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so. Tubbo. just a little guy with a heavy load of death on his back, all of the time.
he's been through most of what Tommy's been through, and then some. the wars, the deaths, being manipulated, losing friends and loved ones. every step of the way he felt something, almost someone hovering around him. never knew what or who, refused to accept gods or entities despite everything, only relied on himself after figuring out that adults are unreliable at best and awful at worst.
through the first L'manburg war, the final control room, he knew there was something behind his back all the time. through Manburg it stepped away, just to return again on the day of the Festival, with the fireworks. that's when he realised what it was, recovering from his injury, unable to not be in his head, because there was nothing else, nowhere else to be in at first. Death was everpresent. Death held a hand over his shoulder. cradled him at night, guarded him in the day. he could almost hear its whispers, when he was staying in Pogtopia, when they vedged a battle against Manburg forces. almost could see it over Schlatt's body, shivering in premortal fever. that's when he knew. he felt like Death knew about him too, somehow, but Tubbo never acknowledged it besides the normal amount. a battle. blood on his weapon. a funeral. not more or less than anyone else on the smp.
he felt Death grasping on his arms as he planned the hoghunt. maybe trying to stop him, maybe trying to encourage, he didn't understand it. there were way too many things to worry about besides the ghastly touches to his soul. he understood only when the anvil was falling, and the everpresent feeling left him completely for a few moments. he messed up. Technoblade was never the one he could’ve given upon the Death's altar. he didn't know what to make of it, even when the feeling returned, just a little later, during the skirmish. it was almost comforting.
it was everywhere on Doomsday, way too strong and persistent for him to be able to discern if it was surrounding him alone. he wondered if anyone else could feel it. his eyes landed on Philza at one point, standing up above the battlefield. the man seemed content . Tubbo didn't think anything about it, not at the moment.
he couldn't think about it fighting for his life, Tommy at his side, a maniacal psychopath in front of them. couldn't think about anything when he felt Death wrapping around his throat, many miles underground. not when he had to reassure his best friend that it's okay. it's him, always has been. it's a checkmate. endgame. he was so ready to finally find out what's going on, why does It stand beside him like a loyal dog, for as long as he could remember.
but then, when he was building walls upon walls, engineering a weapon of mass destruction, he couldn't stop thinking about it. how can anyone be content surrounded by so much Death. Tubbo never understood it, and he didn't think he ever would. he just had to make sure him and his family are safe. keep the cold grip away from them. maybe if he just made It even more interested in him, his loved ones could be saved.
he didn't start acknowledging the presence until he got the news. he felt hollow, alone, despite Ranboo being there for him, and so incredibly small. then, late at night, working away on the protection, he finally shared his first words with Death. "i know you're there" he said. he was alone in his workshop, and wholeheartedly hoped no one else was there. he didn't want people to think he's crazy. he strained his ears for any sort of response for what felt like forever. never got any. not even a touch. it made him mad, because "how dare you take my best friend and not even say sorry! i thought you liked me or something!". and then Tubbo broke down and cried, and cried, and cried, because there was no response and his best friend was gone.
but that's how he broke the ice. started talking. muttering quietly to himself when he worked, or tended to the farms, or lulled Michael to sleep. quiet notions of "i see you", when a dead bird greeted him in his crop, and "i know you're watching", when he walked through his defences, checking that everything's in order, and "please don't take them away", when watching his beloveds sleeping at night. he didn't notice how quips and mindless muttering turned into. well. not a conversation, but something incredibly close. he didn't want to call it worship, faith or anything like that. religion was dead to him at its core. he just knew that he talked, and Death answered. he asked, and Death gave way. he prayed. and Death listened.
he thought he's been doing well, until, of course, his little safe haven was ruined. he thought he dealt with loss before, went through the worst, and as always he was wrong. his family decimated, he cried and yelled for hours, until his throat went sore, cursing Death, knowing well that it's here and listening. feeling its hands around him, almost like a hug. he could swear to anyone who would ask in good faith (and he knew no one would) that at this moment, his eyes tear-shot and bleary and him barely conscious he could see it. a dark figure, kneeling in front of him. face hidden under a veil. hands that are actually soft and warm, not sickly and not icy like he imagined. She smiled at him as he passed out and her lips moved, like she was saying something, but Tubbo couldn't hear her.
things were. better. slightly. he felt almost safe. old hatchets were buried for good (or he hoped so). Michael, his precious little boy, was safe and within his grasp. they cooked pasta and played snowball fight under the watchful gaze of Death. he talked to Her every once in a while. he avoided the Ghost. he avoided the Angel, too, even though he caught his eyes on them every so often. Techno was alright, though. he even grew to like the guy again, at least for the fact that he made Michael so very happy and excited. Tubbo wished Tommy would come over.
it didn't feel right. of course, it didn't. he was sending his
best friend
back to the awful, awful limbo place, potentially forever. Tubbo knew it should've been him, but Tommy, ever so stubborn, didn't let it happen. of course, he didn't. Tubbo talked and talked, all the way to the launchpad, all the way through the launch process, all the way through- what had to be done. he talked, and She listened. he knew She cared. just couldn't answer, not yet. he hoped they will have at least a short chat some day. but, since he promised Tommy, this day had to come way, way later. he was… okay with it. it felt like he was never alone anymore. always had a friend, a confidant, and if his short life was any example, She wasn't going anywhere any time soon. he was okay with that too.