Chapter Text
Your hand aches.
Your head aches.
Your body aches.
You know what happens next.
A flick of bright light, embers sizzling, popping
Rumbling "I'm sorry I'll try to make it as painless and as colorful as possible"
Hissing "It was never meant to be"
Laughing "I've used him as much as I can he's not useful anymore!"
It ends as it always does.
Your hand aches.
It really was a beautiful evening.
The way the sunset mixed with the clouds that still clung onto the last bits of dying sunlight was truly remarkable, it made the whole valley Tubbo was standing in glow in that rich amber hue most poets dreamed about.
It also highlighted the stark panic in Wilbur, wide-eyed and stammering.
Clearly, he hadn't expected Tubbo to reject his request if it shook him up this badly.
If Tubbo didn't want to disappear for days on end with one Wilbur Soot, off on a wild goose chase doing who knows what then he shouldn't have to. He shouldn't.
Wilbur tries once more, like a dick.
"Look, Tubbo, I-" He swallows here, takes a short breath having settled on what flavor of manipulation he thinks Tubbo could gag down the easiest,
"I know you don't trust me, I know I need to prove it to you! Let me do that! I'll show you just how much better I am now then.." he trails off, leaning backward on the balls of his feet before looking back at Tubbo once more, apparently lost for words. It wasn't fair.
He wasn't supposed to sound so earnest. Not when he definitely had something up his sleeve, not when he chose Tubbo specifically, out of everyone else the man knew. He never chose Tubbo for anything nice. (he doesn't even dare consider what he's saying now. There's very little chance Wilbur means it)
Tubbo wants to say no. He really really does want to.
No, he needs to. Making a deal with Wilbur was akin to making a deal with the devil. All smiling teeth and flowery words sprinkled over a rotten corpse. He'd led Tubbo to his death. He already had.
"I-really, shou-" Wilbur pitches forward, before he can even get the rest of his sentence out, grabs his hands, tight and slightly frantic. He looks up, pleading.
"Man, please! I really need your help on this!"
Say no just. Say no, it doesn't matter, he'll always need your help, he'll always-
"I don't want to drag Tommy into this one if I can help it, Tubbo!"
Any remaining resolve crumbles after hearing that. He can't let Wilbur hurt Tommy anymore than he already has. He can't. His best friend has already been through enough,
Tubbo refuses to add more issues.
Haven't you already though? Left him rotting? A quick glance over shows that he's hollow now, gaunt skin basically hanging off his frame, eyes normally bright with fire now shining with the light of anxiety, what did you allow, what did you basically agree to idiot, fool, pawn.
Nope. Not a good thought process, shutting that one down as quickly as possible. Get ahold of yourself.
Warmth presses down over Tubbo's shoulders a light shake actually helping Tubbo jerk out of his own head.
Wilbur's watching him closely now, a concerned little frown wrinkling his forehead. He hasn't let go yet.
"Tubs?"
Tubbo offers him a smile, hoping it comes off stronger than he feels. He also takes a step back, shrugging Wilbur's hands off.
Before the man can ask him if he was okay, what happened Before he can even question what's wrong with you. Why are you zoning out, surely he can see-
Tubbo spits out, much quieter than he'd like, "Okay fine! I'll go with you But only for Tommy's sake, so leave him out of.. whatever your planning."
Wilbur cheers, throwing a fist into the air, quickly dropping it back on Tubbo's shoulder.
He can't help but flinch at the sharp jab of pain it brings to his scars.
It seems Wilbur's willing to drop the whole zoning out thing then. Good. It's for the best.
"Hell yeah Tubbo, I knew you'd come around!
We're gonna do amazing, I just know it!"
Tubbo tries not to look too hard into the fact Wilbur has his burned shoulder in a tight grasp. Even as pain sparks from the rough grip afterall
He already knows how this ends anyway.
"Don't we always?" He manages to choke out.
The stage is set now. You've been waiting for hours for the actors to begin. But, no. Not quite yet, first, there's a test for you to pass and an audience of one to impress.
"Please do come over, stand right in the spotlight, there you go, good drone."
(The sensation of hands over your shoulders gilding down your legs correcting your position and adjusting you to their own whims. It makes you want to scream, but you can't see anything except for the bright bright light right above you, you know you need the guidance)
The lights dim back down, just enough for you to barely make out the outline of a desk, solid oak polished and professional. Intimidating. The inkwell sits innocently, and your hands start to tremble. You know what's happing now.
You shuffle towards it, following the invisible hands tugging insistently forward.
When your knees are about to hit the desk the matching chair appears behind you.
Woodenly you find yourself sitting. It's as uncomfortable as you remember it being. The thought is strangely comforting. The hands hold you still, not gripping tightly, just resting. Waiting.
"Okay! Here's what you have to do now!"
Deep breath. Doesn't matter how loud and sharp that voice is, you're going to be fine. This is the easy part. This is the easy part. You're going to be fine. Of course, the trembling has moved down to your feet as well now.
It's just that you ha-
"Well, you really should already know. I mean come on. But a new day so a new dollar right?" Laughter. The voice has taken a male cadence now
"I need you to finish these documents before the play can start, the normal set, get to it though, the knights are already on the way!"
