Chapter Text
The rain hissing against the car windows offered Tubbo no comfort as he was driven to his newest foster home. He thought the last location had been ridiculous, the apartment was so small for the family he was staying with to have three children living in it, but this house in the middle of the woods was a new surprise. Honestly, they always were, no matter how long he had spent at each home. They always got sick of him and had him shipped off to some other family. Though, this time had been the longest he spent with one family. Tubbo had tried for so long during his time in that apartment to make himself believe that he was there as family, to be their son. In reality however, he was treated like a babysitter. The constant crying of the three toddlers filled his ears with a neverending ringing, only muffled by the music that played loudly out of the headphones he always wore. His foster mother had always joked with him that they may as well be surgically attached to his head. In those short moments when she was feeling happy enough to joke with him, instead of throwing him around like a used dish towel.
The father wasn't much better, but at least he was rarely home. Tubbo would much rather only deal with one of them. He had blocked out every day with music and games, the constant sound of car horns and shouting being muffled by the singing of perfectly tuned violins. The mundanity of everyday life had lulled him into a zombie like state, trudging through each identical day. Gray walls, gray cigarette smoke, gray concrete, gray skies.
Only when it rained did Tubbo ever truly feel a change. When he looked out the fifth story window of the tiny apartment and saw the sky weep. The city's lights were refracted and bent in the rain, shimmering around each individual raindrop as it plummeted to a stop on the black asphalt street, rippling as it joined the chaos and turmoil that lay in pools and rushing flooded gutters underfoot. It flushed the city clean, leaving glistening trails of iridescent oil and deep brownish gray grit streaking down the flooding streets and into the storm drains. It was like a car wash for his mind, when the sound of rain hitting his window lulled him to sleep. Oh how he loved the rain.
Tubbo only had one possession left over from his birth parents, a crystalline suncatcher that hung onto light the way the rain did. The delicate golden chains held aloft three droplets of perfectly cut crystal, each as smooth and transparent as falling raindrops. He had carried it with him to every foster home, through every orphanage. Clothes and books and even siblings had been given and taken away as he moved in and out of every home, but his raindrops had stayed.
He clutched them in his hand now, his eyes glossed over as they stared straight out of the passenger side window. The woman driving him had tried to make small talk when he had been picked up, but was quickly discouraged when he offered no answers in return. She looked to be around her mid-40s, hair just beginning to gray round her hairline. Her clothes were too prim and proper for him, though they looked frumpy on her. Like she had worn them to sleep the night before, and just rolled out of bed into her car the next morning. Tubbo never liked any of the people working in foster care. They always treated him like a child, even though he was already 17. One more year until he could stop the constant changing of location and legally live on his own. There was no money to his name, but he had always wanted to be an entomologist. Though knowing him, it wouldn't be long before he found his hyperfixations focused on something else, and dropped out of whatever community college had taken pity on his orphan sob story and let him in.
Bugs were cool though. So if he forced himself to act normal, maybe he could land an easy desk job. Sorting through numbers behind a screen all day sounded about as interesting as eating a bag of wet sand, but if it made him some money, it was worth it. Just to be able to live without depending on some random family thinking they were doing a kid some huge favor by offering them a roof to sit their parentless ass under. Like taking care of a human being was some kind of community service.
Tubbo didn't remember a time before foster homes, which he supposed was a blessing. During those fleeting nights spent at orphanages between homes, he had heard the heart wrenching sobs of kids who had known their parents. Who had felt the love of a mother, the warmth of a father, and had it all stripped away by an accident. Those were the people Tubbo truly felt pity for. He had never once known that kind of love, and so he didn't really know what it felt to miss it. He had grown up alone with some assistance, and could hold his own by age 10. That's what he considered his life, at least. Tubbo thought it made for a good “main character” backstory. An orphan who never knew his parents. Every child’s dream, he supposed.
The quiet clicking sound of the car’s turn signal stirred him from his blank staring, and he pulled his knees down from where they were curled against the door so he could lean forward into the window. It had been dark and cloudy all day, but about ten minutes into the hour-long drive, the skies had opened and unleashed this dark torrent of pouring rain. It looked like drops of ink were coating the sky with sticky black tar, roaring and pounding against the hard metal surface of the car. The only light came from the glow of his phone screen when he skipped past a song, and the car's dampened headlights. The car jostled slightly, and he felt the tires skid slightly as they turned from the paved road onto an old gravel one. The silhouettes of trees and overgrowth whizzed by in the dim light, mixing with the heavy raindrops. He was really being left in the middle of fucking nowhere. Maybe whoever organized the fosterings was finally sick of Tubbo and had decided to just drop him in the middle of the woods to see if he would make it.
