Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Tubbo shot up, breath caught in his throat and the sound of footsteps almost deafening in his ears. It was only his son against his chest that kept him from standing, but that didn’t stop him from swinging his axe in the general direction of whoever had approached him. He didn’t even registered that he’d done it until he heard two very familiar voices exclaiming, then footsteps backing away from him.

His gaze snapped up and he stared at the duo who had snuck up on him. He had been ready to yell, even if his voice was still hoarse and his throat still burned, but his voice died when he registered who he was actually looking at. 

Standing just a few blocks away, looking not a day over fourteen and fifteen respectively, were Tommy and himself. Tommy - Tommy, without any of the scars or perma-bruises or tension that Tubbo had grown to recognize him by - stood in front of his mirror, a stone sword in his hand an a suspicious (scared, tommy was scared of him. he could recognize his fear so easily these days) glare on his face. His mirror was hiding behind him, eyes wide and sword held in a weak grip.

(tubbo had only began taking his training seriously after his first death, when he realized that this wasn’t a game over. when he realized that no one would truly be able to protect him like he could himself, no matter the promises they made him.)

Tommy was saying something. Tubbo could see his mouth moving but he couldn’t hear a word he said. He couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears - though whether the ringing was from the nukes or his usual tinnitus, he didn’t know.

He didn’t care, either. His mind was racing too much for him to care.

Where was he? Why was he here? He remembered before. He remembered laying against the ghost of his husband as he was held. He remembered finally giving in and pleading to not be alone. He remembered holding Michael close and telling him a bedtime story that was more lies than truth to help them fall back asleep-

…He remembered the accident that had killed him.

(it wasn’t an accident. it wasn’t. he’d done it on purpose, he was responsible for the end of the server, for their deaths, it was his fault that everyone was dead.)

He remembered dying.

He’d fallen asleep while (sobbing, screaming, begging to not be left alone) being held by the ghost and the next time he woke up he was looking in a mirror. Not this one, but an actual mirror. A room of mirrors, actually. Each mirror showed him a different version of himself, all the different people and masks he’d put on to please those with power over him in his life.

(he was a child, a soldier, a spy, a corpse twice - now thrice - over, a president, a tyrant, a pawn.)

In one of the mirrors, he saw himself with horns much larger than his had ever been, red red red eyes staring straight into his soul, and he wore a suit he wished he had burned. (he looked just like another ram, another president, another tyrant, and he hated it. he hated himself just as much, if not more, because the reflection in the mirror wasn’t completely wrong.)

In another, he saw himself with a sword in his hand and a uniform that he once wore proudly, a bright grin on his face and a carefree light in his eyes that hadn’t been there in a long while. (he saw a sword shoved into his lungs from behind and he couldn’t breathe. even after respawning he couldn’t breathe. he was suffocating in his own blood and smoke and the fires and explosions from outside scarred both him and their land.)

In many of them, he saw himself. He was in a black room, a box, a mountain filled with stolen treasures, a child’s bedroom and he saw blood and burns and blaring lights. (he saw his hearts cracking and darkening with death, one by one, until the last one was finally destroyed on his own terms. the totem in his inventory felt so much heavier than usual.)

The pictures in the mirrors haunted him in death and it seemed they followed him into this life (if this was life. he was meant to be dead, he was supposed to reunite with his husband, he was meant to be nothing but a ghost and a memory of a story that had no happy ending.)

There was no sword in his lungs, not yet, but his horns were so small and his face was without scars and his eyes weren’t hidden behind his hair from shame. His eyes were still bright, not grey and faded and blind, and he still wore that uniform with a sense of pride. He didn’t look at it and silently rage at his lost childhood and life, he didn’t have the same weariness in his stance that spoke of trauma and fear.

He still stood behind Tommy and expected to be protected, no fear that he might be replaced, no thoughts that his life might be worth less than some discs.

He stood behind Tommy and didn’t worry that he might disappear if he looked away for too long.

Similarly, Tommy stood in front of his mirror and brandished his sword with a fierceness in his eyes that had not yet been lost, a fire that hadn’t yet been doused. He yelled and demanded who he was with only a slight shake in his voice. And, Tubbo noticed, feeling just a little hysterical, he still had his horns.

Those stupid demon horns that Tommy wore to fit in with all the hybrids in his family (the ones that he had gotten to match with him when his were still budding past their first notch), those stupid horns that Tubbo teased him for often, those stupid horns that had disappeared during exile and he’d never seen again.

And then sensations suddenly rushed back at him and he gasped, overwhelmed by it all. The ringing in his ears faded out and was replaced by the sound of Tommy’s voice (it was loud, loud loud loud, like it used to be. like it should be. like it hadn’t been for a long, long time.) He could feel Michael breathing (breathing, michael was breathing and alive, he was breathing and alive) against his chest and his heart hammering in his throat.

“-ven listening to me!? Tell me who you are and what your business here is before I shank you-!”

Belatedly, as he registered Tommy’s words, he realized that he’d just been staring at the two (ghosts? lies? stories?) children as they cowered away from him.

Tubbo flexed the grip he had on his axe, trying to shake away the numbness that had taken over his body. It wasn’t an unfamiliar numbness, although it had been a while since he’d felt it. It was the feeling that came from dying, the tension of all his muscles tightening and then being pulled back together in a new place. It rippled from his hands, up to his shoulders, then down to his hooves. It rushed through his body and caused his muscles to ache from the tension he hadn’t even noticed until it slipped away.

Finally, his arm fell and his axe hit the ground with a soft thump.

And, just like that, Tommy stopped yelling. He flinched from the movement, as did his mirror, and then narrowed his eyes at him.

Tommy could only watch with morbid fascination at how real he looked, how open he was being with his emotions. He looked so young without any of his scars.

“Who are you?” The teen demanded. He didn’t lower his sword, despite him having lowered his axe, and Tubbo couldn’t blame him. It was to be expected. Despite Wilbur’s (was wilbur here too? he still didn’t know where he was, when he was, just that he should be dead) peaching about no armour and weapons, Tommy had always been one for confrontation and violence.

It was what he was used to, after all, and this was only ever reinforced by the wars and battles and dangerous situations he was shoved into in the future.

Tubbo guessed that that was one point where he and Tommy differed. Tommy had leaned into the violence, had helped perpetuate it, whereas Tubbo had, ultimately, ended it. (he didn’t blame tommy for continuing the cycle of violence. it was all he knew, it was what they both grew up with. everyone claimed he was a stupid child until it came to explaining his actions and then he should just know better. so no, he didn’t blame him. he just wished he could’ve taught him to be better.)

He must have taken too long to answer because as soon as he opened his mouth to maybe tell them his name - however bad an idea that might be, he was still in shock, he didn’t know what was going on and the confusion was making his mind blank on its common sense - Tommy cut him off by whispering to (his counterpart, his mirror, his innocence) the boy behind him.

