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Tubbo watches as Tommy and Technoblade arrange their fucked-up little amalgamation shrine. Tommy’s therapist, Puffy, had suggested that he and Technoblade reconnect with something they had in common. Tubbo isn’t sure that a combined blood god ritual and prime god service was what she had in mind, but it’s what made Tommy the most comfortable. Or the least uncomfortable, as he’d still invited Tubbo along when Technoblade had agreed with the caveat of it being held near his home.
They’d set up a large tent together, Tommy and the Blade, sweeping away excess snow and cleansing the place with bells as per Prime standards. Now they were arranging the altar itself, Technoblade’s sacrificial tables facing each other on either side of the tent, with the makeshift blood troughs made of obsidian because of course Technoblade would have enough to spare. Tommy had, naturally, made the Bell stand out of cobble and now he was busy recreating a miniature cleansing fountain, insisting on pulling the water from the nearby stream instead of Technoblade’s pond, which he had resisted due to its man-made defilement. In the very back edge of the tent, Tubbo could barely make out their newest argument, over whether Technoblade should be using cows for the blood sacrifice considering their place as Tommy’s favorite animal.
“I reckon they’ll be starting the guttural chanting soon, no?” Wilbur interjects into Tubbo’s peaceful silence. He hadn’t noticed the man duck into the tent to stand next to where he was kneeling on the grass. Looking up at him, Tubbo sees that Wilbur isn’t looking back, which is par for the course.
“Hm?” Tubbo mumbles, redirecting his gaze back to where Technoblade is helping Tommy into the holy garments.
“I mean, assuming Tommy’s insisted on going last, which is what I’d bet money on, they’ll have to do the blood sacrifices first.”
“Oh. Yeah, Tommy wanted to have his service after all the blood stuff, that way he wouldn’t have to cleanse more than once.”
“Checks out,” Wilbur says. “Do you mind if I kneel next to you?” From the tingling sensation centered on his head, Wilbur’s bothered to look down at him while asking, at least. Tubbo entertains the idea of pushing him back into the snow.
“You’re staying for the services?” Tubbo stalls.
“Yes well, I was upstairs at Phil’s house. I’d hear it no matter what. Might as well see it in person.”
“Fair point.” He hasn’t moved his line of sight from where Tommy and Technoblade are hurriedly dragging a zombie under the shade before it burns to death. Tubbo feels Wilbur’s feet shift near his thighs. All Wilburs post-death, whether ghost or reincarnated, seem to be shit at subtly.
“Well?” Wilbur tries again. Tubbo clenches his jaw tight before deflating back out. He reluctantly shifts right to make room.
“Alright then.” Is all Tubbo says. He feels Wilbur settle down on the grass next to him and watches out of the corner of his eye as Wilbur folds his hands in his lap, mirroring Tubbo’s posture. Technoblade begins to tie the Zombies onto the altars in preparation, and Tubbo thinks that their conversation is over.
And it is, for a while. Tubbo watches Technoblade butcher the first Zombie while chanting in a language that’s most likely piglin-derivative, taking care to avoid the major arteries as to extend the bloodletting as long as possible. Tubbo doesn’t understand what’s being said or what’s going on, but evidently, that isn’t required because from the look on Tommy’s face he doesn’t know either. Tommy doesn’t look lost though, just farther away from the happenings than a native worshiper would. But that doesn’t mean Tommy isn’t invested. Most of his energy, when not painstakingly placing the severed limbs in mini-bonfires, is spent gazing up at Technoblade in calculated admiration. Tubbo can’t really blame him, he’s never seen Technoblade so in his element before, not even in the multiple battles he’s witnessed firsthand.
But there’s something deeper to it than that, Tubbo knows. He suspects Tommy is seeing, for the first time in a while, someone just as devoted as he is. In a removed way, Tubbo can imagine how validating that is, guessing it might be a similar feeling to Jack keeping up with his rants on nuclear physics. Deep down though, Tubbo knows he will never really get it. He can feel a disconnect between him and the pair. They are both experiencing a similar exchange of faith, and the alienation makes him uncomfortable. And that, of course, is when Wilbur chooses to speak again.
“I could never understand how they do that.” He whispers into Tubbo’s ear. Tubbo’s surprised he can hear him over Technoblade’s chanting, but he supposes they are pretty far back in the tent.
“Do what?” Tubbo whispers back despite himself.