He frowned at his reflection in the dark glass window, the tousled mess of tawny brown hair making him look like he’d been dragged through a bramble. He sure as hell felt like he had. His whole body ached from exhaustion, it felt like it had been months since he had properly slept. It probably had been, the triplets had never really let him sleep longer than an hour at a time. There was always someone to feed, someone to watch, something to clean. Not to mention his bed was three pillows laid horizontally on the bench of a small window seat. Tubbo had never claimed to be tall, but even that had made his back sore from laying scrunched up every night.
The car bumped on a particularly large chunk of gravel, and the driver cursed under her breath. Or maybe Tubbo was going to die in a car accident. Better than dying alone in the woods, but not by much. The trees seemed to wave at him, like things were dancing between them. He was just so tired, everything seemed to be moving more than it was supposed too. He swore the sky spiraled into itself like a whirlpool, the deepest of pitch blacks leaking from the center of the storm. It made his eyes hurt to look at, so he turned to the front windshield. It was then that he noticed the small twinkle of lights in the distance, blinking in and out of focus as they drifted behind trees. He heard the driver sigh with relief as she saw the lights, meaning that this was his final destination. Tubbo swallowed nervously as the house finally came into view.
Holy shit, it was huge. Tubbo counted three stories, not including an attic and what looked like a storm cellar off to one side. As the car pulled into the long gravel driveway, he looked closer at the walls. It looked like it was being held together by the bugs that must be living in it. The lower part of it was made of rough hewn stone, covered in creeping ivy and mossy plants. The vines crept up onto the wooden walls higher up, which were rotting away at the corners and shimmered with damp and rain. He grimaced, thinking of all the cleaning he was about to be forced to do. Hopefully they would let him put his luggage down before they put him to work. If the inside was as well taken care of as the outside, oh boy was he in for a shit load of calloused hands and dust allergies. The car shuddered to a stop, and the woman opened the door to get out. She glanced at him.
“This is your stop kiddo.” She said as if it wasnt fucking obvious. He ignored her, opening his door and stepping out into the pouring rain. Tucking his suncatcher into the now damp pocket of his faded yellow jumper, he walked to the trunk of the car and tugged out his bright sky blue duffle bag. It wasn't his initial color of choice, but it was what the orphanage had provided. He didn't have a lot to carry anyways. It would suffice to hold his two outfits, three books and a pair of dirty converse. Though he was wearing those now, so he couldn't say that they were in the bag currently. The shoes’ black fabric was now stained even darker with the sludgy rain and mud he walked through to get to the front porch. It was roofed in, a small wooden porch enclosed by the house on both sides, lit only by the foggy glass of the door’s cutout window, which was glowing a comforting warm yellow.
He shook out his hair, ignoring the glare he got from the driver in return. She had apparently knocked on the door before he had stepped onto the porch, and was now standing awkwardly and waiting. He saw her shift her weight from side to side a few times, growing increasingly more impatient. Like Tubbo was a chore she ached to be done with and check off her to-do list. He took the chance to look around the porch, noting the scattered plants and leaves all over it. There was a window to the left of the door, with the shutters bound tightly over it. Over the front door, a bushel of small red berries dangled by a twine. They looked delicate, he was surprised the wind from the storm hadn't pulled them down. To his right, the porch was covered in potted herbs, various plants and from what Tubbo could tell, a small flowering Foxglove tucked into the far left corner. The purpley-pink petals seemed so innocent compared to the way they were described in his biology classes. He had always loved dangerous plants.
He heard a tapping behind the front door, and turned back to it. The rush of sudden footsteps approached the door, until they paused right in front of it. It creaked open slightly, and Tubbo could make out a sliver of someone's eye peeking out at them.
“Uh-Hello! This is Trish from the Fostering program, we spoke on the phone? I'm here to drop off your new uh, house-mate!” His driver smiled painfully, like she was gritting her teeth, placing one hand on his shoulder in what was probably supposed to seem friendly. This seemed like enough for the figure in the door, as the door closed slightly and the sound of a deadbolt unlocking broke through the sound of the rain.
When the door swung open again, all the way this time, Tubbo was greeted by a man who couldn't be older than 25. He had messy brown hair, and a pair of circular framed glasses perched slightly askew on the bridge of his nose. The eyes that met his own were a caramel brown, flecked with darker colors that reflected the light behind him. He was wearing a knit blue sweater and a pair of gray sweatpants, rolled over white socks. Tubbo thought he looked a bit like a college student lost at a party, but he didn't say it out loud.
