Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nothing much usually happened in Quesadilla City. It was the sort of place where people went about their lives in relatively cheerful monotony, eating the same things for breakfast, going to the same place to work every day, coming home and watching the same familiar shows every evening. Nothing really changed, and very little happened, everyone kept to themselves and let the events of the world wash over them like a wave over a sedentary seabed. “Nothing ever happens here,” might as well have been the town motto.

However, that had not been the case this week.

For once, there was something everyone had heard about, everybody wanted to talk about. You could bring it up at a bus stop, mention it to a stranger on the street, chat about it with the barista at your favourite coffee shop. Everyone knew, and everyone cared, the whole city was buzzing with the news.

Slimeheads are coming to Quesadilla City.

It was a bit of a stupid name for a band, but they’d been stuck with it so long that it was far too late to change it, especially now. Global fame had made their whole brand recognisable by the name alone, by the colour green, by the font they always used for their album covers. They were the biggest band in the world, and part of their global tour included Quesadilla City. 

They were coming here. All of the members were going to be playing in the local stadium by tomorrow night - they were probably already in the city. A few die-hard fans had already tried to figure out where they were staying - thankfully unsuccessfully, at least so far. They probably wanted to rest before the week of performances they had lined up.

Tubbo would have liked to rest too. But that wasn’t really an option today.

Quesadilla Stadium had been transformed into a concert venue over the last few days, and Tubbo had been thrust headfirst into the middle of it all. He was one of the few sound engineers the place had, and his job was usually viewed as one of lesser importance, since the roaring of sports crowds usually drowned out the commentators anyway. But for a concert - a Slimeheads concert at that - his job had suddenly become one of the most important in the whole building.

And with that came a f*ckton of pressure. Tubbo considered himself good with technology, but there was only so much he could do with the sound system the arena had - it was old, and  Cucurucho had been stubbornly refusing to replace it for years. Bet the f*cker regrets that now.

Tubbo sighed, tapping another mic to see if the sound came through on his headphones. It did not. Another broken one. At this rate we won’t have enough for them all. 

There were five members in all, Foolish on drums, Jaiden on bass, Cellbit on guitar, and Charlie playing keys (and providing - sometimes uncalled for - backing vocals). They were all incredibly popular in their own right, with a large subsection of the band fandom dedicated to each one, and the band as a whole did a remarkable job of avoiding competition and backstabbing, lifting each other up and making it clear that none of them saw themselves as more or less essential than the others - they all wrote songs for the group, after all. 

But still, having said that, there was no denying who the real star of the band was - the reason they had skyrocketed to such staggering heights. 

The lead singer, Tommy. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a perfect blend of charisma and talent that seemed to indicate he had somehow been predestined for the stage. He was pretty much universally adored, by critics and fans alike, and every record he touched seemed to turn platinum. He was already a legend, and he was only twenty-two. 

Tubbo wasn’t sure he trusted that. Tommy’s reputation seemed too good to be true. There had to be some skeletons in his closet. Sure, he was always pleasant in interviews, practically glowing with confidence, and putting the interviewer and audience at ease with his perfect use of a well-timed punchline. Sure, all his bandmates appeared to genuinely like him, and the only stories that ever leaked to the press seemed to make him look better. Sure, he sounded just as good live as he did in the studio. 

But Tubbo wasn’t convinced. He was only too aware of how easily people could put on a veneer of warmth to hide the darkness at their core - a little bit of power was all it took, and Tubbo had the scars to prove it. 

Tommy might be nice in public, to his bandmates, to the people he considered his equals… but no one was perfect. Tommy was not the exception, Tubbo was certain. He was probably a d*ck actually, with that level of stardom, there was no way he hadn’t screamed at an intern and demanded the impossible. There was no way he didn’t look at all the people in the crowds screaming his name, and smirk on the inside, basking in the power he wielded. There was no way he hadn’t used his position to steamroll over the innocent to get what he wanted, no matter who it hurt.

Tubbo tossed the broken mic into its designated cardboard box with a little more force than was strictly necessary. He hated it when people hurt others just because they could.

Oh well. It’s not like there’s much I can do about it, he reasoned. Besides, what are the chances I’d run into him anyway?

=00==00==00=

Tommy was a little surprised to find a stranger in his dressing room. 

For a brief, but terrifying moment, he thought one of the dreaded ‘superfans’ had somehow managed to break in, and was half considering racing back into the hallway to shout for help, before dismissing the thought. Don’t be stupid, this place is basically locked down like a fallout shelter. No one’s getting in.