“Tubbo, you should go get Wil or Eret…”

And that was what finally snapped him out of his state of shock. (it didn’t, not really, but it kickstarted his brain enough for him to realize that he needed to say something before his mirror did just that and he had to deal with them when he really wasn’t ready to.)

“Where am I?” He blurted out, stopping the other ram-hybrid in his tracks before he could run off. His mind was racing because he already knew where he was, he could see the walls that had protected him, that had watched him die, that he helped tear down, he knew where he was. He knew, but he couldn’t let them get anyone else, he couldn’t handle seeing if anyone else was in this (dream, memory, lie) place.

Not yet. He just needed a little more time, please.

Tubbo watched as they both froze at his voice, cracked and hoarse and undoubtably familiar, and they seemed to share a silence conversation with just a look. (he and tommy used to be able to do that, back when they were still brothers. back when they were both still alive. he was ashamed to admit that they couldn’t understand each other like that anymore, they were so out of touch with who they once were that he had no idea what either of them could be thinking.)

After a long moment of silence, Tommy stood straighter and, finally, lowered his sword. “You’re outside L’manburg’s walls,” he informed him. The confirmation only made the pit in his gut grow, despite already knowing the answer. Hearing it confirmed only made it seem that much more real and it scared him.  

When was he?

“Now, who are you? Dream didn’t say he was adding anyone to the whitelist-”

Whatever feeling and control he’d been getting back in his body and mind went out the window when he heard Tommy so easily speak of his (abuser, murderer, friend) Admin. A chill went through him, starting at the base of his spine and rippling painfully through all of his scars, tightening them and making them burn all over, he felt like he was on fire, he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out as the fireworks struck his body-

The only thing keeping him semi-grounded was Michael and how they shifted a little in his arms, giving tired, confused snorts while their little hooves gripped his jacket and gave small tugs. He tensed further, breath stuttering, before slowly letting out a breath. He held Michael closer and mindlessly ran his hand through their curls. Doing so kept his hand busy, the other still holding his axe a little too tight, and he latched onto that. He couldn’t do anything crazy, he couldn’t be reckless with his life because Michael was with him and he trusted no one to take care of him if something happened to him again.

Only when Michael stilled again, breathing steady, heart still beating, that he managed to answer.

“I- I wasn’t whitelisted. I don’t… I should be dead,” he told them. He didn’t think about how stable his voice was as he admitted it. He didn’t quite realize how worrying it was for him, covered in scars and clearly violent, to admit that he should be dead, all while so-gently soothing the child in his lap.

Tommy paused and frowned, furrowing his brows and scrunching up his nose just like his brother used to. “...What do you mean, ‘you should be dead?’”

Tubbo let out a humourless laugh and made a vague motion with his right wrist, where his lives should be, before going back to petting Michael. Feeling the coarse texture of his son’s hair was the only thing keeping him calm right now. “I- I should be dead. I lost- I should’ve lost my last life. I should be dead.”

He felt a little guilty, seeing how both the children paled significantly at his words. He tried to hide it by laughing again. This only ended with him coughing and he grimaced at the coppery taste of blood in his mouth shortly after. (internally, he was just glad it didn’t taste like ash like everything else did.)

Of course the children were disturbed by his words, it would be odd if they weren’t disturbed.

At this point in time, if he was correct about when he was, losing a canon life on this server was considered big. It was considered big because everything on this server, the war, and fighting and insults, were just a game. None of it was serious, not like it might be on an anarchy or war-torn server.

It baffled him that, at this point in time, the Dream SMP was considered neither of those. He barely remembered the time before it became war-run, before everyone broke the rules but only a select few were ever punished.

“You lost- you’ve lost all your lives?”

Tubbo’s gaze snapped to his mirror when he spoke. The younger ram jumped and tensed and it was obvious to him that he was unsettled but couldn’t pinpoint why. He could see how the younger focused on his scars and horns, how he really seemed to be taking him in compared to Tommy, and he wondered if the other recognized him.

Did he realize he was looking in a mirror?

“...I-... I was supposed to. The server- the server must’ve glitched before I died or something, the nu- it- there really shouldn’t be any way that I- that we survived that.” He tightened his hold on Michael and tucked them under his chin, letting out a weak laugh. He ignored how the words felt like a lie. He knew he’d died, the server hadn’t glitched there. He’d gone to what he assumed was Limbo and, yet, here he was. Son in his arms and a beating heart in his chest - he knew he wasn’t a ghost. None of the ghosts on the server had ever had a heart.

Tommy narrowed his eyes for a moment, expression once more scrunched up in thought, before leaning over to the younger ram and whispering something to him. He watched as his mirror leaned into him and frowned, not nearly as good at hiding his emotions as he would be in just a few months, before nodding.

Whatever Tommy was saying, it was clear they’d made a decision. 

“We’ll call Dream then-”

No.

No.

“No!”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath at his exclamation.

Tubbo could see how his mirror’s ears pinned back and how he stood a little closer to Tommy. He could see how Tommy tensed and held his sword higher in preparation for a fight that wouldn’t come. He, himself, curled up around Michael, holding him close as if someone might take him from him. (again. as if someone might take him from him again.)

“I’m- sorry, I’m sorry, don’t- I just- don’t call Dream,” he demanded. Belatedly, realizing how rude and weird he was acting, he added, “please.”

Tommy seemed hesitant to do anything in response to his pleading, clearly not knowing what to do. He never did, always one to follow orders. Making a decision about a stranger had always been left up to others. Even now, he watched as he shared another silent conversation with his mirror before nodding. “...Let’s go see Wil, then. He’ll know what to do.”

And that was such a Tommy thing to say. Of course he would think that Wilbur would know what to do. He still idolized him, he still saw him as his brother. He didn't flinch away from him and Wilbur still had a heart. 

The thought of going to see Wilbur made a pit grow in his gut, especially after what happened at the burger van, but he’d rather see the older man (older? he was twenty, wilbur was probably only nineteen right now… was he older than him? it didn’t feel like he was. he didn’t feel like an adult. he just felt like a scared child) than have to see Dream anytime soon.

So, he swallowed down his nerves, took a deep breath, and gave a nod. 

“Okay,” he agreed verbally before beginning to get up. He put his axe in his inventory, though kept it on his hotbar just in case, and made sure to hold Michael securely in both arms so that he wouldn’t get jostled too much, before actually rising. He was shaky as he did so, his body beginning him to stay sitting down, but he ignored it. 

He ignored it just like he ignored how he stumbled back a single step when he was up, how he had to tense up and stop moving until the black spots in his vision faded away, how he had to wait just a few seconds longer and pray that the burning of his scars and muscles would die down so that he could move with even a little bit of agility if he needed to. The only thing he really acknowledged about these things was that he should get a regeneration potion soon enough, before it got any worse.