His driver- Trish -Seemed to smile even wider. Tubbo thought it was an incredibly unflattering angle of her gums, but she didn't seem to care. Customer service face, the less well known cousin to Resting Bitch Face. The man nodded slowly, seeming to realize where he was and who they were. He reached back to a table set just inside the front door, grabbed, and held out a bundle of paperwork to the driver. She took it with that same smile, flipping through it.
“Yep! All the paperwork is in order, thank you Mr. Soot!” She smiled, tucking the paperwork into a bag she had slung across her chest. With one last glance at Tubbo, she turned and walked back into the pouring rain. The torrent was so thick, it was a matter of seconds before she disappeared from his view. He turned back to the man in the doorway, kicking slightly at the ground. This was way weirder than any of the other homes. Nobody had ever been this close in age to him. The man seemed to notice his discomfort, and his eyes brightened slightly.
“Terribly sorry at the state of myself, I'm afraid I simply forgot that today was the day.” The man said, moving away from the doorway and into the house. “Do come in, it's raining quite heavily.” Tubbo stepped awkwardly into the house, feeling only slightly warmer as the heat from what looked like a fire in another room leaked into his bones.
“You can go ahead and kick your shoes off there, just leave them by the door.” The man said, already walking away. “I’ve got tea on the stove if you want it, the kettle will sing in a few minutes im sure.” With that, the man sat down on a large plush sofa in front of the burning fire. Tubbo was confused, normally he was immediately instructed on every rule in the house upon entry. No food or drink in the living room. Shoes always went in the washroom. He decided to just go with it, lining his dirty converse up by the heavy black combat boots that must belong to the man he was now living with. He walked into the living room, waiting for further instruction. The man either didn't see him, or was so ingrained with the book open in his lap that he simply did not care. Tubbo cleared his throat awkwardly. Those caramel brown eyes met with his again, and the man seemed to jump slightly.
“Oh, terribly sorry. Again. Please have a seat, what's mine is yours now I suppose.” He said, closing his book. “I'm afraid we have not been properly introduced. You can call me Wilbur.” He offered Tubbo a smile, and Tubbo sat down on the edge of another plushy chair next to the main sofa where Wilbur was seated.
“Toby Smith.” He said, reaching out a hand. Wilbur seemed to flinch away. Tubbo frowned, hoping he had not offended. He’d only been here five minutes, had he already fucked up? But Wilbur seemed to shake his head at himself, and accepted his handshake.
“Do you have a nickname?” Wilbur asked earnestly. Tubbo thought it was a weird question to ask a kid you just took into your home, but everything about this situation was weird. He may as well go with it, you do only live once.
“I go by Tubbo, actually. I don't remember who started it, but once some kid at the orphanage started calling me that, it stuck. I don't mind it so much now.” He said, bringing his hands into his lap. Wilbur nodded.
“Tubbo it is then.” He said matter-of-factly. Like nicknames were better. It made Tubbo wonder if Wilbur Soot was his real name. It didn't sound especially out of the ordinary, but still. Something to ponder. The hearth crackled in front of them, sending sparks dancing in the air like fireflies drunk on summer nectar.
“How old are you?” Wilbur asked, still looking at Tubbo.
“Seventeen. Pretty sure it said so on the paperwork.” He answered, a bit confused. Had there been an issue with it?
Wilbur nodded, seeming to notice his concern. “My memory is a bit hazy these days. I'm only 25, and yet I complain like a senior citizen.” He said with a soft smile. “So I do hope you can forgive me if I forget things often.” Tubbo smiled.
“Of course sir.” He replied politely. Wilbur grimaced at this.
“Oh god, now I really do feel old. Kid you can just call me Will, no need for all those crazy formalities.” Tubbo nodded, making a mental note of that. “Think of me as your new, totally cool older brother figure.” He said, seeming to chew the words around in his brain. His eyes flicked to Tubbo’s, sparkling with what looked like genuine contentment. Tubbo had never had an older brother before, let alone as a legal guardian. And if he was being completely honest, this was going way better than any of the other family meetings had. He smiled back at Will, returning the same childlike joy. The rain seemed to pick up at that moment, the wind pushing the heavy raindrops against the panes of glass in the windows. It made the room feel even cozier, the floor to ceiling bookshelves that covered most open wall space adding to the ambience. He felt himself relax into the chair he was seated in, which Will took as a que to reopen the book in his lap. He fell asleep so quickly and soundly, he didn't hear the kettle go off, or feel his arms bump into banisters as he was carried upstairs and laid on a bed softer than any he had ever slept on before.
When he awoke, it wasn't to the sound of crying children or shouting adults. The sound that woke him was the gentle chirping of birds outside his window. As Tubbo sat up in bed, he realized that he was in fact in a bed. In a strange room, with patterned leafy wallpaper under dark wood wall trim.
