Chapter Text
Philza set Tommy and Tubbo loose an hour ago to try and find some holiday gifts for the rest of the family, and Tubbo’s already ready to give in despite them being as empty-handed as they were at the start.
The defeat isn’t aided by the fact that they’re in a bookstore, because nobody in the family can ever figure out what to give Techno, be it for his birthday or for the holidays, so everyone just collectively rushes to get him a philosophy book or something. Except Wilbur, but Wilbur is such a show off with gifts that Tubbo writes him out of the mental equation.
The worst part of all of this, really, isn’t even the fact that they’re in a bookstore. It’s the fact that they– Tommy and Tubbo– are the ones in the bookstore. A brilliant idea, shoving a hyperactive teenager and the STEM kid in a store where every fucking book cover looks the exact same and none of the titles are appealing. Or, like, scream Techno in any way.
And this is just their first stop. They still have to go and buy Wilbur something– Tommy wants to buy him a scarf for some reason, but Tubbo’s gonna at least try to find him a cool looking lighter or something more practical– and then get Phil orange chocolates or something like that. And then Tubbo has to fuck off and get Tommy something, which is a whole other issue but he might just blow all his money off on a video game for Tommy and steal half the cost back from Phil’s wallet.
Needless to say, Tubbo only has a vague plan for about half of this, and he’s absolutely miserable about all of it.
And Tommy is just making it worse.
“This isn’t a library, Tubbo,” Tommy points out, loudly and obviously. “Being quiet is for bitches!”
“Those two ideas are unrelated,” Tubbo points out, feeling the start of a headache forming in his temple. He can’t tell what type of headache it is– there are a lot of different types, sinus ones and cluster ones and tension ones and migraines– but he can’t tell the difference and frankly doesn’t give enough of a fuck. It’s probably tension if he’s already sort of stressed out, but whatever. Tommy’s loudness might be starting something too.
Tommy shrugs, carefree and still grinning. “Libraries are for bitches, Tubbo. We have to buy shit here, it’s like- it’s like capitalism. And we love capitalism.”
“Mhm, mhm.” Tubbo hums mindlessly.
Tommy’s smile flickers for a second, but it returns almost immediately, plastered on his face. Tubbo debates whether or not to question the brief falter of his smile, but before he can decide, Tommy grabs his arm and yanks him in the direction of cooking books, saying, “Come on, Tubbs. Think like Technoblade. What would The Blade want?”
“Probably not a cooking book,” Tubbo quips, and Tommy stops walking before pivoting the other way, towards the romance section. He opens his mouth to likely make another adjacent comment, but Tubbo cuts in again, “Not a romance book, either. Where the fuck are you trying to go, Tommy?”
Tommy frowns, letting go of Tubbo’s arm and mumbling to himself, “I dunno, man. Somewhere good.”
Tubbo raises his eyebrow. Tommy’s acting weird now, but he doesn’t know why. And frankly, he’s kind of too pissed from the headache to try and decipher what’s up with Tommy if he won’t, like, outright say it.
Which is harsh, and he knows that, but Tommy’s never stopped himself from making his frustrations with Tubbo known, so Tubbo figures it’s just fair enough of him to put the cards in his hands.
Still, Tommy is standing there kind of quietly, not really saying anything, so Tubbo sighs a little too loud and suggests, “Let’s just get a philosophy book.”
“Yeah, but we always get him that,” Tommy complains. “He has all those fucking Mark books and shit-”
“I think it’s Marx.”
“Yeah, well, that sounds stupid.”
“Fairs.”
“Real shit name, Marx. And Mark,” Tommy asserts, “But I think they have good economic theory. Or something, I don’t know, Techno gets all, oh, ‘I’m going to explain to you economics, Tommy, and war, and blood ’ and I go ‘no Technoblade I do not want to hear about blood’ and he goes ‘ohhh Tommy we all get taken by blood in the end’ or something and it freaks me the fuck out, man,” Tommy lets out a shaky breath, “You and Wil and Techno are so fucking morbid, you’re just- you’re just so- and even big man Phil, and-”
“So no philosophy books?” Tubbo interrupts, and Tommy looks thrown off again, like before. And that kind of makes Tubbo think that he’s just being a massive dick to Tommy today and that’s what the problem is, but to be fair, Tubbo is always a massive dick just, like, in general, so he’s not sure why Tommy is being so disturbed by it. The two of them have always had a back and forth to them, able to roll with each other’s punches, and sure, Tubbo’s usually more patient, but if Tubbo’s been able to sit through Tommy’s irritated days, he’s not sure why Tommy can’t do it for him.
Maybe that’s a selfish way of thinking. But maybe Tubbo’s been thinking about all that a lot lately, the idea of reciprocal relationships and someone not giving as many shits as you do, and it’s at least part of the reason why he’s in such a shit mood.
Tommy’s able to bounce off of that, though. Through just about everything, Tommy’s hit with strong emotion and then pulls through it fine.
Except with everything that happened a few years ago, how Tommy had struggled in silence, how Tubbo was trying so hard to reach him and-
No. None of that is about him. Just because he’s frustrated with Tommy, and just because he’s a little pissed off with the whole Ranboo thing that’s achingly fucking similar-
It’s not about him. It’s awful of him to even remotely make that about him. It’s not like he’s getting written out of some kind of history or whatever. He was the person who couldn’t do enough, who made amends with himself and tried to help Tommy with everything after, and Tubbo shouldn’t blame Tommy for anything when it’s not Tommy’s fault. It’s obviously not.
And it’s not Ranboo’s, either.
… But does that make anything Tubbo went through not his fault?
Tubbo shakes his head to himself. Surely not. Dream is entirely different from Schlatt– for one, Dream is an evil spawn of Satan and Schlatt was someone really shitty but… not that. And secondly, what Tubbo went through was leagues more tolerable than what Tommy is going through– what Tubbo’s scared to death that Ranboo’s going through– so of course Tubbo never said a damn thing about it. What is there to say?
Tubbo’s fine.
And Tommy’s…
… Somewhere?
Tubbo blinks, realizing that he’s somehow completely lost Tommy in a few seconds. For God’s sake, Tubbo has no idea where the hell Tommy pried all his energy from, but it’s half admirable and half inconvenient. Tommy and bookstores do not go well together, and they especially do not without supervision.
… But. Tubbo did leave his phone on today.
Meaning that were something to happen, Tommy could just text or call him, or someone can just, like, find him by physical description or whatever, and it’d be fine.
He’s not actually considering leaving Tommy alone here, but also. Tubbo needs to get a gift for Tommy anyway. A gift for Ranboo, maybe, if Ranboo can let him back into his life by the time the holidays roll around. So, a few minutes apart is probably okay, he figures.
With that, Tubbo wanders off into the back of the bookstore, which is entirely across where he’s currently standing but, hey, the store isn’t that big either way, so he could probably sprint around the whole thing worst case scenario if Tommy called out for him.
(But Tommy isn’t going to call out for him, and Tubbo needs to stop being so paranoid.)
Tommy isn’t much of a book person, making being in a bookstore kind of a horrible idea for gifts, but one genre that Tommy is sort of fond of is comics. Because they have illustrations instead of thick text– and Tubbo can absolutely appreciate how fucking awesome that is– and also because Tommy’s kind of into the whole superhero schtick, which half of the comic books are. Something about having faith in the world, having some kind of power, having this strong moral compass…
… That’s always been a big thing for Tommy. And a lot of people don’t expect that, because they see how crude Tommy’s humor is, or how explosive he can be as a person, but the thing that Tubbo’s picked up from being around Tommy for all these years is that Tommy honestly likes, more than anything, things that give him some kind of hope.
That’s why he’s religious, why the rest of his family (and Tubbo by association) are so morbid but Tommy’s humor is more gross than dark, and that’s why Tommy used to gush to Tubbo about different comic book heroes he liked. Because they do something important, and Tubbo’s always been kind of pathetic but Tommy’s always been someone important.
Kind of like how Ranboo is, but in a different way. Tommy’s important in the way that he makes himself like that, brings that kind of confidence to himself. Ranboo’s important in the way that he just has this kind of mystery to him, which makes him odd and strange and important. And like, on one hand, that might wear away once Tubbo understands him more– and maybe for the better, because being important is a heavy task and that’s why Tubbo so easily accepted that he won’t ever be important to anyone– but on the other hand, Tubbo thinks Ranboo will always be sort of important to him.
If Ranboo ever comes back into his life, that is.
For God’s sake again, Tubbo should probably lay off of Tommy for maybe needing him across the bookstore, because Tubbo is so clingy to Ranboo it’s kind of ridiculous. It’s not even been that long, and it’s not like they don’t talk ever, but Ranboo is clearly avoiding Tubbo and it’s… it’s…
… part of the reason why Tubbo’s annoyed. There’s a lot of parts, none of which he wants to deal with right now.
He wants to go home, but right now he’s skipping past the comic book section because he doesn’t want to think about heroes for much longer.
His feet eventually stop when he’s right in front of the small and quaint poetry section. He normally doesn’t frequent here much, because he finds poetry cool but the only person who does much of it that he knows is Wilbur, and Tubbo and Wilbur don’t really go out book-searching that often. Mostly, it’s that Tubbo likes the sound of poetry a whole lot, but doesn’t think he could ever really get it, how people can just write out their feelings in such an artistic way, when for Tubbo, the thought of opening up feels like slicing his body open and bleeding out all his ugly feelings.
It’s so much less… messy, when other people do it. Tubbo is all snot-nosed and bloody and useless the second he gets close to saying much of anything, if the way he’s acted in the past around Tommy and Wilbur and Ranboo and Quackity is any indication-
-Actually.
Tubbo squints his eyes at the Poetry sign in front of him before stepping closer to the shelves, finding himself alone in the section with thin independent poetry books juxtaposed with larger collections of famous poets staring him down.
Ranboo said he liked poetry, didn’t he?
It was once-off, but, if Tubbo is looking for a gift to get Ranboo, this seems like a pretty damn good place to start. Given, Tubbo doesn’t know much of anything about Ranboo’s tastes– he seems okay with darker stuff, seems like the romance-y type from what Tubbo can glean off of him– but just that kind of sets up the probability in his favor that he’ll pull something good.
A lot of the poetry books seem to be those compilation pieces, which are all intimidating as shit and also boring, because Tubbo recognizes those names from his fucking English class and figures that after finals and whatever busy work Ranboo’s up to, he needs a break from that. So, the W.B. Yeats and Robert Frost is a no. The only name he hesitates on, though, is Emily Dickinson, because yeah, she’s another big name poet, but her stuff’s all weird and experimental and Ranboo might be into that shit.
Still, Tubbo focuses more on the independent writers, where the book size– and, admittedly, the prices– seem a hell of a lot more manageable. It’s kind of hard considering he doesn’t recognize any of them, and the bookstore isn’t stocking a lot of variety, honestly, but he figures if he flips through a few pages of each, he might get somewhere.
He starts flipping through one book, which has weirdly-textured paper and also very old-English writing, which Ranboo’s probably able to parse better than Tubbo can, but still, the vibes are off. He shoves that back and gets a second one, which seems better at first, but nothing about the poems jumps out, and the topics don’t seem all that interesting.
He’s on his third one when he feels someone grab his arm suddenly.
Tubbo drops the book, turning his head to be irritated at whoever the hell is touching him, but his mind blanks when he sees Tommy standing there, eyes clearly red and his hair messed up.
Tubbo picks up the book and shoves it back on the shelf, turning to face Tommy fully. Tommy lets go of Tubbo’s wrist, leaving that hand balled up at his side while his other hand is busy carrying a small book, something from the history section that he must have gotten for Techno.
Looking back up to his face, Tommy seems like he just finished crying, but also that he’s not really done dealing with whatever that is. A shaky smile crosses his face, and Tubbo finds himself asking before he can think, “What happened?”
