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That pit that settles in your stomach. Like the one where you’re being chided for something and you don’t understand what you’ve done wrong but it’s somehow all your fault.
Not exactly that, but that long-lasting feeling. That helplessness.
As he slashes and dodges and stabs and shields himself from the man he thought of as a father, Tubbo can’t help but feel just that. All of the times in the last two weeks that Phil has dismissed him and hurt him and told him he is wrong are the hits that the man’s axe lands on Tubbo’s shield.
He feels out of place, out of body; like he’s not the one fighting. Like the heavy diamond sword in his right hand is simply not his own, nor the uncomfortable wooden shield strapped to his left wrist. Perhaps, neither were supposed to be his own in the first place.
Tubbo is not a fighter. He has the skill, the ability, but it is not something he enjoys doing in the slightest. Swords feel almost bizarre in his hands — tools are much more suited for them, but he has not touched a machine in fourteen days.
Where his thin fingers are normally greased with oil, they are instead stained with blood and grime and burns littered around from where the acid rain stung. One burn, though, is from Tina’s tea, when Tubbo accidentally spilled some after it had just been handed to him, freshly made.
The memory is bittersweet. It makes him want to scream and cry and howl that they did nothing wrong. That they should not have been shoved into literal hell. Not one of them deserves this no matter how much Tubbo can resent them.
In Purgatory, you have to be prepared; anything could happen within any amount of time. One second you could be sprinting from another team, and the next second an earthquake could knock you to the ground.
So you cannot let the emotion overwhelm you, especially out in the open. If you fault, if you stagger, then you are not prepared, and you need to be prepared, else there is nothing that can save you other than sheer luck.
Alas, nothing can prepare you for an axe in your stomach.
It forces Tubbo back into his body instantly, caught off guard. He stumbles back, blinking, trying to regain his bearings despite that he is literally dying. He must have been entirely out of it but somehow still fighting. Badly, though, judging by the axe lodged in his gut.
He locks eyes with Phil. Tubbo knows the man does not want to be in this mess either, but the fire that burns in his eyes makes it harder to believe. Tubbo has seen that fire frequently throughout Purgatory. It burns as bright as the sun beating down on them, more harshly than a sun ever should.
Somehow, he is still standing upright. Blindly, he tugs the axe out of his flesh. Blood drips from it. He lurches backwards and falls and, thankfully, blacks out. Respawning is no more bearable but if Tubbo is going to win this duel then he’s got to get it over with.
Phil’s axe latches to his side the next time, then his neck. The cheers of the man’s team refuse to fade away as Tubbo respawns. There is still a throb in his gut as he stumbles away from them, and still as he desperately explains to the elder that he doesn’t know what happened. Why he was shaking.
Seeing the eggs is almost a dream. They get a mere ten minutes, if even, before Maxo pulls a nuke out of his ass. Tubbo has no recollection of anything but the anguished screams of the parents, trying to reach their children through the debris, and the echoes of his own cries for Tallulah and Chayanne.
All Tubbo knows is that he makes it out of there.
Later, Phil takes him to the stars. A crow who lost himself and a boy who lost everything he never had in the first place. The ghost of the axe in his insides does not let go even as they soar high above hell; but when they tumble onto the boat, their one-way ticket home, it dislodges uncomfortably. Phil’s dark wings shield him from any other harm.
Tubbo sits up and looks around dazedly. Roier is leaning over the railing of the boat, typing frantically on his communicator. Fit is catching his breath, also leaning against the railing; he is clutching his backpack in his hands, like it will run away or something of the sort.
Vaguely, Tubbo registers Etoiles, toppling onto the deck. Bagi, standing in the middle of it all, disoriented. Bad, scrambling to make sure Dapper is okay. Everyone is in the same stupor. Scared. Desperate.
Tubbo huffs out a laugh. It is not a humorous one. Nothing is funny. He’s not even sure where half of the islanders are. Are they just going to be left in Purgatory? A devastating end to hell?
The boat jolts and wheezes. Tubbo slumps against a limp Phil, exhausted.
He has no recollection of the journey home after that.
A day, or two days, or maybe a week later — Tubbo does not know how long it is before they reach the island — Bagi is the first to first to finally step foot on Quesadilla again, Tubbo just minutes after her. They meet at spawn, Bagi bouncing up to Tubbo, laughing with joy, with relief.
Grateful hugs are shared. Both are in the same fortnight-old clothes, ripped and worn and smelly, but neither could care because they are home and they are safe.