Oh, shit.
He frantically felt his pockets, sighing audibly when his fingers wrapped around the smooth, cold surface of his suncatcher. He then realized he had slept in his clothes from the day before, and grimaced. He probably smelled awful, not to mention the state his hair must be in. He looked around the room, taking in the general layout. The bed he had slept in was centered against the back wall of the room, with a nightstand on either side. The left wall was covered in shelving that was mostly books, but also held a few assorted rocks and what looked like fossils. The right wall was blank except for a large square window that looked out into the forests surrounding the house.
The rain had stopped overnight it seemed. The wall across from the bed was also bare, excluding the yellowing white paint of the door, which was to his left. It was a nicer room than Tubbo had ever slept in before, even with the light layer of dust evident on all the surfaces. The only things not coated in dust were Tubbo himself, and his bright blue luggage, which stood out like a straight man at pride against the muted greens and browns of the room. A bushel of red berries hung over this door too, along with a smaller bundle of herbs over the window. There was also a thick line of what looked like sugar on the windowsill. He remembered seeing that same powder on the windows in the living room, but perhaps he had been so tired that it had just been blocked out of his mind at that time.
He pulled the forest green sheets off of his legs, still wearing the same faded denim jeans from the night before. Getting off the bed took more effort than he thought it would, as the softness of the mattress seemed to almost tug him backwards and back into the realm of sleep. When he did manage to get up, he trudged over to his sad bag of luggage and pulled his phone out of the side pocket. No charge, obviously. He scoured the room for an outlet, and when he did not find one, he just tucked the device into his back pocket. Not like he had anyone to message anyways. It'd just be nice to know the time. The thin trickle of sunlight that leaked onto the wooden floor of the room didn't help him at all to guess the time. He stood in the center of the room, listening out for any movement in the house. Hearing none, he decided now was a good time to figure out where he was.
The door swung open with a slight creak, sending dust motes dancing in the sliver of sunlight cast by the window. He stepped into the dark hallway that greeted him, finding himself at the dead end of a long line of dark doors. Most of them were open, and as he peeked into each one while walking it seemed they all contained academic research. Desks crowded with papers in one room. Huge bookshelves in another, with so many books on them, Tubbo thought they may collapse at any moment. Above each door was a dried bundle of herbs, and each windowsill was lined with the same white substance.
When he reached the top of the stairs at the opposite end of the hall, he was almost disappointed with his findings. Will was just some guy researching random shit in the woods. No judgment here, but he honestly expected something a bit wilder. The stacks of boring paperwork was not what Tubbo had expected from the frazzled man he had met the night before. Looking down the stairs, he concluded that he had slept on the third floor of the house, and that his room was the only bedroom on that floor. Stepping carefully down the stairs, he found them cold against his socks, and almost slippery. It was a curved staircase that looped around through what Tubbo could only describe as a circular tower attached to the side of the house, with tall copper-framed windows looking out onto a back garden. He would check the outdoors later, now that it wasn't pouring rain.
When his foot met the bottom landing, he was met with another long, dark hallway. However, this hall was wider than the previous one, and had windows lining the right side of it. Same bushels of herbs, same line of white grainy substance. The cloying smell of thyme and sweet berries had begun to hang in his nose from all of them. To his left, there were three doors, all slightly ajar. Peeking inside the first one, he found a warmly lit bathroom, with worn amber tiles and yellowing shower curtains. The second door turned out to be a broom closet, surprisingly small compared to the other rooms. Tubbo looked into the final door, and was met with what he assumed was Will’s bedroom. The walls were a warm brown, and that color carried over onto the bedspread and pillows. From what he could see, Will was not currently occupying the room. However, Tubbo wasn't going to enter anyways. Give the man his privacy.
The second set of stairs were not as elegant as the previous ones, as it simply went straight down the back wall to the right. When he stepped his foot off the bottom step, his nose was met with the pleasant smell of yeast and a sweeter vanilla scent. His mouth watered, and he realized that all he had eaten the day before was a smushed granola bar he found at the bottom of his duffel bag. The room around him was much brighter than the floors above, a large mostly empty space with three doorways leading to the living room Tubbo remembered from the night prior, a dining room containing a large dark dining table, and what looked like a kitchen.
That's where the fresh-baked bread smell was coming from, hanging heavily among the other herby smells of the house. It drew Tubbo in like a cat drawn to a patch of sunlight, and before he knew it he was standing on the tiled floor of the most comforting kitchen he had ever set foot in. It was messy, plates and dishes caked in flour scattered among the countertops, and there were random plants dropped on every available surface, but it was calming in a way.
