Chapter Text
Tubbo’s up on the roof, again.
He can’t hear what’s going on inside the house from up here. That’s the appeal of it, for the most part, for when things get a little loud and he just needs quiet, but not stifling or anything because he has the cars and shit to help out. Like, the ambience that comes from outside, or whatever. It’s a good place to escape to.
Right now, though, he kind of wants to imagine what’s going on in the house instead of trying to escape it. Or, maybe he doesn’t want to, but he does anyway. ‘Cause, he thinks that the pets are all probably asleep or whatever, except Chamomile and maybe one of those doves, and maybe Whiskers and Henry are all snuggled up together again, because it’s been a bit since they’ve tried to kill each other. Philza’s probably awake reading something in his room, because that man doesn’t sleep. Techno is probably asleep, because that man sleeps a lot . Wilbur goes either way, and Tommy is most definitely asleep and snoring.
And Tubbo’s out here, thinking about the house despite not being inside it. It’s such a stupid thing to do.
But Tubbo has a water bottle with him that does not have water in it. So he’s going to be doing stupid things anyway.
It’s just, Tubbo’s not going to have an easy time sleeping tonight, and he already knows that. The issue is that he’s not exactly much of a lightweight anymore, so while it used to take only a little bit to knock him out clean, it takes a lot more to make him tired. He can still get it to where he’s a little less coordinated and has a bit looser of a tongue, both of which aren’t exactly the best results but at least take the anxiety edge off of it, so he’ll take it.
He just wants to go to sleep right now, though, because damn he’s fucking sleepy, even if he isn’t tired . And his brain isn’t letting him fucking sleep, even though he’s not even thinking about important shit right now.
Okay, he is, that’s a lie. He is thinking about important shit. Or, not important. Just… shit.
Like drunk driving.
He reckons he might die like that. Not because it’d be poetic, just because it’d make sense. He can’t drive and he’s an alcoholic, so one day someone might put him behind the wheel and it’ll all go wrong. He can't hitch a ride with Ranboo forever, because eventually Ranboo’s going to go and Tubbo is going to go and everything is going to go and all so-- he takes a sip and winces-- so he’ll die like that.
It wouldn’t be the utter worst way to go. Probably a little shit, if he hits someone else during it, but if it’s just him killing himself by accidentally driving straight into a pole, well, who cares? It’d make sense.
Not that he’s planning on doing it, though. That wouldn’t make sense. He’s only really thinking about it because he’s thinking about cars, and more particularly Ranboo, and things kind of declined from there. Even though Ranboo wasn't drunk driving– nobody was even drunk then– but Tubbo thinks it may have been better if he was.
Because Tubbo opened up to Ranboo about Wilbur and Quackity. Something Tubbo doesn’t really do . He told Ranboo, overtly or not, about how the end of that relationship was inevitable, and some shit about morality, and Ranboo asked him if he thought he was a good person, and fuck. Fuck.
He takes another drink.
It’s not like Ranboo did anything wrong, or that it was a bad conversation. It was great, honestly, because Tubbo is starting to think that Ranboo might be the best listener he knows, and the car ride was nice, and it was everything that Tubbo needed then, so it was good. It’s just, that’s the bad part. That Ranboo was perfect and that it all went smoothly.
Things aren’t supposed to go like that. Tubbo’s meant to kick the driver’s seat with his saturated red tennis shoes, like he used to do, a cap on top of his overgrown brown hair, until the driver would slam his heel into the brake and tell him to quit it, so he’d hold the hat in his hands and tell himself that it’s okay.
And- yeah, okay, admittedly, it’s a little unrealistic of Tubbo to expect Ranboo to do that . But the thought is there, isn’t it? Ranboo, this person that Tubbo’s become good friends with in less time than it took him to befriend any of his current friends that he’s known forever, drove him around a couple main roads in a limitless loop and played an old CD for him because he was upset. On top of that, he offered responses to what Tubbo said, and not fake ones either, ones that were genuine and a little off and weren’t all right, but felt real. And even before all of that, Ranboo came with Tubbo and Tommy-- no, not just came, literally drove them -- to Wilbur’s store and stood there awkwardly while Wilbur talked about the breakup. And he didn’t complain during all of that not even once.