“Just all that tradition and ritualization. It’s all rather complicated, isn’t it? I dunno how I’d keep up with it all, personally.”
“Well, I guess it just depends on how well you know the thing,” Tubbo shrugs against Wilbur’s upper arm. He squints as Technoblade starts moving to the zombie on the other side with his usual dramatics, Tommy letting out an unorthodox cackle as they prowl over. “If you’re raised on it, I reckon it comes naturally.”
Wilbur hums low in agreement. “You’re right, of course. I guess what I meant was, I just don't get the investment. You’re not gonna believe me, but I used to go to services three evenings a night.”
Now that catches Tubbo off-guard. He nearly swivels his head to look Wilbur in the face but catches himself midway so he’s staring out into the forest instead. “Really?” He whispers.
Wilbur chuckles. “Yeah, I went no matter what I had going on the next morning or done all day. Sitting down and chanting like any other zealot.”
“But I thought you said you didn’t get the devotion thing?” Tubbo’s confused as shit now. Wilbur always does this, obfuscates the truth of his narrative until you forcibly clear it up yourself.
“Yeah, and I don’t. All that time and energy didn’t mean anything. I memorized the songs and the praises but I didn’t really care,” Wilbur says nonchalantly.
“So then why’d you go?”
Wilbur’s silent for a moment before he answers, “Because Phil would have been heartbroken if I hadn’t. He’s been a death goddess devotee since he was a child. Even earned himself a title out of it. Who was I to break his vision for some teenage identity crisis?” Tommy’s started burning the last remains of the second Zombie.
“So I kept going, right up until I left for the SMP. And even then, I’d lie in my letters and say I still prayed each night.” Tubbo isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Tommy has begun excitedly throwing the excess zombie parts out into the sunlight to watch them burn, and Technoblade is indulgently handing him the pile as he does it.
“Phil went to church because he loved the Goddess of death, and I went to church because I loved Phil. That’s how it’s always been.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Wilbur hums again, in the way that means he’s tilted his head in thought. “I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t really know why. I guess it felt right to.”
Tubbo’s silent while they watch Tommy and Technoblade finish wiping down the blood. “...Do you still go?”
“No.”
“ALRIGHT FUCKERS! IT’S TIME TO CLEANSE YOUR UNPRIMELYNESS!” Tommy shouts, well-timed as ever. He drowns out Technoblade’s complaints as he drags him over to the fountain and dunks their heads in simultaneously. “You two as well!” He calls once he resurfaces, letting go of Technoblade’s tusks to allow him to shake off the water. Tubbo gestures dumbly at himself with one hand, earning him a loud eye roll. “Look, nobody in the room is exempt from Prime’s holiness. Even if you’re not planning on joining us you’ve gotta clean ‘yer energy and wear the robes.”
Tommy grabs them both by the wrist and drags them back with him to the fountain. Aware that neither he nor Wilbur could ever say no, Tubbo allows himself to be led through the baptism and trades in his traditional winter coat for a purple robe that’s a little too long and bunches up at his feet. He curses all three of the other men when they tease his height, but there’s less momentum in it than there usually would be, as if the environment of Prime dampens even violent turns of phrase. Still, he turns on his heel and marches back to his spot near the entrance when it’s all over.
“Alright, now that everyone’s been properly released from their physical burdens, it’s time to relieve the mental ones as well.” Wilbur stalks leisurely to where Tubbo sits and falls back into place with a flourish. The purple robe replacing his trenchcoat exponentially improves his usual dramatics. Tubbo grumbles but doesn’t say anything.
They settle down to a quiet again as Tommy begins the opening devotional. The prayers are in English, but the flowery language feels so foreign on Tommy’s tongue that it might as well be piglin. It’s enchanting, and Tubbo finds himself lost in the nostalgia the service brings. He remembers, before Manburg, when Tommy would drag him and Wilbur to the Church Prime Tommy had pestered Dream into letting him build. They’d go through some rituals slightly more complicated than the ones he’s doing here, and then Tommy would pray to Prime for health, luck, and peaceful life for the three of them. Sometimes when Tommy would go on for so long that Tubbo started shuffling impatiently, Wilbur would find a considerate and humorous way to interrupt Tommy and ask him to “Please wrap it up already child, we have a country to run”. Most days though, they indulged him. It wasn’t as if he always made them come, he respected when Wilbur was too tired to get out of bed or when Tubbo was pouring over a new contraption, and it was a good bonding exercise for the three of them. It stopped, of course, when Tubbo was Schlatt’s right-hand man and Wilbur was spiraling into paranoia, but it had been nice while it lasted.
