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It had been four days since Michael’s birthday.
Four days since Tubbo had tried, he had tried so hard to make the day special, to make it into something more. Four days since he had screamed at the ghost of his husband, four days since he had been unable to even bring his son something nice, let alone a gift, four days since he had broken down. Again.
He didn’t want to keep breaking down, because what if there wasn’t enough to build back up? What if the cracks were so many—too many—that they could never be repaired? He was broken, so, so broken, but he wanted to be whole. He needed to be whole.
Michael needed a dad.
Tommy needed a friend.
And him?
Tubbo…
Tubbo didn’t need anything. Not when he knew he’d end up losing it anyways.
His life was supposed to end months ago, back in the vault. Back with Dream. A year. He was supposed to die a year ago. Longer than, even.
Did that make him a ghost?
No. No, he wasn’t a ghost, he was real. His hand was solid, and he could feel the warmth from the hot coco Phil had brought him. Unlike every other mug he’d been handed, this one wasn’t being ignored.
It was the little things.
There was a blanket around his shoulders and snow in his hair, because Tubbo had been sitting out on Phil’s front step for a while now. It was cold, sitting in the arctic with only a slightly scratchy square of roughly knitted wool covering him. The breeze pulled at the corners and raised the hairs on his arms, and the gentle flurries left flakes of white sticking to anything they could.
Tubbo couldn’t really feel much of his body right now.
But that was why he liked it, sitting in the cold like this. His feet were almost completely numb, the tingling having subsided long ago. His legs felt frozen in place, as did his arms, save for the occasional movement to bring the coco to his lips.
He couldn’t feel anything and it… it was a blessed release.
The tension in his muscles, the ache in his bones, the emptiness of his very being, all of it was replaced with nothing but cold, nothing but ice and wind and snow and it wasn’t enough to kill him, wasn’t enough to hurt him yet, but it was enough to bring him at least a little peace.
Watching the snowflakes fall, even if he couldn’t properly see them all, it was a mindless activity he could occupy himself with, one that took just enough effort to stop him thinking about everything, He was just… there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Wishing.
Phil had sat with him for a while, making sure he was okay. Asking him questions that Tubbo didn’t answer. But even so, simply Tubbo being out of bed was something worth noting. Him having moved of his own volition, even if it wasn’t far. Even if he hadn’t moved since. Even if as much as he was telling himself he wasn’t mulling on anything, his mind was still a mess.
Ranboo was dead. Michael kept waking up with nightmares. There was something clamped around his heart that made it hard to breathe sometimes. The ghost didn’t seem to get the memo to fuck off. Technoblade was being kind to him. Phil even more so. It was… it was confusing. He didn’t know what to do about any of it really.
Ignore. Hold his son and try to sing with such a scratchy voice until he went to sleep. Ignore that too, and gasp for oxygen when he had to. Avoid. Accept. Let himself receive.
He hated how familiar the mess had become. It hadn’t tidied itself up in any way, but it was becoming something he knew. It was becoming something he wondered if it would ever be put in order again.
He was trying, out in the snow. Trying to put every piece back from where it had fallen out, to collect up the shattered shrapnel of himself and slot it all back in to be whole again. There were things he needed to do, places he needed to be, shoes he had to fill. Not here, not slowly going numb, not at a loss that felt so much more conclusive than anything he’d ever faced before.
Sometimes Tubbo thought he had managed it, had put himself back together and was better now, stronger, had hidden the cracks. It only took an empty hand and a deafening silence for something to crash down again.
And that something was always, always Tubbo.
It was exhausting.
Phil had told him that he needed time. He had repeated it again and again and again, never once raising his voice, never once berating Tubbo, never once becoming exasperated. He would only gently reassure him, gently empathise with him, gently hold him and gently be there for him.
Tubbo needed time, but he didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know how to process everything, what he was supposed to be doing, what was right and what was wrong and what was good and what was bad. He didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t know if any of it was helping or not.
Phil said to trust, to trust that it would all be okay, to trust that he was doing the right thing, to trust him and Technoblade, but the last time Tubbo had trusted, he had ended up scarred along half his body. Last time Tubbo had trusted, he had almost blown his best friend up in a nuclear test. Last time he had trusted, Ranboo had died and Michael had gone missing.
Trust was not something Tubbo believed in any more.
So he sat, with his coco, in the snow, and he tried not to think.
It worked, for a little. Phil had left now, Technoblade had looked at him curiously as he left his own house and hadn’t yet returned, the occasional crow came to perch on his horn or his arm, but left when he didn’t move.