Something is definitely off. Spitefully, Tubbo chooses to ignore it. After everything that has happened he just wants some time with himself and his machines; time to forget about the world.
Bagi does stop by to tell him there is an eerie feeling all around the island. She explains that she has explored but there is nothing that could have any meaning at the moment. Tubbo nods and nods and shows her the Tubchunk train system.
Normality, or at least the somehow comforting abnormality of the island, slowly but surely returns. Cellbit and Tina and Foolish and Baghera and Jaiden, and some others too, have yet to wash up on the shore but save for that and it is, albeit, okay.
Mostly. Tubbo has been trying to get into the habit of not thinking about Fred.
(Spoiler alert: It has not worked.)
One morning, he wakes up to Fit telling him in the global chat that the eggs, their kids, their light, are back, along with three new ones. Tubbo does not know whether to laugh with relief or cry.
One of the new eggs is Tubbo’s now. Her name is Sunny, and she is certainly a character. Tubbo stumbles over his words as Fit laughs. Sunny asks him whether he is poor.
Tubbo figures he could get used to this. Taking care of his daughter. That’s something he can do!
Two weeks pass. He is constantly on edge, now, after Purgatory and making sure Sunny is safe at all times and attempting to not be miserable over Fred.
While Sunny is asleep in her fashionable mobile trailer Tubbo holds a funeral for Fred; two Federation workers hold it with him. He tries not to break while saying goodbye to the person he loved so exhilaratingly. Lost so devastatingly.
He keeps a daffodil in his left hand after the funeral, refusing to put it down. Sunny frowns at his panic when he drops it but does not question him. Instead, she oh-so-carefully picks it up, and she wraps it around his wrist with small but steady hands and smiles brightly up at him.
She may not understand but they care so, so much, and Tubbo will never get over that.
At movie night a few days later, he thinks he is beginning to feel more like himself. Perhaps not okay, but alright. Better than he was in Purgatory, which is a start. Even Pac and Fit seem to notice he’s happier. That Sunny suddenly being present was exactly what he needed.
It is all going well until Roier appears.
Well. Roier, and Cellbit, and Quackity. All three of their voices come from Roier’s body, dressed in a mixture of each’s clothes. Tubbo is taken aback and rather confused, but says hello, giggling, anyway.
Then: “How’s Fred?”
And Tubbo is quite suddenly reeling— all that pent-up rage at the world, at Quackity, comes out in yelled swears and punches and everyone is laughing like it is funny and he thinks in that moment that he might just throw up on the floor. Fred is dead— dead— and these people he’s grown to call friends are laughing?
Numb. That’s what Tubbo feels. Helpless. He has done nothing wrong yet somehow he is to be blamed for everything.
But love is death: and Tubbo killed Fred.
The next week passes in a blur of fleeting moments of rushing air and recklessness; no armour, no hang glider, no care for protecting himself. He feels almost free, able to step off of the edge of the Tubhole and fly.
Sunny notices. Of course she does, the darling — she keeps telling Tubbo to stop, to be kind to himself. He tries to, for her. To keep his head up and be okay. Fit, too, chides him for his carelessness and makes sure he’s not doing stupid things.
There is a moment where Tubbo scares Sunny; not on purpose but he still does, and that is when he realizes he has to pick himself back up again.
t is either that or he takes the fall. Love is death and it will kill him too.
An eagle greets him and Fit the next day. A book hangs from its beak, held high with grandeur. It is a book from the same two workers that were with Tubbo at Fred’s funeral. They want to find Fred. They don’t— can’t believe he is dead. Coordinates are scribbled in at the end; Tubbo meets Fit’s enquiring gaze.
They find the workers not long later.
It’s all an indistinct haze, minutes passing that feel like hours. Collectively, though, he, Fit, and the workers manage to decipher the scrambled words left in books in Fred’s cell; Tubbo does not recall how they found the cell in the first place, but it doesn’t matter.
A tunnel leads out of it, presumably dug out by Fred in a clearly successful attempt to escape. Hope begins to light up in Tubbo’s chest. There is no way Fred isn’t alive at this point.
More minutes fly by and sooner or later he catches sight of a small, homely shelter. Flashes of a white figure can be seen moving around and for a brief moment Tubbo thinks it may be Cucurucho — but, up closer, it is definitely his Fred, clad in the same blue jacket and hat, just grimy and ripped like Tubbo’s own clothes.