“And now, for the Bell-prayers,” Tommy announces. He retrieves a large shiny standing bell from his ender chest and positions it painstakingly in the middle of his makeshift altar. “The Bell-prayers are the whole point of the Prime religion, so they’re the thing you have to get absolutely right.”
He’s explaining all this to Technoblade as the man in question silently scrutinizes him. He’s probably surprised at how seriously Tommy is treating this whole thing, considering his usual demeanor. But Tubbo knows there’s nothing Tommy takes more seriously than this. “You’ve got to kneel like this in front of the bell, and then whenever you pray for something you hit it gently so you know she heard you.” He demonstrates this to Technoblade as the man kneels next to him. Tubbo can see Technoblade grimace from the side of his face.
“Yeah… I’m gonna be honest kid, I have no idea what to pray for.” Technoblade deadpans.
“O-oh, well don’t worry, I’ll help you.” Tommy grabs Technoblade’s hand before screwing his eyes shut and turning to face the bell. “All you’ve got to do is follow my lead, Big Man.” Technoblade, however, is not paying attention and is instead staring at their conjoined hands.
“Uh, why are you holding my hand?” Tommy’s eyes fly open and his face turns bright red.
“Oh, uh, Well, you see, it’s about, you know, unity in prime, and like, if you’re praying together, it's more connected, and you know, it’s like-'' Tommy's floundering and doesn’t notice Technoblade's hand still firmly holding his own. Technoblade’s eyebrow raises and he starts to smirk, which is how Tubbo knows it isn’t that serious, but the second-hand embarrassment is too much to bear. So he intercedes.
“It’s just another tradition, Big Man!” Tubbo yells down the tent. “Holding hands makes the religion go supersonic!” Tommy and Technoblade both turn to stare at him at the same time. Oh well, they’ll go back to bonding in a moment.
“It’s true, we’ve done it loads of times,” Wilbur adds after a heartbeat. Technoblade stares unblinking a minute longer, before shrugging and turning back to the Bell.
“Alright then.”
Tommy grins.
“Ayup, so then back to business. I’ll start off the prayer Big T, and then all you’ve got to do is either copy what I’ve said, or say something similar. Simple stuff!” Tommy turns back to the Bell and begins the prayers.
“Oh Prime goddess, hear us this day in our wants and needs and extend your almighty generosity to grant these prayers we offer up tonight.” He finishes his sentence and lets the silence hang slightly, before gently shoving Technoblade to speak. “That’s your cue, Big Man. Just copy what I’ve said,” he whispers.
“Heh? Oh. Uh, oh Prime goddess-”
They continue like that for a while, slowly working their way through prayer after prayer. It’s surprising how much they’re able to lay down at the Bell’s feet, especially Technoblade, but it’s probably that incomprehensible feeling Tubbo noticed earlier fueling it. The whole thing, while beautiful and optimistic and a promise of Tommy and Technoblade reconciling for real one day, makes him conflicted. The more he thinks of what they’re sharing, the twistier his stomach gets. Maybe he’s sick.
Wilbur remains silent through the whole thing, and this time, it’s Tubbo who breaks the peace.
“I wish I was more like them.”
“Hm?”
“I said I wish I was more like them.”
“Like what? Trusting? Motivated? Dedicated?”
“Hopeful,” Tubbo says as quietly as he can as if it’ll stop Wilbur from hearing him. He clearly does, as he feels eyes burn against his temple again.
“It’s just, they’re so trusting. So confident that if they offer up all their pain She’ll heal them. And I don’t know how to do that, y’know? Like, I don’t know how to be that optimistic about, about fucking anything.” His voice is doing that thing, where it becomes brittle and soft, and is he really about to spiral like this in front of fucking Wilbur? Of all people? But he knows once he’s started he can’t stop until he’s rationalized the feelings away into a logical sense.
“It’s like, they know how to trust and hope again and I don’t. And I wish I could have that feeling they have where they stop worrying and shrug it all off on the universe but I fucking cannot. Shit. I dunno. Fuck.” Tubbo curls in on himself, moving his torso as far away from Wilbur as it can without moving his legs.
