Chapter Text
Quietly, because Tubbo couldn’t bring himself to break the delicate silence surrounding them that seemed so much louder than the sirens outside, he began to tell Michael a story.
Everyone on this server had heard at least a part of it, even if they never participated. It was a story of a nation. Of a war - of many wars. Of death. Of grief. It was a story everyone knew part of but very few knew the whole story - the whole truth.
Not many wanted to tell the truth.
Those who knew it were almost always gone in some way or another. Dead, deranged, brainwashed, lost to time - there was no one left willing to tell it because the truth was a curse. A curse that Tubbo didn’t wish upon anyone, especially not his son. L’manburg had been cursed from the beginning to be filled with war and death and unrequited love and Michael didn’t deserve to experience any of that.
Tubbo refused to let Michael sit by and see the effects of everything he’d been through, especially unrequited love, because he loved his son so, so much. Never would he abandon and scorn him like L’manburg had done to those who entered its walls and partook in its rise and eventual fall. Never would he let them know the horrid truth behind the history that scarred the land they lived in. Never would Tubbo tell him the truth.
Instead, he told them a story.
Leaning back on the headboard of Michael’s bed, the piglet curled safely in his arms with their earmuffs to muffle the shrill, constant sound of the alarm, Tubbo took a deep breath. The breath was shaky, pulling at his scars and making him hold back a wince, and he held it for a moment to steady himself. Finally, he began.
He told Michael the story of three brothers moving to a new land. They had left their old home for a new beginning, a new life. They left behind their old server and joined the new one with bright eyes and even brighter ideas for the future. (what a horrible server they chose for such a life.)
Quietly, as he rubbed Michael’s back to comfort them after a particularly loud rattle of wind from the snow storm outside - like the Universe knew what was about to happen and was protesting in any form it could, however useless it was - he told him how they created the life they had always wanted here, complete with their family of three. The family soon grew to four, then five, then six- their safe space grew from an inside joke to something more.
Tubbo told Michael, in the privacy of his home where no one knew better to shatter his fragile lies, that none of them were ever afraid of it ending. They weren’t afraid of death or war or unrequited love because they had each other and that would never change.
When war first broke out, none of them had been worried. It was just a game, after all. And, in this story, it stayed like that. The war was a game and no one ever had to die or sacrifice their things for it to stay. By the end of it, there was an election and a truce and a king and their safe space grew to something grander - something their bright eyes had only dreamed of when they first joined.
He told them they won the election, because he didn’t have the energy to go into how horrible the loss had been for them all. How quickly it spiralled into something more than the game they had signed up for. He couldn’t even bring himself to think about how all the lies and grief and spying and terror and pain and-
Shakily, Tubbo realized that he’d begun to spiral. So, he stopped. He looked down at Michael to see the child looking up at him with a sleepy eye and he was reminded that they had woken up from their sleep because of the sirens. Putting on a smile - another story, another half-truth, another full-lie - he ran a hand through his son’s curls and hummed hoarsely at the concerned snort.
“Sorry, baby,” he murmured. His voice was hoarse from his - screaming and sobbing and throwing up - reaction after realizing what he’d done earlier. “I just-.. I got lost in thought for a moment,” he chuckled, and it felt hollow. “Where were we..? Right- yeah, we… won. We won the election, he became the president like we all knew he would-”
And, just like that, the story continued. He went into the faux presidency of a nonexistent man, a great one. One with brown hair and a commanding presence and a great sense of love and loyalty to those close to him.
Michael settled in as the story continued, easily distracted with how sleepy he still was, and soon began to doze. The earmuffs helped drown out the sounds from outside but the vibrations of his words soothed them enough that any noise that snuck through were easily ignored. Tubbo was more grateful than ever that Michael had always been such an easy child to put to sleep.
He’d hate himself more if he let him stay awake to hear how this story ended.
However, just because Michael was dozing off it didn’t mean that Tubbo was alone. No, there was someone else who had been quietly listening over by the ladder, watching the two with an apathetic acceptance and understanding that Tubbo almost hated. They knew what was going on, what the sound was and what he’d done, and they didn’t stop it. They had done nothing, nothing besides write in that stupid journal that never belonged to them.
(quietly, in the back of their mind, they could hear the pleading from their other half to react to this knowledge, to stop this from happening, to protect tubbo and michael. they didn’t seem to react.)
“How does the story end?” They asked after a moment of silence, voice as emotionless and sure as it had been since the day Tubbo had first met them.
He looked up and stared brokenly at the ghost of his husband that sat near the ladder. He never saw them much these days - they often haunted the mansion and since then he’d begun avoiding it like the plague - and whenever he did he often sent him away. This time, though, he decided to make an exception. He wasn’t Ranboo but Prime, Tubbo was broken enough to pretend he was.
