘Just like me’- his skin crawled at the words.

“I’d rather die before I became anything like you,” he said angrily.

“You ain’t look dead to me. Of course you’re like me, I fucking raised you, brat. Look at how you turned out– you’re cunning, practically running circles around these dumbass politicians, and that charm? All me, baby. It’s like a fuckin’ mirror,” Schlatt said, letting out single mirthless laugh.

“If I’m so much like you– Why do you hate me?” Tubbo said.

To his credit, his voice didn’t betray any of the very conflicting emotions he was feeling. He just signed another paper and slid it over to Schlatt’s stack like it was a normal day. His brother rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic kid. I made you stronger, didn’t I ? I’m still making you stronger, how else would you have survived as long as you did- if it wasn’t for me?” The dismissive tone felt like he was doused in ice cold water. How dare he- he- take credit for Tubbo not getting himself killed after he was left alone in a fucking box- The pen snapped in Tubbo’s hand.

They both looked at it. “You fucking-” “Dismissed,” Schlatt cut him off, probably before Tubbo said something that he would be forced to regret, waving a hand and Tubbo blinked. Surely he heard incorrectly? “Don’t make me say it again, Secretary Tubbo. Get out of my sight. Understand?” Schlatt said, voice soft and threatening. It felt like a slap in the face. Multiple maybe. If there had ever been any confusion as to whether or not his brother still harbored any familial feelings for him, that cleared things perfectly. It wasn’t new information to him. But a very small, childish part of him had been holding out hope. He wasn’t even sure what for.

“Understood.” Tubbo said stiffly, before storming out and letting the door slam behind him.

His workload became impossibly more busy after that conversation and Schlatt almost always had Quackity in the office with them as a sort of buffer from Tubbo’s blank expression, and they kept everything professional. Except for the semi-common verbal lashing the boy would receive. The only difference was that when Tubbo was getting particularly upset, when his ears burned and he clutched his briefcase like a shield, he would be very abruptly reminded of the item hiding beneath his floorboards. It haunted him, whenever he and Schlatt were alone in the Oval Office, or when he found himself bringing the man a drink, when Quackity and Tubbo found their mighty leader hungover after a night of paperwork. It was a bit liberating, actually, knowing he was in control for once– even if the man didn’t know.

He also felt a bit sick, for being so comforted by it. Could he really kill him? His brother?

Tubbo pulled out his phone and sent a quick message when the guilt was getting a bit too much to stomach.

Tubbo_: you’re such a shithead

Tubbo_: ashfhsfjk i hate u

Ranboo: ?

Ranboo: literally what the fuck

Ranboo: context? Who is she

Ranboo: Tubbo?

Tubbo huffed out of his nostrils as he pocketed his phone once more, leaving the prince to be confused on his own.

They texted frequently throughout the day. Never much more than a simple update as to what they were doing and checking in on if the other had eaten something. Unsurprisingly, being a prince was very busy work and the two teens often commiserate together about their nigh impossible workload.

Tubbo’s nights were spent in a makeshift forge with Technoblade, the man’s pink hair carefully tied back as they welded and hammered diamond and netherite into armor and blades. They didn’t even bond or speak much in the swelteringly hot cave.

He wasn’t even sure why the man had chosen him to help him in this endeavor when Tommy and Wilbur spent so much time with him but he suspected that Wilbur didn’t like how much time the two boys spent together. Probably thought Tubbo was corrupting him with evil Manberg propaganda.

Tubbo could practically hear the whispers he must be telling to his best friend now. He rolled his eyes as he set the flatter down to look at the still glowing red sword. It was still a bit wonky, but frankly, he couldn’t care less. He shoved it in a bucket of cold water to set and as it cooled, he fired off a blurry photo of it to Ranboo who texted back over exaggerated praise before asking if it was made by a toddler who had only just learned the concept of balanced weapons.

Tubbo scowled before asking, wasn’t he the one who quite abysmally failed his basic geography test? And they fell into a simple light hearted argument that left an amused smile on his face.

“Who are you even messaging with?” Tubbo tensed at the monotone voice that was a lot closer than he expected and blinked up at the much taller piglin hybrid who was standing right by his shoulder, who had flipped up his welding mask to peer at his communicator. The detailing on the shield he had been working on was clearly abandoned. Tubbo shoved the device into his pockets and took a few steps back.