“Oh, good morning Tubbo!” Said a now familiar voice, coming from Tubbo’s right. He turned, seeing Will sip at a cracked coffee mug with a smile. His glasses were on a chain around his neck, nestled into the folds of the knit gray sweater he wore.
“I've got some scones just finishing up in the oven, feel free to grab one when it beeps. There's butter on the counter, jam in the fridge if you'd prefer, and a pot of coffee on the stove.” Will said, setting his mug down on the countertop where he was seated.
There was a line of three stools on the opposite side of the kitchen counter, and they looked plush and comfortable. Everything in this house did, like it had been very well lived in and cared for. It made Tubbo feel like his messy hair and frumpy clothes fit in here. He decided to take up Will’s offer, pouring himself a mug of coffee and settling in the stool next to him. The drink was warm and familiar, and it seemed that sugar had already been added to it. Just how Tubbo liked it. Will pushed a small porcelain pitcher towards him, which Tubbo accepted with a smile, pouring a generous helping of cream into his already sweet coffee. Will chuckled watching him, his eyes bright.
“Guess we both like our coffee on the sweet side.” He said, taking a sip from his own mug, the steaming liquid inside a light golden brown.
“There's no other way to have it.” Tubbo stated. “All the people who drink it bitter just do it because they hate themselves.” Will slapped a hand over his mouth when Tubbo said that, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. Tubbo grinned, laughing a bit himself.
“You're going to make me spit out my coffee-” Will managed to say through his palm. Tubbo just rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his own drink. The oven timer beeped then, and Will stood up with a grin to go open the door. When he did, the smell of freshly baked cherry scones flooded his nose. Will seemed to read the expression on his face, and was laughing while pulling them out of the oven and setting them on the countertop.
“Thought we might have gotten off on the wrong foot last night, so I whipped these up early so you would have a good breakfast to wake up too.” He said, poking the steaming pastries to make sure they were cooked.
“It's one of my favorite recipes, I learned it once when studying abroad.” He seemed satisfied with the scones, and grabbed a wooden spatula to scrape them off the metal cooking sheet. Tubbo felt his eyes well slightly with tears, though they were quickly wiped away. Nobody had ever made him breakfast before, unless you counted the bulk microwaveable breakfast oatmeal they were given regularly at the orphanages. The smell of fresh cherries was overwhelming, they smelled better than anything he had ever cooked for anyone before.
“Butter, Jam or plain?” Will asked him suddenly, poking him on the nose with the wooden spatula and startling him out of his thoughts.
“Oh-uh, butter please. Thank you.” He said quickly, brushing off the cobwebs of thoughts to focus on the plate being held out to him. Nobody had ever served him anything either. Will turned back to the sheet, dumping the rest of the scones onto a plate and shoving the tray into the already crowded sink.
Tubbo made sure he took one for himself before biting into the one on his own plate. His eyes shot wide open as he felt the outer shell of sugary pastry and cherry break under his teeth, letting the warm melty butter and soft inner layers of perfectly baked scone melt in his mouth. He savored every bite, feeling the slight tang every time a fresh cherry popped open in his mouth or the crunch when he hit a part of the outside that had almost caramelized in the oven. He didn't even notice Will was smiling at him until he finished the scone. His face flushed when he did notice, and he quickly looked down at his lap.
“That good eh?” Will said, wiggling his eyebrows. He was leaning on his elbows against the counter, staring at him like he was about to spill juicy gossip. Tubbo felt his face redden.
“Yes, it was excellent.” He said, keeping his voice level. “You're a very skilled baker, thank you for making them.” Tubbo had learned how to always speak politely, no matter the circumstances.
“Want another?” Will chirped, his head tipping to the side. Tubbo’s eyes lit up, and that was all the confirmation he needed.
The two of them ended up finishing the whole half-dozen of them, and were currently sprawled together on the living room floor in a food coma. Tubbo felt vulnerable, but in a good way. His back sunk comfortably into the soft carpet, and his body was warm and soft and safe. That's what it was, Tubbo realized. He felt so safe. Staring up at the ceiling, he finally let those tears that had been so carefully locked away fall, silently crawling out of the corners of his eyes and sliding over the rounds of his cheeks. When he sniffled, Will rolled over to look at him with concern.
“Tubbo, are you alright? Did I do something? Are you hurt?” Will exclaimed, pulling himself onto his knees and grabbing Tubbo’s face. Tubbo was still laying down, so this led to an awkward angle with Tubbo looking up at Will upside down. He smiled so widely his cheeks hurt, which seemed to confuse Will even more.