“It’s-” Tommy starts, before swallowing and laughing to himself, shaking his head. He looks really fucking upset, and Tubbo kicks himself for leaving Tommy alone, but then kicks himself again because that implies that he has to watch Tommy over constantly like Tommy’s some child, but kicks himself again because nothing’s wrong with that, and finally decides to just say a strongly worded go fuck yourself to his brain, because he’s been treating Tommy like a dick and he needs to fucking stop.
Tommy, unaware of how pissed off Tubbo is at himself, continues quietly. “I- I thought I saw him,” he confesses, and before Tubbo can react, Tommy explains, “Dream. I thought I saw Dream. I- I just saw bright green eyes, and they- they looked like they were staring at me, man, and you weren’t where I left you so I- I thought he had gotten you, had- I thought you left me, so I tried to get away, I was going to just leave you, like a prick, but I came here and you were here and- and shit, man, I thought- I really thought it was him.”
Tubbo waits until Tommy’s stopped talking before he says, voice steady, “Let’s get out of here. It’s- even if it’s not Dream, the vibes of this place are shit. I can like, buy the book and everything, and you can wait outside, or-”
“No,” Tommy says, “no, I’m staying with you.”
“Okay,” Tubbo agrees easily. “Then, c’mon. We can leave.”
“Were you buying something?” Tommy asks, and Tubbo feels a flicker of irritation in him again before he shoves it down. He can’t be annoyed. What is he annoyed at? What the fuck is wrong with him? Why does he feel worse?
“Nah, I was just looking around,” Tubbo lies, and Tommy must know somewhere in his head that that’s a lie, because Tubbo doesn’t read poetry. But if he does, then Tommy doesn’t ask, and as a matter of fact, Tommy doesn’t say a damn thing as Tubbo walks them to the cash registers, pays for the book that he barely gives a second glance over, and walks the two outside so he can fish out his phone and text Philza.
And that’s fine. Because Tommy is upset, and Tubbo has no right to be upset, because Tommy got a gift for Techno and Philza’s on his way to console Tommy better and Tubbo has an idea for Ranboo’s gift even though Ranboo hasn’t answered his last texts meaning that Ranboo either hates him or Ranboo’s in serious danger and the former is easier to get mad at and Tubbo shouldn’t be mad-
-because if Ranboo’s hurt then Tubbo wouldn’t be able to live with himself, knowing that instead of helping more he just got irritated, because Ranboo isn’t inconsiderate enough to ghost Tubbo unless he’s really busy or outright self-destructive, because Ranboo’s held Tubbo in his arms more times than he should have to so it doesn’t make any sense that Ranboo would leave unless he’s seriously hurt.
But Tubbo still feels mad, still feels way too fucking mad for what’s happening, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, because he’s supposed to be the calm, rational one out of everyone he knows, supposed to listen to the entirety of what Tommy says and wait for Ranboo to accept his help, he’s supposed to do that.
But there’s something in him that makes that feel suffocating, and he doesn’t get what’s wrong with him, why when the rest of the family reconvenes and Tommy shoves the book inconspicuously under something so that Techno doesn’t see it, Tubbo feels so fucking angry at absolutely nobody.
Angry that Dream is still around hurting people. Angry that Tubbo’s powerless to stop it. Angry that Tubbo’s powerless to help anybody he cares about. Angry that Tubbo cares so much he feels like he can’t breathe. Angry that it feels like nobody notices that. Angry that he notices when people can’t breathe but nobody asks him. Angry that Phil takes them all to a different store without asking his to-be-adopted son if he needs a break. Angry that he isn’t in the comic books and can’t live like poetry because he’s too fucked up and worthless to be either.
And so Tubbo’s angry as they clothes shop, angry as they go searching for knick-knacks, angry as the shopping cart gets more filled, angry as he sees gifts that are clearly meant for him, angry that he ever let them think he wanted anything in the first place, because Tubbo is angry that he wants anything. A reply from the person he cares about more than words can say, compassion from the people that will be his family, a cure to whatever sick shit is inside him.
Tubbo should want nothing, because the want implies a basic need is met, because Tubbo has someone he cares about more than words can say, and Tubbo has people that will be his family, and- and, well, Tubbo has enough of him working to still be hurt by anything happening. If he was moral and hopeful and heroic like Tommy, that’d be enough for him.
But nothing is ever enough for Tubbo, and this anger inside him feels like it will never go away.
And Tubbo sits in the middle of the food court, everyone chatting around him, and curls his fingers tightly around a fork, listening to the plastic crackle as the only safe replacement for hearing the entire shopping mart blow apart.
–
Once all the shopping’s unloaded and properly hidden, Tubbo excuses himself to his room. He locks himself in his bathroom, turns on the shower, and sits on the floor with his nails digging into his scalp.
He spent the entire car ride seething, biting down on his lip even when the skin broke to keep himself from lashing out. Tommy jokingly called him moody, and Tubbo let him have his fun, too distracted with keeping enough self-restraint not to rip apart the shopping bags at his feet to even process what Tommy really meant. Even as they offloaded what the gifts were, Tubbo focused more on his breaths than good hiding places, because he felt like he was a second away from fucking exploding, and Tubbo doesn’t know what exploding feels like to him.
And yet– Tubbo squeezes his eyes shut and shoves one of his arms impulsively into the hot water, recoiling it back and covering his head up again– Tubbo doesn’t feel angry anymore.
It was sudden. He was so mind-numbingly angry he was worried he’d seriously hurt someone, and now as he sits there, he feels… fine. Not angry, not upset, not happy, not even numb. Just… fine.
There’s gotta be something wrong with him. People don’t do that, that’s not a thing. People get angry all the damn time but that’s not a Tubbo thing, despite what those stages of grief bullshit or repressed feelings bullshit wants to say. Neither of those are Tubbo things, because Tubbo is calm and knows how to deal with anger, he always has had to.
There’s something wrong with Tubbo. He’s fine, but his brain’s wired wrong. Like his coding got fucked up and he just needs to flip the color wires. Swap in something like contentment with anger and live his life not being upset at people for uncontrollable shit, people like Tommy and Ranboo-
He doesn’t even feel angry now, thinking about it. He just feels nauseous.
He pushes himself off and makes the shower a bit colder before throwing his clothes in the vague laundry pile he keeps on the corner of the tile and steps in. His nausea gets worse, like he might pass out, but he knows he won’t. It takes a lot to make him pass out, and this won’t be what does it.
Still, as he stands there, he feels sick. And awful. And perfectly fucking fine, and that make the nausea worse. Standing there, he truly and deeply hates himself, because he doesn’t know what’s causing all this, why he can’t shove this shit down and just help his friends who are all hurting so much more than he is. Hurting from tangible problems, too, like with Tommy’s trauma with Dream, Jack’s issues with his dad, and all the shit that Ranboo has going on stacked on top of one another. What Tubbo has is just, like, the kiddy pool of issues. He’s a pussy for being upset at it, he knows he is.
In the echo of the shower, he says that. Turns to face the showerhead and spits out, “Pussy.”
Nothing happens. He’s not sure what he expected to.
With a heavy sigh, Tubbo turns around to face the shower wall again, blinking back hot tears before accidentally getting shampoo in his eyes and pissing them off more. Still, he doesn’t break, still feeling fine fine fine no matter what.
And Tubbo realizes he can’t face anyone like this. Not Ranboo, who needs someone sturdy when he eventually comes back, and not the rest of his pseudo-family. If he’s still like this by the time the holidays are around, he has to get out of their way. Has to let them have fun without him ruining all of it, tainting the memories of what would be a good day.
That resolve, amidst all the things making him sick, keeps him afloat from the second he steps out of that shower to the second before midnight on the day the family is celebrating.
–
It’s the morning of the family celebrations, and Tubbo is figuring out a plan to get out.
For what it’s worth, Tubbo isn’t one for hasty plans. It’s not just the morning of the holidays and shit, it’s the early morning. As in, it’s one in the fucking morning and Tubbo’s trying to piece together how to get out of the house and away from the familial domesticity he has no part in. At the very least, here, he’s buying himself some time to figure this all out.
There’s no parties happening, not really– while New Year’s is a more collective celebration with family and friends, most people around here celebrate the winter holidays on whatever day with just their close family. There’s the church services for Christmas that’ll happen tomorrow, but Tommy’s family doesn’t really celebrate Christmas, despite most of them being religious. Something about Christmas proceedings bringing up trauma for Techno, Tommy finding it boring – which might be a cover up for a similar situation to Techno–, and Wilbur not being religious nor appreciating the secular celebration much in concept.
All around, it was a decision they came to before Tubbo ever moved in, and Tubbo’s perfectly fine with that, honestly. When he was with Schlatt, Quackity would either be working, with his grandparents, or yelling at Schlatt during the holiday week. Schlatt didn’t care much either– mustered small gifts for Tubbo when they were younger, but stopped bothering with the tradition as the two grew up more– so overall, Tubbo never really cared about Christmas or holidays or whatever. Bad memories all around for what Tubbo thinks is the worst part of winter.
In the past, he’s celebrated with Tommy’s family, enjoying himself for the most part and shoving the taunt of domesticity out of his head in favor of playing video games with Tommy or watching a movie as a whole group. He’d head up to the roof and think about Schlatt way too much, and then he would come back down before Tommy can catch him and lay awake the entire time he sleeps over with him. There’s no reason to think that this year won’t be the exact same as that, and Tubbo would be honestly fine with that.
Except. Well. Everything feels off this year, with Schlatt’s death and the adoption offer and Dream’s existence and all the shit that Tubbo has going on in his head. He already knows that Tommy has plans to go out on New Year’s for a party, and that Wilbur and Techno are probably going to spend the week hanging out, driving around town for hours and never telling anyone what they wound up talking about. Phil usually goes out with some work colleagues for drinks, too. So, honestly, Tubbo doesn’t think it’s even a big deal if he’s not around for the holidays this year.
It’s more just. Would anybody mind if he was gone today? Should he stay for a bit, skip a bit? Stick it out while gifts are exchanged and he feels way more happy than he honestly should, then pass through all the bits where he has to sit with that feeling? Whatever he does, he sort of needs a plan to get out of there, because he doesn’t think telling Tommy I’m having some kind of crisis right now and can’t stand being around you during it will blow over well.
It takes him a near hour of contemplation, albeit a lot of that time used up by him zoning out apropos of nothing, until he realizes he has a pretty reasonable out he’s been overlooking.
Tubbo grabs his phone, scrolling past most of his contacts until he lands on Jack Manifold. There’s no guarantee the other will be up right now, but hey, he made promises to hang out with Jack, didn’t he? And he knows well enough that Jack’s home life is probably too fucked for him to have any sort of plans– and if he had any, they’d be Christmas ones, and those don’t tend to crop up on the 23rd.
So, it’s worth a shot.
Tubbo: Hey Mr Manifold, up to take me up on that offer ?
He gets a response surprisingly quick. Jesus, everyone’s sleep schedules are fucked around here.
Jack: Yeah man! When?
[
Tubbo: like Ideally today
Tubbo: perhaps in the PMs
Tubbo: Afternoon
[
Jack: Yeah, my pa will be out all day so that works
Jack: Are you still bringing something?
[
Tubbo: Don’t know if i can
Tubbo: kindof invovles a lot of sneeking
Tubbo: Bc it’s not my shit
[
Jack: Right
Jack: Well you’re gonna have to settle with beer then because that’s all I’ve got
[
Tubbo: jack manifold you wound me
[
Jack: Look man I’m not built of money
Jack: Just a beer with the boys and some rounds of Smash bros
Jack: God this is so fucked
[
Tubbo: Its not rly that fucked
[
Jack: We’re fucking 17 man
[
Tubbo: Yea
Tubbo: 17 year olds do this shit.
Tubbo: you’d rather shampane on NYs?
[
Jack: Champagne. And yeah I guess you’re right.
Jack: Alright just text me when you’re on your way over or something
Jack: Dont bring Tommy with you
[
Tubbo: you think I told tommy about me drinking?