There are a lot of things that Tubbo finds fascinating with his new (-ish?) friend. Ranboo’s complicated family life and mysterious backstory, for one. His appearance as a whole being a little bit out there, to put it lightly. How he manages to balance difficult classes in school with work and still finds space to hang out with Tubbo for far too long. How smart he is, just, as a whole.
But, Tubbo thinks, the most fascinating part of it all, and also the part that feels the most unreal, is Ranboo’s kindness.
Tubbo knows a lot of kind people. Tubbo is best friends with Tommy, and for all the shit he gives Tommy, because Tommy can be a dick and a bit insensitive and is just all around fun to pick on, too, Tommy is literally one of the kindest people Tubbo’s ever met. And Techno, too, is surprisingly pretty kind with the people he cares about, which, it took a while for one of those people to be Tubbo and he still can’t really tell if Techno likes him or not, but his care shows in subtle ways all over the place and Tubbo thinks that’s kind.
But Ranboo’s a different sort of kind. Or, at least, his kindness does different things to Tubbo’s brain than the others do.
Because with Tommy, Tubbo can sort of justify that as them being best friends since forever, so obviously, and with Techno it’s so uncertain that it hardly matters. But Ranboo? Ranboo’s so new that he has no reason to be this kind, and it’s not like it’s hidden. Ranboo cares an awful lot in an awfully forward way, and Tubbo doesn’t know how to take that.
Tubbo caps the bottle. He doesn’t feel like drinking anymore. He should, because the taste burns down his throat and it’s numbing and- okay, fuck it, one more sip. Then, he caps it off, and he puts it to the side, and he has a migraine now but he can tell that he still won’t be able to sleep.
He wonders if Ranboo would be awake. But, even if he is, it’s not worth it. Tubbo knows he hardly has energy to pretend he’s fine for a second, much less carry a conversation with the other with that facade.
Maybe Quackity’s awake.
… That’s another kind person. But not kind enough for Tubbo to text.
He sighs loudly, but it’s not like anybody could hear. Fingers buried in his hair, he tugs at the strands and mutters, “Fuck.”
Tubbo sits there, just like that, for a while. Moving his head makes the world spin, and he can’t tell if that’s the exhaustion, migraine, or drunkenness causing it. He didn’t drink enough for it to be the latter, but the sensation itself is similar enough. Whatever. He doesn’t care.
He climbs back inside, shutting the window and setting the water bottle under his floorboard, collapsing in his bed and shutting his eyes. He wants to sleep. God, he just wants to sleep.
He can’t sleep.
Okay. Well. Fuck.
Second best option, then. Tubbo slides out his phone, because fuck bluelight or whatever, his head would hurt either way and it’s not like he’s getting to bed, now. His migraine worsens instantly and his eyes want him dead, but he switches it to dark mode which makes it a little better, and he sends a few texts before he goes down a Google rabbithole of famous drunk driving incidents over the years until his sorry, sorry head finally gives up on him and drags him to sleep, phone still in his hand.
--
Tubbo: hey big Q ik its like 3amor smth but
Tubbo: r u ok?
Tubbo: bc ik u and wil broke up but like
Tubbo: whats going on?
--
“YO, Tubbo, my boy!”
Tubbo blinks his eyes open, immediately overwhelmed by both the fluorescent lights in his room and Tommy’s face being literally centimeters away from his. He shuts his eyes again immediately after, groaning. God, his head is killing him, and he barely drank that much last night. What the fuck.
“Bitch!” Tommy pulls the covers off of Tubbo, which makes him let out a small whine, but he still refuses to open his eyes. He can feel Tommy poking his forehead repeatedly. Why does Tommy think this is going to work? “We have fuckin’ school in an hour, dumbass, you’ve gotta get up.”
“Hm, no,” Tubbo mumbles, rolling over miserably.
Tommy huffs. “You are overwhelming me.”
“I’m just fuckin’ laying here, dude,” Tubbo complains, face in his pillow, “how the fuck can I be overwhelming you?”