“...Happily,” he answered after another bout of silence. The sad part was that Tubbo couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.
Did this story have a happy ending?
Tubbo hoped it did, that he wasn’t lying to the ghost. But, if he was telling the truth - and it was cruel irony that he’d been avoiding everything but that - he didn’t know for sure.
He wished that he’d come back as a ghost as well. He wished that, once the final heart on his wrist was broken and marred with death, he could be as happy and carefree as they often seemed… but there was no way to be sure.
One thing he did know was that, even if this didn’t work - even if Tubbo didn’t get his wish and come back as a ghost like Ranboo had, like Wilbur had, like Tommy hadn’t - this story would be over. At least he wouldn’t have to continue to life his life in fear that someone might steal his son away from him, that someone might blow up the sanctuary he’d built for his family, that someone might take his best friend away once again.
At least everything would be over on his terms for once.
It was selfish. He knew that this was selfish, that he’d be taking the server down with him, but he felt like he was allowed to be selfish sometimes. Surely, right? He was allowed to be selfish after everything he’d gone through. Everyone else on this damn server was selfish, it was why he was in this mess to begin with.
He deserved this, after everything he’d put up with to get here.
(so why was he crying?)
The ghost tilted their head, quiet aside from a thoughtful little warble that was too close to the sounds his husband would make for his comfort, and thought his answer over. Their tail swayed behind them as they though and, eventually, they tilted their head and asked, “does it really?”
“I’d like to think so,” he murmured. It was a non-answer. It was all he could really give them because he was so tired. Whether it was or wasn’t happy, he liked to think that this was happier than any other possible outcome. It was sudden, sure, and, if anyone asked him, he’d say it was an accident… but this had to be happier than the alternative.
It had to be happier than another war breaking out, than Tommy being found by Dream, than anymore unnecessary grief for those who never seemed to really die.
It had to be peace, because he didn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t.
And maybe this accident made him no better than those so-called gods on this server. Maybe he was no better than those who acted like they controlled the fate of everyone and everything around them, no better than those who lived for the control of those just trying to live another day.
And, just maybe, he didn’t care.
He hadn’t slept in days, hadn’t eaten in longer, and it was a miracle that it had taken him this long to finally crash. He never really slept well alone, after all. He hadn’t been getting good sleep in a while. Tommy used to sleep next to him when they were younger, before and even during that first war. They’d sleep cuddled up never to each other and that would chase away their nightmares.
Later on, when he couldn’t rely on Tommy to be there each night anymore, he often had Ranboo to help scare them away.
These days, he had neither to help him.
Tommy was gone. He didn’t blame him, he wouldn’t want to be around him when he was like this either, but that didn’t make it any less sad to find evidence that he’d been there - empty bottles with traces of invisibility in them, missing golden apples that he knew he’d put in the chest, the occasional note with nothing but chicken scratch on it - and yet he hadn’t even stopped to say hello.
As for Ranboo…
Tubbo looked at the ghost again.
Whenever anyone asked, he said he hated the ghost. Whenever anyone asked, he lied. It was just another story, another example of no one telling the full truth in this world and yet he couldn’t bring himself to break the cycle. They were so similar and yet so different that it hurt. Just looking at them made an empty pit grow in his heart and, still, they were here.
Sometimes it scared Tubbo how close Tommy was to being like the ghost. Oftentimes he was nothing but a memory that haunted him, another reminder of what used to be that only made the void in his chest grow. It’s not like it was completely inaccurate to call Tommy a ghost of himself, inhabiting the corpse that had rotted from the inside out over time.
Once more, Tubbo was reminded of the reason they never told the truth in this server. It was so much nicer to just tell stories. Stories were happy. Stories were full of magic that didn’t burn and scar, heroes who never failed, families who always found each other in the end.
It was unhealthy, he knew. Every time he lied to himself or to Michael he had a voice that sounded suspiciously like Tommy and Ranboo whisper, to scold him for clinging to such unhealthy coping mechanisms. It hadn’t stopped him before and it wouldn’t stop him now.
“...’Boo,” he began, voice quiet and defeated, “come lay with us?”
Just this once.
Just this once, Tubbo would allow the ghost close. Just this once, he could ignore the truth and let himself be carried away by the story he was telling.
And the ghost did.
When they laid with them, Tubbo was reminded of all the times they had laid here together. They would read stories and sing soft songs and fall asleep together as a family. He remembered waking up many times to claws carding through his hair and a purr rumbling beneath him from the chest he laid against. He remembered Michael always waking up with a sleepy little yawn and, once he was awake enough, then he’d start telling them about whatever dream he had that night. He remembered the quiet that always surrounded those mornings and it had been so gentle, so warm, compared to the one that suffocated them now.