[
Jack: Fair
[
Tubbo: C u
[
Jack: Bye
Jack: And go to bed for fuck’s sake man
[
Tubbo: You should too
[
Jack: Can’t
Jack: Dad’s up
[
Tubbo: Oh
Tubbo: sleep soon ish then when he’s out
[
Jack: Yeah. Never takes him long
Jack: He just gets worked up about work or some stupid shit. Coworkers. Lot of misogyny from him
[
Tubbo: fuck him
[
Jack: Yeah, fuck him
Jack: Goodnight
[
Tubbo: GN
Well. That’s something.
He should probably turn his phone off now and go back to bed, but as he backs out of Jack’s contact, he sees Ranboo’s name. And he needs to stop clinging to Ranboo or getting upset about him, but he sees Ranboo’s name and it’s been weeks since the two of them have had a conversation that’s felt real, and he’s always up late, anyway.
It’s worth a shot. Even if he still gets nothing. Just some kind of sign that he’s still there, since Tubbo’s not able to see him face to face anymore without loitering around his workplace.
Tubbo: hey Boo
Tubbo: Idk if you celebrate the holidays or whatever but
Tubbo: happy holidays if u do :)
Tubbo: We should hang out maybe haha we don’t have to though
Tubbo leaves his phone on his bed, getting up to splash water into his face, because his eyes are already stinging and this is just pathetic honestly. It’s actually kind of really fucking pathetic for him to be so torn up about this– it hasn’t even been that long. He doesn’t even know that much about Ranboo.
He’s not giving up on Ranboo, but that doesn’t mean he has to be so damn attached to him. No part of supporting someone means he has to crave being around them, trying to pick apart all the parts that make them up so that he can understand them.
But that doesn’t change the fact that Tubbo wants to see him open up– hell, Tubbo wants to see him smile. He wants to see Ranboo shake off the tension that he always seems to have, he wants to hug Ranboo the same way that he hugged Tubbo back at the park, he just wants Ranboo.
And that’s the thing, isn’t it?
Tubbo wants Ranboo, just like how Ranboo asked Tubbo what if I want you?
Tubbo presses his fingers to his temples, standing in the dark in his bathroom, faucet shut off by now. He feels over-exposed, even though it’s one AM and he’s alone, and he thinks that probably has less to do with his physical situation and more the realization dawning on him.
Tubbo probably doesn’t like Ranboo in a platonic way anymore, does he?
And, look, Tubbo doesn’t get crushes. He’s seen some fairly attractive people– mostly guys– and he’s thought about dating one in an abstract sense. None of that, though, ever really felt real or heavily emotional. And even beyond what Tubbo’s dealt with, when he’s gotten dragged into watching a rom-com with Tommy and some of their friends, he never really got what was happening. Miscommunication and love triangles and fluttering feelings– God, he especially hated the whole love at first sight gig. None of that ever really clicked for him.
Tubbo knows there’s a term for that. He’d known about his own asexuality for years, tacking on the aromanticism on top of that didn’t feel all that difficult. He never really came out about that, because part of him still thought he might have something for guys, but nobody ever really pressed him for an answer either way so that barely matters.
So like, obviously, he doesn’t like Ranboo in a romantic way. Because even now, the way he feels about Ranboo doesn’t look like those movies. And sure, those are unrealistic, but he’s also listened to Wilbur talk about all his relationships, and those varied a lot. None of them even remotely described how Tubbo likes Ranboo.
… So it’s either platonic, or it’s some weird middle ground. And if it is a weird middle ground, he’ll have to figure out what that means, and that makes this whole damn thing way more complicated. Especially since he has no idea what Ranboo’s thoughts on this whole thing is.
Would he hate dating Ranboo? No, probably not. Would he hate just being friends with Ranboo? Well, isn’t that what Tubbo’s doing right now? The exact thing that’s kind of backfiring?
Tubbo throws more water on his face before wiping it off and going back to his bed. None of this shit matters enough for him to agonize over it. He doesn’t even know if Ranboo wants anything beyond friendship with him, and if he doesn’t, that’s fine. Because Tubbo’s being weird about it, but ultimately, being friends means way less shit for Tubbo to figure out than trying to hit this middle-ground.
With a sigh, Tubbo turns his phone over, ready to fall asleep as soon as he confirms that Ranboo’s still ignoring his messages.
Except, his heart stops when he sees the screen, for just a second, and all his thoughts about feelings clear out of his head.
Because Ranboo answered him.
It’s just one text, and fuck, Tubbo has to be down bad with something to be overreacting to just that, but none of that matters. Friend, partner, whatever, Tubbo will take anything aside from stranger at this point.
Ranboo: hey Bo, happy holidays :)
Tubbo’s screen says that Ranboo’s still typing, so he takes the downtime to move his covers around so he can lay down, squishing his cheek against the pillow as he waits for Ranboo’s reply.
Ranboo: can’t hang out today :( and the holidays get kind of busy for the bakery so I’ve been called to cover a lot of shifts for people so I’m working during the week too
Okay. Well. That sucks, but that’s not a no.
And Tubbo’s stubborn enough to work with just about everything that’s not a no.
Tubbo: oh okay that’s fine haha
Tubbo: R u available any time this week?
[
Ranboo: uh well
Ranboo: today’s the 23rd, right?
Ranboo: I have work today and through the weekend, I think I have something else on monday and tuesday that might take a while
[
Tubbo: Holy shit you’re relalyf ucking busy huh
[
Ranboo: ha yeah a bit
Ranboo: um. the 28th or 29th might work? that’s uh a wednesday or thursday. I can do any time after 11 AM probably, I wake up kind of late
[
Tubbo: Yeah either of those work
Tubbo should probably check his calendar before saying that, but pretty much nothing else he has going on will be more important than this. Unless he had something with Tommy, but he can’t see why he wouldn’t be able to hang out with Tommy at the start of next week instead.
Ranboo: nice :)
Ranboo: the 28th, then? I can pick you up
[
Tubbo: yea!
Tubbo: Ok yay awesome
Tubbo: Im glad u still want to hang out lol
[
Ranboo: what do you mean?
Shit.
Tubbo: Well like we havent been talking much
Tubbo: I guess lol
Tubbo: which is fine I just was kinda surprised u wanted to see me still lol
[
Ranboo: yeah I’ve been kind of a bad friend lately
That’s definitely not the takeaway Tubbo wanted Ranboo to get from that. Shit shit shit .
Ranboo: I’m really sorry I haven’t been talking to you more
Ranboo: there’s been a lot going on. things that you shouldn’t have to get involved with
Ranboo: plus mostly there’s work
Ranboo: that’s the most of it
Ranboo: but I missed talking with you Tubbo I’m sorry I’ve been so weird
Tubbo sighs, because on one hand, that’s really good news and he’s glad that Ranboo doesn’t hate him, but also it makes him feel so much worse about his anger from a few days ago. Because God, Ranboo really doesn’t deserve any of that, and sure, what Ranboo doesn’t know can’t hurt him, but between the alcohol outing later and how shitty Tubbo’s been lately, the guilt is just piling up.
Tubbo: I missed talking to u too boss man
Tubbo: we r going to have a kickass time on wednesday
Tubbo: it is going to kick so much ass
Tubbo: this town will be assless
[
Ranboo: well I wouldn’t go that far
Ranboo: I think people probably need that
Ranboo: just for like balance purposes
[
Tubbo: balance purposes
[
Ranboo: think about it
Ranboo: it’s like toes
[
Tubbo: ass isn’t comparable to toes Ranboo
[
Ranboo: both are for balance purposes though
[
Tubbo: I mean so is like. A spine
[
Ranboo: people would look weird without spines too right?
Ranboo: therefore my point is proven
[
Tubbo: I’m too tired to argue with you youre right
[
Ranboo: you should sleep
[
Tubbo: Nah Im good
[
Ranboo: Tubbo
[
Tubbo: Ranboo Beloved
[
Ranboo: what could I do to convince you to sleep
[
Tubbo: call?
[
Ranboo: I’m not sure I can right now
Ranboo: actually
Ranboo: uh if you give me a few minutes I think I can
Ranboo: hang on
[
Tubbo: ok
Tubbo can work with that. He needs a second to process whatever the fuck Ranboo was trying to say about asses being vital for human balance. He guesses he never thought about it like that. There really isn’t a lot that separates the human genome from the physical properties of something balanceless like paper if he really thinks about it. And it’s two AM, so he’s going to think about it harder than he really should.
He doesn’t get far before, five minutes later, his phone buzzes and he sees Ranboo calling him.
“Hey Tubbo!” Ranboo says, and Tubbo immediately hears the rushing of wind, resemblant of what it sounds like when Tubbo’s laying on his roof at night.
But Ranboo doesn’t have a roof at his house, so Tubbo squints. “Why are you outside?” he asks. “It’s cold as balls right now.”
“It- it is, yeah,” Ranboo admits. “I’m, uh, I was with some people so I needed to- to be outside so I could, um, call you one on one.”
“Oh, fairs.” Tubbo sits up a bit. “Who were you with?”
“Oh, just, um, just some people. Y’know. Um, Niki and- and stuff.” Which is clearly a lie, if Ranboo’s enhanced vocal stumbling is anything, but Tubbo overlooks it. Maybe he shouldn’t, but it’s late, and he just wants to talk to Ranboo without thinking about all the shit he’s dealing with right now.
Maybe that’s selfish.
But what else is new with Tubbo?
“How- how are you doing, Tubbo?” Ranboo asks, and Tubbo briefly entertains telling him about how shitty he’s been doing, how he has plans to hang out with Jack and drink later, how much Tubbo’s been torn up because of Ranboo.
But he doesn’t say any of that, because he’s not that selfish and he doesn’t want to hurt Ranboo. God, that’s the last thing he wants to do.
“I’m chilling,” he says instead of all that, swallowing back the bitterness on the tip of his tongue. “Have you been doing holiday things?”
“Uh, not really?” Ranboo lets out a small laugh. “Niki’s going to be out on, uh, New Year’s? So I’m going to be alone for that, which is- which is honestly fine, I kind of find New Year’s overwhelming, anyway, so I’m probably just going to sleep through it if I can? I don’t know if that’s weird but, uh, I’m working on the first and we have school the second, so. There’s that. But aside from that, no, not really? What about you?”
“Eh, I’m just doing some stuff with Tommy’s family,” Tubbo says, which isn’t entirely a lie but also excludes the fact that Tubbo isn’t just doing that. “Chilling. Did you- well, I don’t know what you usually do, but do you do anything with gifts? Like. Should I get you a gift?”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to,” Ranboo reassures immediately. “I mean, I was, uh. I was kind of going to bake something? Well. I was, but I didn’t know if your family really, uh, wanted me- yeah. But don’t worry about anything, honestly, I- I don’t really care about gifts.” There’s a pause, then Ranboo asks, voice quieter, “ Should I get you a gift?”
“Nah, I don't care,” Tubbo echoes. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay.” There’s another moment of silence, excluding the loud ass noises the wind is still making, until Ranboo adds, “I might still bake you something though. We’re, uh, kind of out of a lot of stuff here, though. I went shopping for groceries, uh, sort of recently? But I forgot brown sugar, ‘cause we- we ran out, but it’s kind of easy to forget since not a lot of recipes use it? It’s- it’s mostly a texture thing.”
“Is it?” Tubbo doesn’t know shit about brown sugar, honestly. He just kind of assumed it was a healthier form of sugar.
“Yeah, I mean, you can substitute it with some white sugar plus maple syrup. Which, I’m not really- I don’t really know how that works, but it does. You usually want the brown sugar, though, because it just- it just makes it better.”
“Huh. The more you know.”
“Yeah. Y’know, if you wanted to bake something, we could do something this break, I think?” Ranboo offers, and Tubbo’s heart skips a bit. “Probably not when we, uh, next see each other, since I’ll probably be, like, really set off by the scent of anything baked in my vicinity, but, if you wanted to, then-”
Suddenly, there’s a weird woosh sound, not like the way the wind was before, almost like something’s cutting through it. The audio quality gets fucked up for a few seconds, but then suddenly Tubbo hears Ranboo’s voice again, a lot quieter than it was before, “Oh, that sounds awesome,” he says, and Tubbo gets a weird feeling under his skin at the way that Ranboo sounds… different. “Tell them I say hi and everything. I’ve never, uh, never met her brother, but he seems really- he seems really great!”