There was a movement in the corner of Tubbo’s vision, something in the snow. He didn’t turn to look at it.
It was probably one of Technoblade’s bears. Or wolves. Or the cows, or another crow, or even Technoblade himself, returned from wherever the hell he went. Tubbo didn’t know. Tubbo didn’t care.
Not until the movement persisted, not until the movement climbed the stairs and stood, silently, opposite him.
Then, Tubbo moved.
He drew his feet closer to his body, hunched in on himself, looked down and let his hair fall into his eyes.
“Hello!” The ghost was far, far too chipper.
Tubbo didn’t answer.
“Hello?”
He—it—was moving closer. Tubbo pressed his back to the wood behind him.
“Tubbo?”
“Go away.”
The ghost did not go away. It sat down instead, on its knees in the snow. Ranboo never sat in the snow, not without protection. It burned him.
The ghost didn’t even make a dent.
“But it’s me, Tubbo. It’s Ranboo.”
“No it’s fuckin’ not,” Tubbo mumbled. He didn’t have the energy to yell.
“Well, I mean, yeah, everyone calls me Ghostboo now, because I’m a ghost—which, actually, I highly recommend, being dead is far better—but I’m still Ranboo.”
“No you’re fucking not!” His voice was louder this time.
The ghost didn’t even flinch. Ranboo would have flinched.
“You’re sad,” it said instead.
“No shit.” Tubbo hunched back up against the side of the house, trying to muster the energy to bring the mug to his lips again. It was harder than it should be.
“Why are you sad?”
Was this ghost an idiot? Did this ghost seriously not have the intellectual capacity to realise that it was the problem? Tubbo simply stared from underneath his hair.
“Technoblade told me that Michael is okay. He said Phil was looking after him and you and I wasn’t allowed to come and visit until you were gone.”
“It’s not fuckin’ Michael,” Tubbo grumbled. “‘N you’re not allowed to visit him ever. He’s my son, I’m taking him with me when I leave.” If he left.
“Our son.”
The audacity.
“My son.” There was no question about it.
“We… we rescued him together, though,” the ghost said. “Last year, in the Nether. I remember it, I remember it. Alive Ranboo had to write everything down, but I remember everything, Tubbo! He’s our son!”
“We did nothing together.”
When was the ghost going to leave? When was he going to let Tubbo be alone again? When was he going to remember that he wasn’t allowed to be near him because that was what Phil and Technoblade had said and just because Technoblade was out and Phil was with Michael didn’t mean the rules didn’t apply and Tubbo just wanted him gone please he didn’t want to see him, it, it was an it not a him, and he wanted it gone.
“I think you’re the one with the memory problem now, Tubbo.”
Tubbo didn’t laugh.
“We did so much together!” the ghost continued. “All the time! We were inseparable! Remember when Tommy got jealous? Because we’re married? And we have the Bee ‘n Boo, and Snowchester, and we did the Butcher Army stuff even though that didn’t really work, oh! And the cookie outpost! That was really fun, making all those cookies.”
It was all noise. It was just noise to Tubbo, but noise wasn’t supposed to twist his insides, noise wasn’t supposed to sting his eyes, noise wasn’t supposed to fill his head with even more cotton until there was nothing left but the pressure of it all, the density, the fog and the numbness.
“Oh, you’re crying.”
Was he? Tubbo could never tell anymore. It all felt the same.
“Here, let me help.”
The ghost’s fingers were strange on Tubbo’s skin. Cold, colder than any person should be, and… light. There was pressure, but there wasn’t any weight. Tubbo shoved the hands that reached out for him away, turning his face so the ghost couldn’t try again.
“Don’t touch me,” he hissed.
“Oh, don’t worry! The water doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Tubbo shoved the ghost this time.
“I said don’t touch me!”
“But… Tubbo I’m-”
“You’re not shit.” The words were spat from his mouth, laced with venom and hatred and he knew he shouldn’t hate him, but he did, he hated him— it —so much.
“I’m your husband.”
“No you aren't!” Ah, there it was. The yelling. “You’re a ghost, you’re not Ranboo! I didn’t- I didn’t marry you, we didn’t rescue Michael together, we have done nothing! You’re not him, you never will be!”
“But I am , Tubbo, I-”
“Shut up!” The hot coco turned the snow an ugly sort of brown colour where it spilled, the empty mug rolling across the planks. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. You are not him. I know Ranboo, I was his fucking husband! You- Ranboo was kind, he was sweet and gentle and funny and he cared. You don’t give a shit about me, you don’t give a shit about anything other than yourself.”