He remembered being a family, once upon a time, and he was weak enough to lean into those memories.
Tubbo made himself comfortable against their chest and let out a shaky sigh, cradling his child and pretending he was with his husband. He selfishly ignored the differences between the past and now. So what if the ghost’s chest was cold and hollow, with no purr resonating from it? So what if the quiet morning or gentle night was replaced with apprehension and tears? So what if this would be a rest none of them would wake from?
Tubbo could pretend. He was good at pretending.
(he was good. he was always good. he could be whatever was needed so that he wouldn’t be left behind, whether that be a spy, a president, a soldier, a corpse or a sacrifice- he was good a pretending.)
As he finally let his tears fall at the feeling of the ghost’s claws carding through his hair, he let his eyes fall shut.
“I love you,” he whispered, choked up, ashamed. The confession tasted like ash in his mouth, a half-lie but a full-truth, but he forced it out anyway. If he didn’t say it now then he’d never be able to. “I love you,” he said again, louder and almost sobbing. His tears fell faster and his voice began deteriorating from hoarse cries to desperate sobs. “You’re not him but- but you’re all I have left, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I love you. Please, please, please. Stay here, just- just for now, please, don’t- don’t leave me.”
Like Wilbur had, like Tommy had, like Ranboo had.
It was humiliating, how quietly he broke down when held. He tried his best to be quiet and still so that he wouldn’t disturb Michael but it felt like nothing mattered anymore. This would mean nothing in a few short minutes. (he would mean nothing in a few short minutes, if he ever did to begin with.)
“You’re not him, you’re not- you’re not Ranboo but- but- but please, don’t go, please, I love you…”
Tubbo wasn’t sure if he was making any sense as he pleaded, babbling under his breath because finally, finally, the void in his chest overflowed and he couldn’t hold it in. It had been so many things, one after another, that he’d shut down for a while. Ranboo died, Michael was taken, Dream escaped, the ghost appeared- he hadn’t been able to deal with it.
He had needed to get Michael back. He had needed to be strong for his son and brother. Now…
Now, he had no one to be strong for.
Tommy was… somewhere, hopefully alive, and Michael was fast asleep now. If it all went to plan then neither of them would feel a thing when this story ended.
His babbling and begging was cut off when the ghost spoke and his sobbing only got worse because he sounded so much like Ranboo.
“I love you, too, ‘Bo,” the ghost claimed almost gently. Almost lovingly. Their words had so much emotion that Tubbo was delusional and selfish enough to believe was real, that maybe it was actually Ranboo pushing through for a moment from wherever he was to answer back.
That’s what really broke him, in the end. It made him unable to speak again, not properly. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and hid his face in Ranboo’s chest. He cared not for the blood that stained him (his hands were already stained in red red red-). He was too focused practically melting at the careful way he was held, the almost lovingly way claws detangled his hair, the purr that rumbled from their chest, the beating of their heart that reminded him that they were alive-
Eventually, it all caught up to him and his mind went blank. Whether he passed out or fell asleep, he didn’t know. He’d never know, either, because he couldn’t hear when the final siren blared. He didn’t feel when the world went white. He couldn’t see the final heart on his wrist darken from death.
He was oblivious to the way the Universe paused, seemed to hold its breath, and then began going back, back back-
Tubbo was still asleep when he was laid gently outside familiar black and yellow walls. He didn’t hear the sound of laughter nearby and getting closer. He didn’t feel the Universe as it left him in the path of two teenagers he once knew.
And, finally, he didn’t see the new hearts layered over his last, fresh with life and his to choose what he did with.
He was oblivious to the new story that was just beginning.
-
Ranboo screamed.
He screamed until his voice was hoarse, until he couldn’t scream anymore, until the sound of waves was drowned out by the echoes of his grief. He screamed because he knew what Tubbo had planned. He had watched him finish setting it up, he’d watched as he got closer and closer to hitting the button each and every day, and he was powerless to stop it.
Tubbo would say it was an accident that the nuke went off, that he had just been so tired after so many sleepless nights and hungry days that he’d lost focus and pressed it, but Ranboo knew the truth.
They knew the truth that Tubbo refused to tell and they knew that Tubbo had spent hours staring at the button each day, inching closer and closer to ending it all every day- and they knew that he had finally crumpled under the weight of the world and his own thoughts.
Then they’d had to watch, through eyes-not-their-own, as Tubbo panicked after that moment of weakness. They had to watch as he broke down for what seemed like hours before managing to pull himself back together with numb acceptance to go to their son.