What the fuck is Ranboo talking about? “... Ranboo?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Ranboo replies, and for a second Tubbo thinks Ranboo’s talking to him, but that’s quickly overridden by him saying, “I think Puffy probably- probably has better holiday traditions, anyway? I mean, we don’t do that much- say, could I, uh. I guess you wouldn’t be around, but I’m free on the 27th, right?”
No, scratch that last question. It’s not about what Ranboo’s saying, though it’s confusing as hell, it’s about who he’s talking to.
Because as far as Tubbo’s aware, he’s the only one on this phone call, and last he checked, his plans with Ranboo were on the 28th.
Tubbo needs to calm down, because worst case scenario, Ranboo just… needs to hang up or something, like someone’s tapped their phones or whatever. Which wouldn’t make sense, because Tubbo’s phone obviously isn’t tapped– the last time he left it unsupervised was the week after Schlatt died, and Techno isn’t exactly skilled at phone hacking last Tubbo checked. So why would Ranboo talk to Tubbo like there’s someone there if there isn’t-
Wait.
Ranboo told Tubbo he had to be outside because he was with some people. Ranboo had said one of said people was Niki, but if he’s talking to Tubbo like he’s chatting with Niki, then it probably isn’t Niki overhearing this phone call. And it’s obviously not Techno, because he’s asleep just a few rooms down, or at the very least propping open a book through his insomnia.
And there’s only one other person Tubbo can think of that Ranboo both knows and has been proven to spend time with at least once.
Fuck.
As dread fills Tubbo’s body, weighing it down like heavy lead, Ranboo keeps chatting, voice raising in pitch and quickening as he rambles with realistic pauses for replies. “Yeah, no, we’re gonna stay local and, like, I’m not going to be, uh, out that late? I just wanted to see a friend, so I wanted to check I didn’t have a shift or something.”
“Ranboo,” Tubbo says the second Ranboo momentarily stops speaking, “if you need someone to get you, can you- start talking about, uh, your plans on the 27th? I- I can pick you up subtly, promise, it won’t- you’ll be fine, yeah? Just- just, if you need it, please talk about the 27th.”
There’s a small sound, like someone’s breath hitching, and Ranboo’s voice comes out faster than Tubbo’s ever heard it as he says, “Sorry, it’s- it’s cold outside, I should probably hang up. And you said you were busy, so, yeah. I’m- I’m going to go to bed now, you should do that soon, I think. Goodnight, Niki.”
The call ends, but Tubbo finds himself whispering anyway, “Goodnight, Ranboo.”
… Well, that’s fucking terrifying.
Tubbo shoves his head in his hands, leaving his phone face-up in his lap, because fuck. Ranboo’s probably with someone really shitty, and that really shitty person might be Dream, and it’s two AM and Tubbo won’t be able to see Ranboo until the 28th and by then it’ll be too late, because Dream isn’t in prison for a reason: he’s good at disappearing at the right time, but he’s good at making his victims feel like they’re disappearing, too. Tommy felt invisible up to the moment he was in that hospital bed, and Ranboo– tall, gentle Ranboo– is already so much more faded than Tommy ever was.
Tubbo has to fucking do something. He can’t right now, and- and Ranboo’s working shifts this upcoming week, but maybe someday he can stop by his apartment? Call Niki? Fuck, he told Tommy he would know what to do if Ranboo was proven to be in contact with Dream, but he didn’t think it would be like this.
And it’s almost worse, because it didn’t sound like Ranboo was happy to be there the way that Tubbo initially feared his relationship with Dream might entail. Ranboo sounded scared .
Tubbo nearly jumps out of his skin when he gets another text, and he quickly opens up his chat messages with Ranboo and scans over every letter he sees until the next text comes in, and then the next text, and the next and the next and the next.
Ranboo: hey uh so
Ranboo: sorry about that
Ranboo: like actually really sorry about that
Ranboo: it’s a long story but I promise I’m okay
Ranboo: I’m uh with some people right now
Ranboo: relatives
Ranboo: like the uh. old foster brother I mentioned? him and some people
Ranboo: and it’s late so I didn’t want to like explain who you are to them
Ranboo: that sounds bad
Ranboo: I’m like way too tired to explain that I have a friend because then they’ll get really excited and ask me who it is and then start being weird about me having a friend for the first time haha
Ranboo: so I needed like some kind of excuse and I usually use Niki
Ranboo: but if that freaked you out I’m really sorry I should have let you know I was with family and everything
Oh, thank God.
… Well, okay, maybe it’s not time for Tubbo to thank God yet.
Tubbo doesn’t know if he should believe that story. Ranboo’s never mentioned having extended family, but to be fair, all he’s mentioned in the past was having an ex-foster brother he’s trying to get in contact with, and he’s implied in his behaviors that family is a sore spot for him. Still, Tubbo would think if Ranboo had anybody like that, he would just say that from the get go, because Tubbo wouldn’t press– does Ranboo think Tubbo would press? Tubbo wouldn’t press.
But– and maybe Tubbo’s really stupid for this– what Ranboo’s saying isn’t illogical. It could definitely be that he’s with family, and that probably makes more sense than him being kidnapped by Dream or something. And- and Tubbo’s maybe stupid for thinking of it that way,
but goddammit, it’s two AM and Tubbo wants to believe that his best friend isn’t being abused right now.
Maybe he’ll hate himself for that in the morning. Or, well, in the late morning. Maybe he’ll beg Jack to take him to Ranboo’s place and they’ll both get DUIs or something.
But right now, Ranboo seems okay, and Tubbo has to trust that if Ranboo needs to reach out, that Ranboo will. Because even if Tommy didn’t do it, and even if Tubbo’s been pretty fucking awful at it himself, the only options Tubbo has right now is to think that Ranboo is in critical danger and it’s all Tubbo’s fault, or that Ranboo is capable of reaching out when he needs help.
And Ranboo’s always been a better man than Tubbo is, so he’s going to trust him. And if he regrets putting trust in Ranboo, well. It’s not the first time he’s made that mistake, and so far, only one person’s died from it.
… And Ranboo’s no drinker. He’s the type to get too embarrassed buying sparkling grape juice because he’s scared the cashier will ask for an ID.
Tubbo: nws lol
Tubbo: enjoy the family stuff !
Tubbo: how many of you are there
[
Ranboo: it’s just me, my ex foster brother, his adoptive mom and dad, and his mom’s best friend and then that best friend’s kids
Ranboo: it’s kind of complicated and very uh busy
Ranboo: I should probably be sleeping instead of doing this the day before I work but haha you know how it is
[
Tubbo: sneak off and sleep on the couch
Tubbo: nobody will know
[
Ranboo: I’m kind of on babysitting duty
[
Tubbo: damn
Tubbo: sneak off with the kids and go hang out somewhere
Tubbo: no one will know
[
Ranboo: I have to be responsible unfortunately
[
Tubbo: dammit
[
Ranboo: I’ll talk to you later?
[
Tubbo: oh ok
Tubbo: GN boo
[
Ranboo: goodnight Tubbo :)
Tubbo shuts off the phone after that, leaving it on his nightstand and flopping on his stomach. He should overthink every part of this, because this is obviously incredibly suspicious and Tubbo would have to be fucking stupid to overlook every red flag in the book about this exact situation, but he’s already made up his mind, with his decision being to let himself be an idiot and just… sleep through the residual anxiety.
And so, Tubbo shuts his eyes, face shoved into the pillow, and sleeps.
–
Or, rather, Tubbo makes an extremely valiant attempt to sleep until he hears the sound of a floorboard creaking downstairs.
It’s likely a pet or something. Henry moving around and being a nuisance or whatever is what Tubbo would originally place his bet on. But, the sounds keep moving in a human-like way, and Tubbo quickly realizes despite all the grogginess that he feels that this could be a good chance to get himself out during the holidays.
He’s hoping that it’s Techno or Wilbur downstairs. Tommy would be a disaster, even if Tubbo could probably either deflect or talk his way through everything- though, no, the more that Tubbo thinks about it, the more that interacting with Tommy right now seems like a bad idea. It’d be better to just… keep him in the dark for this, so that he doesn’t snap at Tubbo or make assumptions.
Though leaving him in the dark probably would lead him to make those assumptions.
Fuck. It shouldn’t be this difficult to get out of the house. Usually, it’s harder to get people in the house. Honestly, sometimes it feels like Tommy’s family’s concern over Tubbo has kept him caged in over the years– half his social outings have been with Tommy, or were just brief times working on school projects. And then there was Ranboo, of course, but that hasn’t lasted, because Tubbo is still having to sneak around that, justifiably so.
Point being, it shouldn’t be this hard to go and see friends, but maybe the problem is that most of Tubbo’s friends are Tommy’s friends, so it’s kind of hard to go out alone. But, obviously, he’s not exactly dragging Tommy to hang out with someone he’s fighting with and drink shitty beer. It might be entertaining, but also sort of life-ruining, and Tubbo would have to make them reconcile, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. Not when he’s drunk, not when he’s sober.
Tubbo hears another creak in the floorboard, slight but noticeable to someone with his history of waiting for his hungover cousin to stumble back home, and Tubbo decides to get out of bed. He takes a second to throw on some socks before leaving his phone on his bed and carefully walking down the stairs.
He manages to avoid the worst of the creaks, shifting his weight from the edges of his feet to his heel, repeating the motion and crouching a little. Realistically, this much precaution isn’t needed to approach, but if it is Tommy, then he’s going to need to get in and out quick and silent, because if Tommy thinks he’s there for even a second, then the whole plan falls apart.
The light in the kitchen is on, and Tubbo carefully approaches it, peering into the room before putting a single foot on the tile.
Oh, thank God.
It’s just Wilbur.
Tubbo lets out a small, inaudible sigh of relief, but he chokes on his own breath when Wilbur suddenly says aloud, “Hello, Tubbo.”
Tubbo lets out a quiet cough, to Wilbur’s amusement, a small smile on his face as he dips a teabag in and out of his cup. The charade over, Tubbo walks into the kitchen, watching the bobbing motion of the tea leaves before asking, “How did you know it was me?”
“Saw you out of the corner of my eye,” Wilbur explains. “I’m not always on high alert, but I thought Tommy might try to sneak down to look at the gifts. When I saw the blue eyes, though, I realized that whoever it was had been too quiet to be Tommy, so I figured it was you.”
That’s sound rationale. “Guilty.”
Wilbur throws out the bag and takes a sip of the tea, wincing at the heat of it before commenting, “Cinnamon’s better. Or peppermint.”
“Cinnamon tea?” Tubbo didn’t know that was a thing, but in hindsight, it makes kind of a lot of sense that exists.
“Yeah. I’ve never been a chamomile kind of guy, much to Techno’s chagrin.” Wilbur takes another sip anyway. “I also quite like milk teas, but it seems hardly fair to compare chamomile to a flavored milk tea, yeah?” Tubbo doesn’t really have strong thoughts on tea, so he nods along. Wilbur drinks from his cup again before setting it down beside him and facing Tubbo entirely, asking, “So, why are you awake, Tubbo?”
Right. Tubbo isn’t just down here to small talk about tea flavors. He shifts his shoulders a bit before deciding to lean against the wall opposite from Wilbur, because he’s admittedly a bit tired, which is fair enough for the hour.
“Uh, just couldn’t sleep,” Tubbo answers, which isn’t a lie. He couldn’t sleep, because he was kind of busy staying up thinking about other things.
Wilbur nods. “Vague answer. I can appreciate it.”
“Why’re you awake?”
“Much of the same, really. Had a bit of a nightmare, you could say,” Wilbur says with a small smile.
“Oh.” Tubbo pauses. “That sucks.”
“Just a memory.”