“We have school to go to, and Wilbur told me to wake you up, but you’re just laying here and being a bitch and I am vastly overwhelmed.” Tommy presumably frowns, because Tubbo can pick up on that sort of thing by the way he sounds, and he rests his hand on Tubbo’s forehead. “If you’re sick, I’m going to kill you, because that is how survival of the fittest works.”
Tubbo begs to differ. He smacks Tommy’s arm and slowly sits up, opening his eyes and almost throwing up with how his vision swims. This is great. “That’s not how survival of the fittest works.”
“Why do you look like shit?” Tommy asks kindly, paying no attention to what Tubbo just said.
Tubbo rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. Ow, ow, ow, ow. “Thanks, dude, I appreciate it.”
“No, seriously.” Tommy is frowning a lot now. “You look like shit.”
Tubbo’s seriously become a pussy over the years. He went to school in much worse conditions when he was a kid. Seriously, he’s at least a little sure that he ended up participating in the school spelling bee while in so much pain that he almost passed out during it. And that wasn’t even the worst part; the worst part was that he fucking lost the damn thing in the first round because not only is he fucking dyslexic, but he has shit hearing, and the teacher was disappointed that he couldn’t spell pineapple right. He was fucking eight, how the fuck was he supposed to-
“Tubbo.”
Tommy always wears his heart on his sleeve, which is great because it makes communication a lot easier (on Tubbo’s side, at least, because Tubbo would rather die than express any emotion of his own before Tommy does, much to his ire), but also means that when Tommy’s upset, you can tell, and that’s… pretty fucking shitty, honestly. Especially when he’s upset over Tubbo, because Tubbo hates when people pity him and he can always tell when Tommy does.
“I’m fine, boss man,” Tubbo waves off, walking over to his closet and pulling out a random long-sleeved shirt and jeans. He grabs his binder off the closet floor and starts changing, because Tommy’s his kind-of brother and they’ve had a few of their more serious talks while one of them was getting dressed, so.
Tommy sighs. “Are you sure? I dunno, man, your eyes are kind of… red.”
“I reckon they’re more blue, if anything?”
“ Tubbo. ”
“Just got a headache.” Maybe a little more like a low-grade migraine, but, eh. Semantics. Shit either way. “I’ll be fine. I’m not the one who went to school without noticing they had a fever.”
“I was too busy talking to women and getting my homework done like a good man,” Tommy argues. Concern is still in his expression, but he seems mostly distracted now, and one of the first things to learn about Tommy is that he’s constantly thinking about everything, all the time, that eventually some of his smaller worries will get entirely covered up by other shit. Of course, the big stuff lingers, but the emotional state of Tubbo at 7 AM is not one of the big stuff, so they’re back on the bantering brain cell again. Score.
“And infecting Jack Manifold, too,” Tubbo points out. He looks at himself in the mirror and shrugs. Eh, good enough. “I think he literally wanted to kill you.”
“Jack Manifold always wants to kill me,” Tommy says, almost endearingly. Which is weird, because people should not be endeared to Jack Manifold. It’s just not a thing you do. “We’re close like that.”
“Won’t be close when he kills you,” Tubbo quips, before pushing open his bedroom door. His head still hurts really fucking badly, but hey, maybe stealing some of Techno’s coffee (albeit, it’s decaf, because Techno’s the worst) and getting some fresh air might help his case. And, either way, if he can still annoy Tommy, that must mean it’s not that bad.
Especially considering that aforementioned Tommy, insulted at the insinuation that Jack Manifold would ever want to hurt him, keeps trying to push Tubbo down the stairs, and Tubbo doesn’t even keel over from the exertion of avoiding him.
What a personal character development he has. From physically fucking dying at a spelling bee to avoiding his best friend as he tries to kill him. Some things never change, but at least he’s less lonely about it.
That’s probably why he’s a bit weaker now, in hindsight.
--
Update. Turns out, going to school with a bad headache doesn’t actually make the headache better.
Tubbo makes his way through his biology class with about half his mind functioning, telling Tommy that he’s going to copy his notes later and Tommy, being a good friend, only punches him in the shoulder once before agreeing to it. At the very least, lab shit hasn’t started up yet, which Tubbo loves labs, don’t get him wrong, but it’s just not the vibe he wants today, is all.