So who was this guy? He appeared to be searching for a place to put down his box of… wires. Unsuccessfully - Jaiden had a habit of spreading her art supplies over every inch of all her bandmates' dressing rooms. He didn’t mind, but still, no wonder the dude couldn’t find anywhere to put his box of techy-looking-sh*t.

He cleared his throat. “Um - hello?”

The guy practically jumped out of his skin, nearly dropping the box. “F*cking hell man!” 

Tommy frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Do you mind?! I’m kinda busy here!”

Tommy stared at him. “I - what?”

The guy jerked his head down at the box of wires. “I’m looking for a place to stick this sh*t and it’s f*cking heavy.”

“What is it?”

“Mics,” the guy explained. “They’re no use upstairs.”

“Upstairs being…”

“The sound-desk?” the guy said slowly, as though he was talking to an idiot. “I’m Tubbo? I’m one of the sound engineers. We do the sound?”

It dawned on Tommy that this person - Tubbo, apparently - really had no clue who he was talking to. He thought Tommy was just another employee - and presumably one who didn’t even know what a sound engineer did. He thought Tommy was a f*cking moron, actually.

It was oddly… refreshing. Sure, his band and their manager, Phil, treated him as the flawed human being he was, but he was still largely surrounded by people who practically fell over themselves to please him, especially while on tour. People who made it hard to tell the difference between genuine care and selfish cozying up, people intending to use him as a means to an end. Learning that kindness and goodness were different had been a hard lesson Tommy had been forced to learn when he’d first become famous, and it still made him uncomfortable whenever he was reminded of how hard it was, and probably always would be, to find people willing to be honest with him. 

All day today he’d had the arena manager - some smarmy f*ck called Cucurucho - practically following him around, giving him advice and praise and asking for his opinions and all but begging him to make a request he could speedily fulfil, and he was tired. The insincerity of it all had exhausted him. 

So this… this was a welcome breath of fresh air.

“Tubbo huh?” 

Tubbo nodded. “Yeah. Could you move some of these…” he squinted. “Arts and crafts supplies?”

“Sure,” Tommy replied, stepping forwards to shove a roll of coloured pencils and three tins of paint - tins of paint? What the f*ck Jaiden? - aside. Tubbo placed the box down with a huff. “There we go.”

Tommy picked up one of the tins of paint. “What sort of colour is elephant graveyard?”

Tubbo shrugged. “Uh - grey? Maybe? Or… red?”

“Red?”

“Like… elephant blood?”

“That’s f*cking morbid!”

“And an elephant graveyard isn’t?”

Tommy laughed. “Okay, well you’ve got me there.”

Tubbo folded his arms. “I’m just an artiste, you mere plebs wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh yeah?” Tommy picked up another can. F*cking hell Jaiden, what are these names? “What’s burnt snowfall?”

“That’s a clear glaze,” Tubbo said, with faux-confidence. 

“How so?”

“Well, if you burn snow you melt it, so it’s just… water! Which is clear,” Tubbo explained, nodding sagely. “It’s obvious, really.”

“ So obvious,” Tommy snorted. “You’ll have to teach me your ways, oh wise and artistic one.”

Tubbo looked down at him - which was difficult, since he was pretty f*cking short, but still, he tilted his head back and tried his best. “I’m not sure, young one. You have so much to learn - are you sure you are worthy?”

“Of course I am!” Tommy protested. “I am worthy! The worthiest!”

Tubbo opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the door swung open and Tommy’s heart sank as his finalist for least-favourite-person barged inside. 

“There you are!” Cucurucho declared, striding into the room. “You - oh?” His gaze focused on Tubbo. “Tubbo? What are you doing in here?”

Tubbo seemed to have frozen. “I was - I was dropping off some mics?”

Cucurucho gritted his teeth. “And why did that involve talking to Tommy?”

Tubbo frowned. “Talking to - Tommy?” His eyes widened. “Oh. O-oh.”

“I’m so sorry about him,” Cucurucho said quickly, eyes shooting daggers in Tubbo’s direction. “I do hope he didn’t bother you too much, he should have known better than to enter your dressing room.”

“His - his dressing room?” 

“Yes, his dressing room,” Cucurucho hissed. “For f*ck’s…” he sighed. “Sorry, Tommy. It won’t happen again, I can assure you.”

“It - it’s okay,” Tommy said, wincing. “Honestly, it’s fine, I don’t mind. It was - nice to meet you, Tubbo.”

“Y-you too,” Tubbo said a little dazedly. “But -”

“Come on, get out,” Cucurucho said impatiently. “I have to talk to the star of the show!” It was probably meant to sound like a compliment, but it still rubbed Tommy the wrong way. He hated it when people said that. Slimeheads were a team, not a backup band. 