Relief floods through his body when he finally hugs his lover. He stands on his tiptoes, wraps his arms over their shoulders, and holds on for dear life. Fred laughs and cries into Tubbo’s hair and kisses the top of his head.
Tubbo feels like he needs to pinch himself hard to make sure it’s not a dream. Surely it’s not. It can’t be.
Because love is death— but Fred is alive.
Tubbo revels in it. All he needed was to be in his lover’s arms again, and now he is here. Safe.
Later, back at spawn, Tubbo watches as Cucurucho tells Fred it is disappointed in him. Watches helpless as Fred hangs their head and nods.
Fit puts a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, probably as reassurance, but it does nothing to calm his nerves.
Happiness is not supposed to be evanescent.
When Fred meets Tubbo’s gaze again, the expression he is greeted with is devastating. Fred passes Tubbo a book, hand trembling.
Dear Tubbo, he reads, and oh God, did he miss Fred’s swishy handwriting.
I don’t have much time, I need to go.
“Where are you going?” Tubbo breathes. He grips the book. Fred shakes his head. Tubbo reads and reads and reads and holds back sobs.
A rose is tenderly placed in his palm. Fred’s hands are cold. Tubbo does not let go of the flower. He ties it onto his wrist next to the daffodil.
When Fred is gone, Tubbo feels numb again. He has done nothing wrong and yet somehow he is to be blamed for everything. Love is death and it kills two birds with one stone.
“It just sucks, man,” he tells Fit. The sky outside is dark. Stars twinkle with hope and Tubbo wishes he could be one like he was when Phil flew them to safety.
Fit puts an arm around his shoulder and squeezes him closer. “It’s okay, Tubbo,” he says. “You’re gonna see him again.”
A day goes by and he starts to feel something. Not exactly better, but not worse either: a middle ground. Sunny brightens his mood, and so does Fit. Tubbo is not sure where he would be without them. He misses Fred, and he misses Pac, too, but it is okay.
It is okay.
He decides to take a dive into the catfish river. Not a shower, but still a wash. At least then he can finally take off this once-white shirt and put on something cleaner. Something not streaked with the memories of hell and heartbreak.
Fit declares the next day that Tubbo does not smell anymore. Tubbo rolls his eyes and says he took a dip in the catfish river. Fit snorts.
Sunny, giggling, dances around them. Their sunglasses that are propped up on her forehead fall off. All three laugh loudly, the sunrise peeking through from behind the factory and sprinkling them with warmth.
The light makes streaks of golden light on Sunny’s copper hair, emphasising her curls and complementing her beautiful sienna-coloured skin. Tubbo smiles as she tugs on Fit’s arm to show him what she’s secretly building. Fit grins over his shoulder before he and Sunny round the corner out of sight.
Love may be death but Tubbo decides that as long as they are alright, he will be alright too.
That night he has a dream. It is a memory, really, of Purgatory; a memory of a night where neither he nor Pac nor any other Soulfire member could sleep.
Earlier in the day, Tubbo, Pac, and Bad had chased Fit down to kill him for a higher percentage. Pac had been silent until Tina asked him if he wanted any tea — and then he’d broken down crying. It had stunned everyone in the room for a second before Tina had gasped and hugged him tightly.
Pac crying is not something Tubbo had ever really seen. Obviously there had been the “happy” pills but other than that his friend, his fellow Morning Crew member, was generally, well, happy.
So Tubbo, upset because his friend was, had put his mug of tea down on the floor and rushed over to Pac. He joined the hug Tina had pulled Pac into and held on.
The room had been cold, but the scent of tea that Tina brought with her wherever she went warmed Tubbo up. Tina had comforted everyone in the darkness Purgatory hung over them, and yet her smile still stayed bright, like an angel.
If not for her, none of them would have made it out the other end of hell. The irony of it is just so cruel considering Tina didn’t make it out of there with them.
(Tubbo learns the next day that she and Foolish swam all the way home. He grins at the idea of Foolish being like a shark.)
When Tubbo wakes up from the dream, it is five in the evening, the day’s sunlight almost entirely gone already. He feels exhausted. The dream plays back in his mind as he sits up in his sleeping bag.
His communicator, lying next to him, buzzes incessantly. Blearily, Tubbo reaches out and grabs it.
<pactw> fit come see the favela i’ve decorated more just now
<Fit> Sunny wants to come too
<Fit> If that’s ok!
<pactw> yes of course!!!!!