Biology is sort of hell. But film studies is a thousand times worse, because they are watching a movie today and doing a little worksheet on it, which is fine-- Tubbo usually doesn't do the work, anyway-- but it means that they’ll be lots of noises and flashing lights against dim classroom lighting and it’s just not what he wants.
At least the teacher doesn’t really give a shit about the class most of the time and lets half the students sleep through it, anyway. Tubbo does well on the quizzes, so the rest is either watching the movie or, as he intends for today, doing absolutely fuck all.
He makes his way to class in a process he can hardly remember and takes his seat, somewhere in the back of the room. Initially, he sat more in the middle, but he recently swapped places with someone so he can sit next to Ranboo, and Ranboo, being ludicrously fucking tall, kind of has to be in the back for most of his classes. It’s not, like, an instilled rule by the teacher, but he’d rather his friend not be hate-crimed for being tall and blocking the movie.
Speaking of, Ranboo comes in a minute or so later and sits beside Tubbo. He gives Tubbo a small smile and asks, “How are you?”
Tubbo lets out a noise of disgruntlement, before elaborating with, “Mans got a headache.”
“Oh.” Ranboo sounds sympathetic, glancing at the teacher before saying, “I’m sorry. I bet you can sleep, though. I can, uh, catch you up on the movie later, I guess.”
“Mm.” Tubbo folds up his arms and scoots his chair back to rest his cheek on his arms, laying there for a few seconds before sighing and straightening up. That hurts his neck. It’s really stupid of him, to be concerned over something hurting his neck, but what can he say. He’s weaker, now. Eight year old Tubbo was a lot better at this shit than seventeen year old Tubbo, that’s for sure.
“Do you, uh, not want to sleep?” Ranboo asks, probably confused as to why Tubbo did that useless maneuver.
Tubbo shakes his head. “Just wasn’t comfortable. I’ll suck it up, though. Whatever.” And yet, he does not move to rest in the same position again. His self preservation skills have gotten so bad that he’s convinced Ranboo could try to shoot him, right now, and he would just let him. Fucking dumbass.
“Well, you-” Ranboo takes a quick breath in, and he sounds nervous, which isn’t a good sign. Tubbo mentally prepares himself. “You could, uh, if you- if you wanted to, that is, you don’t- you don’t have to, and I’m not even sure why- why you would want to, actually, um, so just- just, you can take this or leave this, really, it doesn’t-”
Tubbo sighs, feeling a little bad for his own impatience but figuring that Ranboo might need some encouragement, here. Especially since the teacher has already started playing the movie by now. “Ranboo, I appreciate you, but if you don’t fucking spit out whatever you’re trying to say right now I’m going to strangle myself.”
Ranboo takes in another deep breath and makes deep eye contact with the classroom door. “You can sleep on my shoulder. If- if you want.”
Oh.
“Again, you don’t have to,” Ranboo backtracks, “I don’t know how comfortable that would be, but I just figured, if your neck was hurting or something, and-”
Tubbo rolls his eyes and rests his head against Ranboo’s arm, sighing.
“Oh, okay,” Ranboo whispers.
Very slowly, as if afraid for his life, Ranboo slumps down so that Tubbo can actually put his head on Ranboo’s shoulder. It’s a lot more comfortable than the desk, that’s for sure, even if Ranboo is a little bony and also oddly proportioned.
“Is that better?” Ranboo asks softly.
Tubbo wonders, admittedly not for the first time, how he ended up befriending someone this considerate all of the time. It’s not even like Ranboo’s doing anything colossal, here-- Tubbo has platonically cuddled with Tommy a decent number of times in his life, and he’s done it with some other friends, too, a few years back-- but it’s just… so nice, still. Ranboo is lowering his voice and fucking up his posture and scooting his chair closer just so Tubbo can sleep comfortably.
Where did Ranboo come from, and why did it take Tubbo until this year to find him?