“Sorry what?” He asked innocently.

Techno gave him an unimpressed look that made the tusks poking out from his lips look even more menacing.

“We’re not blind you know, even Wilbur has noticed you lookin' all lovesick at your phone and he rarely notices anything that isn’t regarding his ‘symphony’ or the eyes on the walls,” Techno said, very matter-of-factly. Like the fact that his twin brother seeing eyes on the walls was somehow less of a pressing matter than who Tubbo was texting. Gossips, all of them.

“Uh-” he blanked. He definitely couldn’t say it was the prince. “My husband.”

Tubbo stared at Technoblade, who was staring back at him.

The fires were burning in the forges, the crackling was the only thing that filled the pregnant pause. The phone in his pocket felt heavy as lead and the silence was somehow stunned and accusatory. It went on long enough to make Tubbo start sweating before Technoblade let out a quiet, “ah.” and turned back to the shield.

“Congrats, then. I didn’t know you were married,” Techno said, like an afterthought.

“Don’t tell me anything else though, matters of the heart give me hives.” Tubbo blinked. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.” Technoblade hummed.

“You should re-hammer that sword, you’re practically asking it to break on some innocent soul in the middle of a fight.” Tubbo looked at his wonky creation and sighed.

“I will.” It was the most words the two had ever spoken at once and Tubbo almost wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity that was his life.

He sent Ranboo a quick, out of context: i want a netherite ring with diamonds nd it better be worth more than the white house!!, before putting the phone away before Techno decided he had run out of patience and tested the sturdiness of one of the swords on him. So yes.

Life was a bit stressful, yes. But Tubbo was managing, as he always did.

Things couldn’t possibly get worse, he thought.

So naturally, things got worse.

–

It was his birthday, because of course it was. Tubbo had, quite possibly, never felt anything as painful as this in his entire life. He was laying in bed, for once, and had been rudely awoken by a splitting migraine that seemed ready to tear his skull apart. He had blindly kicked his blankets off in his flailing and slipped right off the bed, hitting the floorboards hard. His hands had lurched up to grab at the source of the pain and that made a burst of agony ripple through his head that had him biting through his lips to hold back a scream. His fingers came away slippery and he crawled towards his bathroom, blindly reaching for the light switch and he grimaced at the streak of blood his palm left on the tiled wall. Tubbo reached for the sink and pulled himself up, his entire body quaking like a leaf. Tubbo had left the cabinet mirror open that morning when he was looking for his medication so he knocked it back into place to look at his head and- it was like a horror movie. The mirror creaked into place and Tubbo found himself staring at some uncanny valley, twisted version of himself. Blood covered his face, streaming down from his hairline.

His eyes, which had been a nice greeny blue, were atomic yellow, his pupils horizontal like a goat. His hair no longer had the pseudo frosted tips, having become the complete tree bark brown to match the President, and the curly bed hair did nothing to hide the thick goat horns that had forced their way through his scalp.

He looked like Schlatt.

Tubbo flinched back hard, his back hitting the open door, and he couldn’t even scream because he was absolutely breathless with fear.

‘Just like me,” the voice in his head that sounded disturbingly like his boss mocked. Tubbo frantically wiped the blood off his face as he fumbled back into his room to find where he had thrown his communicator. He had to tell- tell… He sat back heavily on his heels, the communicator slipping out of his numb fingers, and a single message from Schlatt could be seen, the first message of the day.

JSchlatt whispered to Tubbo_: happy birthday kid.

This was fine– He was fine.

–

Tommy Innit was a very simple boy. Or in his own words, the biggest man. One that felt very in over his head most days but it was fine because he had (most) of his family with him and everyone knew not to mess with Wilbur or the Blade. He was loyal to a fault, as well, but mostly to two people. So when his absolute best friend messages him a simple message with a set of coordinates on his birthday to what Tommy knew was only a small forest near Manberg, what choice did he have but to go? Tubbo could be hurt! Or worse, he was so lonely he had called for Tommy. Even though they already made plans to meet up for the little Secretary’s birthday. And everyone knew how clingy Tubbo was, so it was best if he made his way over immediately. So he shoved on his shoes and crept out of Pogtopia impossibly slowly, trying to make the least amount of noise when his steps echoed loudly.