You can hear the click indicating he's gone now, just as the first set of thick weighted papers appears in your hands.
Your deadline lights up to your side, painting your face with its gleaming glowing red numbers set for 60 minutes. An hour. You swallow.
Time to get to work.
You get four full sets done in the hour given to you.
This wasn't enough,
seeing as the voice is appalled when he checks on your progress.
"How!?"
"How did you get so little done?? You had an hour! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Are you just dumb?"
"What am I going to tell the playwright?"
"Oh, I hired an actual brick, so sorry."
"This is going to cost me so much money"
"FUCK!"
"No, you have to be doing this to me on purpose, no one is that-dammit!"
"You fucking hate me, don't you? That's it isn't it?"
"Don't you?! Say it! Admit it!"
You do your best to tune it out.
It'll be fine in the morning he always needs to work it out of his system. It'll be fine. You're okay.
Still.
No matter how much you hate the shouting, you always hated that accusation, that idea.
You were trying, you didn't want this to happen, it was just.. heavy, there was a weight on your shoulders dragging you into the dirt, you were trying to claw it off, hoping that would allow you to work better, faster and you just.. fucked up.
That's it.
You don't hate.
You don't
Not even him.
You clearly fail the test.
He is horrified by your incompetence, he just can't imagine something being as dumb as you apparently.
You're kicked out of the theater, with its never-ending stage.
You never get to see the play.
You hear that it had an amazing ending.
A true Shakespearean tragedy.
Tubbo can hear giggling from behind his door.
Pacing and the sound of hooves clicking on the floor soon follows.
He waits, struggling not to laugh when he hears the whispering voices. God, he loves them, it's just. Amazing.
"Awake? …Think he's awake now?"
"The door hasn't been opened yet, so we really have no way of knowing do we, little guy?"
"Can I..can I open it?" Said so dang shyly as if anyone would even deny him. Seriously Tubbo thinks his son was just too precious.
There's a pause, with what must have been some sort of nonverbal agreement because there's a sharp breath then Tubbo's door is inched open. Slowly careful.
Just in case he was still asleep.
Adorable, really. He can't help the thought.
Tubbo keeps his eyes closed. Keeps his breathing even and unhurried, as if still asleep.
He knows he won't fool Ranboo. That jackass seemed to have a sixth sense for all things Tubbo.
"Still sleeping, boo!" Michael declares.
"Hmm. Maybe we should wake him up then, what do you think?"
A gasp. Shocked.
"Wake him?"
"Yeah" Ranboo continues clearly warming up to the idea. He continues.
"We could dump water on him, nice cold, refreshingly icy, in fact, some icicles are growing on the porch we could go pick.."
Tubbo shoves himself up, ignoring the blankets that slide down his back and arms, leveling the nastiest glare he could at his tormenter to be in the making.
"If you ever wake me up like that I'll divorce you and take your balls as a trophy, mount them up on the fireplace" He coos up at his husband lovingly.
Ranboo laughed.
The mother fucker laughed and his face crinkled up into something almost tender, I love you it says. God. Sappy.
"Do you even know what that means Tubbo?"
His head tilts to the side, studying him.
Tubbo elects to ignore him, instead brightly greeting his toddler, who was struggling to climb onto the bed.
He lifts Michael up, bringing him close enough to nuzzle his face, absolutely reveling in the squeal of excitement the action brings with it.
"Michael! Good morning, how's the best little man of the house doing today?!"
Without his permission his brain does a quick sweep, ensuring that no harm has befallen his child (his child!) during the night.
If playing with Michael's fingers and toes was really an excuse for making sure that they bent right, that they weren't stiff or sore, if it just so happened to delight said kid, while also having the added benefit of lowering Tubbo's heart rate, who actually needed to know?
It was probably normal anyway.
"I'm grrat, gra… I'm okay papa!" Tubbo instantly beams, more than a little proud. Look at his son trying to word!
"Great Mikes, Great. Grr-at, you've almost got it." He idly pats his son's head thinking about other ways to help teach him common.
The bed dips as Ranboo takes a seat next to him. He's still watching him. Tubbo's skin itched. Fuck he's worried.
"Grrrrat, ate, like that?"
"Your almost there kiddo, you'll get it soon, hey go check on your chicken, boo and I need to talk"
"O-kay chi-chi!" Both parents watch their child scamper away with fondness.
Tubbo knows Ranboo struggles with starting hard conversations, his husband is more likely to duck and dodge and avoid them like poison tipped arrows shot from a power three bow.
It's actually been something Tubbo has used to get out of some uncomfortable situations. Which.. probably wasn't the best thing to do but it was just so easy.
Much easier then- nope. Not today.
Ranboo's fingers drum against the bed. He takes a deep breath. Thinking, debating. Twisting his mind around and around the current problem.
Tubbo takes the shot.
"Wilbur won't hurt me. With his own hands at least" The drumming stops. Shit. Inhale.
"I don't… I'm not worried about that Tubbo"
Exhale.