Tubbo suddenly remembers that Ranboo asked him a question and gives him a thumbs up. “Loads better. Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Contently shutting his eyes, Tubbo already feels a little bit better. Well, okay, no, that’s not entirely true, he still feels like shit. But, emotionally speaking, he feels better. Ranboo sort of tends to have that effect on him, which is still not something he’s processed but, whatever. Save thinking about that for a rainy day, or, conversely, all the fucking time, since he can’t seem to find a middle ground between the two.
The thing with Ranboo is that Tubbo can sit and think about how nice it is to have a friend that doesn’t live with him or isn’t just a friend by extension, and think about how much of a breath of fresh air it is, and think about all of that, and that part of it is all fine, he’s thought about it countless times and that’s that. It’s just, with Ranboo, it feels like there’s so much more to think about. And by God, Tubbo’s tried, so much so that his own thoughts have gotten redundant.
It’s like what he was thinking earlier on the rooftop.
Tubbo likes complicated things. He likes puzzles and mysteries and piecing things together.
Tubbo doesn’t like complicated feelings. He feels too young to hold the worst ones in, and too lost to handle the best ones, like how he feels around Ranboo. He can’t understand himself enough for either.
He’s jarred by Ranboo awkwardly shifting, and he notices that his friend’s arm is just sort of… levitating in air, right now. It looks like he’s half between resting it around Tubbo and putting it over the back of his chair, but judging by the fact that Tubbo can physically hear Ranboo’s breathing get a little unsteady, he can tell it’s another one of the trivial things that makes him silently nervous.
It’s going to be really awkward if Ranboo wasn’t intending this, but Tubbo wants to help him out, so. “You can put your arm around me,” he tells him quietly.
“Oh.” Ranboo moves his arm, then hesitates, “Are you sure? I don’t- I don’t want to be too much.”
“Eh, whatever.” Tubbo shrugs the shoulder that currently isn’t against Ranboo’s side. “It might keep your arm from entirely falling asleep at my expense.”
Ranboo pauses, and then, very carefully, wraps one arm around Tubbo’s shoulder. “That’s- that’s a good point.”
“Yup.” And yet Ranboo’s still tense. Hm. “Anything in particular making you nervous here?” Is that insensitive? That might be insensitive. “Sorry.”
“Oh, no, you’re okay,” Ranboo reassures. “I just, uh. Don’t really do a lot of physical contact with people.”
“Really?” This surprises Tubbo, sort of, “I feel like we’ve done this before.”
“We have,” he confirms. “I’ve just, uh, only really done it with you.” He pauses, the noise from the movie sneaking in, and Tubbo can tell that neither of them are going to get today’s worksheet done for this segment of it. None of their classmates are paying attention to them, though, and the teacher never pays attention to anything, it seems, so maybe that’s what gives Ranboo the confidence to continue.
“I, uh, Niki gives people hugs pretty often,” Ranboo tells Tubbo, “but I don’t really hug her that much? Sometimes, I guess, because we live together and work together, so it would make sense. To.”
“But nobody else has?” Tubbo asks. He, well, he kind of always had the thought that Ranboo doesn’t have a lot of friends. But, he would have figured that he had friends in the past or something, or like, family, at least.
He’s curious again, but he doesn’t want to fuck this up and make Ranboo clam up.
Ranboo doesn’t seem like he will though, maybe because he thinks that Tubbo is tired and won’t remember this, or something like that. “Yeah. I, uh, yeah. Not a lot of people for that to happen with, and I don’t exactly hug Techno often. Him being my tutor aside, uh, yeah. He’s not the type.”
“Do you like hugs, then? Or, whatever in that vein?” Tubbo presses as lightly as he can.
Ranboo just nods.
“Well.” How does Tubbo approach this without sounding really, like, clingy about it? Is there even a way to avoid that? “If you ever want a hug or something, me and Tommy’s family kind of, like, are the touchy-feely sort, aside from Techno, sorta, so. I’m your guy. Or Tommy, but Tommy’s kind of adverse to everyone who isn’t me, and he bites, so.”
It took a long time for Tubbo to get comfortable with that sort of affection, and simultaneously no time at all. It only took a couple of nice words from Tommy back when they were twelve for Tubbo to throw himself into his arms, and since then, it’s always just been like that. Tubbo’s not keen on some things, like people patting his back or shoulder, or anything that’s really claustrophobic, but he’s touch-starved enough that most things are sort of a win for him.