Those suck worse, but judging by the smudge of darkness tucked under Wilbur’s eyes, he probably doesn’t need Tubbo to tell him that. It’d probably be better if they just dropped the topic and moved on, which… Tubbo should probably do.
And maybe cut straight to the point, because Wilbur can play along with beating-around-the-bush better than Techno can, but that doesn’t mean he likes it any more than his brother does. It’d only be a matter of time before Wilbur took another sip and asked Tubbo to say what he really means, so despite how intimidating it is, Tubbo should bite the bullet here.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Wilbur’s eyebrow raises slightly, which means that opening up the conversation with that was a good call. Tubbo sort of expected it to be– tell Techno you have a question to get him to talk, tell Wilbur you have a favor to ask to get him to consider it. Not that Tubbo has to amass a significant amount of charisma to get Wilbur to listen to him, but it’s still good practice.
“Carry on,” Wilbur prods, clearly curious.
“Today’s the day we’re doing all the holiday shit,” Tubbo prefaces, and Wilbur nods. “Well. I know that holidays and whatnot are about, uh, family and stuff, but like, most of the time we just open up gifts and then all watch a movie or something. Like, the celebrations don’t last that long, yeah?”
“Right.”
“So, I was wondering…” Tubbo takes a deep breath, “if I could go somewhere, uh. During everything.”
“Oh, that’s where that was going.” Wilbur grabs his cup and takes another drink, letting out a sigh once he does. There’s a few moments of lingering silence before Wilbur asks, “You want to see Ranboo, right?”
Tubbo pauses.
On one hand, no. No, he’s definitely not. Because Ranboo’s busy, and Wilbur could very easily figure that out from Niki, so it’s not like that would even remotely be a good lie here. Plus, if Tommy figured that out, then he would… well, take it the same way he’s taken everything.
On the other hand, Tubbo doesn’t think Wilbur would buy it if he says he’s hanging out with anybody else. Because, of course, he would think Tommy’s coming with, because Tubbo almost always has Tommy with him, so it would be pretty unbelievable.
Still. It’s better to leave Wilbur doubting than actively aware Tubbo is hiding something.
“No,” Tubbo finally replies. “He’s working through the holidays.”
Wilbur cocks his head sideways. “... Huh. Then may I ask what you want to do, then?”
“I just want to…” Tubbo starts to say, but finds his voice getting quieter the longer he talks. Which is a bad sign. He clears his throat and opens his mouth to try again, but finds that he doesn’t know what to say here.
The rest of his functioning brain at a loss for what to say, some dumbass part of his mind decides to say fuck ambiguity and blurt out, “I just need out of the house, Wilbur.”
That gets Wilbur to raise his eyebrow even higher, which isn’t a bad sign, but also that was a stupid move on Tubbo’s part. Either way, he has to run with it now, so he takes a deep breath and continues, “You know what I mean, yeah? I- I mean, it’s kind of just us here, since school’s out, and…”
“You don’t want to be around us.”
Tubbo startles, not expecting Wilbur to interrupt him, but he keeps going before Tubbo can protest his statement. “Because you’ve talked to Phil, haven’t you? About everything. I’ve never gotten a chance to talk that over with you, either. That’s why-”
“There’s nothing for us to talk about,” Tubbo says, cutting Wilbur off, who takes it with grace and a smile. “That has nothing to do with this.”
“I know what you mean about getting some fresh air, Tubbo, don’t misunderstand me.” Wilbur assures. “I’ve been there and done that, you know that. I’m asking why now? Why do you want to get out right this second? And I think,” Wilbur takes a step towards Tubbo, “that has to do with what the holidays mean to people. You and Tommy- you two were just friends when you first spent the holidays with him. Now, you’re closer to brothers, and that’s why you would rather be with a friend of yours, to spend the holidays with them instead of your family. Is that what this is, Tubbo?”
Tubbo stays silent, and Wilbur lets out a laugh, slightly bitter. “You’ve lived with us for years, Tubbo. You have your own bedroom, your own toothbrush, your own seat at the table. I was halfway across the world and still thought of you like a brother. This is just confirming what we already know. What you already know.” Tubbo still stays quiet, and Wilbur takes another step forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. Tubbo fights back a flinch. “You want to leave because you’re scared. You’re scared, Tubbo. That’s what this is.”
“Shut up, Wilbur.” Tubbo finally says, his voice shaking.
This wasn’t supposed to go like this. At least, not this fast.
Wilbur’s smile widens. “So I’m right. You’re scared of what we mean to you. You’re scared of what you mean to us.”
Under the gaze of dark brown eyes that used to feel warm and the grip of a hand on his shoulder, Tubbo feels trapped .
And he’s lived long enough to know how to escape a trap; how, sometimes, to escape a trap, you have to take the bait.
Tubbo takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes, before opening his mouth.
“Why did you go to Europe for a year, Wilbur?”
For a minute, nothing changes. The hand doesn’t move off his shoulder, and Tubbo can feel the stare on his skin even with his eyes closed. The tea cup stays on the counter, growing colder, and the seconds tick them both further into the third hour of the morning.
Then, Wilbur’s hand moves off his shoulder.
Tubbo lets out an exhale, opening his eyes to see Wilbur across the kitchen from him, drinking from his tea with a wavering hand. The weight of trying to keep his composure, no doubt. It was a low blow on Tubbo’s end, but damage he could have only ever dealt to Wilbur– Techno would explode on him, Tommy would shatter under him, Phil would laugh it off and tell him to go to his room.
Now that Tubbo’s said the first words, he finds himself saying more. “You said I was like your brother, even when you were in a different country. Would it be wrong of me to say I didn’t see you the same, Wilbur?”
“... No,” Wilbur says, with noticeable hesitation. “No, that wouldn’t- that wouldn’t be wrong of you at all. I think that’s only fair.”
“We both want to leave,” Tubbo points out. “You already did it once. I haven’t. Give me just a few hours, Wilbur, to feel whatever you felt in Europe.”
“You don’t want what I felt then,” Wilbur counters quickly. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”
“Let me decide that.”
Wilbur shakes his head. “You’re seventeen. I’m your older brother . I’d have to be stupid to let you-”
“How old were you when you went to Europe, Wilbur?”
“ Fine !” Wilbur concedes, voice louder than it should be at this hour. He sets his cup down with a noticeable sound, still choosing to face away from Tubbo. “You want to go, you can go. Hell, I’ll even cover for you. You can sneak out whenever you want, just give me the word, and you can go. Would that make you happy?”
“Very,” Tubbo replies with a smile. “Thank you, Wilbur.”
“Just one thing.”
Dammit . “What is it?”
Wilbur looks at Tubbo for a long moment, expression devoid of emotion for the first time. Tubbo’s used to this blank expression, but after all the words that have been thrown out, it feels wrong to see. Dark brown eyes neither warm nor analytical, lips naturally resting at a slight pout, face eerily still like a corpse, leg jittering in thought.
Tubbo’s thought before, in the past, that Tommy got all the soft edges that Wilbur has, that Tubbo got all the hard lines of Schlatt. The more that Tubbo stares at Wilbur, though, he realizes what this blank expression resembles: a reflection.
And that just proves everything that Wilbur guessed, doesn’t it? Why Tubbo is so scared of looking his- this family in the eye?
Tubbo reflects off every surface of his house, dulling the light. And that’s how he knows, even now, that he can’t stay here.
Wilbur’s been quiet long enough for Tubbo to prod him, anxiety building in him. “Wilbur?”
“Nevermind,” Wilbur tells him. “It’s nothing. Goodnight, Tubbo.”
“Oh, okay.” Tubbo hadn’t expected that. Favors are meant to be repaid, after all, or at the very least qualified. For Wilbur to give this up empty-handed… either he has some malintent planned, which Tubbo doesn’t think he could muster right now, or Tubbo’s persuasion hit too hard. Or something else entirely, but either way, Tubbo is too tired to parse that. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Goodnight, Tubbo.”
“... Goodnight, Wilbur.”
As Tubbo turns to leave, he sees Wilbur pick up his tea and pour it out in the sink. That’s a bad idea, surely, since all the residual tea leaves would get stuck in the drain, but Wilbur clearly seems to want him gone so he’s not going to offer unwanted advice.
The ascent up the stairs is weighed down with guilt, though Tubbo’s not sure why he feels so awful. He used Wilbur’s same tactic against him and he got what he needed, and it’s hardly a bother on Wilbur’s mind, really, since all Tubbo wants is to go outside. Either way, the guilt continues to flood his body, even if not enough to overtake the exhaustion that pulls him down into his bed.
He sleeps soundly, despite the echoed sounds of shifting floorboards in his head.
After all, he has to be well-rested enough to remind Wilbur of his promise.
–
In the end, the escape is easier than Tubbo had thought.
It comes after all the gifts are exchanged, Tubbo getting a space-related video game, some t-shirts, and a quirky knick-knack of a turtle that he deposits into his room before coming back down for some group brunch. He listens to the rest of them talk, Tommy eagerly going on about his gift– a new simulator game that he’s going to talk about non-stop for the next few months– while Techno and Phil chime in with some commentary. As Tubbo had sort of guessed, Wilbur stays quiet except for the few times he’s prodded to say something– he stands out more than Tubbo, who blends into the background and always keeps his mouth full of food to avoid conversation, but keeps his silence for the most part nevertheless.
Then, everyone splits off their own way, and Tubbo shoots Wilbur a look. Wilbur’s eyebrow raises slightly before his face neutralizes with realization, just offering Tubbo a simple nod when he realizes what he’s asking.
Then, when Tommy’s distracted by Henry, Tubbo grabs a jacket and steps outside, getting a considerable distance from his house before he tries to figure out how to get to Jack’s house. He’s been to Jack’s house before and it’s not that far away, only about a ten minute walk, but at some point in the night it must have begun snowing, which makes things a little harder.
As promised, he gives Jack a bit of a heads up, shooting him a generic test and an approximation of his distance. Jack reacts to the message, not bothering to type anything else out, and so Tubbo tucks his phone away until he reaches the destination.
Jack’s house isn’t as large as Tommy's, considering that it only really has to house Jack and his father– and his mother at one point, Tubbo assumes– but it somehow looks more formidable as snow falls on it. Maybe it’s because the outside is painted dark brown in stark contrast to the much lighter houses of his neighbors, or maybe it’s just because Tubbo’s been inside, the upstairs and ground level being almost stifling, the best part of the house being the large and cozy basement. The part of the house where Jack has taken to sleeping, actually, for presumably that reason.
Tubbo doesn’t have to knock before Jack opens the door, incredibly underdressed for the cold weather with his flimsy pajama set, adorned with cartoon characters.
Tubbo snorts at the attire, and Jack rolls his eyes, saying, “Fuck off,” before adding a more relaxed, “Hi, how’s it going?”
“Cold as balls and I want a drink,” Tubbo admits honestly.
Jack laughs, stepping aside to let Tubbo in. He takes his shoes off at the door, putting them beside Mr. Manifold’s large ass boots. He removes his jacket, too, which Jack grabs for him and takes to shove into some closet. Which is convenient, since Tubbo was pretty content with just leaving the fabric to sit on the hardwood until they’re all done.
“We’re going downstairs,” Jack explains, which doesn’t surprise Tubbo. Even though he knows where the basement is, he lets Jack follow him, because it’d probably be rude to walk in like he owns the place and then demand to get drunk. Tubbo should probably practice being nice now before getting drunk makes him start to act weird.
Not that Tubbo’s really been drunk around other people much. Usually, he’s just sitting up on the roof, body temperature getting fucked up and his thoughts jumbling all over the place. It’s usually hard for him to think of anything coherent when he’s had a few, so he’s not sure how talking is going to play into that. Last time he was around someone while intoxicated, he had been a kid anyway, so it’s not like people expected much out of him.
The basement is as decked out as it gets, with two slightly-deflated bean bags beside a larger couch. There’s a table in the center and a TV across the couch with a bunch of consoles under it. On the table are a lot of chip bags, and off to the side is the mini-fridge that Tubbo would have to guess has the beer in it.