Maybe he could ask for one from Wilbur when they met up, if they were at a good point in the timeline where they had plenty of potions and ingredients to spare.

“...Okay,” he said again once his vision finally cleared and his aches died down to a manageable sting. He noticed that the two of them were watching him warily and, if he didn’t know better, he might’ve said they were worried about him. (he was lying to himself. he could see the obvious worry in both of their eyes and yet he ignored it. he didn’t need to be worrying anyone else, especially not children.)

“Yeah, let’s- let’s go see Wil.”

Tommy looked him over now that he was standing and he tried not to twitch at the feeling of his eyes on him. He could feel how he looked him over, from his hooves to his fur to his horns- he once more wondered if either of them would recognize him, if they could see through his overgrown bangs and scars and tense posture all the way to the child that he once was hidden beneath.

“...Right. Tubs, c’mon.”

Tubbo felt longing inside at the nickname. Tommy hadn’t called him that in a while. The longing only grew, dark jealousy growing with it, as the human grabbed the little ram’s hand and began pulling him along. It was clear to him, as they began walking, that Tommy wanted to keep his brother in his sight and away from him and it didn’t hurt. It didn’t. He was just being protective of his friend and that was fine. Understandable, even.

(that’s what he told himself, at least, but it was just another lie. another one in the same vein as how he told himself that he hated his husband’s ghost. tommy being scared of him didn’t hurt.)

There was a strange quiet between them as they trekked to the entrance of L’manburg. The only sounds that broke it up were their footsteps - his noticeably quieter compared to theirs - and the quiet whispering between the two children. He couldn’t make out anything they said, they were too quiet and his hearing was far too shot after so many explosions, but he caught their glances back at him as they went and he knew what they were talking about.

It was only when the entrance to L’manburg was just up ahead and the pit in his gut had grown so deep he wanted to throw up his nonexistent breakfast that Tommy spoke to him. “Oi, bitch boy!” He called, merely grunting and shooting a glare at his mirror when he nudged him for the name. “What’s your name, anyway?”

And Tubbo almost answered honestly. He almost gave the full truth- but stopped himself. If this - dream, memory, lie - whatever was going to keep going, if this was a chance, then he didn’t want to risk messing it up before he got the chance to change anything.

He couldn’t use the name Tubbo, because clearly there was already (a better) one here, and saying ‘Underscore’ on its own would be a lie, because his last name wasn’t Underscore anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time and even if he was in a time where Ranboo wasn’t, where he wouldn’t be for a while, if ever, he didn’t want to just… forget him. He didn’t want to forget their marriage.

It had been the only thing that kept him going for so long, as horrible as it sounded. Tommy had been there but after he faded away, a ghost of whom he once knew and only ever there in the background, he felt like he had nothing. Only Ranboo and Michael had really kept him going. 

It only seemed right that he would keep the nickname he gave him, if only for keeping him alive this long.

“...Beloved. My name is- is Beloved.”

And it wasn’t a lie, not like Underscore or Tubbo would’ve been, but it was a story. A story he didn’t know the end to. One he hoped would have a happy ending, if only so he hadn’t been lying before.

Chapter Text

Tubbo wasn’t sure what to make of the stranger - Beloved - he and Tommy came across on their patrol.

Usually, their patrols ended with nothing more exciting than a stray zombie hiding beneath the trees or a skeleton in a shallow pool of water attempting to get a lucky shot on one of them. A little more uncommon, but not at all strange, was when they’d run into Dream or one of his lackeys lurking around. Besides that? Nothing happened. Especially nothing as odd as a stranger appearing on the server when there had been no meeting about a newcomer.

He knew they were at war at the moment but he was sure Dream would’ve at least warned them.

That didn’t explain the way the world seemed to have tilted to the right. It didn’t explain the way something seemed to have fundamentally changed movements before they ran into Beloved. Though, maybe that was just him.

Tommy just looked at him in confusion when he tried to bring it up on the way to the entrance.

The whole situation was weird, he didn’t understand what was going on, and he didn’t like it.

Everything had changed and it set his instincts on edge. His ears were constantly fighting between staying alert and pinning back in fear while his tail tucked neatly against him. It didn’t help that Beloved seemed like a ram-hybrid like him. He only had vague memories of another ram-hybrid that he knew was friends with Wilbur once-upon-a-time, before they moved, but besides that he’d never met another hybrid like him. It was just weird to be around someone so similar but so much older than him.

His horns were barely peeking out of his hair at this point but Beloved’s horns were huge. The guy had to at least be in his twenties.

It was just… weird. He didn’t know how else to put it.

Everything about this was weird. From Beloved showing up with no announcements - not even a welcome message in their communicators, to his weird looking armour that he could only imagine came from a modded server he was on before, to the child he held so confidently, even when he, himself, shook and stumbled-

…He just hoped Wilbur could sort everything out.

As they entered the walls that signified the start of L’manburg and end of Essempi, he could make out Wilbur over by the training dummies. Fundy and Eret were with him, although Eret was sitting off to the side while Fundy swung her wooden sword at the nearest dummy. He would make fun of her for her form, but he knew he wasn’t much better most of the time and he wasn’t about to tolerate her teasing.

She was so young but already she’d picked up on Wilbur’s strong voice and Tommy’s crude words. In his opinion, they were both shitty influences for her - although he’d never say that to Wilbur’s face, he just thought that if he had a kid he’d make sure to train them properly with a weapon, rather than put it off - and it made her have a bit of an attitude, especially recently.

If anything, he should get a pass for not having great form - he’d never been one for PVP. That had always been Tommy’s thing, since he wanted to follow in Technoblade’s footsteps. 

Speaking of Tommy, he jolted a little as he called out from next to him and shot the human a glare as he flicked the ear closest to him. “Loud,” he grumbled, but was pointedly ignored.

“Oi, Wilbur!”

Tubbo watched as Wilbur looked away from Fundy to them. His expression lit up in what was likely a happy or fond expression, though he couldn’t tell from this far away, only for it to fall into confusion and weariness. He could easily assume it was because of the guest behind them. 

He continued walking after Tommy, following his lead without even really thinking about it like he always did, and watched Wilbur wave Fundy off to go with Eret before coming over to meet them halfway. He could see that Wilbur’s wings were a bit ruffled as he approached and Tubbo almost felt guilty for speeding up to stand next to him, coincidentally putting some distance between him and Beloved.

He didn’t know what it was but something about Beloved just felt odd. Not… not bad, he didn’t think anyway, but off. It felt like he shouldn’t be looking at him, despite the fact that it seemed like Beloved hadn’t really looked away from him since they first met. Though, maybe he was just being paranoid. He couldn’t really see the man’s eyes, so he couldn’t confirm that he was watching him.