(Sometimes, though, there’s part of him that screams whenever anyone even brushes their arm against his, the same part of him that saw Quackity and Schlatt fighting when he was a kid and internalized it the same way Quackity must have, with the way that Tubbo, years later, would see Quackity and Wilbur kissing on the couch and pass by Quackity, later, staring vacantly at the kitchen table, curled up on himself.
Tubbo wonders if that’s part of why everything ended between them.)
Ranboo nods again. “Okay. Thank you, Tubbo.”
“Yeah.” Tubbo opens his eyes and looks at the classroom clock, as well as the other students. None of them are looking at the two of them, not that he would really give a shit if any of them were, considering that if anyone gave him shit for it he’d probably just send Tommy to attack them, but still. Good for Ranboo’s sake, he guesses. More importantly, he notices there is a lot of class time left, which is kind of obvious, but also… he can’t really tell if that’s a good thing or not.
“Sorry if I’ve kept you up,” Ranboo apologizes quietly, apropos of nothing. “You can go to sleep now. Sorry.”
“Nah.” Tubbo shuts his eyes again. The headache is still ongoing, but it seems to be ebbing just the slightest bit. Most likely having to do with time, but Tubbo might attribute a bit of it to Ranboo’s company. “I like talking to you. I wanna know more about you, y’know?”
Ranboo lets out a small, not-particularly-happy laugh. Tubbo can’t place exactly what it’s meant to be, but he understands it either way. “There’s not too much to know.”
“Mm. Can I ask you about Niki?” Tubbo tries.
He can feel the way that Ranboo tenses ever so slightly, before forcing himself to relax. “What about her?” he asks in a casual tone, but Tubbo knows that it means he can’t push too much here.
“You and her are roommates, yeah?”
“Yeah. She, uh, usually lives with her friend, though. I don’t know if you know her, Puffy?”
“Yeah, I know Puffy.” Tubbo smiles. “She’s real chill.”
“She is,” Ranboo agrees. “I’ve only met her once. I think I just complimented her hair and went back to my room, but she's really nice. She makes Niki happy, so she’s usually with her, which is good I think. That’s a good thing.”
“It’s nice to have people who make you happy.”
“Yeah.” There’s a nervous undertone to Ranboo’s voice, there.
Tubbo doesn’t comment on it.
“Niki’s really nice. And she’s good at working in the bakery, too. She’s a lot better at confrontation than I am, but sometimes she gets, uh, irritated, so then I step in, or someone else does, but- yeah, she’s cool.”
“You told me once that you two are kind of like siblings,” Tubbo says, and before Ranboo can get even more nervous, he follows that up with, “and you don’t have to tell me anything, ‘cuz I get it, but I was just- just kinda curious, about that. But like, you don’t have to say anything. Just tell me to fuck off and I won’t bring it up again.”
“Oh, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Ranboo says. “She, uh, she thinks we’re like siblings. We sort of have that bond, I guess. But, uh, we’re not- not biologically related or anything. Or, like, legally related.”
“I get that,” Tubbo replies, because he does. He scoots a bit closer to Ranboo, who wraps his arm a bit more around Tubbo in response, and Tubbo is too curious for his own good. Or maybe just an idiot.
And so, despite his better judgement, he asks, “Do you have any other family?”
Ranboo tenses and goes quiet. Tubbo waits patiently, long enough to know that he made a mistake, but still holding on for Ranboo to give him some kind of response. To shove him off, or to cuss him out, or to unexpectedly talk about something that Ranboo hasn’t seemed willing to say. He honestly hopes it's one of the first two despite his curiosity, because considering what Tubbo understands of family, it’s sort of fucked up for him to ask someone else about that when they clearly don’t have something… standard, going on in that department.
Maybe he just figured that someone like Ranboo would have loving parents to return to despite his living situation, because Ranboo deserves something like that.
But Tubbo should have known better..
When the silence gets so long it’s almost suffocating, Tubbo finally whispers, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ranboo whispers back. “I should be sorry, I think.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Tubbo says gently. “You don’t have to talk about it. Sorry for asking. We can talk about something else.”