He’s proven right when Jack walks up to it, humming something to himself. The fridge door seems to be a little stuck, which Tubbo remembers from the last time he was here, but Jack eventually gets it open.
“C’mere, Tubbo,” Jack calls, and Tubbo squats down on the floor beside him to look at their selection. All he can see is a bunch of loose cans of Bud Light and a full package of Budweiser, some of the cans dented but all mostly untouched.
“Wow,” Tubbo comments, “your taste really is shit.”
“Fuck off,” Jack protests. “Budweiser is good, alright? It’s not my fault you’re used to stealing Wilbur’s boxed wine.”
“Phil’s, actually,” Tubbo corrects. “Wilbur would rather fucking implode than drink Franzia.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Jack raises his hands up to his chest, “you have no room to judge when you drink fucking Franzia.”
“He has other stuff, too.”
“Still.” Jack huffs. “Franzia.”
“Still better than beer.”
Jack shoves Tubbo’s shoulder hard, and Tubbo lets out a laugh as Jack complains, “Fuck you! You can stay sober if you want, I can just drink all of this and you sit there sadly eating Doritos. Is that what you want, you fucking prick?”
“No, no, of course not, Jack Manifold,” Tubbo says between laughs, “Give me some of your Budweiser.”
“Harder to get drunk on,” Jack warns.
Tubbo rolls his eyes. “Tastes better.”
Jack shrugs. “Fairs.” He hands Tubbo a can before grabbing himself two Bud Lights. Jack plops himself down on the couch, but Tubbo goes for the bright green beanbag chair, because it’s extremely bad quality but also his favorite chair-adjacent thing ever. It has so much goddamn charm to it.
Jack takes a sip from the can, letting out a sigh before asking, “You wanna play some video games? Or, like, do something? Shit, man, I’m bad at this when it’s just one other person.”
“Haven’t you hung with Tommy alone before?” Tubbo points out. “Or, like, your entire relationship with your ex?”
“Tommy usually does everything, I just supply the food and shit,” Jack explains with some bitterness in his voice. “And I mostly hung out at my ex’s place. She broke up with me two days after I invited her back to mine, actually. Think the fact that I sleep down here put her off.”
“Damn.” Tubbo takes a drink, and he’ll give Jack this: for a beer, Budweiser isn’t the worst pick. “That’s, uh, that’s pretty harsh. Mans just gotta sleep.”
“Mans just gotta sleep,” Jack agrees solemnly. “My love life is pretty bleak, Tubbo, to be honest. Miserable, even.”
Tubbo is just about the least qualified person to help with love life struggles at any capacity. It’s not like he has much better conversation to make himself, though, so he takes the lead and rolls with it. “Have you tried a dating app?”
“Is that a serious suggestion?”
“Could be.”
“You have to be eighteen for those, Tubbo.”
“Oh.” In his defense, he doesn’t keep up with his Tinder lore. “My mistake.”
“Those are shit anyway,” Jack claims. “I’ll just wait. For college, maybe. Whatever.”
“I mean, that’s a good idea,” Tubbo agrees, “Like, get the rest of your life sorted out, or start sorting it out, and then find someone. I reckon that’s the right way to do it.” Nevermind that Tubbo himself has kind of definitely not done that, but he’s not dealing with a romantic situation and he’s not the most well-adjusted person, anyway. “What are you looking for in a person, anyway?”
“I dunno, man,” Jack says, almost dismissively, and takes a drink. “Just a nice, smart girl. Isn’t that enough?”
Tubbo raises his eyebrow. “Yeah, I mean, that’s chill.”
“That’s all there is to it.”
Jack finishes off his first can, and Tubbo still finds himself kind of confused as to why Jack got so passionate about the question. In hindsight, maybe it was kind of a dick move to ask that, but that’s like… a common topic, at least among people who do relationships and romance and all that. If Jack has weird taste, then it’s not like Tubbo’s gonna judge him, but whatever.
Tubbo watches the speed with which Jack opens up his second can, and comments light-heartedly, “Woah, slow down buddy. Take it easy-”
“I fucking lied.”
Tubbo pauses. “Uh. What?”
“Nevermind.” Tubbo stares at Jack, and he snaps again, repeating, “I said nevermind, man!”
“Okay dude, chill.”
“I am chill,” Jack says, sulking.
…Well, that was fucking weird and sudden. And Tubbo’s getting really tired of hearing the word nevermind from people. But, well, this is pretty on par with what Tubbo was kind of expecting, spending the holidays in Jack Manifold’s basement with beer that’s mid. And considering it’s the two of them together, Tubbo’s practically signed up for a day of yelling for no reason by either party.
Jack has seemingly taken on his habit of stewing in silence, drinking the beer with a fury to him, and Tubbo thinks he’s going to run out of steam really fast at this rate, if he’s downing cans and yelling spontaneously. The realization comes to Tubbo that he is, regrettably, going to have to step in and do something about this weird tension that exists for no conceivable reason. That happened just a few seconds ago, because Jack is hot and cold like that.
“So, what kinds of games do you have?”
Jack doesn’t seem to perk up much at that, but he’s always been kind of brooding, so Tubbo’s just going to give up on fixing all that. Hopefully Jack isn’t an ass when he’s drunk- or weepy, actually, which would be way worse. Either way, he gets Tubbo an answer, listing off laxly, “Resident Evil Village, Super Mario Odyssey, Fallout 76, Elden Ring, Far Cry 5 or 6 or whatever, Grand Theft Auto V, Apex Legends… think that’s the most of them.”
Tubbo’s familiar with all of those, expectedly, as he’s also a gamer. Less so than Jack Manifold, though, whose game choices make pretty perfect sense considering the kind of guy he is. “Resident Evil Village is the one with the vampire people, right?”
“They’re, like, werewolves or something.”
Tubbo frowns. “I thought it was the one with the tall lady.”
“Are you saying tall ladies can’t be werewolves?”
“No, I mean, she can do whatever she wants.”
“Awfully sexist of you, mate.”
“I would just assume that werewolves are wolves more than they’re people.”
“Sort of werewolf people,” Jack concedes, only slightly. “But the lady is a vampire. There are just also sort of werewolf people.”
“Why didn’t you just say that, then?”
“Because I wanted to be a smartass.”
Tubbo will take it. “Well, since we’ve talked about it so much, I’ll play that. Are we still Ethan?”
“Yeah, you’re still Ethan for this one.”
“Cool.” Tubbo hasn’t played a Resident Evil game in a while, but he’s at least watched some trailers and gameplay footage of it. Resident Evil 7 was the one that came out before this, which also had the Ethan Winters protagonist guy or whatever. Except now, there are tall vampire women and werewolves, which is an interesting development for the zombie series, but there’s probably lore beyond just, like, a lot of guns and supposedly attractive guy protagonists.
Jack gets up to boot up the XBox, grabbing the controller while it gets loaded up and popping out the Resident Evil Village disc, swapping it with his most recently played game– Elden Ring, apparently, which is fair. Then, he passes the controller back over to Tubbo, who adjusts to the feeling of it before opening up the game.
The game has a ludicrous number of save slots, so he picks a random one, even though he’s half tempted to just override the 5th save that’s apparently racked up an impressive five seconds of game time.
The opening cutscene plays out on the screen, and Jack scoots over for Tubbo to come sit beside him. Regretfully, Tubbo takes up the offer and abandons his beanbag chair in favor of actually sitting in front of the big screen. The mourning lasts all of two seconds, though, as Jack pops open a bag of barbecue chips, and Tubbo reaches over to grab some.
“Fuck yeah,” he says under his breath. “I haven’t had these in a while, dude.”
Jack snorts. “Barbecue chips aren't exactly a novelty, Tubbo.”
“Well, yeah, but Tommy’s family doesn’t like them for some reason.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re salt and vinegar chip people.”
“I mean, salt and vinegar’s alright.”
Tubbo shrugs. “I guess so. I mean, I’m not that picky, but you sort of just know a salt and vinegar person, you know? It’s a thing. Probably more accurate than, like, the birth fish and shit.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The things with the stars.”
“What?” After a few seconds, Jack’s eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, you’re on about horoscopes, mate.”
“Yep.”
There’s a moment of quiet, then Jack asks, “Which one are you again?”
Tubbo wrinkles his nose. “I think I’m a cancer. The fucking crab guy.”
“Sick. I’m a leo.”
“Cool.” Tubbo thinks the whole horoscopes thing is bullshit, fucking obviously. It’s barely pseudoscience, it’s just… not science. Wilbur’s into it, Tubbo thinks, and so is Niki, which means that Ranboo might be into it– well, it doesn’t mean that exactly, but it might. So maybe he shouldn’t shit on it that hard, but still, he’s going to because who the fuck has ever looked at the sky and thought, oh, yep, that’s a crab. And that particular crab was born on July 7th, and it means you’re a little bitch. Fucking bullshit.
“I studied up on them, you know,” Jack starts saying, “‘cause people are big on zodiacs. Did you know there are different types of signs? Like, there’s your sun sign, and then you’ve got something called a, shit, think it’s called a rising sign? Mine’s Scorpio, and there’s- some shit about an Aquarius, I should che-”
“Hey, Jack Manifold?”
“Yeah?” He’s seemingly unbothered, or maybe just unsurprised, that Tubbo cut him off.
“What the fuck are we watching right now?”
Tubbo, having tuned out most of Jack’s horoscope ramble, is watching the opening cutscene to the game, which is… interesting. Currently, there’s a random little girl being accosted by some big ass monster things, and once Tubbo has Jack’s attention, he asks, “Is this, like, a mix of Coraline and Alice in Wonderland?”
“She’s reading her kid a book,” Jack explains. “It’s a story.”
“Well, yeah, I know it’s a story, but what the fuck does it have to do with anything?”
Jack turns to face Tubbo, gesturing with a chip held tightly between his fingers. “You see, Tubbo, there’s this concept called foreshadowing. It seems you are not familiar with it.”
The scene cuts away to, like Jack described, some woman holding her baby. The way her arm is positioned looks really weird, same with how she just barely pets the top of the baby’s head for no fucking reason, but Tubbo isn’t exactly familiar enough with kids to be a big critic here.
“I know what foreshadowing is, dickhead,” he retorts. “I thought it would start off with us fighting zombies or something. Or werewolves. I don’t care.”
“You are so fucking impatient, man.”
The husband starts carrying the baby up the stairs, poking her stomach in an attempt to console her. “This is worse than our Home Economics class.”
Jack lets out a pained sound, “Not that fucking class! Don’t make me think about that, that was fucking awful.”
“Remember when the robotic babies they gave us broke?”
“Yes, yes, yeah, I remember that.”
“That fucking sucked.”
Tubbo still remembers that unit vividly: the teacher giving them all these stupid plastic babies to take care of for two weeks. Some of them actually worked, like, maybe two of them worked. Two. The rest wouldn’t stop fucking screaming no matter what you did. Tubbo killed his about two days into the unit by smothering it against a pillow and taking out the batteries, but Jack actually tried to take care of his, because he needed to raise his grade. And Tommy, for no justifiable reason, also tried to keep his robot demon alive.
He almost got through the unit until the thing started screaming in the middle of the night. While Tommy was asleep, Techno and Phil got the thing and took out its batteries. Tommy grieved for a week.
And yet, the class still does that unit. Tubbo doesn't even get the point of it. Like, Tubbo’s never going to have a kid, even if he somehow marries someone. Mostly because if he ever married anyone, which he probably wouldn’t, it’d be a guy, so the conventional family dynamics the class was preparing him for wouldn’t fit anyway. Also, he just wouldn’t adopt a kid, because he would be a shitty dad– he knows that. Maybe his husband would be good with kids, but it wouldn’t be worth it. No kid should have Tubbo as a dad.
So, yeah, the unit was absolutely useless.
(Tubbo wonders if Ranboo ever had to do it. He’ll ask him later, because he’s actually kind of curious how Ranboo would have done. If he would have been a caring parent, or if he would have just given up on the first day.)