He just… had a feeling.

He’d whispered to Tommy about how off Beloved felt on the way over, hoping for some kind of agreement or understanding, but Tommy didn’t seem to feel it. Was it just because they were both rams? 

(he hoped that that was all it was. the idea of something more going on here was unsettling, especially because he had no idea what else would be causing the feeling. he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was causing it, honestly.)

Wilbur stopped as he and Tommy went to his side. If he hid behind the avian a little- well, no one else called him out on it.

“Who’s this?” He asked, setting a hand on his and Tommy’s heads. He ruffled both their hair and he broke into a slight smile, some tension slipping away from his shoulders. If anyone could take care of this and figure it out then it would be Wilbur.

Beloved looked out of place standing in front of him. He couldn’t see his eyes, but he could swear he was watching them closely. His body language was closed off, hooves placed firmly on the ground as if he might need to run or dodge at a moments notice, and yet Tubbo could see that his shoulders were relaxed. He was both tense and yet seemed unbothered. 

It was weird, but everything about this man seemed to be.

“We found them by the border,” Tommy announced after grumbling and shoving at Wilbur’s hand. As he fixed up his horns, Tubbo snickered under his breath. Tommy could grumble and act like he hated it all he wanted, he knew that he was fighting back a smile from the affection.

“And you brought them here..?”

Tubbo winced at the confusion in his voice. “We don’t know where they came from! There wasn’t a welcome message in our comms about a new person, and we didn’t want to go to Dream about it.”

It… wasn’t a lie. They didn’t want to go to Dream about it. But it felt like a lie, because Beloved had been the one against seeing Dream to begin with. 

Wilbur sighed heavily and shook his head, wings ruffling behind him before he folded them politely and stood up straighter. He looked back at Beloved and put on his signature smile, the one he always used when politics were involved, and Tubbo habitually straightened his back as well. 

(he shivered at the feeling of the look beloved gave him for it. he didn’t know why.)

“I apologize for my rudeness. I’m Wilbur Soot and these are my little brothers, Tommy and Tubbo.” The avian introduced the three of them and then gave Beloved a polite but expectant look, easily ignoring the way Tommy whined in complaint at being called his ‘little’ anything. 

Beloved stared at them silently for a moment, just breathing and standing as if it was the hardest thing for him to do, before one of his ears flicked and he breathed in sharply. “...Right. It’s… I’m- I’m… Beloved,” he began, and Tubbo couldn’t help but notice how foreign the name sounded in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying it, “and this is my- my son, Michael.” His voice grew stronger as he spoke, more diplomatic, and it reminded him a lot of how Philza and Techno sometimes were back at the Empire. 

That wasn’t all that caught his attention about his introduction, though.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes grew wide and his ears flicked to attention. He was surprised that the piglin in his arms was his son. Similarly, he heard and saw Wilbur’s wings shuffle and fluff up a tiny bit. Their reactions were nothing to Tommy’s though, who openly gaped at Beloved.

“That’s your son!?” He blurted out.

Tommy never did have much of a filter. 

It got them in trouble often, and Tubbo feared this might be one of those times… but Beloved just laughed.

The sound died into some strained coughs, then a grimace, but he nodded. His mouth was curled up in a tired smile that tried to look anything but while he rubbed soothing circles on what Tubbo now knew to be his son’s - MIchael’s - back when the kid whined and snorted at the jolts. The kid settled back down pretty easily. Surprisingly easily, actually. Fundy had never been that easy to soothe when she was that small.

“Y-eah.” His voice cracked as he coughed again. He cleared his throat before continuing, his voice stronger this time, a bit of an edge to it as he straightened up a bit further. He no longer looked ready to run at any moment, but there was something in his seemingly relaxed stance that still spoke of wariness.

“He’s my kid. My son.”

Beloved sounded so proud to say that. Tubbo didn’t know why that made something in his chest stir.

“How old is he?”

At the sound of Wilbur’s voice, Beloved’s smile fell into something more neutral. Tubbo would almost call it a grimace or frown but it didn’t seem hostile. The same went for his tone, and it scared him a little how easily he put on the mask of a professional, like he was a soldier talking to a king or a general.

Maybe it was just because he was a common prey-type hybrid, because he was always on edge and looking for danger to protect himself from, but it felt like it was obvious that it was fake. Despite this, neither Wilbur nor Tommy called him out for it. So, following the herd, he stayed quiet.

“They’re six.”

The shortness of the answer made everyone pause and an awkward silence momentarily surrounded them. Compared to the pride and fondness from before, now he sounded cold. It was only broken when Wilbur cleared his throat and put on one of his signature smiles.

“Right, well… Did Dream invite you two to the server? We have a bit of a war going on right now but I thought he would’ve at least told us about new Players…” He trailed off with a lighthearted laugh, but that died at Beloved’s reaction.

Now Beloved’s shoulders were tensed. At the same time, he scuffed a hoof against the grass and his mouth scrunched up in an ugly grimace that looked like it might’ve hurt with how his scars tugged. 

“No.”

Wilbur blinked and Tubbo subconsciously mimicked Beloved’s posture. The answer was short. It wasn’t desperate like before, when he’d begged them not to involve Dream, but it was angry.

“Then how did-?”

“We died.”

His breath caught in his throat and his wrist began to itch at the mention of death. He heard Wilbur and Tommy breathe in sharply as well and he knew that at least Wilbur was caught off guard.

Sure, he’d mentioned that he’d died before, that he’d lost his life, but with everything going on he hadn’t really focused on that fact. He’d brushed it off, more focused on the stranger and reeling with the weird feeling around him- not to mention he hadn’t realized that they had both died to end up here. 

Beloved he could maybe understand - the man wore enchanted, modded in armour of some kind and the first thing he’d done upon waking was threaten them with a similarly enchanted and modded axe. He’d been scared and frantic, signs of a traumatic death, it was understandable that he’d be freaked out. But Michael?

The zombified piglin-hybrid was tiny. They were six.

Beloved didn’t seem to notice their shock - if he did, then he didn’t show it - and just laughed. His voice was hoarse and harsh and Tubbo’s own throat hurt just listening to it. He watched as he ran a hand through MIchael’s hair but it looked a little desperate, like an attempt to self-soothe rather than to comfort the child.

“We- we, we died. We were supposed to die. Our server was- it’s probably- it’s gone.”

(beloved hoped that the server was gone, that that timeline or universe or whatever was destroyed beyond recognition and recovery.)

He stopped there, seeming to snap out of whatever thought he’d gotten lost in, but they could fill in the blanks.

Wilbur was the only one who dared break the silence after a confession like that.