“I think I'm better than I've ever been Will.” He said, another tear making its way down his face. This time however, a gentle hand that wasn't his own wiped the tear away. It was warm and worn, like it had held only papers and pens and baking spatulas. It felt like family. He laughed suddenly, tears still streaming down his face. Will seemed to understand him now, and pulled Tubbo up by his shoulders.
“Tubbo, my dear boy, you are safe here. You are home.” He said, a hand on each of Tubbo’s shoulders. It was all Tubbo could do not to completely break down when Will finally pulled him into his arms, the two embracing tightly in the middle of the living room floor. Two brothers who had finally found each other, against all of the storming odds the world had thrown at them.
{- - -}
Will had told Tubbo to do whatever he wanted with the bedroom, apparently it had been empty for years and years. There was a small set of wooden drawers tucked under the bed that Will had said that he could keep his clothes in, to which Tubbo responded he only had like two outfits. The man had frowned at this, and immediately exited the room, leaving Tubbo to his meager decorating. All he had really done to change the room was hang his suncatcher up in front of the window. It fit on the same hook as the herbs did, and dangled at the perfect height to send the sunlight scattering around the room in a prism of rainbow. He meant to ask Will about the herbs this morning, but other things had become more important. Besides, it didn't really matter how Will chose to decorate his own house.
Speaking of Will, Tubbo heard a grunt as he shouldered open the bedroom door, arms laden with an assortment of cardboard boxes. He set them on the floor by the foot of the bed with a huff, placing a dramatic hand on top of them.
“These are some of my old clothes from when I was about your height. You can go through them and see if there's anything you like. There's more in the attic, but ask me first if you wanna get them out. I'm afraid if you breathe wrong up there, the whole room will collapse.” He said, opening the top flap of one of the boxes. An assortment of muted fabrics met Tubbo’s eyes, folded a bit messily and shoved into the boxes.
“I'm going to go clean up after breakfast, holler if you need anything!” Will said as he left the room, turning back once to smile at him before closing the door behind him. Tubbo was left alone in the room once again, and he set his mind quickly to the boxes. There were two medium sized ones stacked on top of a much larger one, and they were fraying at the edges. They had clearly been bumped against one too many corners, and Tubbo was surprised that they hadn't broken apart in Will’s arms. Pulling the cardboard flaps away from one of the medium boxes, he began to tug out assorted clothing items. Tubbo found that most things were very natural colors, browns and greens and dull yellows. There was a jumper that looked like it would be a bit big on Tubbo, a thick knitted forest green sweater with tiny mushrooms embroidered on the sleeves. It was nicer than any sweater he had ever owned, and it smelled like mint and saffron blossoms. He folded it and set it on the bed.
By the time he had made his way through all three boxes, his bed was covered in various shirts, shorts, pants, jumpers, and enough socks to last a lifetime. Everything was cozy, as it seemed Will preferred comfort over modern fashion. Tubbo had to agree with him. He packed the clothes he hadn't taken back into the boxes, and tugged them into the hallway. Will had come in about half an hour into his sorting to bring him a small plate of freshly picked raspberries and a glass of water, and told him to leave the boxes in the hall. Apparently one of the libraries on the third floor had a staircase leading to the attic, and Will would take them back up later. He shimmied them until they lay flat against the hallway wall, and returned to his room to put away the clothes. Though he had left out a simple outfit so he could change out of the gross ones he was still wearing. Tubbo was positive he smelled horrid, but Will was just too nice to say anything about it.
“Wiiiiill!” Tubbo called through the door, rolling his chosen outfit into a ball in his arms, trying not to drop the socks.
“Yeah Tubs?” He heard Will call from downstairs, where he had been futzing around in his bedroom for a while. It hadn't taken him that long to clean the kitchen, and he had been in his room on the second floor since he brought Tubbo his snack.
“Mind if I take a quick shower?” He yelled back, already leaving his room and shutting the door behind him.
“Go ahead, and take as long as you want! I think I have some different soaps under the sink. If you want your own, you don't have to use mine!” Tubbo smiled at Will’s reply, and made his way into the bathroom. The shower was quick to heat up when he turned on the faucet, and the bath mat meant to soak up water was soft beneath his bare feet. It felt good to wash the grime off his body, out of his hair. He had chosen his own soap out of the random assortment that was piled in the cupboard under the sink, a mix of lavender and chamomile. Tubbo thought he smelled like a cup of tea, which was arguably better than the mildew smell of his faded gray jumper. The towel was just as soft as everything else in the house when he dried himself off and pulled on the new set of clothes.
He looked awake when he checked his hair in the mirror. He wore a pair of brown corduroy shorts that brushed his mid thighs, and the oversized jumper he had found in the first box. It was so comfortable, he thought he could sleep in it. However these weren't for midday naps, Tubbo was dressed to finally look around the surrounding forests and gardens of the house. He finished scrubbing his hair dry with the towel and hung it up on the wall before exiting the steam filled bathroom.