Wilbur doesn’t say a word, and Tubbo desperately wishes he wasn’t at church. If he were anywhere else, he could loudly brush it off with a joking quip, or worse comes, walk out of the situation entirely. But he can’t because Tommy and Technoblade are still fucking praying and he doesn’t want to interrupt this moment for them just because he said too much and feels raw.
“Tubbo, would you pray with me please?” Wilbur finally asks.
“What?” Tubbo whispers, whipping around to look Wilbur in the face for the first time. His hand is outstretched like an olive branch, and Tubbo thinks he’s truly lost it now. “Surely you’re fucking with me, Wilbur.”
“I am not fucking with you Tubbo, I just want to pray.” Wilbur’s voice is soft, with no flair or intonation, which terrifies Tubbo because it inclines him to believe him.
“Who would we even pray to?”
“I dunno, whatever you want, Big Man,” Wilbur says with a smile. His red glasses are slipping down his nose and briefly, Tubbo believes he’s back at the van asking which ammunition they should pack for the rebellion.
Tubbo stares at Wilbur’s hand for a bit, before grasping it harder than what's probably needed. “I’ll pray with you, but only if you start, and only if we pray to Otto Hahn.”
“Who the fuck is Otto Hahn?”
“The guy who discovered nuclear fission.”
Wilbur throws his head back and laughs as silently as he can, although he wheezes loud enough that both Tommy and Technoblade shush him.
“Alright then, we’ll pray to Otto Hahn,” Wilbur says, squeezing Tubbo’s hand and shutting his eyes. Tubbo follows suit.
“Oh, Otto Hahn, grace us with your wisdom and power. Please use your nuclear witchcraft to grant us our wishes.”
Tubbo’s face twists at the last part but dutifully echoes Wilbur as he’d promised. Then he waits for Wilbur to offer the first real request.
“I pray for…. my bed to be warm when I go to sleep tonight,” Wilbur says lamely.
“What kind of prayer is that?”
“Hush, now it’s your turn.”
“Uh, I pray that Ranboo won’t forget to pick up milk tonight.”
“I pray that all of Quackity’s bananas are unripe.”
“I pray that Technoblade trips and falls on his face when he leaves the tent.”
“See you’re getting it now! I uh, pray that Phil walks too far and has to send one of his stupid crows back for us like life-alert.”
They go like that for as long as Tommy and Technoblade stay silently meditating in front of the bell. They pray for spiders to infect Jack Manifold’s home, they pray that a rainstorm would cover the entire SMP for a month, and they pray that a pack of withers rises up and takes vengeance on the syndicate for enslaving their siblings in human warfare. Their prayers are light-hearted and comforting, nothing serious until Tubbo forgets himself.
“I pray my scars don’t hurt when I wake up in the morning.”
He’s regretting it even as it leaves his mouth. He starts to backtrack, starts to open his eyes and apologize, when,
“I pray I stop picking at the scar in my stomach,” Wilbur whispers. It’s so low that Tubbo has to strain to hear him, and they end up nearly temple to temple.
“...I pray I stop visiting L’manhole.”
“I pray my Dad stops looking at me like a stranger.”
“I pray I stop wishing Schlatt was in the room with me.”
“...I pray I stop living in an endless loop of my own creation.”
“....I pray for that too.”
They continue exchanging soft vulnerabilities until eventually, they stop speaking out loud altogether and just sit there. Logically, Tubbo knows he could drop Wilbur’s hand and get up, he’s pretty sure he hears Tommy and Technoblade wrapping up the service, but he can’t. Beside him, Wilbur’s breaths come out wet and irregular. Tubbo himself isn’t crying, but something about Wilbur crying makes him relax, and give in to whatever pressure he’s been putting off for so long. He gently leans on Wilbur and tries not to think about what this would look like from an outside view.
For once, when he’s around Wilbur, the silence isn’t loaded with anything dangerous or exciting. Instead, it hums with quiet grief, as they sit hand in hand and mourn what they can’t or won’t acknowledge. Tubbo could get used to this.
“Uh. Hullo?” Technoblade says not three feet from them, and Tubbo shrieks and jumps away from the sudden noise.
“What the fuck Technoblade?” Wilbur yells. While he hadn’t jumped backward as Tubbo had, he's still clearly frazzled, firmly massaging himself over the heart.