Wilbur had been up late, rambling, as he did these days and Tommy had locked himself in his room early to avoid the trouble– especially when Wilbur started ranting at Technoblade who always jokingly agreed with his delusions.

Sometimes, Tommy wondered if his brother thought what was happening to Wilbur was funny or something. Maybe he felt at kin. Tommy had only ever known Techno when his brother had his ‘chat’ but maybe he had gone through a similar period of insanity? Tommy didn’t know if that boded well for Wil or not. He shoved his way through the bramble and the grass, squinting as he tried to pick his way through the darkness to make his way towards the coordinates Tubbo had sent him.

Tommy found Tubbo curled up on the forest floor, ripping up grass and flowers, a hoodie pulled on, over his head and even in the darkness he could make out the weird bulky outline beneath the hood. Tubbo was breathing far too quickly to be healthy, but he didn’t seem to be hurt and Tommy didn’t even smell any blood, so he dropped to his knees next to the smaller boy and let his hands hover just shy of his body.

“Tubs? You alright?” He asked, voice childishly soft in its concern and he tried not to let out too loud of a gasp when Tubbo’s eyes shot up frantically and they- well, they looked a lot like a certain President’s. But he pushed past that because Tubbo looked horrible. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was clammy and pale.

“Tommy, I don’t- I can’t-” Tubbo made a miserable sound and went to tug at his hair, knocking the hood aside to reveal short goat-like horns. Horns that were definitely not there the other day.

“What the fuck,” Tommy breathed, letting out a nervous laugh, and Tubbo seemed to curl into himself a bit more. Tommy rested his hands on Tubbo’s arms heavily and drew him into a hug, and let out an ‘oof’ as Tubbo latched his arms around him and squeezed tightly.

“I’m not mad or even really worried. But Tubs- buddy, pal. I think I’ve definitely missed a few chapters, big man- and I don’t mean to alarm you, as I’m sure you already know but it seems you’ve come into possession of a couple of uh- fucking horns- right there in your noggin-” Tommy rambled.

“I don’t know for sure… Schlatt said some, well, concerning stuff. About making me his heir or successor and such, and I thought he was being- y’know, dramatic! Just saying creepy villain stuff! But I don’t know if it’s magic, or potions, or- or- biological and I’m too scared to even ask–” Tubbo said, his voice cutting off with a choked sob.

Tommy knew Schlatt was Tubbo’s… something. Tubbo never went into much detail aside from admitting he had known the man in his youth, so he must be like- Tubbo’s dad or something?

Or at the very least he was to Tubbo, as Philza was to Tommy.

Dad-adjacent. And it was almost horrifying to think that sweet innocent Tubbo had anything in relation to the tyrannical man. Schlatt was an awful person, which Tommy had obviously already known, but he was especially so if the man could harass someone like this. Tubbo was practically shaking like a leaf in his arms and he was at a loss for what to do.

“Should I kill him?” Tommy asked jokingly, expecting Tubbo to laugh or something, not freeze for just a second. “Tubbo?” He asked, pulling back for a second to see the flash of panic on his best friend’s face before his face fell into a scowl.

“Prime, Tommy, that’s not funny.”

“Oh lighten up you big fucking baby,” Tommy said and Tubbo shoved him over into the grass where he bowled over laughing obnoxiously loud until Tubbo was shushing him and squishing a hand onto his cheeks.

“So you’re a hybrid now? No biggie, right? Nothing’s changed. You’re still my clingy best friend Tubbo, just with added, uh, accessories,” Tommy said, reaching to touch a horn until Tubbo swatted his hand away blindly with a mutter, “They still hurt.”

“Oh- sorry. Honestly, they’ll probably look really cool! When they grow in and stuff? You’ll look like a little devil,” Tommy exclaimed, poking two fingers up on either side of his head.

Sure, he was a little worried about the implications– he didn’t know if this would have some funky side effects on Tubbo’s health, and didn't know how Wil would react to the news. But he did know that what he said was the truth– Tubbo hadn’t really changed, not even while he was doing secret spy things, or when they were neck deep in a war that Tommy had gotten them involved in, or when he was forced to do boring secretarial stuff in the White House.