“I’m… Sorry, for your loss,” he murmured, voice softer now. He looked guilty and Tubbo felt the same, even if there was logically no way any of them could know what he’d gone through. “It sounds like- like whatever went on in your server made you end up here when you died, then. Do you know-” he stopped himself, blinking, and then furrowed his brows in thought.

Tubbo had heard about something like that. It was extremely rare, but sometimes the servers will glitch out when a Player dies because of a restart or save or lag happening at the same time and when they try and respawn, they’ll be kicked to a back up world. If there aren’t any backup worlds, they might end up on a random server. It’s supposed to happen more often with Whitelisted servers, simply because a reset or save could temporarily remove a Player’s name from the whitelist and block them from returning until cleared again, but it wasn’t exclusive to them.

He couldn’t help but subconsciously begin rubbing at his wrist and the hearts decorating it through his sleeve. 

He’d never lost a life before. For most servers it wouldn’t matter, but a lot of Whitelisted servers had a life count that branded the Player the second they stepped into them. He’d only been on Whitelisted servers for as long as he could remember since being taken in and, as such, he’d never experienced a death that was permanent.

Most people on limited-life servers like this and wherever Beloved had been before didn’t lose their first ones until they were at least in their late-twenties, sometimes there were those who lost one at a younger age because of an accident but even then, those people were protected and taken care of afterwards.

Even outside of Whitelisted servers, younger Players were often left alone. Even in anarchy servers, those like 2B2T, no one went after Players as younger as Michael was. Hell, most probably wouldn’t even go after Beloved seriously. The most he’d get from most people would be a few warning strikes to make him back off!

So the fact that they were both killed and down a life-

Tubbo couldn’t even imagine it.

(that was a lie.

he could imagine it. he could so vividly imagine death - a sword through his lungs, bright colours flashing across his vision, sobbing as he curled up against someone he didn’t yet know - and it scared him that it was so easy.

it was so easy to imagine how he’d choke on his own blood, how his skin would burn and melt together, how he’d sob himself hoarse, that even he might be able to fool himself into thinking he’d experienced it before.

maybe his dreams were becoming a little too realistic.)

Beloved opened his mouth to say something but was barely able to croak out a syllable before his entire body tensed. He swayed a little but managed to catch himself by stepping back. 

Tubbo jolted forward a step as if to help him, despite being very afraid of Beloved still, but hesitated before he could actually do anything. He caught his balance before needing help, but the momentary weakness finally made him see just how bad Beloved seemed to be doing.

He was pale, where his skin wasn’t red and angry from scar tissue, and his breathing was ragged. He was trembling a little, Tubbo only now noticed, and his worry grew. Tubbo was worried for him, of course, but also for the child in his arms. He looked one strong breeze from collapsing and taking Michael with him.

“Wait- did you just respawn?” Wilbur suddenly asked, voice alarmed as he took a step forward. His wings were all fluffed up now and Tubbo’s worry only grew more by how Wilbur was acting. 

Beloved flinched back another step and his shoulders rose. HIs lips curled up in a snarl and his arms tightened around Michael a bit. He half thought that Michael should’ve woken up by now with how much noise and movement they were doing, but besides some noises he hadn’t reacted much. 

“Yes, but- but we’re fine. I’m fine.” He snapped at them, still holding that snarl as if they’d pounce on him at this revelation. His head was tilted in a way that Tubbo easily recognized as a threat. If they pushed him, he wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to ram or attack them. 

Tubbo half feared that he’d pull out that axe again.

His heart rate increased and he mindlessly reached towards Tommy, relieved to feel the human grab his hand. He squeezed it and stepped further behind Wilbur, more wary of the man now that he was getting worked up again. That axe that he’d threatened them with before flashed in his mind and he squeezed Tommy’s hand tighter. He was ready to run to Eret or the van if it came down to it.

“What’s wrong with just respawning, Wil?” Tommy dared to ask. Tommy had always been the daring one between them, always the one to speak up if he was too scared to. He was confused, yes, but not nearly as scared as he thought he should be.

“Respawning's exhausting, it drains you, you shouldn’t- he shouldn’t even be moving around if he just respawned! Gods, I can’t even fathom how you’re still walking around right now-” The avian kept his voice low but it didn’t stop Beloved from bristling and snarling again.

“I’m fine! I’ve dealt with this before and I can deal with it again. I don’t need you of all people-”

Tubbo held his tongue at that. He remembered what he’d said before about losing his lives, about losing all of his lives. He’s technically lost three lives and if it wasn’t for that glitch then he’d be dead dead. For some reason, despite just meeting this man, his chest felt cold and he thought he might’ve felt grief at the thought.

Wilbur’s wings fluffed up further in alarm and he couldn’t say he blamed him.

Losing one life this young was already sad and a cause for concern in most places, but to have lost two? Three, eve? It was insane for him to even think about. The only person he’d ever met who had lost more than one life was Philza, and even then he was old. He’d done many things in his life to lead up to losing them, being an explorer and a king and builder, so it made sense. But Beloved?

Beloved was older than him, yes, but he was young. Maybe in his early or mid-twenties, but certainly not older than thirty with those horns. 

It scared him a little to see how geared out he was, what with his heavily enchanted items and modded armour, and yet he’d lost three lives this early in his life. What kind of monsters had he been fighting in his world before ending up here?

Wilbur, despite Beloved’s arguing, didn’t look like he was going to take no for an answer about this.

“No. No- that just makes it worse! Gods, you shouldn’t be up and moving if you’ve just respawned, especially if it’s your second death.” His voice was firm and final and Beloved bristled. 

(tubbo didn’t corrected him on the amount of deaths he’d experienced, and neither did tommy or beloved.)

It looked like the ram was about to say something, expression full of tightly contained anger, but stopped himself before he did. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click that honestly sounded like it hurt.

Wilbur seemed to take this silence as acceptance and stepped closer to him. He lowered his wings to seem non-threatening, an action that Tubbo recognized from when he was just a boy in a box, and he relaxed a tiny bit. Surprisingly, so did Beloved, albeit to a lesser extent. “You can stay here until you’ve recovered enough. We have a free tent that you and your son can use, and we have plenty of supplies.” He promised.

Beloved looked hesitant, even if his snarl had disappeared and his anger had faded away to a carefully neutral expression, but, eventually, gave in.

Wilbur let out a small breath and stopped next to Beloved. Before he began leading him away, though, he turned back to him and Tommy and gave them a stern look. “Stay with Eret and Fundy, I’m going to take care of our guest. Please don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone, and keep this on the downlow for now, okay?”

Tubbo swallowed and nodded, while Tommy grumbled a little but gave a half-assed salute. Then, with only a little hesitation on Beloved’s part, the two of them were headed towards the tents.

…

“Fuck, that was weird, right?”