“You guys were totally out of it. Had to bring you back to earth somehow. What were you even doing? Crying on each other's shoulders? Cringe.”
“What? No-” Tubbo is quick to deflect as his face heats up.
“Big man, they were obviously praying! You can’t interrupt someone's prayer like that, it’s disrespectful to their religion,” Tommy says as he strides over to them. He pronounces religion incredibly wrong but it's enough for Tubbo to latch onto and attempt to reel back his sanity.
“Yeah that’s right Tech-no-blade,” Tubbo says, emphasizing each syllable, “You interrupted our prayer.”
“Wait, you guys were actually praying?” Tommy asks, dumbfounded.
“Yep,” Wilbur says as he slowly rises to his feet, dusting off his pants and shedding the Prime robe.
“Who the fuck would you even be praying to asshole?” Tommy asks Wilbur, rounding on him as he moves to put the robe back in its chest.
“Otto Hahn, the guy who discovered Nuclear physics,” Tubbo answers deadpan as he tosses his robe over Tommy’s face.
“What? That’s fuckin blasphemy, Big Guy!”
“Says the one having a joined Blood God Prime God worship service.”
“It’s not blasphemy, it's innovation. You’ll see soon enough Tubbster, this joint venture will change the face of religion forever, we’re gonna blow everyone's minds with this one.”
“Yeah, ‘cos there’s such a high demand for religion on this server in the first place,” Wilbur says as they step out of the tent together.
“I dunno Wil, plenty of people here who might benefit from some soul-searchin’,” Technoblade says.
“You’re sure one to talk about–“
“Plus! The prime goddess can give you cool shit! Can Otto whatshisface give you extra carrots during the harvest? Didn’t think so bitch.” Tommy interrupts hastily.
“Well Wilbur prayed that Big Q would trip over his shoelaces in front of the Las Nevadas sign, so I think we just have to give Otto Han time,” Tubbo says, increasing his volume along with Tommy to drown out whatever conflict the older men were working up to.
“I don’t really like what you’re implyin’ there Wilbur—“
“OH, THAT'S SO LAME TUBBO!” Tommy practically shouts, throwing himself against Technoblade as he dramatically rolls his eyes at Tubbo. “Isn’t that a lame-ass prayer Big T? Fuckin’ wasting the Gods’ time for a crush!”
Tubbo follows along and positions himself in between Wilbur and Tommy, leading them back over to the cabins. “We’re not asking the Gods’ Tommy, we’re asking Otto Han, keep up.”
“Yeah Tommy, you have a problem with the founder of nuclear physics?” Tubbo senses Wilbur’s posture relax as joins in the goading.
“What’s Otto Han even gonna give you?” Technoblade asks. Wilbur smiles whimsically and shrugs his shoulders.
“I dunno. Tubbo asked him to fix Ranboo’s snoring problem, which he apparently has.”
“It’s not just the snoring! He fucking wakes up in the middle of the night all the time and says creepy shit to me that makes no fucking sense—“
“That's so fucking gross!” Tommy yells, recoiling like he’s licked a lemon. “I’ve only asked for Big Man shit, like carrots and extra wool and bitchin’ flowers during spring.”
Technoblade huffs and graces them with a stare of incredulity. “You’re all ridiculous.”
“Says you!” Tommy protests. “I heard you mumbling something about pumpkin pie, don’t lie under the oath of prime Big T!”
“Pumpkin pie?” Tubbo asks.
Technoblade looks away and scratches his cheek. “Tommy used to make pumpkin pie, back when he lived here. Tasted good. I kinda miss it.”
“Wait, really?” Tommy stops dead in the middle of Technoblade’s doorway. “You miss my baking?” Tubbo feels Wilbur bump clumsily into his back. Technoblade is stranded awkwardly holding open the door.
“Well… yeah,” Technoblade says finally.
Tommy, so quiet Tubbo barely hears him, says “I could make it again, sometime, if you’d like.”
“I have the ingredients now. If. Y’know.”
Tommy lights up like the sun. “Sure!” he says, pushing his way into the cabin and yelling demands vigorously over to Technoblade, the quiet moment a figment of the imagination.
“I’ll need an objective taste tester, of course!” Tommy says in Tubbo and Wilbur’s direction.