Downstairs was quiet, the silence only broken the occasional smack of a windblown tree branch hitting the side of the house. Making his way through the kitchen, Tubbo found a small paper bag on the counter with his name written on it in sweeping cursive. The note attached to it read:
Assuming you're reading this, you've decided to take a look around outside. I've packed you a sandwich and some cookies, it's a wonderfully warm spring day outside. The garden walls mark off where I own the land, so do try to stay within them. Though they are old and worn, and you are young and filled with teenage rebellion, so there's not much I can do to stop you if you choose to venture into the surrounding woods. Just be smart if you do, don't get eaten by a bear.
-Will
P.S. All of the berries except the Strawberries are ripe, so feel free to help yourself to any of them.
Tubbo closed the note and tucked it into the pocket of his shorts, feeling his heart throb with affection. Of course Will wrote in perfect cursive. He grabbed the paper bag off the counter and went to find his shoes by the front door. He felt his heart pang again as he found the previous night's mud and grime had been completely washed off of the black converse’s fabric. They were soft and clean, and it felt good to lace them up over his plain white ankle socks. The front door made no noise when he opened it aside from the quiet clinking of the deadbolt, and the whoosh as it shut behind him.
The temperature outside was like honey on his exposed skin, the perfect balance of warm sunlight and cool breeze blowing through the boughs of the trees. He stepped down from the front porch, turning back to look at the house. It looked much cozier in the daylight, but that was probably because he had already become so attached to it. Deciding to go to the left of it, he stepped carefully over an overgrown pathway made of large flat stones, grass and moss growing up between the cracks in each one. The path took him around the side of the house, where he saw what must have once been a garden wall. Now, it was little more than a crumbling line of rocks that skirted around the back and sides of the house. The garden contained within it however was lush and rich with plantlife.
All along the house’s wall were bushes and vines dripping with berries that looked like polished gemstones, each fruit glistening with dew and bright with juice. Throughout the garden, which seemed to have been planted wherever and whenever Will had felt the urge too, random plants were sprouting and growing and blossoming. Butterflies danced lazily through the air from plant to plant, their shimmering wings glowing somehow brighter than the blossoms they feasted upon. He could hear the hum of a bee’s wings as a particularly fat bumblebee drifted by his eyes, bobbing around like a balloon on a loose string. The air was so perfectly cool, and Tubbo smiled.
He spent the next three hours running around the house like a child, looking at all the plants and insects he could find. The backyard was even bigger than the side yard, and was mostly shaded by a huge weeping willow. Its branches drifted like silk in the breeze, and Tubbo now found himself sitting beneath its dripping boughs on a patch of soft grass. He was nibbling at the sugar cookies Will had packed for him, having already finished his sandwich and a large helping of fresh berries off the bushes. The sugar cut into his palette like a butter knife, filling him with childish joy. He had crumbled one into a pile near the base of the tree a while ago, and it was already crowding with small black ants.
He watched their mesmerizing dance with wonder, as they followed each other to and from the food in perfect natural order. Each trusting every other ant that they knew the way home. His hands itched to sketch their shiny legs, their armored shells. He had felt that itch all afternoon, as he usually did when he looked at bugs. Like he wanted to capture the images in his brain on a piece of paper, just not in the way a photo could. Not that he could take one, his phone was still dead. The music that he normally depended on to stay calm was rendered unnecessary. Though he had plugged it into an outlet in the kitchen, he didn't intend on using it often. What use did he have for it out here?
He heard a branch snap somewhere near him, and sat up straight. No matter how at peace he was, Tubbo was well aware of the dangers of being alone and close to the woods. His eyes scanned the trees, watching for any sign of a bear or a wolf. He didn't even know if they had wolves here, but one could never be too careful. What he instead found was the small silhouette of a little red fox, standing just outside the rim of the willow tree’s branches. He froze, staring at the animal. It stared right back at him, its eyes amber and unblinking.
They stood there for a while, simply watching each other. Not wanting to scare it away, Tubbo carefully held out the cookie he had been nibbling on. Were foxes supposed to eat sugar? There wasn't any chocolate in these cookies at least, but were foxes different from dogs? But before Tubbo could decide to pull his arm away, the fox had darted under the branches and nabbed the cookie in its maw. He didn't even get a chance to flinch as its tail disappeared into the undergrowth of the quickly darkening forest.