And Tommy hadn’t changed much either, if he was being honest. He was still a loud, handsome, big man that was going to protect the people and things he loved. Even if he was currently living like a fucking silverfish or a rat, squirrled away in a hole in a ground and scavenging for food with his brothers, with no word from their deadbeat father.

They were still Tommy and Tubbo.

Best friends.

And that’s really all that matters, innit? He injects as much sincerity as possible into his voice and watched as Tubbo’s body untensed and he scooted closer to Tommy to throw an arm around him. “I miss having you around, Toms,” the smaller boy said softly and it made a lump of sadness lodge itself in Tommy’s throat as well as a reassured warmth bubble in his chest.

“I missed you too, Tubbo.”

He had been the tiniest bit jealous and rather confused, when Techno had said something ridiculous about Tubbo having a husband- and that he was making heart eyes at his communicator or something, but Tubbo would have told him about that.

So clearly Technoblade was being an idiot.

As usual.

It was hard work being the only brother with brains around here, but someone clearly had to do it.

“We should climb a tree so we can see the stars. My ass is freezing.” Tommy said and Tubbo let out a quiet snort before agreeing quietly. They quickly found a suitably tall tree, as one does in a forest, with a thick trunk and sturdy looking branches and Tommy watched as the goat in Tubbo had the boy up the tree in seconds, before letting out a squawk of outrage.

“That’s got to be cheating!” He proclaimed as he began to climb at a far more sedated pace.

“Was it a contest?” Tubbo asked, hidden in the branches and Tommy could hear the smug smile in his voice. “No, but if it was, that would definitely be cheating! Not very politically correct of you now, is it?” He huffed, heaving himself up the branches. Tubbo let out a hum from where he was sitting against the tree trunk, perfectly balanced.

“I mean, there’s definitely a lot of cheating in politics– just look at Schlatt. So, I don’t see your point,” the Secretary of State insisted and Tommy let out an exhausted growl as he situated himself on the branch on the opposite side of the trunk from Tubbo.

“My point is that- you’re a bitch and I hate you.” Tommy lied. Because he was many, many things. But an honest man was not one of them. Tubbo laughed anyway. “I love you too bossman,” he said warmly and Tommy pretended not to smile at that. “Of course you do, I’m amazing. Anyway! Here– happy birthday.” Tommy shoved a gift in Tubbo’s direction and the bastard didn’t even wobble as he took it and opened up the truly atrocious wrapping job.

Inside was an old picture, lovingly framed and decorated by Tommy with stickers he had been hoarding since the exile first started. The photo was one that Wilbur– sane Wilbur– had taken when they were all much younger, before they had ever moved to the Esempi. There was Tubbo, sitting in a cardboard box that Tommy had found in the attic, a mess of blonde curls and sad green eyes, with a small smile on his mouth and there was Tommy, captured in time screaming “Tubbo in a box- Tubbox!” and it was like a fragment of time when their lives weren’t so impossibly complicated and the best thing they could do with their time was be children and play. It was one of the main pictures that had the two looking like brothers- and Tommy had treasured it for a long time but he thinks it might do better in Tubbo’s possession.

Especially since, well, Tommy didn’t have a house right now and that photo deserved to be hung up.

“Aw, this is so cute Tommy, thank you dude,” Tubbo said, looking a little misty eyed and Tommy beamed happily at him, more than a little pleased with himself. Tubbo reached around the tree trunk between them and held onto Tommy’s thin hand with his far more scarred and calloused one. The quiet that settled wasn’t a natural one, one would never imagine Tommy to be capable of sitting in silence but it was a peaceful one, a comfortable one. Tommy felt something fragile unfurl in his chest and a warm feeling spread down to his toes– he was safer here than anywhere he’s been in the last year.

And it was just the two of them, Tommy and Tubbo, a single snapshot of normalcy, of their lost adolescence, as the sun steadily danced above the horizon and pale sun rays began to illuminate the forest and spill across the entirety of the Esempi.

No matter what changes may come, it was always going to be the two of them, against the world.