“I’ll take that as my cue to get out of here,” Wilbur mumbles, swiftly moving across the way into Phil’s home. Tubbo sputters before reluctantly taking his place at the dining room table in preparation for whatever kitchen disaster Tommy and Techno have coming his way.
A couple of hours later Tubbo is sitting in a relatively clean kitchen with a stomach full of pumpkin pie. Tommy’s baking skills far exceed his expectations, he wonders if he’d be willing to bake a cake for Tubbo and Ranboo’s anniversary.
As of now, Tubbo’s content. Sure it’s a bit awkward, considering he and Technoblade were never close to begin with, but this whole event was for Tommy’s sake anyway. Plus, Technoblade let him stay in his house for this long, it had to have meant something.
It’s after Tubbo’s cleared the table and took over the task of dishwasher that Wilbur pops back into the room.
“Wilbur! You’re just in time, we’ve left a bit of pie for you!” Tommy shouts excitedly.
“That’s grand Tommy, I’ll try some in a minute, do you happen to know if Tubbo’s still here?”
“He’s in the kitchen doin’ the dishes.”
“Great, thank you Techno.”
“You’re not planning on doing anything to ‘im are you Wilbur?’ Tommy calls as Wilbur closes the kitchen door behind him. Tubbo continues to scrub against a particularly stubborn grease stain.
“Hello, Tubbo.”
“Hello, Wilbur.”
From behind him, Tubbo can hear Wilbur fiddling around in his trenchcoat.
“Did you need anything from me, Wilbur?”
“I mean, yes, but it’s nothing serious really.”
Tubbo hums in acknowledgment. He adds dish soap to the baking tin.
“I never knew Tommy was a baker! Sounds like a recipe for disaster if you ask me.” Wilbur says to Tubbo’s back.
The soap starts to leak past even Tubbo’s rubber dishwashing gloves.
“And I mean, who’d guess Technoblade would like pumpkin? A big guy like that, praying for baked goods. Funny sight.”
The soap starts to dampen the ends of his sleeves.
“I never even realized you could grow pumpkins in the taiga, but I mean considering Technoblade I suppose anything is possible—”
Finally, once the water and soap have started to drench him entirely, Tubbo’s patience dries out. He growls, flinging the rubber gloves off and turning around exasperatedly to face Wilbur.
“Can you get to the point already Wil?” Wilbur gapes, open-mouthed and silent. Tubbo notices his eyes are still a little red, and he hasn’t bothered to wipe away his tear tracks yet. In his hands is a small round metal can. “What’s that?”
“Oh, it's uh, scar cream. My Dad— Phil, he recommended it to me after I came back with the, you know, sword wound.”
“Oh.”
Wilbur runs a hand through his hair and retreats into his shoulders as he holds out the box for Tubbo to take. “I thought it might help. You know, with the burns and all.”
Tubbo’s first instinct is to turn it down, but he hesitates. Wilbur’s not gone on some gratuitous rant about the box in an attempt to sell him on it. He’s not offering it to Tubbo like he’d offered his apology, or the presidency, or L’manburg. There’s nothing confident and self-assured about the way Wilbur holds this cream. He’s skittish, shaking almost as he holds out the tin like he’s half-expecting Tubbo to knock it out of his hands.
“Oh, uh, wow. Thanks, Wilbur, that’ll be useful.” Tubbo says as he gently accepts the tin from him.
“‘Course. Don’t mention it.” Wilbur’s hands gravitate down to a loose thread on his sweater. He’s still only half-making eye contact with Tubbo, and he shrinks into himself even more, despite making no move to leave the room. They’re silent for a long while before Wilbur opens his mouth to speak again.
“Uh…”
But by then Tubbo’s already turned around and grabbed a clean plate and fork. He turns back and presses them gently against Wilbur’s chest.
“You really should have some of that pie. Tommy’s better than you’d think.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I bet Niki’s been teaching him.”
“That's nice.” Silence again. Tubbo shifts from left to right. Wilbur won't stop awkwardly darting his eyes from side to side.
“Thank you, Tubbo,” Wilbur says finally.
“Don’t mention it,” Tubbo says, and with that Wilbur gives him one last strained smile before he heads back into the dining room. Tubbo hears him and Tommy begin an in-depth discussion on the overlap of Prime and Death religion. He turns back to the sink and finally scrubs the stain off. In a minute, he’ll go back and join in the conversation. For now, there are dishes to clean.