Tubbo barked out a laugh at how blunt he was, turning with wide eyes and punching him in the shoulder. “Tommy!” He scolded.

Tommy laughed with him, and the tension in Tubbo’s shoulders finally faded away completely. Wilbur would take care of it, and they could stay with Eret and Fundy until then. It would be okay.

Chapter Text

Following Wilbur was nostalgic.

It had been ages since he’d been here like this, in pre-war L’manburg. He didn’t know exactly when he was but this had to be before a single piece of TNT was set off within the walls. Everything was as it should be. Trees still existed inside and out, the van was still in one piece, the walls were still towering around them in all their glory- It made him feel a certain way he didn’t have the energy to deal with right now.

What Beloved wouldn’t have given to come back here just a few months before…

Seeing it now, alone as he was, felt empty. Tommy was here but he wasn’t in anyway that really mattered to him. Ranboo wasn’t here and their counterpart wouldn’t be for a long, long while. It was only him and Michael and he wasn’t enthused about it. 

Part of that might be because he was losing what little steam he still had left, to be honest.

He was exhausted. Exhausted, and hungry, and he was sure he would collapse if he stopped moving for even a second. He just hoped he stopped near a bed before that happened, if only so that Michael wouldn’t get hurt from the fall.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t even realize that they’d made it to the tent he’d be staying in until he almost ran into Wilbur. He blinked out of his thoughts and looked up, not surprised to see the tent he was being give. It was an extra tent, one they later repurposed for themselves after the first explosion, and he relaxed a little bit at it.

He was relieved to be given this one. Not just for privacy’s sake - though he was grateful that he wouldn’t have to room with anyone here - but also because it was the safest one. It was the only tent as far as he remembered that didn’t sustain any real damage from the first explosion. It gave him comfort to know that, no matter where he was in the timeline, he wouldn’t have to worry about evacuating Michael.

Wilbur turned to look at him, expression furrowed with worry, and Beloved spoke before he could ask if he was fine.

“Is this is, then?” He asked, despite knowing it was. All the other tents were being used at the moment - they only had a handful of them around at the moment. Most of the time they hung out and even slept in the Camarvan - and this was the only free one.

Plus, it only made sense that Wilbur would give him one of the more isolated tents. Even back then, he had a tendency to be a bit paranoid.

Wilbur’s expression turned to an awkward smile and he nodded. “This is it. It’s a little bare at the moment but we don’t use it much. You’re free to decorate or add anything you two want or need…” He stepped closer, an action that had Beloved tensing and tightening his hold on Michael, and pulled the tent flap back.

Inside was just as he remembered it, though not nearly as fuzzy. A bed, a few chests and barrels, some lanterns… That’s it. Not even a crafting table or a furnace. 

Good enough.

He’d find the time to get materials and make the basics here. Maybe he could find an enderchest to see if his items came over. Usually switching servers meant he wouldn’t have anything in there, but he was still on the same server. Just… at a different time. And he had reason to believe his items might be there because he still had his entire inventory from when he died.

At a nod from Wilbur, Beloved walked into the tent and did a small look around, just in case, before heading to the bed. His mind was still a little foggy and the second he sat down it only seemed to get worse, but Wilbur was still talking so he didn’t dare lay down yet.

“-we’ll have to tell Dream - he’s our Admin, by the way - about you being here soon, I don’t want there to be an incident because you’re not in the Whitelist. And I don’t want anyone to get a nasty surprise if they come around-”

Beloved’s ears rang and the tips of his fingers went numb.

“No.”

“-and I’ll need- I’m sorry?”

(memories of the past hit him, brought to the surface now that he was in such a nostalgic place. beloved would’ve replied with snark before, “you should be,” and tommy would laugh and wilbur would roughhouse with them and they’d all laugh and-

-and beloved didn’t feel good. he felt nauseous. he felt like he’d throw up any second despite having eaten nothing recently. based on the metallic taste in his mouth, he was sure all that would come up would be blood.)

“No,” he repeated. “Don’t- don’t tell- don’t tell him- don’t tell Dre- D- your Admin.”

He knew it was a huge ask. If Wilbur got caught lying to his Admin, or even just lying by omission of not telling him about a new Player ending up on the server without permission, he could get in major trouble. Any self-respecting Admin would promptly kick him from the server, then kick Beloved as well.

The issue was that Dream wasn’t a self-respecting Admin. If Dream found out he was harbouring him here-

Oh, it wouldn’t be good. Not at all.

(maybe his experience with dream in the future was clouding his judgement and making him fear things he didn’t have to. dream had been a good admin in the beginning, hadn’t he?)

It was a huge ask, especially because they ‘just met’ from Wilbur’s point of view, but he had to ask. He had to ask and hope that he would agree to keep him a secret. At least for a little bit.

“Please. Don’t tell him-”

Wilbur’s expression tightened with surprise and apprehension. “I can’t just not tell him about a new Player, Beloved-”

“Please! Just- just wait. You can tell him soon, just give- just give me- give us a few days. Please.”

Beloved stared Wilbur down and could see the apprehension grow, mixed with deliberation. Taking the sign of weakness for what it was, far more versed spotting it after his bout of presidency, he tightened his hold on Michael again and hunched in on himself. It was easier to ask for things if people thought him helpless and unable to do damage if he was small. “Just… Just a few days. Please. A few days is all we need.”

There was a tense silence between them for a few moments. The only sounds were Beloved’s laboured breathing and Michael’s quiet snores. Finally, Wilbur spoke.

“Okay.”

Beloved’s ears flicked to attention and he stared at him with hope, eyes wide behind his bangs. “Okay?” He echoed.

“Okay. Okay. I won’t tell Dream that you’re here yet. But I will need to tell him eventually, you know that, right?”

Shakily, Beloved nodded. He did know that. He knew and he wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with it but, with time, he could hopefully prepare himself. He needed to get into better shape, and stop up on potions just in case it became a fight. He just needed time.

“I know,” he whispered. His voice sounded worse than before after his begging and Wilbur grimaced at the sound of it. He didn’t blame him, his voice had been grating, especially in the past year or so.

“Why don’t I get you something to eat? We made soup this morning, we have some leftovers. You can rest after.”

Beloved nodded again, because some soup sounded nice. Almost. He didn’t doubt that it’d taste like ash in his mouth like everything else but it would be better than the stale bread in his inventory. Plus, Michael deserved a good, hot meal. He felt guilty for having not fed him such meals much in the past few weeks.

As Wilbur was going to leave, a thought hit Beloved and he forced himself to ask, “can I get a regen pot too?”

The avian stopped at the entrance of the tent, holding the flap open again, and looked back with a slight frown. “Are you hurt?”

“...No. But, I- well. I just… need it.” He motioned vaguely to his scars with his words and he could feel Wilbur’s eyes on him. He had to hold back a shudder under the weight of his gaze, especially as it intensified when he registered what he was talking ab out.