“But - wait -”

“No buts,” Cucurucho said, something steely in his tone. “Go on. Out.”

“Wait -”

“Now.” Cucurucho’s tone left no room for argument. 

Tubbo hesitated for a brief moment, looking troubled, while Cucurucho continued to glower at him. Finally, he gave in, scurrying out. Cucurucho slammed the door behind him.

Tommy winced. “You - you didn’t have to -”

“Oh, it was no bother,” Cucurucho said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “Now, about the lighting during the fourth song…”

Tommy sighed internally. He missed Tubbo already.

Chapter Text

Tubbo knew the moment the show was over that he was f*cked.

He hadn’t known it was the Tommy Innit’s dressing room he was dumping the broken mics in - his presence there in the first place had already pissed Cucurucho off. And now, after this? He was so f*cked.

The band had used the mics. Of course they had - Cucurucho had ushered Tubbo out of the room before he could explain the mixup. And of course they were running late, so of course Cucurucho decided to forgo a sound test, so of course the first song was basically inaudible.

Tubbo had done his best to fix the mistake as quickly as possible, but the damage was done the moment Tommy opened his mouth and nothing seemed to come out. At least he definitely sings live.

The show ended, thunderous applause and cheering sweeping through the stadium as the band disappeared behind green-tinged smoke, heading backstage. Tubbo slumped back in his chair, watching as the blinking lights turned red as, one by one, the band members turned their mics off. 

The show had been good. Aside from the mic issues at the start, it was undoubtedly a successful show. Tubbo had never really paid much attention to Slimeheads  before, but maybe he’d become a fan now, having heard their music. 

Or he would have, if their show hadn’t just ruined his night. Which it had. He knew Cucurucho too well to think he’d let even one mistake of this magnitude slide. He was not making it home without facing his manager’s wrath.

Oh well. He could handle it. There was nothing Cucurucho could do that would hurt him worse than he couldn’t take.

Cucurucho wasn’t allowed to lay a hand on him after all. 

=00==00==00=

“What the f*cked happened?” Cucurucho barked, slamming the door to the sound booth open. “Care to explain yourself Tubbo?”

Tubbo scrambled to his feet. “I - it was a mistake, honestly -”

“I don’t want your excuses,” Cucurucho sneered. “Just explain yourself.”

Tubbo swallowed. “I - when you ran into me in the dressing room - Tommy’s dressing room - I didn’t realise it was his. I thought it was just for storage, I was - I was just looking for a place to put the broken mics.”

“And you thought you’d leave it in there?”

“I didn’t realise it was being used as a dressing room!” Tubbo said desperately. “I really didn’t, I was just going to store them there -”

“Why are there so many broken mics anyway?” Cucurucho raged. “They’re your responsibility!”

“They’re old!” Tubbo protested. “They’re - they’re really old Cucurucho. I was - I will - I’ll fix them, I promise, but I’ve - I’ve been saying forever that we need new equipment -”

Cucurucho shook his head, cutting him off. “Don’t blame the equipment for your sh*tty workmanship.”

“I - I’m not -”

“And why didn’t you say something before you just left all that sh*t there? Are you a f*cking moron?”

“I - I tried! You wouldn’t let me get a word in edgeways!”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

Tubbo felt like tearing his hair out - his, or Cucurucho’s, either would do. “No - I - look, it really was an honest mistake, I didn’t think they’d use them, and since you wouldn’t let me do a sound check -”

“I told you I didn’t want to hear your excuses, didn’t I?” Cucurucho snapped. “Shut the f*ck up.”

Tubbo bristled. “You’re not being fair -”

“Oh, you want fair?” Cucurucho spat. “Fine. You’re fired.”

Tubbo froze. He had known Cucurucho would be angry, that he’d certainly threaten him, but - “W-wait -”

“I want you gone before I lock up for the night. You embarrassed me - you embarrassed the whole stadium, the whole city. You’re a f*cking disgrace, and I have no interest in keeping such a useless employee.”

Tubbo felt as though his throat was closing up. “No no - wait. You - you know I need this job.”

Cucurucho rolled his eyes. “Not as much as I need you out of my stadium.”

“No - wait - Cucurucho - s-sir, please. I’ve - I’ve been working here for four years, this is my first mistake, you can’t just -”

“Can’t I?” Cucurucho smirked. “I think you’ll find I can.”

“Please,” Tubbo pleaded, heart pounding. “I - you know I need the money. I - I’ll work overtime! I’ll fix the mics, I promise, this will never happen again -”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I’ll do anything,” Tubbo promised desperately. “Honestly, a-anything, just please, give me another chance, I -”

“Listen,” Cucurucho said smoothly. “What do you think Slimeheads will say if they find out I haven’t dismissed the sound tech who f*cked up their first show of the week? I have to fire you.”