Tubbo hadn't even noticed the sun begin to dip beneath the treeline, casting golden light over the world. It had glinted off of his suncatcher in his bedroom window, catching his eye and making him realize the time. The gentle chorus of frogs and crickets that made up the forest at night had already begun its song, and so Tubbo made his way back to the front door. When he entered and kicked his shoes off, the smell of cooking once again made his mouth water. Ducking into the kitchen, he found Will standing at the stove and stirring a pot of boiling water. He was humming something, a light melody that sounded like spring. Tubbo pulled out a stool at the countertop island where they had eaten their breakfast, settling down with a happy sigh.
“So how’s the outside world?” Will asked, not looking away from the pot. It looked like he was cooking some kind of pasta.
“Oh Will, your yard is lovely!” He exclaimed, flinging his arms around excitedly. “There's so many plants and little bugs, and that huge willow tree is just magical!”
“I'm very glad you like it here.” He said with a chuckle, turning down the heat on the stove and letting the water simmer before turning around to lean against the counter facing Tubbo. “I saw you outside my window running around after a dragonfly like a little maniac.” He said jokingly. Tubbo flushed, laughing awkwardly.
“I just really like bugs.” He said shyly. Will walked over to him, and pulled a small, black leather notebook out of his trouser pocket, along with a small copper pocket watch. He held them out to Tubbo with a soft smile.
“I could tell. I do hope you'll use this to document them, I would love to see what you find about the creatures in my garden. The watch is just to keep the time, in case you're out there for a while.” The man said with a smile. The notebook was a perfect size to fit in his pocket, and flipping through the pages made a lovely whooshing sound. Each page was perfectly blank and unlined, made for small detailed sketches. It was absolutely perfect. Tubbo couldn't put it down fast enough to run around the counter and wrap his arms around Will.
“Oh my god it's amazing, thank you so much!” Tubbo said, squeezing Will’s arms tightly against his sides. The man let out an oomph on impact, but smiled and did his best to return the gesture.
“I will always advocate for people who feel drawn to something, as I am to my work.” He said with a smile. “I can see in your eyes that this is your passion, and I will wholeheartedly support it.” Tubbo laughed, releasing Will from the tight embrace and stepping back awkwardly. Will looked him up and down, his eyes lighting up.
“Oh good, the clothes fit! I'm glad you like the jumper, it took me a long time to learn how to embroider mushrooms like that. I remember being so angry when I outgrew it.” Will said, clapping his hands together. Tubbo gave him a dramatic little twirl, socks sliding over the tile floor. Will just giggled, and returned to the pot on the stove.
“So anything else interesting out there besides your little bug friends?” Will asked, deeming the pasta cooked enough and dumping it into a strainer that sat in the sink. Steam erupted from the pasta- ravioli, apparently -and cloaked Will’s torso in a cloud of white fog.
“Yes, actually. I saw a fox.” Tubbo said, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of his new sketchbook. Will chuckled.
“Ah yes, I'm familiar. I often leave food out for the wildlife, nuts or berries, things that give a little energy boost. I've seen that fox around quite often.” He rambled, pouring the strained ravioli back into the pot so he could add sauce. “I think it's male, though I'm no expert on foxes. No mate either, or pups. Always alone.” Tubbo nodded, though Will wasn't facing him.
“He took a cookie right out of my hand.” Tubbo said, watching as Will dumped a jar of red pasta sauce over the pot of ravioli.
“I guess he’s gotten more used to humans since I've been leaving the food out.” He replied. “I'm glad I packed you sugar ones, canines can't have chocolate.”
Tubbo hummed in agreement as Will poured helpings of pasta in two ceramic bowls laid out on the counter, and left the pot in the sink. The small drawer of utensils clinked when Will pulled it open and grabbed two forks, each shining with tones of gold and yellow. All of the silverware in the house wasn't really silver, same with appliance handles and faucets and various metal objects. Instead they were warm shades of copper and gold, sparkling softly in the yellowy light fixtures of the home. He took the fork offered to him, and happily dug into the bowl of ravioli as Will settled next to him and did the same, the only noise coming from the clink of forks against bowls and sipping of water.
Tubbo cleaned the kitchen for Will, despite the man’s protests. It was nice to finally do something for him after all the things he had been given. The weight of the sketchbook in his pocket was comforting. Now they were curled together on the sofa in the living room, flipping through a book on caterpillars that Will had found on one of the large bookshelves. Tubbo talked excitedly about each one, and Will lay comfortably against his side just listening to his excitement. The fire crackled warmly in the brick fireplace, orange light dancing and lapping at the air above it. The windows were dark, and the faint sounds of the forest’s mournful chorus could be heard in the chirps and flutters and sighing wind that moved through the leaves of the trees. Tubbo felt his eyes begin to drift shut, and as he nestled into the arms of his brother, he felt safe and warm and home.