“Right, right, of course. Yes, I’ll get a regen pot while I’m out. Is there anything else you two need…?”

Beloved thought hard on it but, with his mind fuzzy the way it was, he couldn’t think of anything. He had his armour, his tools, a sparse few building blocks if he needed them- he didn’t need anything. Not right now. Finally, he shook his head and Wilbur nodded.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon.” Wilbur smiled at him, something Beloved didn’t bother returning, and then he was gone.

-

Wilbur sighed as he exited the tent. A weight he hadn’t even noticed on his shoulders disappeared one he was away from Beloved and he felt guilty for it. Something about being near the man was just… heavy. He didn’t know how to explain it properly. There was just something about him that was oddly familiar. Maybe it was just the feeling of Death that lingered on him from his respawn.

He shook his wings out as he headed towards the Camarvan and just ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t like the idea of keeping a secret as big as two new Players from Dream, he could get into major trouble if he found out, but he also wasn’t going to go back on his word. He could handle Dream getting a little pissy at him for the secret, he was sure he’d understand.

He hoped he did, because he'd be damned if he kicked Beloved once he found out. Wherever Beloved and his son came from, he suspected they dealt with their fair share of Admin abuse with the way he’d reacted to Dream’s mention. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if his last Admin had hands in both of their deaths that caused them to end up here.

Wilbur would do his best to give Beloved as much time as possible to get settled in here. Dream would understand once he explained the circumstances. He’d just have to make sure that Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy keep their mouths shut about him. He didn’t want this to get out while Beloved was so unstable.

It’s not that he thought Beloved would get in trouble while they waited - he was in horrible shape, so much so that he needed a regen potion for those scars of his. Not to mention he’s obviously exhausted. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got back to him to find he passed out while he was gone - but rather that someone lurking nearby will hear and tell Dream before they’re ready.

He’d call a meeting after he got Beloved the soup and potion.

As Wilbur passed by the boys and Fundy as they played tag, he waved and sighed. At least they didn’t seem shaken up about the newcomer. 

Entering the van, he easily found the potion he was looking for, having just brewed some new ones while he was teaching the boys, and just as easily found the extra bowls of soup. He grabbed a few and made sure to get ones that didn’t have any pork or meat in them since Beloved was clearly a ram-hybrid and Michael was a piglin-hybrid, and then started on his way back.

Tommy started jogging over to him when he left the van but Wilbur waved him off. He’d come talk to him and everyone else shortly, he just had to finish this run. Tommy visibly pouted, but gave in easily enough and went back to Tubbo and Fundy. He laughed when the kid flipped him off, returning the gesture with a fond grin.

Shaking his head in amusement, Wilbur made his way back to the tent. He had to take a deep breath to steady himself for the inevitable weight of death that followed Beloved and then knocked on the post of the tent to announce his arrival.

“Beloved?” He called. “Can I come in?”

Wilbur could faintly hear some shuffling inside. It stopped after a moment and there was silence for a minute before a groggy voice called back to him.

“Come in.”

-

Beloved had almost fallen asleep.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he had long since trained himself to wake up at the slightest disturbance then he probably would have. The second he heard Wilbur’s footsteps approaching his mind had snapped back into place and his eyes had opened.

He had stayed lying down for a few moments, half-wondering if the footsteps might’ve been someone else walking by, but the knock near the entrance and the call convinced him to sit up. At least it wasn’t someone like Eret. Or his mirror. He didn’t know who he’d prefer to see out of the two of them if he was being honest.

Calling for Wilbur to come in, he gently moved Michael so that they were laying down in the bed rather than resting in his arms. He hated to let go of him for even a second in a place like this but he knew - he hoped - that it was safe enough. He trusted this Wilbur, to an extent.

This Wilbur wasn’t like his, not yet. He wasn’t insane, he hadn’t lost his lives, he hadn’t been revived to an even worse man- he was still just Wilbur. Even now, he was barely a general this far in the timeline as far as he was aware. And sure, maybe he held some resentment for him for turning him and Tommy and Fundy into child soldiers but he didn’t hate him. Looking at Wilbur as he came in now, he couldn’t see anything but a child just trying to keep things lighthearted and fun while making a safe space for his younger brothers and - eventual - son.

Wilbur stepped into the tent and smiled lightly at him. “I got two bowls for you two. I made sure neither had meat in them because I wasn’t sure if you let your kid eat pork so I thought it’d be best to just go without it for now…” He trailed off awkwardly and Beloved gave him a smile that was only slightly forced.

How thoughtful. They did let Michael eat pork since it was what piglins mostly ate in the Nether and he liked it, but the thought was appreciated. 

“Thanks.”

Beloved would’ve stood to collect the soup and potion but Wilbur walked over to him first. He wouldn’t admit it but he was relieved he didn’t have to get up yet. He didn’t think he could again after finally sitting down. Even sitting up after laying down had been a chore and had made his arms tremble.

He accepted the offerings, putting the soup in his inventory for later but holding the potion in his hands. He idly ran his thumbs over the warm glass and stared at the pink liquid. He got lost in it for a few moments, his vision blurring and his hearing going numb. He probably would’ve fallen asleep sitting up like that if Wilbur moving didn’t snap him out of it.

“Do you two need anything else before I go?”

Beloved breathed in and then let it out slowly, fighting back a yawn and blinking to force himself awake, and then shook his head. He felt a little dizzy just from the movement. “No. This… this is- this is good,” he assured. “Thank you.”

Wilbur nodded and stepped away from him. “If you need anything, feel free to come and fine me. I should be around the van… If I’m not, you can always ask Tommy or Tubbo if you need anything. Just- stay in the walls, please? At least until we can talk to Dream and get everything sorted with the Whitelist.”

Grimacing at the reminder of who he’d eventually have to face, Beloved nodded again.

It seemed like Wilbur wanted to say something else but ultimately decided against it. With a polite smile, he left him alone.

Beloved sighed shakily and ran his thumbs over the bottle in his hands a few more times. He considered drinking it right now, just to get his energy back and not have to sleep, but eventually decided against it. He should sleep. Sleep was a more permanent fix for his exhaustion, even if it wouldn’t be fun.

Plus, he should save the potion for when he had to meet with Dream.

He didn’t want to go into it without potions to protect him and Michael.

With that decided, he moved the potion from his hotbar for later and then leaned back slowly. 

Beloved’s body was stiff as he laid back, so much so that it was almost painful. He let out a groan once he was laid flat and stayed like that for a few seconds. Only once he adjusted to the position did he find the strength to turn on his side and wrap an arm around Michael, carefully pulling the zombie-piglin into his chest.

There. 