“I didn’t -”

“Yes. You did,” Cucurucho smiled. “See? This is much easier for everyone.”

“Not for me!” Tubbo protested. The air felt oddly thick, it was getting hard to breathe. “Please. I don’t - I don’t know what I’ll do -”

Cucurucho shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.”

Tubbo felt as though his whole body had been plunged into cold water. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his skin felt numb, and he was practically shaking with rage. He hoped it was rage. “Cucurucho… please…”

“Get out of my stadium,” Cucurucho said dismissively. “You have half an hour. If you’re not gone by then, I’ll get security to throw you out.”

Tubbo couldn’t even get enough air into his trembling lungs to respond. 

Cucurucho smirked. “You can always send her back, you know.”

“F-f-f*ck you,” Tubbo gasped out. “F*ck you Cucurucho.”

Cucurucho just kept smiling. “Good luck Tubbo.”

=00==00==00=

Tubbo opened the door to his apartment as quietly as he could.

It didn’t matter. He should have known she wouldn’t be sleeping.

“Tubbo!”

Tubbo tried for a tired smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. “Hi, Sunny.”

She threw herself into his arms. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too,” he said softly, picking her up. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, burying her head into his shoulder. “Were you good while I was gone?”

He hated leaving her home alone late at night, but he didn’t really have a choice. Childcare was too expensive, and neither of them had relatives - or even friends - he could call on to look after her. She was twelve, she knew not to touch the stove, how to use the microwave, not to open the door to anyone or leave the building (unless it was on fire). He knew it wasn’t okay, he knew if anyone knew what he was doing, she’d probably be ripped away from him in an instant. But what choice did they have? Anything was better than the foster system.

“I was really good,” Sunny assured him. “Are you proud of me?”

“I am always proud of you,” Tubbo reminded her.

Sunny yawned. “I’m proud of you too.”

Tubbo swallowed down the lump rapidly rising in his throat. He did not deserve Sunny at all. “Th-thank you princess.”

She smiled at the nickname before yawning again. “Will you read me a story?”

“Of course,” Tubbo agreed, carrying her to her bedroom. It was small - more like a cupboard really, with barely enough room for her bed and a chest of drawers, which was… well, it wasn’t ideal, but he’d done his best to make it feel like home for her, hanging string lights from the walls, filling it with her plushies and blankets and books, finding a soft fluffy rug for the floor and a set of bright yellow sheets for her bed. When she was bigger they’d have to find another solution but, for now, it worked. She seemed to like how cozy the space was. Tubbo quite liked it too. 

He put her down on the bed. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

She looked offended. “Of course!”

“I’m just checking,” he smiled. He reached across and grabbed one of the books sitting in a haphazard pile on her chest of drawers. “Alright, get into bed fancy girl. Looks like it’s the princess and the pea tonight.”

She dove beneath the covers, bringing them up to her chest, yawning again as Tubbo opened the book. “Once upon a time, a queen was searching for a true princess…”

She was asleep before the pea made it beneath the mattresses. 

Tubbo gently stroked her hair out of her face. 

My little princess.

She wasn’t his daughter. Well, legally, she was, but not biologically, and she alternated between calling him ‘Tubbo,’ ‘Dad,’ and ‘Papa,’ depending on how she felt. He would never force her to call him anything. They’d both had enough of that in the foster system.

He’d left her behind, five years ago, when he aged out. She’d only been seven then, and she’d been devastated - they’d been stuck in the same sh*tty house for three years together, he’d been the only stable person in her life, as far as she could remember. Leaving her shredded his heart into pieces, even as he held her hands tightly and swore he’d come back for her, sooner or later. Asked her not to forget him, and not to give up - he was coming back, and he’d rescue her, come hell or high water. He was coming back for her. 

And he had. It had taken two years, but he’d gotten stable, gotten the papers, gotten his kid. His little sister, his daughter - his Sunny. His kid. 

And he didn’t deserve her.

He had no job. They had been able to survive on the salary Cucurucho had paid him, and he had a little in savings but - not enough. Not even close.

Tears filled his eyes and he leaned back, glad Sunny was asleep. She hated seeing her Papa cry. It scared her. 

What am I going to do?

Chapter Text

All things considered, their time in Quesadilla City had been rather successful so far. They were three shows in, and each one had been better than the last, or at least, that was how Tommy felt. Aside from a slight hiccup on the first night, which Tommy was pretty sure had been their own fault - they had just assumed the box of mics were the ones they were meant to use, without even asking someone, after all - all of the shows had run smoothly, and they were all gaining more confidence with each night that passed. Tommy was pretty sure that Foolish was one more ‘shark-nation-support!’ sign from inserting a drum solo into every song, and he had to admit, it was very good fun to add a note change here and there, just to hear the screaming from the crowd. The residents of Quesadilla City seemed to provide a great atmosphere for a concert. 