The cutscene is still dragging on, and Tubbo groans. Jack snickers beside him, the asshole, and says, “If you don’t want to play, you don’t have to.”
“I mostly offered to play because I wanted us to not sit in silence after you got weird about dating people,” Tubbo admits.
Jack seems to carefully ignore the latter half of Tubbo’s comment. “Then we can play, like, truth or dare or something.”
“Hell no,” Tubbo argues. “Everyone’s always shit at that game.”
“Didn’t you kiss someone once during a game?” Jack brings up out of nowhere, which, to be fair, Tommy still makes jokes about it to this day, even if slightly less than he used to.
Tubbo rolls his eyes, fiddling with the controller with agitation to start the game. “Yeah, I did. Mostly for the bit, ‘cause all the guys there thought it was so crazy, but, like, me and Eryn were just vibing. Because we’re friends, and neither of us bail out of a truth or dare game on the third fucking round.”
“How many rounds did you get through?”
“Literally just those three.”
Jack considers that for a moment before conceding, “Okay, no truth or dare, then. Maybe we just… talk.” Jack pops a few chips in his mouth, clearly expecting Tubbo to reply in the meantime, but Tubbo just waits for him to finish chewing so he can elaborate. With a sigh, Jack eventually continues, “Like, you said we should get wasted and talk about our feelings, right? What are your feelings, Tubbo?”
Tubbo puts down the controller to grab his can and drink from it, because he’s too sober for any of this. And probably a few minutes away from being too drunk to deal with playing a video game, so he’ll just leave the ambient music on for background noise.
“Knock yourself out, man,” Tubbo encourages. “Talk about your feelings and shit. I’m pretty alright just listening.”
“Oh, c’mon, you don’t have anything to talk about?” Jack scoots closer, and Tubbo takes another drink. “You literally came here instead of spending the holidays with your family. What the fuck’s up with that?”
Not really his family- oh, fuck’s sake. Those semantics are going to be bullshit in a few months, he should stop trying to deny it. That’s what Wilbur was on about. At the very least, Tubbo should try to prove Wilbur wrong.
“I just wanted to hang out with my best friend Jack Manifold,” Tubbo claims. “What’s so wrong with that?”
Jack scoffs. “Fuck off, mate. You’re not here to just hang out.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Me.”
“And why’s that, Jack Manifold?”
“Because literally nobody wants to hang out with me.”
Tubbo furrows his eyebrows and turns to look at Jack, whose expression is almost confident before it shifts to surprise that he admitted that. No fucking wonder Jack wanted to talk feelings, huh.
“Look,” Jack starts, and Tubbo can tell by his tone that he’s trying to backtrack. “Look, right, that’s just- that’s just the truth. We both know that. You’re not- you’re not here to hang out with me, you’re here to- to not be somewhere else.”
Tubbo finishes off his can and sighs. Because the shitty thing is, Jack’s… right. Not, like, entirely right– people do like Jack– but just, objectively, Tubbo isn’t here for Jack. Maybe he’s kind of here so that Jack could start feeling better, but mostly, he just needed an out. And Tubbo can see why Jack might start to think that about other people, because Jack’s kinda… well. He’s easy to poke fun at. Tommy’s made fun of him a lot, and Tubbo figured all that was well and fine because that’s just how their friend group is, but since talking to Jack about the whole computer issue, he’s starting to get the sense that’s not the kind of friendship Jack wants.
Which might just be a sensitivity thing. And that’s actually shitty of Tubbo to think, holy shit, but it’s pretty clear from Tubbo’s end that all of this is just jokes. That people don’t actually mean it when they call Jack a loser– like, he kind of is, but not in a bad way. People definitely don’t mean it when they call Jack stupid, surely not, because Jack’s really smart and shit. Tubbo’s always known that.
… But Jack doesn’t.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Tubbo asks carefully, not wanting to piss Jack off more than he already has.
Jack shakes his head, pushing himself off the sofa to get Tubbo another drink. He kind of wants to tell him to stop, but it’s Tubbo’s fault they’re in this situation, anyway. He came for a slightly emotional time with alcohol, so he can’t exactly bail out and ask for a straight-up therapy session. Not when he wants Jack to be wasted enough to not remember anything Tubbo winds up admitting.
Tubbo accepts the drink he’s given, opening the can up and using his thumb to brush away some of the foam that threatens to spill off the top. Some does fall, so he wipes it off with his sleeve, and Jack watches his damage control attempt before saying, “What’s there to say, man? That’s just- that’s just how it is. I know that’s what you all think of me. You keep me around for pity, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Dude, no. ” Tubbo, elbow deep into clearing beer foam off Jack’s table, feels like a complete and total asshole. “That’s not- I don’t keep people around for pity. I literally hate people, like, most of the time. I’m only friends with my friends ‘cause like, I enjoy their company.”
Even as Tubbo says it, though, he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth. He’s held onto friendships in the past to not make a big deal out of anything, even when those people were shitty. Sure, he eventually let them go, but it took him a while. And, more than time, it usually took Tommy, because despite everything, Tommy’s still better at picking up on bullshit from people than Tubbo is. Like, it just doesn’t… register, to Tubbo.
Jack isn’t one of those people, though. Because Jack’s cool to talk to, and maybe he’s not, like, someone that Tubbo caves out a lot of time to talk to, but like, he’s there. And he’s cool. And he helps out and stuff.
… Tubbo should have more to say about his friend of several years than that. But then again, how much can he say about Eryn? Or Aimsey? Or-
Jesus, Tubbo could probably say more about Ranboo than any of those people combined.
That’s kind of fucked up.
“Tubbo, you’re my best friend,” Jack says, straightforward, and Tubbo can’t look him in the eye. “Like, everyone thinks that me and Tommy are best friends, like, that we just have this frenemy thing going on. But no. You’re my best friend. Do you know why?”
Tubbo doesn’t say anything.
“Because you actually care,” Jack says, and for a second, Tubbo doesn’t feel like he’s fucked up that badly. But before he can process what Jack’s doing, the Budweiser Tubbo was drinking from is suddenly knocked over, beer bleeding out on the floor, and Jack spits out, “And nobody else gives a fuck. ”
For a second, there’s silence. Even the game seems to have shut up, and the only thing Tubbo can hear is faint buzzing in his ears. He feels sick, like, really fucking sick. He can almost feel someone breathing against his neck, and he doesn’t know why the fuck he signed himself up to hang out with someone else while they’re drunk. After Schlatt, he swore he’d stop. But now he’s with someone that’s sort of similar if Tubbo squints-
But it never got this quiet with Schlatt. Tubbo can hear his heart beating, way faster than it should. And still, they’re both sitting there, just watching more and more of the beer spill out on the floor, a stain that’s going to be hell to clean.
Then, Jack sucks air between his teeth and says, “Shit, sorry.”
Tubbo can’t say anything, feeling vaguely out of his body as Jack gets up, swearing under his breath as he picks up the can and throws it out, grabbing napkins to put over the stain. The napkins just get wet, and it’s not enough to get the stain out, and Jack mutters, “My dad’s going to be pissed.”
“Jack,” Tubbo says quietly.
Jack kicks the side of the table, jostling the bags of chips on it, and shouts, “ Fuck !” He kicks it again, then winces, and Tubbo watches the other self-destruct, unable to say anything except repeating his name over and over.
It’s his fifth time saying, “Jack,” before it’s loud enough to be heard. Jack’s shoulders slump, but he doesn’t move otherwise, and Tubbo has his mouth open to try and say anything more, but Jack lets out a groan and Tubbo decides to keep his mouth shut.
“It’s shit like this, man,” Jack says, gesturing to the disarray the room is currently in. “Nobody wants to be around me because I do this shit. I can’t take a joke. It’s too easy to piss me off. I’m moody. I’m an asshole. I can’t stop being angry, Tubbo. I don’t think it’s possible.” He lets out a sad laugh, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t even know what I’m mad at, half the time. Tiniest thing happens, and suddenly I see red. I feel like shit all the fucking time, because I can’t stop, man. I don’t know why I even bother, half the time.”
Tubbo buries his hands in the cushions, trying to focus on the taste of salt in his mouth as he asks, “... Bother with what?”
Jack shrugs, face twisted up like he’s about to cry. “I don’t fucking know, man. I just- I just get angry, and sometimes I- fuck, I’m not drunk enough for this.”
Jack goes to the fridge to grab another drink, holding the cold can in his hand. The other can he got out for himself still sits on the table, getting lukewarm.
“It’s okay,” Tubbo says, voice sounding childish and stupid and not his. He tightens his grip, grabbing a few chips to put into his mouth. The taste grounds him a little more, even if it feels like a feat to just chew.
“I fucking hurt you, just then,” Jack states. “I did something stupid, and I hurt you. When you were just trying to help. Just- just trying to be a good friend, and care. And I hurt you.” Suddenly, the can in Jack’s hand makes a loud crackling sound, and Tubbo jumps as the can crinkles. Jack doesn’t look away from it, staring at the top of it. “Sometimes, I lay in bed, looking at the ceiling. And I realize I’m in a shitty basement, and there are ants on the floor, and I chose this for myself, I wanted that. To be a fucking loser. And it’s late, and I just wonder, what’s the fucking point of this? I’ll get up, get dressed, go to school, be pissed off about something, and play video games to forget about it. So… so why even wake up then, yeah? Why force people to deal with me when I could just stay there? It’s not like anybody would fucking care.”
Jack wipes his nose with his sleeve, but he starts crying anyway. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, wiping his eyes with his free hand, but it doesn’t stop them from falling. After a few seconds, he must give up, must realize that Tubbo can’t feel in his body enough to get up and fucking help him– even when Jack’s saying the same stuff Tubbo thought about himself just a few days ago– , and Jack starts talking again. “Y’know, Tubbo, every time that you skipped class to hang out with Ranboo, I noticed. I lied to our teacher, and watched the teacher not give a fuck, but I cared. I cared. I don’t think anyone would notice if I was gone.”
“I would,” Tubbo says.
Jack scoffs. “No you wouldn’t, don’t lie-”
“You were gone, once, in sophomore year,” Tubbo interrupts, focusing everything on staying here even as he recollects something that happened years ago. “You weren’t at school for a few days. I remember Tommy commented on it when we got to lunch, like, asking me where you were. We kinda dropped the topic,” Jack sniffs, and Tubbo starts talking faster, “but! When you were gone another day, I was in Physics, like, wondering if I should call you, to check in. But I didn’t, because I figured you just had a cold.”
“As anybody would,” Jack says, “as anyone fucking would. You didn’t have to ask-”
“But I should have,” Tubbo insists. “Because on the fourth day, you came back, trying to just focus on school work, keeping your head low. But you kept wincing, like, you looked like you were in pain.”
“It was stupid,” Jack recounts, “I just fell at a skate park. I only had a few bruises, I could have come in the first day.”
Tubbo nods. “You told me that, but I don’t- I think it was more than that. I don’t think you wanted to come back.” Jack looks over, and Tubbo swallows before holding his gaze. “I think you were scared we would make fun of you. And… and we did. Once you told Tommy, he thought- he thought it was funny. We all did. I don’t think any of us asked if you were okay.”
“Aimsey did,” Jack replies, “Once.”
“And so you thought none of us cared.”
“What other conclusion was I meant to come to?” Jack laughs bitterly, but it sounds more like a sob. “I spend so much time trying to think everyone- that everyone cares. I wanted to believe it, that I- that I was a good person. But I wasn’t, and I’m not, and nobody cares. And- and I can’t even be mad, because- because there’s no way you can love someone that- that isn’t really lovable, right?”
“Jack-”
“I go out on dates,” Jack continues, “with girls. Because that’s the right thing to do. I’m- I’m supposed to do that. But none of them like me, and I keep liking them, and sometimes I wish I was- I was with a guy.” Tubbo’s never heard about any of that before, but distress crosses Jack’s face, and Jack quickly amends his words, saying, “Like, a guy as in one of you all, like, a friend. I… I wish I had a friend, instead of just- just nothing. But I- I felt weak, laying in bed crying ‘cause I just- I just wanted a friend. It sound stupid, right? You can laugh. Go ahead. Laugh.”
