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The box was suffocating. As soon as Schlatt had called him up to give his speech, Tubbo knew he wasn’t going to fully make it out of this. It was a normal throne, moments ago. He was interrupted many times by both Schlatt and Quackity as he gave his speech. He tried to brush it off, but it all felt off. It was when they began to encase him that he began to panic.
He grabbed at his suit, hyperventilating nearly. The yellow concrete being piled around him, the darkness closing in. There was nowhere he could run or turn to. All that was left was a small opening for his torso. Jschlatt and Quackity looked at him like he was a piece of meat. The jig was up.
He had never been good at lying. Which was his downfall really. If Tommy were here, he’d be able to bullshit his way out of this. But Tommy wasn’t here, and Tubbo was quite glad he wasn’t. He knew this whole plan had been terrible. Schlatt clearly hadn’t believed his lies. That he wasn’t in communication with Tommy and Wilbur. All those times he’d sneak away to Pogtopia, all those times Quackity caught him trudging back to the white house. He felt sick thinking of it. Tubbo_ deserved to die. He was a traitor, and a bad one at that.
He could barely breathe, even as he heard Schlatt calling Technoblade up. What the fuck did he want Techno for? Nothing good obviously. His chest began to hurt from the fear. He could feel every wall of the box. Every block that had been placed to make his tomb. He could barely hear the audience's cries of shock and terror. Or Technoblade trying to stall, crying about being peer pressured. Or the screams of Tommy from off in the distance.
Tubbo_ was essentially alone. Cordoned off from the rest of the world. He tried to back further into the wall when Technoblade approached, a crossbow in hand.
Oh my Prime, I’m going to die. I’m going to die and Schlatt is going to laugh.
He barely processed what Techno said, his eyes unsure of what was happening.
“I’ll make it as painless and colorful as possible.”
The crossbow was pointed directly at his chest. He could hear Schlatt’s voice. He could vaguely hear the chaos outside. But that didn’t matter. It didn’t exist. Nothing else existed, besides the box and the crossbow.
“I’m sorry I’m being subjected to some mild amount of peer pressure.”
It was dumb, but out of instinct Tubbo covered his face. Trying to shield himself, as useless as it was. He should've closed his eyes. But part of him wanted to face it.
In an instant the world exploded. And he wished he could say it was over quick, but the fire made it feel like forever. Bright colors clouded his vision, the explosion ringing in his ears. He was knocked back by the explosion, falling forward. He couldn’t scream, there was no time. Burning in his chest, burning all over.
Tubbo_ went off with a bang.
“Tubbo, I want you to come up to the stage,” Wilbur said. It was barely days after Tubbo had been executed. He had one life left, and he was sixteen. As much as he had been honored at first to have the country entrusted to him, things could never go his way.
Waking up after losing his second life had been painful. It had been like dying all over again, except he had to actually experience the pain fully. He had been treated by Tommy, who refused to leave his side while he was recovering. Tubbo couldn’t exactly blame him, as he had just witnessed his best friend die. Tommy had carried him most of the way back to Pogtopia, despite Tubbo being able to mostly walk. There had been no time to assess the damage done to the small boy, until they had gotten back to their base.
Tommy made him sit down while he grabbed bandages and healing potions. Tubbo had died before, he knew the drill. But this time was worse, this time it was so much more painful. There was burning on his face and neck. He knew he’d be scarred from the incident. What he didn’t expect was how bad it actually was.
Tommy returned with some supplies and began assessing Tubbo’s wounds. Wilbur, despite calling the two back to the base, barely paid much attention to them. The two boys mainly sat in silence. With Tommy occasionally muttering things to himself.
“I need you to take off your shirt, Tubs. Gotta make sure there's no internal bleeding or anything.”
“Do I really have to?” Tubbo groaned. He was uncomfortable at the idea, but also, this was Tommy. If it was going to be anyone, he was glad it was Tommy. He carefully unbuttoned his jacket, tossing it to the side. Then he did the same with the white dress shirt. Tommy was quiet as he examined his back.
“There's a lot of scarring…lots of burn mark-”
“Yes but is anything damaged?” Tubbo asked, impatiently. It was cold, and he hated how vulnerable he felt.
“Not on your back, no, let me look at your chest and you can put your shirt back on.”
“Does anything hurt? Like- not normal coming back from death pains?” the blonde asked.
“No?” Tubbo frowned in confusion.
Tommy let him put his shirt back on, satisfied that there were no serious injuries. “The scarring on the right side of your face is severe, it’s gonna have to be wrapped up for it to heal properly.” Tommy said, frowning slightly.
“How bad is it?” Tubbo finally asked, slightly terrified to look in a mirror.
Tommy cringed, “erm, it’s- are you sure you want to see right now?”
Tubbo hesitated, it wasn’t like he worried about his appearance much. But he could feel all the pain and burns, and had to know how badly his face had been damaged.
Tommy hesitated before going to find a mirror. He came back a few minutes later with an old compact. Neither were sure whose it was, but it didn’t matter. He was handed the opened compact, his heart dropping at the first glimpse of his face.
The right side of his face was severely scarred. Tommy had not been understating it. It was a deep red, the skin wrinkled and cracked. But that wasn’t even the worst part. Part of his neck was like that, as well a spot on his other cheek. His right ear had been completely blown off. There was a crevice where it had been, the hole healed up. He felt a bit sick thinking about it. How had he not noticed sooner?
His right eye was no longer a bright blue, but was now graying. The skin around his eye was blackened. There were bits of skin hanging off the scarred mass that was the right side of his face. He stared at his reflection for a moment more, before slamming the compact shut and handing it back to Tommy. Tommy fidgeted with his hands.
“It’ll get better over time. I got some healing potion that we can put on it before we wrap it…”
Tubbo was sixteen, with a freshly ruined face, when Wilbur decided to blow everything up. He got two minutes of pride. L’manburg had been handed over to him. He was sixteen when he became the president of a crater. He felt incredibly dumb when he realized what happened. How he hadn’t even been present. But no, stupid Tubbo had to have a near breakdown. He had had to get flashbacks of the fireworks, just because Technoblade had tried to kill him again.
It was only when he and Tommy were sitting on the bench that night, that it hit him. Their home had been destroyed. Tommy had lost a brother. And Tubbo had no clue how to run a nation. They were utterly fucked.