He had to admit though - the arena itself was… a little lacking. The facilities were fine - a little old, perhaps, but they functioned, and the place was largely reserved for sporting events anyway, Tommy couldn’t fault that. 

The problem was the people. Most of them were fine, but there was still that underlying current of ‘of course , anything for you Tommy,’ which always made his skin crawl. It wasn’t their fault, he knew that, that was probably how they were expected to behave, but he didn’t like it. In another lifetime he would have been them, working in a venue to be closer to the music he loved, getting starstruck when a famous singer asked them where they could find a glass of water. He tried not to judge them too harshly, but still, it made him uncomfortable. He just wanted people to treat him like they would anyone else.

Like Tubbo had.

He hadn’t seen the sound tech in days, and he was surprised to find that he missed him as much as he did. They’d only had a short conversation - plus the rushed interaction on the first night, as Tubbo swapped out their broken mics for working ones - but it had been one of the best he’d had with someone who wasn’t already a part of his inner circle in… f*cking forever. And sure, the guy must know by now who he was - the f*cking stadium manager had made sure of that - but there was still a decent chance he would act normal around him, since the ice had been broken. Which would have been nice - Tommy had been looking forward to working with someone like that, even if only for a short time. But since the first performance he hadn’t seen him even once . 

Maybe he was being a bit ridiculous for caring so much about someone he’d only met once, but he couldn’t help it. He liked the guy. He certainly didn’t want to leave the city without at least getting to say goodbye.

He resolved to ask Cucurucho about it later.

=00==00==00=

“Another excellent show,” Cucurucho said the moment they made it offstage. Tommy wished Phil were here - he was one of the few people that seemed to know just how to draw the attention of people like Cucurucho and give Tommy a break. They always came after him. Better me than my bandmates I suppose. 

Besides, he did have a question to ask, so on this occasion, he didn’t mind quite as much. 

His bandmates disappeared to put their instruments and music away, throwing him apologetic glances as they did. He waved them off as best he could. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.

“I think you just get better each night!” Cucurucho exclaimed. Tommy was inclined to agree, but it sounded so insincere coming from the manager’s mouth. “It’s been such a pleasure to have you in my stadium, I really can’t thank you enough for choosing my venue.”

Tommy sensed an opportunity. “Oh, thank you. We’ve enjoyed our time so far - your staff are excellent.”

Cucurucho preened. “They are, aren’t they? I selected them myself of course -”

“Mhmm,” Tommy interrupted, not particularly interested in hearing Cucurucho make normal-manager-duties sound like the result of his own tremendous talent. “I was wondering though - do you know where Tubbo is? I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

Cucurucho scowled. “Oh. Yes. Tubbo.” He sighed. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

“Oh, good,” Tommy smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I really can’t apologise for his mistake on the first night,” Cucurucho said. “If I’d known that would happen -”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” Tommy said sincerely. “Things like that happen sometimes.”

“Not at my stadium,” Cucurucho said, with an air of superiority. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tommy said non-committedly. He honestly didn’t care either way - he had no intention of returning to this venue if he could help it. Anywhere had to be better. He would miss Tubbo though - maybe he could get him to transfer jobs?

“I only hire the very best,” Cucurucho continued. “In a way, I’m glad it happened. He obviously didn’t deserve the role he had here.”

Tommy froze. “Wh-what?”

Cucurucho gave him an odd look. “Tubbo? He messed up, on the opening night! I fired him. He won’t be making that mistake here again.”

Tommy stared at him. “You what?”

“I fired him!” Cucurucho smiled. “He got what he deserved, don’t worry.”

“You fired him?” Tommy exclaimed. “What - why the f*ck would you do that?!”

Cucurucho seemed a little taken aback. “I - well - why wouldn’t I? He doesn’t deserve the job if he can’t do it properly.”

Tommy felt as though he was choking. He had known someone like Cucurucho, once. Someone who used their power to abuse the people beneath, work them to the bone. 

“What - he made one mistake -”

“One too large for me to feel comfortable having him in my stadium!” Cucurucho protested. “I couldn’t let him get away with it, after all, you are my priority.”

“I - what - we didn’t ask you to fire him!”

“But - he messed up your show? Why wouldn’t you want him punished?”