Ranboo had listened as he told as story he wasn’t sure was true to drown out the sirens and then used those same sirens to drown out his sobs when he was finally held.
They’d listened as his husband babbled that he loved them - like they’d ever forget, no matter how bad their memory was - and how he knew the ghost wasn’t actually them and how he begged not to be left alone. He had tried so hard to push through that they loved him too, that he was here, that he wouldn’t leave him. He did his absolute best to show him that he was there! He’d never left, just listen! Please!
…In the end, Ranboo wasn’t sure their effort and desperation had done anything.
They knew the moment that it was finally over. They knew the moment the world went white and everyone and everything was burnt up into the Aether and they cried.
It didn’t matter than a part of themself seemed to slot back in place, that their memories felt whole in a way they hadn’t in a very, very long time - if ever - and it didn’t matter that there might be a chance that they’d seen Tubbo and Michael now.
How could they be happy, knowing that they were here, when he knew that they had died? How could he be happy when he knew Tubbo had been broken down, chip by chip, by the world that he’d given into those dark thoughts to end it all? How could they be happy when this wasn’t the ending they were supposed to have?
Their story was cut short and they didn’t care about their own life anymore, they had long accepted that they’d be stuck in this Limbo until they dissolved and were forgotten for good, but Void below, they cared about Michael and Tubbo’s lives. Their lives meant everything to him and they cried out and begged for anyone with power who might be listening to give them another chance, to let them have the ending they deserved after all the heartbreak and horror and pain that they’d endured - especially Tubbo.
Ranboo had never known Tubbo’s full story, if he told them it then he’d unfortunately forgotten, but he didn’t need to know the details when he could see how his past affected him. From his scars that he needed regeneration potions just to be manageable to the nightmares he had almost every night to the way he was paranoid about everyone - even Tommy, to an except, and Tommy was the closest to Tubbo out of everyone on that server.
They knew that, whatever he’d gone through, made him more than deserving of a better ending.
“Please,” they begged desperately, “come on! Don’t let it end like this- don’t- don’t leave them to rot like you did me! Give them their happy ending! He deserves it! Please!”
They didn’t have to be a part of whatever second chance they were given if it meant they would be happy. Tubbo deserved to be happy, he was owed that much at least. He didn’t have much but they’d give all they had if it meant he’d get the chance to enjoy life with their son.
When they were alive, he’d spoiled Tubbo religiously. The hybrid had always stolen his totems and diamonds and Netherite and they had never felt anything but fondness towards the thievery. They purposefully left out expensive things for him to snatch, actively working to get jewelry for him to decorate his horns or body with, and worked tirelessly to gather totems to protect that final, fragile life.
Ranboo had always been willing to give Tubbo anything and everything if it made him happy and now was no different.
He’d never been very religious, not like Tommy or Philza had, but he knew enough about the gods of their world to know the one he needed a favour from now. So, he prayed.
“Lady Death, please, don’t let his story end like this. Please.” His voice died to a hoarse whisper after all his screaming and crying and they almost worried that She wouldn’t hear him.
How foolish of him to think as such, because She was a god. And he felt the moment something gave around them. Something - someone, he could feel eyes (Her eyes, he hoped) on him - had heard his prayer. Someone heard him and something had changed. Looking out at the water, they could make out the impression of a woman. He could just barely see the large brim of a hat and a gentle smile on Her lips. He couldn’t see Her eyes, but they were willing to bet that they were kind.
The silhouette was gone in the blink of an eye but a cloak of reassurance and warmth fell over their shoulders and kept them from thinking it was a hallucination of some kind.
Someone out there had heard his prayer and he could only hope that it was answered.
-
In another time, two brothers ran side by side. Grins split their faces and they were laughing as they patrolled the outer walls.
Neither took the patrol too seriously. Though a war raged on, no one was particularly worried about it. They were all friends here, after all, and it was just a game between them. In the end, they either won or lost and it would be okay.
They never took patrol too seriously because they never expected to find anything out here beyond a few mobs - maybe a zombie or a skeleton hidden beneath the branches of trees, or a spider that had climbed the wall and gotten stuck - and the occasional creeper hole. They laughed and joked and shoved each other as they played.
The patrol was almost over, they were just about to turn and race back to the van to see who could report to their oldest brother first-
And then the world shifted three steps to the left and the teens came to a stop with dual noises of surprise as they spotted someone they both knew but didn’t recognize. Their abrupt stop was loud and the little distance they’d managed to keep between them and the stranger seemed far too short as, just a moment after they stopped, the stranger shot up with a gasp.