At some point, Tubbo had stood. He was standing over the ghost now, glaring down at the face he wished he could forget. At the face he never wanted to let go of. His movements were still slow, his joints still frozen with the cold. But he held his ground. If there was one thing Tubbo was ever good at, it was holding his ground.
And he had lost every single inch of it.
“I do.” This time it was the ghost’s voice that was small. “I do care about you. I always have.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do, I do , I promise I do. I- Tubbo I joined the Syndicate to keep you safe, I brought you flowers because I know you like them, you were- you were so happy when we were doing things together so I always tried to make you happy. I do care.”
“The- you- I don’t know what the fuck a- a- a syndicate is, but you did nothing. Ranboo did all that, Ranboo and I made the Bee ‘n Boo, Ranboo bought me flowers, Ranboo made me happy.”
“And I’m Ranboo! Tubbo it’s me, look, I look the same, and I can remember everything, even the things i couldn’t remember before!”
“Ranboo never wanted to die!” Tubbo screamed, because this fucking ghost wasn’t listening. “Ranboo never wanted to do anything that would hurt me unless he had to . You go on and on and on about how much better death is, about how fun and nice it is to die, and Ranboo would never do that. You push and you push and you don’t respect me, Ranboo would never do that.
“He would- Ranboo would make me smile even if I was sad. He would ask me if what he was doing was okay and if I said no then he would stop. He would go away when I asked him to and he would stay when I needed him and- and he’s not here, he’s not here anymore. He’s not here.”
The snow was cold again when Tubbo slid back down into it. The blanket had fallen from around him, sitting in a wet heap, and of course, his drink was gone.
“You’re not them,” Tubbo whispered, burying his face into his knees. “You never will be. Just because- just because you have the same name, just because you have the same face, you’re not them.”
“How do I… be them? Be me? We’re the same person so I-”
“You don’t.” Tubbo’s answer was stern. He wasn’t going to budge. “You can’t. Don’t even bother trying. Go back to your fucking… two by one hole or whatever the fuck it was you came from.”
“But Tubbo I just-”
“Just fucking leave already, please.” He was too tired to deal with this.
Shouting had taken the last of his nonexistent energy, and now Tubbo was curled up, shivering, against Phil’s door frame. Wishing he had it in him to move.
His eyelids were heavy, so heavy, and he couldn’t keep them open to see if the ghost really did leave.
But it was cold and it was quiet, and Tubbo’s body didn’t hurt anymore, his mind was blissfully blank and sleep was right there. There surely wouldn’t be any harm if he let it come, and even if there was… it would be nice to rest. Just for once.
-
There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and a weight all over him. Every joint in Tubbo’s body ached, and there was a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away. Could he go back to sleep again? Please?
The weight was blankets, lots of them, and Tubbo tried to pull them up, but his arm wasn’t cooperating properly. It grabbed the edge feebly, and fell back down on top of him.
“Tubbo?” It wasn’t the ghost. “Fuck, Tubbo, you’re- Techno! He’s awake!”
Tubbo flinched when Phil raised his voice.
“Mate, you gave us a real fright there,” Phil said, pulling the blankets up around Tubbo, just like he had been trying to do himself. “Falling asleep in the snow like that. No blanket, barely any shelter. Your fingers were blue when Techno came home.”
Technoblade was in the room now, trying and failing not to look concerned. Tubbo hid his face. He hadn’t meant to.
“You’re lucky we realised before the sun went down,” Phil said, gently taking Tubbo’s hand and holding his fingers. Tubbo wondered if they were cold. “Why were you out there so long? Did something happen?”
With no energy to talk, Tubbo just nodded. Only once, and only a little, but Phil saw, and so did Technoblade.
“The ghost?” It was odd, hearing Technoblade care about him. He had cared about him before, but Tubbo wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to anyone caring about him.
Tubbo nodded again.
Phil sighed deeply, now gently rubbing circles into Tubbos palm. “I’ll have another talk with him, see if we can get him to properly leave you alone until you want him, m’kay?”
Another nod.
“Now, you get some sleep, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re not allowed to leave your bed for the next day, got it? Don’t want you falling asleep anywhere you shouldn’t.”
Tubbo did not need to be told twice, closing his eyes and drifting off once more. Hopefully this time it would feel like something had changed when he woke up.