Tommy felt sick. He never wanted to be the reason someone lost their livelihood, he wasn’t like that - he would hate himself if he ever became so callous as to f*ck someone over because they had displeased him. And Tubbo hadn’t even done that! He’d made a small mistake, that he’d fixed as quickly as he could - and Cucurucho had fired him. He - he was calling it a punishment.

No. No. Absolutely not. This wasn’t happening. He would not have this be the legacy he left behind in Quesadilla City.

“You’re going to give him his job back,” Tommy said firmly, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt - like the spoiled brat everyone apparently thought he was. 

“I - what?”

“You’re going to give him job back,” Tommy said, folding him arms. “Or Slimeheads will never play in this venue again.”

“What - you - you can’t just -”

“In fact, no one will play in this venue again,” Tommy threatened. “You think I don’t have connections? I do. No one will touch this place with a barge pole if I tell them not to. You want that?”

“Well - no - but you - I -”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Those are your options. Give him his job back, or never see a payday like this again. This was meant to be your big break into concert hosting, right? See how long that lasts without my support. I dare you.”

He stepped back. 

Cucurucho’s face was pale, his eyes dark. “Are you threatening me?”

Tommy shrugged. “I might be. Think of it like… a punishment. One you can avoid if you do the right thing.”

Cucurucho’s face twisted. “I see.”

“I’ll leave you to think about it,” Tommy said flatly. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, he turned and strode away.

He hated using his power and fame like that. He didn’t want to be like - like any of the celebrities that did that, made the lives of those they considered ‘beneath’ them a misery. 

He - he didn’t want to be like the people - the person - that had used him.

But sometimes - for some people - it was worth it. 

=00==00==00=

Tubbo stuck his phone back into his pocket, still not quite believing his ears.

After two days of panicking, searching desperately for jobs and trying to keep it all from Sunny, Cucurucho had just called and offered him his job back. 

Maybe if Tubbo had had a little more pride, he would have refused. But he didn’t, and more importantly, he didn’t have the money to say no. He said yes at once, put the phone down, and swept his daughter into a tight hug, while she laughed, confused, but always happy to be hugged by her papa.

Tubbo buried his head into her hair and tried not to cry with sheer relief.

We’re going to be okay. 

It’s going to be okay.

=00==00==00=

Tubbo gritted his teeth. 

If Cucurucho had hated him before, he despised him now. He wasn’t just the sound tech anymore, he was essentially the owner’s personal assistant and general dogsbody - he was called on constantly, for meaningless, menial tasks, to fetch him a file from his desk, to bring him a coffee, to answer the phone or clear out his inbox, or, one particularly humiliating afternoon, to wash his car . It was a f*cking nightmare, and he didn’t dare say no, to any of it. Cucurucho could ask him to clean his toilet, and Tubbo would have to say yes. He had no idea why he’d been afforded this second chance, but he couldn’t risk losing this job again - Cucurucho held his livelihood, the life of his kid, in his fist, and he knew it. He knew Tubbo would do anything for Sunny.

Sometimes, he caught a glimpse of the band while he was rushing from task to task. He wondered what they thought of him - what Tommy thought of him. They must think he was pretty pathetic, doing whatever he was told to cling onto this job. 

Maybe he was.

But he would be pathetic, if that was what he had to be. He’d give Cucurucho a full-f*cking-pedicure if that’s what it took.

Sunny was what mattered. As long as she would be okay, it didn’t matter what happened to him. As long as his princess kept smiling. 

Chapter Text

The last show of Slimeheads’ stint in Quesadilla City was a resounding success. The lights dimmed, the crowd cheered and Tubbo leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his eyes as the mics were switched off, the amps muted. 

He was so f*cking tired.

And the night was still young. For the last few days, Cucurucho had been forcing him to clean up the mess left behind after the concert was over. He supposed it was a way for him to save money, using Tubbo as his own personal cleaning service. It meant he got home to Sunny later, and he hated it, but he didn’t really have a choice. He couldn’t lose this job; he had to just… put up with Cucurucho’s demands. He had no idea why he’d been given a second chance, but he couldn’t afford to waste it. 

But still. That didn’t mean he liked it.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, savouring the few seconds of peace he had as the throngs of people filed out, before he was sent to work again. It didn’t take long.

“Tubbo?”

Tubbo opened his eyes and turned his seat so he could see Cucurucho enter. “Cucurucho.”

“Once the audience has left, I want you to pick up the garbage they’ve left behind.”

Tubbo exhaled. He was so f*cking tired. “Are - are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Tubbo bit his lip. “I - I really should be getting home. My daughter -”

“Can wait,” Cucurucho said shortly, cutting him off. “I want the place spotless by morning, understand?”