Tubbo grins tiredly and starts typing.
<Tubbo_> don’t forget me I want to see it
<Fit> Morning Tubbo o/
<Ph1LzA> Long sleep eh Toby
<Tubbo_> morning :D Yes yes long sleep
<pactw> tubbo!!!
<Tubbo_> pac!!!!
<Tubbo_> Im on my way to the favela now
The favela is beautiful, as usual. When Tubbo gets there, Sunny bounces up to him with her usual excitable energy and Tubbo picks her up carefully, so as not to ruin her wings, and spins her around as she giggles.
Once she is back down on the ground, Sunny looks up at him shyly and holds out their palm; a winter rose rests on it.
“Aw, poppet, is that for me?” Tubbo inquires. Sunny nods vigorously and places it in his hand. “Thanks, darling, it’s beautiful!”
Pac makes a noise of surprise from behind him. Tubbo snorts — it is clear where this is going.
“That’s why one of the roses is gone!” He exclaims, not seeming fazed at all and turning to Fit. “One of the ones you planted.”
Sunny looks down at the cobbles, offering up her whiteboard. sorry uncle fit sorry uncle pac i thought it was pretty
Fit laughs, clearly not minding either. “No, no, no, don’t worry, Sunny. It is very pretty, I agree.”
“We can just plant another one,” Pac nods.
Sunny smiles. can i help??
“I’ll help too,” Tubbo says, ruffling their curls. “It’s mine now, after all.”
Pac grins and slings his backpack over his shoulder, reaching out a hand to Sunny. “Come with me, guys. I know where we can find one!”
Sunny tucks her whiteboard in her own backpack, takes Pac’s hand, and they skip away along the path.
Tubbo begins to follow along behind them but Fit grabs his shoulder to stop him. “Look at them,” he says quietly, as they’re not quite out of earshot. Wistfulness laces his voice.
Tubbo does so.
“I’m glad you have her now. I was worried about you, kid.”
Tubbo frowns, looking up at the man. “You didn’t have to be,” he insists. “I mean—”
Fit sighs and starts to walk. Tubbo walks along with him. “Have you seen yourself recently? A swim in the catfish river is not a shower. Jumping into the hole without a glider, multiple times, too. I’ll be worried about you whether you like it or not.”
The exhilaration of it: that’s why he jumped. At least, Tubbo thinks so. He can barely remember much of it.
“I don’t know why I did that,” Tubbo admits.
Fit nods. “I know. Just promise me you won’t do it again?”
“Pinky promise,” says Tubbo, confidently. They both laugh at that.
There are times where Tubbo does not know whether to trust Fit; his mysteriousness about his janitor job and his errands, and his motives have always led Tubbo to be wary of the man despite their closeness.
Now is not one of those times.
Sunny, winter roses in hand, races up to them quite suddenly. Pac is at her heels. They are both giggling loudly. They must have used warp stones to get here, considering neither were near about ten seconds ago.
Pac has a sunflower tucked into his hair. Fit’s cheeks turn a burning red and Sunny has a malicious grin on her face as they tug Tubbo down to show him her whiteboard, produced so quickly she might as well have pulled it out of thin air.
theyre so in love, the scribbles read. Tubbo laughs loudly. She’s not wrong. She’s not wrong at all.
In flower language, the sunflower resting in Pac’s hair simply means happiness. Tubbo learnt that from Fred.
It’s very fitting for the moment, he thinks: Pac, showing off the sunflower proudly to Fit, who is stammering out how it suits him. Sunny, the sneaky matchmaker, writing out how in love the two are. Tubbo, in the middle of it all, happy.
Just like the sunflower.
Later, they finally get around to planting the winter roses. Sunset descends on the family before they know it; Bagi, Richas and Empanada come to say hi as well.
The day ends with Sunny giving Tubbo a peony before he says goodnight. In flower language, a peony means, generally, good luck.
Tubbo smiles softly and tucks her into bed.
This is what love is supposed to mean. It is not just romance, heartbreak, romance — it is family, too, even if not by blood. This is his family. Fit, Pac, Sunny. Phil, too. The eggs. Some of the other islanders. And Fred—
Nothing is really the same without Fred, but Tubbo is sure Fit was right. He’s sure he’ll see him again, hopefully soon. Even if “seeing him again” is just finally receiving another letter, a pressed flower along with it, then Tubbo is okay with that.
Love may be death, but Tubbo is okay with that, too.