“ Thank you. ” Ranboo sounds so grateful that it makes Tubbo’s chest hurt, just a little, because he understands that.
Tubbo just gives a thumbs up, because there’s no way he’s voicing that. “How’s the movie going?”
“Oh, I just have no idea what’s going on, actually.”
“Fairs.”
“Yeah.” Ranboo pauses, and then moves a little bit forward. After a second, he says, “Oh, hey, uh. Someone’s messaging you, I think.”
Tubbo opens his eyes and reaches his hand forward, grabbing his phone. He turns the screen on, which is bright enough to automatically make the headache worse, and sees that it’s some text responses from Quackity. Goddammit.
He turns off his phone before he can read past the first five words of the most recent text. He’s a hypocrite and the worst, but… not right now. He’ll reply later.
“Everything okay?” Ranboo asks beside him.
Tubbo leaves his phone face down on the desk before leaning against Ranboo again, shutting his eyes. He debates a couple of possible responses in the few seconds it takes to move, but once he’s settled, his mouth picks the worst possible one to articulate. Honesty. “Family stuff,” he admits, and immediately regrets it.
Ranboo hums. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” Tubbo feels a little like crying. He trusts Ranboo. He’s worried about Quackity. He’s fucking weak. It’s one of the three that’s causing it. “Think I’m just gonna sleep.”
“Okay.” Ranboo gently rests his head against Tubbo’s. “Goodnight, Tubbo. I’ll wake you up when we have lunch.”
“You’re the best,” Tubbo says, honestly.
Ranboo lets out another laugh like earliers. Maybe anxious is a better descriptor for it. “I’m just being a good friend.”
You have no idea how much that means to me, Tubbo thinks, but he only lets out a small hum before allowing Ranboo’s thin shoulder to cushion his drifting into sleep, the arm around his shoulders making him feel less claustrophobic and more safe. Between Ranboo’s unknowing comfort and the disorientation of his headache, the text messages are quick to fade from Tubbo’s mind as he finally falls asleep.
--
Quackity: I’m fine, tubbo
Quackity: sorry about the whole thing with wilbur. it was on me, wilbur didn’t do anything. you know how i am
Quackity: or maybe you don’t. I sort of hope not. I’m sorry if I’ve been messaging you too much about unimportant shit, that’s on me also
Quackity: you’re a good kid, tubbo. keep being good, alright?
--
The second Tubbo opens the door to Tommy’s house, he already knows that it’s going to be another one of those days where he has to pull Tommy upstairs and sit with him until the yelling calms down.
This time, instead of Phil and Wilbur arguing, it’s Wilbur and Techno. Tubbo doesn’t even know if Phil’s home yet, which almost makes it worse.
“You weren’t in love with him, Wilbur,” Techno claims, voice in a deadpan. “You liked him fine, but it wasn’t love, we both know that. I’ve been tellin’ you that.”
Wilbur is sitting at the kitchen table, from the flash of vision Tubbo can see before he’s sliding his shoes off and grabbing Tommy’s hand. Wilbur’s hands are in his hair, and he’s laughing bitterly. “You don’t know shit about love, Techno,” Wilbur responds, voice dangerously calm and threatening an outburst.
“I know more about that than you do, Wilbur!” Techno’s voice raises, and it’s so unexpected that Tubbo can feel the way both he and Tommy tense, and Tubbo doesn’t know who is the first one to pull the other to the stairs. Either way, neither of Tommy’s siblings seem to notice.