Tubbo gritted his teeth. There was no use in arguing, not when his livelihood was at risk. “O-okay. I understand.”

“Good,” Cucurucho smirked. “And I want you in an hour early tomorrow morning. You have some broken mics to fix.”

F*ck. “I - my kid has school in the morning -”

“I don’t care,” Cucurucho said flatly. “Figure it out. I expect you here at seven, or I don’t want to see you at all, got it?”

“Got it,” Tubbo said, throat tight. He’d have to figure it out somehow. He always did. He’d find a way. There had to be some way to solve this problem.

“Good. See you then,” Cucurucho smirked.

And with that, he strode out of the room. 

Tubbo stood, wincing as his back protested. It was probably from all the bending over he’d been doing the past few nights. Not that he had a choice. 

He sighed. 

This is the last night. Maybe it’ll be better when we go back to being a regular sports stadium.

He didn’t feel as hopeful as he’d have liked. Sh*t, he missed his kid. She always found a way to cheer him up.

But of course, that was why he was doing this. For her sake. So she’d never lose that spark that made her so unique and precious to him. 

He straightened his shoulders. For Sunny. I can do this.  

=00==00==00=

Tubbo was so f*cking exhausted. It was dark, he was searching for litter with a headtorch, and he wanted to do nothing more than lie down on the uncomfortable plastic seats and close his eyes. He was drained and yet he’d have to get up early in the morning to meet Cucurucho’s brutal deadline - would he even manage to wake up that early? There was no way he could pull an all-nighter, not with how tired he was right now, he’d probably pass out while screwing a new coil into a mic, and that was not a mistake he could afford to make. He’d have to get some sleep somehow, he’d have to get up and get Sunny to school one way or another - maybe he could drop her off early? There was a breakfast club right?

He had no idea what time it was. His phone - an old Nokia he’d found in a charity shop and tinkered with until it worked to a semi-satisfactory extent - was dead. He hated that - he hated that Sunny couldn’t contact him if she needed to. He hoped she was sleeping by now.

He picked up an empty coke can, tossing it into his bag. Wow, not diet coke? Such poor taste.

“Oi!”

Tubbo looked up in the direction of the voice. 

Oh.

He hoped the darkness covered the flush of embarrassment that crept over his face. 

It was Tommy. Tommy Innit.

He’d been wrong about Tommy, he could admit that. He seemed to be a perfectly nice guy as far as Tubbo could tell - he hadn’t been angry with him when Tubbo failed to recognise him in the singer’s own dressing room, and even the mic incident hadn’t caused him to make Tubbo’s life a misery. At least, not as far as he could tell. It seemed like Cucurucho’s quest to ruin Tubbo’s peace was a mission all of his own invention. 

“H-hi,” Tubbo said awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asked, making his way through the seats to stand in front of him. 

Tubbo indicated the stadium. “Oh - y’know. Cleaning up.”

Tommy frowned. “I thought you were a sound engineer?”

“I am,” Tubbo shrugged. “Cucurucho just asked me to help out with this.”

“But - it’s almost eleven o'clock!” Tommy exclaimed. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Tubbo laughed - it sounded more bitter than he had intended. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“Wha - of course you do!”

Tubbo turned away from him, focusing on the next aisle. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“What -”

“Just leave me be,” Tubbo said shortly, moving away. He was too tired for this. He felt humiliated and exhausted and he missed his daughter and he just wanted to rest. He didn’t want to explain the concept of living paycheck-to-paycheck to a rich superstar, not tonight, not ever. He just wanted to be left alone. 

“No - no, Tubbo - wait!”  Tommy called, hurrying after him. “Listen to me!”

Tubbo twisted around. “What?”

Tommy swallowed. “I - I do get it. I do.”

“How could you possibly understand?” Tubbo said stiffly. 

Tommy shuffled awkwardly. “Well… maybe I don’t, not entirely. But - I - I - I had a bad manager too, once.” He looked away, up at the stars. “When we first started, we signed with this guy that - he wanted us to be his big stars. And so did we! But not - not like that. He worked us all too hard - Cellbit nearly quit. Jaiden did quit, but the contract wouldn’t set her free. I - I lost my v-voice. He - he yelled about that too. We only made it out, we only stuck together, because Phil found us and set us free.” He made eye contact, lips thin. “That’s - that’s why I hate it when people misuse their power over someone else. A contract isn’t a deed of ownership.”

Tubbo stared at him. Everyone knew Slimeheads had changed management a few years ago, but the reason why had been buried.

Now he knew why.

“O-oh,” Tubbo gasped. “I - I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “We’re okay now.”

“I - I’m glad.”