"Well then! I guess everything is good right? He said it'll only take a couple of days, I'm packed for a week though just in case, I'm sorry about your-"
"Tub-"
"Mining trips but them's the breaks boss man it's-"
"You can't just, don't-"
"Your turn to play baby sitter-"
"Bee!" The worried exasperated tone is definitely enough to shock him into silence.
"Your shaking bee, Deep breaths okay?" Ranboo's hand is holding his. When did that-
Fuck. Fuck him.
Ranboo leans closer, Tubbo can see his jaw tick. Tubbo actually bothers to regulate his breathing. Okay. Clearly he was rambling.
Ranboo waits. Just staring.
His slender fingers start to trace circles over the top of Tubbo's hand. Then they press down on his knuckles. One, two,three, four, five. The moment lingers. Is Ranboo waiting for him?
For what Tubbo no longer has any idea. It's not like he himself is going to say anything. There's nothing to say really.
God fucking damm it don't panic don't panic he doesn't hate you don't fly off the damm rails.
Ranboo sagged down against him with sigh. Head nuzzled sweetly against Tubbo's chest. Terrifyingly so
"I want you to be safe, I want you to watch him be careful around him, but I also want you to..give him a chance..if you could?"
Tubbo isn't sure what to say to that.
How did one formulate feelings about your once brother who dressed you up in soldier's clothing hand tailored by his pretty words and I need yous and fight with me brothers, since no other size would fit?
Who watched you let you die, mocked you for it then with a scoffing flourish stab your best friend your Tommy?
How does one hate the hero who taught you how to dance?
Who dramatically flopped to the floor hands raised above his head as he declared you were better at him then at chess now, how would he ever show his face in town again Tubbo??
Who gave you his piano without pause legitimately excited to teach you?
Who loved him and saw him.
Until he didn't.
How does one react to Wilbur soot?
"He taught me piano, boo did you know that?" Tubbo finally whispers.
He wishes it wasn't hard to say.
"No, I didn't know that Tubbo." Said so softly. Almost like he cared.
He feels Ranboo start to lean away from him, getting up, and for a second he expects a hand across the face.
He doesn't understand why he has that odd thought, his husband is nothing but loving. Weird.
"Give me a second, I want to find you something.." The smile he flashes Tubbo is heartwarming. So is the worry in his eyes. Dammit.
Tubbo watches Ranboo as he begins to hunt for something. Every now and then his tail would flick as his search brought him all around the room. He's determined huh.
With a cry of excitement the enderman snags a.. something out from underneath the bed.
He quickly checks his memory book before sitting back down next to Tubbo, clearly delighted.
"Okay so. You know how when I first started hanging out with you again after ah..doomsday, and uh yeah. I was living elsewhere?"
Tubbo nods. He's longed since stopped wondering where exactly. It was clear that Ranboo didn't really want to tell him. He had some guesses and that was good enough.
"Well. Someone..around.. that area.. who I won't.. name. "
Tubbo snorted. He couldn't help it. His attempts to tip toe around that were just. God.
Ranboo flushed hands curling around object within them. But he was smiling, struggling to keep that grin tapped down.
The last of the tension melted out of Tubbo's body. I love you dork ass he thinks watching his husband.
"Whatever, look! They gave me this coin thing okay? Said a lot of really cool things you'll just laugh at me for say-"
"I totally would, by the way. I'd basically never stop actually"
"So! It's supposed to be lucky alright! Bring you good fortune and family ties, that kind of thing!"
Now Tubbo gets to stare at him in disbelief. He places his hands on Ranboo's stupidly tall shoulders,
"Please. Please tell me you did not pay for that. In any way shape or form my beloved, please."
Ranboo manages to look offended.
"No! It was a gift that I'm trying to gift to you for your adventure and comfort and because I love you!"
Tubbo laughs. Holy shit. He'd fall for anything. That's actually amazing.
He takes the coin, not really even looking at it. If it makes his husband happy he'll take anything along with him. No matter how silly.
Tommy was still texting him. Tubbo glances at his handheld, shaking his head fondly. Clearly Toms was not a fan of
"I need to disappear for a few days or so, feel free to take whatever you want from the kitchen!" without any context.
Who knew.
He sends another quick reply, assuring his brother in arms that he'd be fine.
It wasn't that Tubbo didn't want to tell Tommy. He just didn't want him to stress. Or follow them. Or throw a fit and get hurt. Afterall, this whole thing was an attempt to keep him away from Wilbur.
He makes sure to tell him he loves him though. Just in case.
Tommy lovingly warns him the next time he sees him he'll steal Michael away from him forever.
Tubbo grins. He starts to reply when he hears that knock on the door. Three harsh raps announcing the arrival of a king.
From the kitchen Ranboo's eyes flick to his. He looks nervous. It sends adrenaline through his system. Let's go, let's go.
Tubbo rolls himself off of where he was lazing the couch, throws his backpack up over his shoulder, flicks his thumb over Ranboo's coin tucked safely in his pocket.
And heads over to roll out the red carpet.
Seeing Wilbur standing there, all windswept and rugged utterly beaming at Tubbo as if they were friends, as if he hasn't gotten him killed, as if he didn't basically-
The only thing Tubbo can think is that it's showtime.