Beloved was too tired to bother with the blankets or sheets, they’d just have to make do with his own warmth for now. Michael didn’t seem to mind and that was good enough for him. He curled around his son, held him close, and soon enough his breathing began to slow.

Within minutes he was fast asleep.

-

When Beloved slept, he slept hard. He slept so hard that, when he woke up, he didn’t know what time it was. He barely even knew where he was, and he didn’t remember having a single dream.

That part was probably for the best, they were likely all nightmares. 

He probably would’ve slept much longer than he had if it wasn’t for Michael squirming against his chest and waking him up. Giving them a small squeeze and yawning groggily, they stopped squirming and looked up at him with a happy snort. He chuckled tiredly.

“Hi, baby,” he said quietly. His voice was barely above a whisper, sounding even worse than when he went to sleep. Hopefully that would get better as time went on.

Michael squealed softly at him and then whined, pulling away from him as much as they could so that they could pat their belly. Ah, they were hungry.

Beloved huffed tiredly and yawned again but let them go so that they could sit up. “You hungry, baby?” He asked despite knowing the answer. They snorted again and his nose twitched and he chuckled a little. Slowly pushing himself up so that he wouldn’t be tempted to sleep, he informed them about the soup he was given before.

“I have some soup for you, baby… c’mere.” He’d feed them, like he often did. 

Michael lit up at the news of soup and waited for Beloved to finish sitting up straight to climb into his lap. Despite how exhausted he still felt, he couldn’t help but smile at his son. He always made his day so much better.

He was glad that they seemed to be doing okay after that respawn. It was Michael’s first, after all. He was a mob. If it wasn’t for whatever divine intervention happening and bringing them back here, he didn’t think they’d even be here - even if the server had glitched, getting mobs out of one and into another was extremely hard. It was a scary thought, that his irresponsible and impulsive actions almost made him lose them for good. It was a scary thought and, for his own mental health, he decided not to linger on it.

Wrapping an arm around Michael and tugging them a little closer, he grabbed the soup from his inventory and got a spoonful of it for them. “Open up, kiddo. Go slow,” he instructed, knowing he had a tendency to go a little too fast. He just got excited sometimes and, while it was adorable, he didn’t want to risk them getting sick after all the stress he’d been through recently.

Even though Michael was getting so big now, they still let him feed them and they still listened to him and he appreciated it. His boy was growing so fast but never seemed to get sick of him taking care of them. He didn’t know what he’d do to cope when he eventually stopped asking for his help, nor did he know what he’d do when they eventually stopped letting him feed them like this.

For now, he’d just savour the opportunity.

As he fed Michael, he rested his head on theirs and resisted the urge to close his eyes.

His resistance seemed to be in vain, though, as he almost dozed off right there. Michael snorting at him snapped him out of it and he blinked, pulling his head back to look down at them. They were looking back at him, eyes wide and pleading.

“What is it?” He asked, mildly amused. What could they possibly want right now?

Michael snorted at him, and Beloved’s amusement fell away. His expression tightened slightly.

“I’m not very hungry right now, sweetheart,” he tried to deny.

Michael snorted again, pouting now, and reached to take the spoon from him. Beloved didn’t stop them, but he still frowned.

“Baby, this is your soup. I’m not very hungry anyway-”

Michael chuffed at him, scolding, and held up the spoon with some soup on it. 

Beloved grimaced and hesitated, staring at the spoon in their hand, before eventually sighting. “...I’ll have a few bites, okay? Only a few, if it’ll make you happy.”

Even though he could already feel the nausea curl in his gut just from the smell of the soup, Michael’s happiness at his agreement made whatever sickness he got worth it. He leaned down as Michael held the spoonful insistently for him and dutifully ate it, their roles switched now. The taste was almost exactly like he expected - ashy. There was the faintest aftertaste of something metallic, which was likely his own blood, but also the vaguest taste of potatoes and carrots. The ashy and metallic taste drowned these out so much that, honestly, it would be better if they weren’t there. The mixing of such strong tastes made him want to eat it less and less.

Still, he grit his teeth and ate the next couple bites to satisfy his son before taking the spoon back.

“Alright, kiddo, your turn now. You can eat while Papa talks to you about something…”

Michael snorted in offense when he took the spoon but was easily distracted from it at the mention of a talk. He was glad that that worked, because he didn’t think he could take eating any more bites without having a bad reaction to it.

As he began feeding them again, he pulled his thoughts together.

“I have some new rules for you, okay?” Michael looked at him with confusion but gave a nod anyway. “We’re in a new place and… and we can’t go back to our house right now, okay?” He didn’t think they could go back ever, but he didn’t say that. “I need you to follow all of the rules while we’re here. It’s really important.”

It took a minute, but eventually Michael nodded again. He could see their expression turn to determination and it was so similar to the face Tommy would make that he smiled, a bittersweet feeling filling him.

“Good boy,” he praised softly. He pressed a kiss to their forehead and smiled tiredly at the happy snort he got before leaning back a bit. He thought about the most important rules he needed Michael to follow while here and immediately knew the most important one. “You can’t wander off, okay? This isn’t like at home, you can’t leave my side to go run around, okay? When we go outside, I need you to stay by my side. No matter what.”

Immediately he could see that Michael wasn’t happy with this rule but it was important. Arguably the most important one he would give him right now. Beloved wasn’t going to risk him getting snatched again or hurt because he was too far from him to react in time.

Once Michael, begrudgingly, chuffed in agreement, he continued. Idly, he began running his free hand through their hair to start working on some of the tangles from their sleep. “Good, thank you, sweetheart. And… and there are people here. Some of them might look really familiar, okay? They’ll look like- like me. They’ll look like me and Uncle Tommy and you can’t- I need you to know that they are not us. They’re going to look and sound like us but everyone here are strangers. Okay?”

Michael looked highly confused, which was understandable. They were only six, after all, and this scenario would surely make most people’s heads hurt.

“Remember, Papa has scars and really big horns, okay? And Uncle Tommy isn’t here… It’s just us. I need you to promise you won’t wander off to talk to them, even if you think you know them. Okay?”

Michael was so young and he hated to put this on him when they were already going through so much, but he had to make sure he understood and would listen.

Michael hesitated, expression scrunched up and wary, but, eventually, gave a small nod. They even chuffed in agreement and, for extra reassurance, held up their pinky.

Beloved melted at the sweet gesture and hooked his pinky with theirs. “Good boy,” he praised again with a small smile. “I know this is a lot, but I promise it’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.” He pressed another kiss to their forehead and prayed that his son’s trust wasn’t being misplaced in him again.

He’d do anything to protect his son’s life, no matter what it took.

(guilt ate at him inside at how much michael still trusted him. they didn’t know what he’d done. he didn’t know that he had killed both of them - that he’d killed everyone. beloved hoped, for both of their sake, and they would never have to know the truth.)