“Never mind me - what about you?” Tommy pressed. “I - I know what it’s like to get stuck working under someone like your boss. Why are you still here?”

Tubbo shrugged, looking down at his feet. “I - I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“You - you could come with us!”

Tubbo felt his head shoot up, eyes widening as he stared at Tommy. “Wh-what?”

Tubbo couldn’t quite believe it - maybe it was the low light, but Tubbo could have sworn Tommy was blushing. “I - it’s not often someone makes me laugh like you did in the dressing room. I - I’d like to have you as a friend - and a sound engineer. We could do with someone to look after our stuff on tour - and stop us from putting on broken microphones,” he laughed. “We have a long tour ahead of us, and you - you practically ran the whole sound system here by yourself. We could really use someone like you.”

Tubbo felt like his eyeballs were going to fall out of his head. “You - you’re serious? I - you -”

“I’m serious,” Tommy smiled. “I guess I’m offering you a job. Do you want it?”

For a moment, Tubbo let himself consider it. He imagined throwing his resignation in Cucurucho’s face and leaving with Tommy and his band. He imagined touring the world with him, being valued and respected instead of ignored and berated and belittled.

He imagined having a friend

He wanted the job. Of course he wanted it.

But he’d already gotten the one thing he wanted most in the world. He didn’t need anything else. 

“I - I can’t,” he said, choking down his sadness. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s face fell. He looked about as upset as Tubbo felt. “What? Why not?”

Tubbo swallowed. He couldn’t look at Tommy. “I… I have a kid.”

“Wh- what?” He heard, rather than saw, the shock in Tommy’s voice. “You - what?”

“I - I have a daughter. Or - well, she’s adopted, she was my little sister - i-in foster care. She’s twelve.”

“You - you have a daughter,” Tommy repeated slowly. “I - I see.”

“Her name is Sunny,” Tubbo said, a soft smile appearing on his face. “She - she’s my whole world. I - I love her. I can’t leave her.” His smile turned a little sad. “Th-thank you for the offer. It - it sounds amazing, truly, but... I can’t leave her. I’m sorry.”

Tommy shook his head rapidly. “Well - then don’t! Don’t leave her! Bring her with you!”

Tubbo felt his heart stop. “Wh-what?”

“Take her with you! I’d love to meet her - and Phil’s a f*cking softie, he loves kids - Jaiden would love to teach her how to draw, if she’d like, and - well, we have plenty of musicians if she wants to learn an instrument! And trust me, we can arrange a tutor for homeschooling if she needs one, and -”

“You - you’re serious?” Tubbo breathed. “I - you - you mean it?”

Tommy nodded. “Of course. She’s a part of you, we’d never ask you to leave her behind!”

“And - and she’d really be welcome?” We both would be?

“Of course,” Tommy said, and there was no room in his tone for any doubt. “For as long as you both want.”

Tubbo took a step back, tripping and collapsing into one of the hard plastic seats. It hurt, but he hardly felt it. “You - you mean it? You really, mean it?”

“I do,” Tommy said softly. He sat beside him. “I really do.” He grinned, eyes bright. “So, what do you say?”

“I - I’ll have to ask what she thinks,” Tubbo said breathlessly. 

“Please do,” Tommy smiled. “And for the record - I can’t wait to meet her.”

=00==00==00=

Sunny stared up at the jet in awe, clinging tightly to Tubbo’s hand. “We get to ride in that?”

“We do,” Tubbo smiled, squeezing her hand gently. “Exciting, right?”

Everything had happened so quickly. After he’d called Tommy to accept the job their whole lives had been uprooted within a few days. He’d left his job - and f*ck, he’d never forget the look on Cucurucho’s face when he’d quit on the spot, leaving him with no one to run the football game that afternoon. He’d packed up their apartment, sending it all to Tommy, who had stored it with the rest of the band’s stuff. He’d cancelled their lease. 

And now they were standing on the precipice of their new lives. A private jet, to take them all to the next stop on the tour. Inside, the members of the band were waiting - along with a few members of their team, like Phil, the band’s manager. Tubbo liked Phil. He - he was kind of like a dad, the sort of dad he wanted to be to Sunny. Maybe he could ask Phil for some tips. Or would that be weird?

Sunny leaned her head against his arm. “Do - do you think they’ll like me?”

Tubbo crouched down, taking her by the shoulders. “Of course, they will. They’ll adore you, just like I do.”

Sunny flushed and bumped her head into his shoulder. “I only need one Papa though.”

“And I only need one daughter,” Tubbo replied. “You ready?”

Sunny nodded, looking back up at the jet. “It’s so fancy.”

“Of course it is,” Tubbo smiled. “It’s got to be good enough for a little princess.”