Tubbo doesn’t laugh, and Jack scowls. “Fuck you.”
“Jack,” Tubbo says, “if you- if you tell us this stuff, we can- we can help-”
“Help with what, Tubbo?” Jack suddenly shouts, and Tubbo flinches. Jack’s distress gets worse, and he sniffs, voice lowering. “There’s nothing to help, Tubbo. I- you can’t help me. I’m like a ghost, but a shitty one that just- that just sits around and gets mad and does nothing. And has a stupid dad and stupid issues and a stupid addiction and- and there’s nothing more to that.”
“ Jack .” Tubbo steels his nerves, speaking louder than he’s dared to this entire time. “You waited for me, every time I skipped class, you never gave up on me-”
“That’s entirely different -”
“I have a stupid dad, and stupid issues, and a stupid addiction-”
“Phil’s fine, Tubbo, you-”
“Phil’s not my dad, Jack!”
Jack freezes, and Tubbo almost wants to laugh at his expression, but he feels like he might cry, instead. “Did you really think he was?”
“I…” Jack flounders. “I thought he adopted you. Or… or that you and Tommy were just twins, but you- you didn’t call them your family because it was, it was stressful. Or something.”
“Phil took me in when I was fourteen,” Tubbo says, and God, he can’t believe he’s actually admitting this shit, blames the alcohol for it. “But he isn’t my dad.” Jack hesitates, and Tubbo prods him, “I know you wonder who is.”
“Do you not know your dad?” Jack guesses.
“Sort of,” Tubbo replies, “except I know that he was a deadbeat that left my mom to die in the hospital room.”
Jack’s eyes widen. “How- your mom- she-”
“Killed herself, yeah.” Jack winces, and Tubbo just smiles, feeling like his lips are taped up. “She didn’t want me. Nobody did. I lived with my uncle for those next fourteen years,” which is partly a lie, but Tubbo doesn’t want to tell Jack about Schlatt, not while they’re both drunk and half-arguing. “Til he left. Then Phil took me in.”
“I-” Jack starts, then shakes his head. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m kind of drunk,” Tubbo admits, “but mostly because you said none of us could help you. That you’re beyond that. And you aren’t.”
“That’s serious shit, Tubbo-”
“So’s a divorce,” Tubbo counters, and Jack falls quiet again. “Look. I know Tommy’s kind of a dick sometimes, and he’s- he’s dealing with shit right now, and me and him have shit going on, so- so things are a mess. But, if you just- if you tell him, if you two talk, then Tommy will get it. He might be an ass at first, but he’ll get it.”
Jack hesitates, and for a second, Tubbo thinks that Jack believes him, but then Jack shakes his head again, “I think that was just a you thing, Tubbo. I think- I think he gave you that chance because you are you. You’re likable, and you’re nice, and you’re not an annoying dickhead, and you are giving me a chance right now. I’m- I’m none of that.”
“You’re smart,” Tubbo argues, “and you’re attentive, and you clearly care more than you think you do.”
“It’s not enough,” Jack insists, “ I’m not enough.”
“That’s not true.” Jack sighs, still frustrated, but Tubbo seems to be wearing him down somewhat. “Look. Just… just try. Try telling Aimsey, he’ll get it. Eryn will, too, you can tell them. And Tommy’s nicer than he seems sometimes, I promise you.”
“If me and Tommy make up, then who will he use as a punching bag?” Jack asks rhetorically, the joke strangled in his voice.
But Tubbo replies anyway. “The same person he’s been using for years.”
“Who?”
“Himself,” Tubbo says, because once you get to really know Tommy, that’s easy to see.
Jack pauses. “... Oh,” is all he says.
“Yeah.”
There’s another moment of silence between them, one that lasts longer than the one before. It ends with the click of a can, and Jack drinks down the entire can of Bud Light while Tubbo watches him. The way his throat, swallowing it down, almost looks like it’s contorting around a cry. It’s unsettling to see, but there's something about that which makes Tubbo think that the worst of this conversation is over. That Jack might start to believe him.
And, thank God, a few moments after finishing the can off, Jack says, “I believe you, Tubbo. I’ll… I’ll try, alright? But if it goes shit, then…”
“Then you can blame me.”
Jack nods. He throws out his can, wiping his eyes one last time, before walking back over to sit beside Tubbo. Once he’s sunk down in the cushions, Tubbo tilts the bag of chips in his direction, and Jack barks out a laugh. Tubbo raises his eyebrow, and Jack points at the TV and says, “This is an abysmal conversation to be having to the soundtrack of Resident Evil Village.”
Tubbo looks at the screen, realizing that the game has been open the entire time, with Ethan Winters standing there doing absolutely nothing. “... Oh.”
For a second, neither of them say anything.
Then, Tubbo snorts, and suddenly both of them are laughing at how fucking ridiculous all of this is. The two of them just had probably one of the heaviest conversations Tubbo’s had with a person in a while, and they did it over shitty cheap beer and the music of Resident Evil Village that Tubbo had just tuned out.
After the two of them have finished laughing, Tubbo faintly wheezing to himself still, Jack turns over and says, “I reckon we should shut off the game, yeah?”
“A shame,” Tubbo says between gasping breaths, “I didn’t even get to see the vampires.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see them next time,” Jack says, and it sinks in for Tubbo that despite this entire conversation, the two of them are chill. Like, their friendship isn’t over, everything is fine.
Tubbo’s… kind of used to conversations like these being really bad for relationships. That’s how it is sometimes with Tommy, anyway, because Tommy and Tubbo aren’t always the best at communicating, even if it sometimes feels as easy as breathing to do it. It’s like… Tubbo’s starting to realize that even if he can effortlessly talk to Tommy, it’s not always in the right way. The right way would probably break them.
And yet, this conversation… worked. It actually went really well.
And maybe that’s what gives Tubbo the confidence to bring up, “Y’know, you said something like, a little bit ago.”
“Choose your words carefully,” Jack warns jokingly, turning off the TV and Xbox, “We’re having a nice time now, yeah? Don’t fuck it up.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tubbo waves off, able to hear the light-hearted way Jack says it, but also the underlying anxiety in his voice. “I just… we don’t have to talk about it. We don’t.”
Jack comes back to the couch, giving Tubbo an odd look. “Okay?”
“But you said something about, uh, going out on dates with girls, and, and kind of wishing you were with guys?” Jack freezes, and Tubbo tries to fight back the anxiety that tells him you fucked this up. “And- and I just wanted you to know that, uh. That that’s okay. Like, we don’t have to talk about it, but if you worry about that ever, that’s… I don’t care, man.”
There’s less of a pause this time, which surprises Tubbo, before Jack speaks. “You’re gay, right?”
“Yeah.” Tubbo’s never really properly told Jack, but going off of the comments Tubbo’s made over the years, he sort of left it as something that went unspoken.
“I- yeah, I think I’m, uh. I like both.” Jack grabs a chip, fidgeting with it in his hand. “I mean. I don’t know. I’ve just, uh, thought about it I guess.”
“Fairs,” Tubbo tells him. “Good for you, man.”
“It’s kind of funny, actually,” Jack says. “Uh. What made it kind of- what made me think about it.”
Tubbo tilts his head. “Go on?”
“It was- it was Ethan,” Jack confesses.
“We don’t know any Ethans, Ja-” Tubbo cuts himself off as the realization dawns on him. “Holy shit. No way.”
“Yeah.”
“Your sexual awakening was fucking Ethan Winters from Resident Evil Village,” Tubbo states.
“In my defense,” Jack starts, “his jawline.”
“Holy shit.” Tubbo starts laughing again, chest complaining from the last laughing session only a few minutes before, but Tubbo pushes through it because, “That’s so fucking funny. Of all the people.”
Jack pretends to be annoyed, but a smile stretches across his face anyway. “The irony is not lost on me, I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah, no shit. Oh my God.”
“Who was yours?” Jack asks.
Tubbo stops laughing, taking a deep breath. “You have to promise not to laugh.”
“I’m not promising that at all.”
“I was a kid.”
“Please tell me it's not one of those fuckers from Paw Patrol.”
“Why the fuck would I have had a crush on a Paw Patrol character?”
Jack throws his hands up in a surrender position. “I don’t know, man!”
“Okay, it was-” Tubbo takes another breath to prepare himself for the reveal. “It was Luigi.”
“No fucking way it was,” Jack immediately protests. “You didn’t realize you were gay because of fucking Luigi .”
Tubbo just gives Jack a sheepish grin, and Jack bursts into hysterics. Tubbo’s quick to join in again because, yeah, even if he didn’t have a full crush on Luigi, that was admittedly what made everything click in his head.
“ Why, man?” Jack asks, almost begging for an explanation. “Why fucking Luigi? Why not Mario? Or Bowser, at the very least?”
“Well, Bowser is a giant turtle,” Tubbo states rather obviously, “and Mario’s boring. I like ‘em tall.”
“Is that why you hang out with Ranboo?” Jack asks, and Tubbo stills, even as Jack keeps talking. “You like the tall fuckers?”
And admittedly, Tubbo could freeze up here, could tell Jack to knock it off, that he and Ranboo are just friends-
But that’s bullshit, isn’t it?
… And comparing Ranboo to Luigi is a lot funnier than Tubbo having to make shit all serious again.
So Tubbo just nods, foregoing all the anxiety that tells him to deny deny deny, and says, “Yeah, I just cling to tall people. Excluding you, of course.”
“Oh, fuck you, man,” Jack says, shoving Tubbo to the side, and Tubbo laughs.
And even though he and Jack are slowly getting wasted, and even though there’s so much shit both are going through, and even though there’s a lot that’s been left unresolved-
-Tubbo feels, in that second, like he’s happy. Like, for once, he’s got some kind of friendship that isn’t in tatters. Some kind of relationship, even, if he broadens this, because whatever he has with Wilbur and Ranboo are all fucked up, but at least he has this. One guy he can be friends with and just feel like an only slightly messed up teenager.
And when Jack passes him another can, a smile on his face and a softness in his eyes that he hasn’t had since everything with him and Tommy hit the fan, Tubbo knows that the feeling’s mutual.
–
When Tubbo gets home, Tommy’s waiting in the living room.
He’s sitting cross-legged, concentrated frown on his face as he plays with a Playstation controller. The frown stays when he sees Tubbo come in, but it shifts from concentrated to upset, and Tubbo prepares himself for the scolding of his life.
But instead of getting yelled at, Tommy just scoffs and says, “Happy holidays, Tubbo. I hope the fucking walk was worth it.”
So that’s the lie Wilbur had stuck with. It’s a shitty one, but it’s something, at least.
“... Happy holidays, Tommy,” Tubbo says back, a slight slur in his voice.
For a second, Tommy looks at Tubbo with alarm, and Tubbo forces himself to stay relaxed, to keep the drunkenness out of his body. It looks like for a second, Tommy’s close to realizing what happened, where Tubbo had gone, and Tommy even gets up, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Tubbo, burying his face in Tubbo’s shirt, where he must be able to smell the alcohol.
But if he does, he says nothing. He just hugs Tubbo tightly for a few seconds, lets go of him, and then looks him in the eyes as he spits out, “I hate you right now.”
Tubbo nods, not trusting his voice, and Tommy shakily inhales before telling Tubbo, “Leave me alone.” Tubbo hesitates, not ready to leave Tommy like this, but then Tommy shoves his shoulders back, hard, and repeats, “Go.”
So Tubbo pushes past Tommy, going to the kitchen and ignoring the way that Tommy lets out a sound from the living room that almost sounds like a wounded animal.
Instead, Tubbo carelessly opens up cabinets, trying to figure out what food he can make himself. By mistake, his hand grasps the handle of the wine cabinet, and before he can hold himself back, he opens it, curiosity gnawing at him. And then his breath catches, and he shuts the door before he can think much of it, pulling out ramen to make himself.
Because for the first time in Tubbo’s life, the wine cabinet is empty.