“How do you know more about love, huh?” and Wilbur’s shouting too, and they’re halfway up the stairs, and Tubbo knows the argument is going to dwindle and nothing will get too far because that’s how things work here, it’s just arguments, it’s just arguments. But Tommy hates to see any kind of tension, and Tubbo can’t help but think about the arguments he’s seen about love in the past and how much worse they’d gotten. “Tell me, Techno, what do you know about love? You don’t love anything, you don’t fucking risk anything! ”
“Who do you think loved you, Wilbur?” Techno starts, and Tubbo can hear Wilbur start to protest, but it’s overtaken by Techno’s voice. “Quackity, who you’ve been tellin’ me all morning left you, or the person who has been waiting here for you after you left- ”
“You do not get to use that against me, Techno-”
“And you don’t get to say anything about riskin’ anything, alright?”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have left if you didn’t leave first-”
“ LEAVE? ” Tubbo pulls Tommy into his room, but the two of them can still hear Techno shouting from downstairs. “I stayed long enough for you to show me that you didn’t find me worth doin’ the same for-”
“Yeah, yeah, because, get this, NOBODY fucking LOVES YOU, TECHNO- ”
“Okay,” Tommy says under his breath, hands shaking as the yelling continues from downstairs. “Okay, Tommy, it is time for Able Sisters, Tommy, it is time to play Able Sisters.”
Tubbo nods, finding it hard to use his voice right now.
Tommy doesn’t pay him any mind, too lost in his own panic as he stumbles over to sit on his bed and starts playing Animal Crossing music as loud as he can. Surely it’s loud enough that Wilbur and Techno would ordinarily hear it from downstairs, but the two of them are still arguing, and Tubbo doesn’t want to think about how intense it must be for them to lose sight of their surroundings entirely.
He knows what’s happening, logically. He knows that there must be some kind of underlying tension between Techno and Wilbur, because he’s always sort of noticed that, just never knew what it was about. He knows that Wilbur is lashing out and saying all the things he doesn’t mean, all the things that will hurt Techno, and he knows that Techno is trying to convince Wilbur of something important to him. He knows that the argument is going to die out, and the two of them are either going to hug it out or just forget it, but either way they’ll sort it out eventually, and it’ll be okay.
He knows that because all the arguments in this household end like that, and even if there is tension, there’s still some sort of resolution to it eventually. He knows that because Tommy’s told him that, and Wilbur, and Phil, and- well, maybe not Techno, but that’s- that’s different. He knows that, he does, because everyone does love each other, no matter what Tubbo and Tommy are currently hearing from downstairs.
“Imagine telling your brother you don’t love him,” Tommy jokes, but his voice is shaking. “Cringe, eh?”
No matter what, nobody is going to throw things at each other. Nobody is going to hit each other. Nobody is going to threaten or blackmail or manipulate or hurt each other. Nobody is going to hurt each other. Nobody is going to hurt each other. It’s just an argument. Everyone has arguments. Everyone hurts each other, but nobody is going to hurt each other, nothing irreparable is going to happen, nobody is going to run away, everyone has arguments but nobody is going to hurt each other, nobody is going to hurt each other .
Tommy stops the music for a second, putting his hands over his ears instead. Tubbo’s own ears are ringing. Wilbur is still shouting, shouting, shouting downstairs, and Techno has gone entirely silent, and Tubbo doesn’t know what to do.
He moves forward and wraps his arms around Tommy, because it’s the only thing he can think of.
He can’t make a single sound, but he pats Tommy’s back and holds him protectively, eyes shut as another headache forms and he can hear Wilbur scream from downstairs, “ YOU’VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING FOR ME .”
Silence. It’s followed by silence.
“Why-” Tommy starts, but he’s cut off.
“ I WOULD HAVE DIED FOR YOU, WILBUR, ” Techno responds, and Tubbo tightens his grip on Tommy. “ BECAUSE YOU’RE MY BROTHER-”
“YOU LEFT OUR FAMILY!”
“THAT MAKES TWO OF US!”
“CAN YOU STOP? PLEASE?” Wilbur’s voice breaks, and Tommy lets out a sob.
The voices are quieter, but Tubbo can still hear it all, the rest of the house deathly silent. “So you’re tellin’ me you want to stop this now, after tellin’ me that nobody loves me, that I don’t understand love, that I abandoned everything-”
“Techno, you know that I-”
“No, actually, I don’t know anything about you, Wilbur.” Tubbo hears the front door open. “It’s crazy, it’s almost like I don’t recognize this house, or like, any of the people in it. Woah. That’s kind of wild, man.”
“Techno, stop. ”
“This is what I get for abandonin’ the family, I guess.”
“Techno-”
The front door slams shut. Tubbo can hear someone slam their fist against the wood seconds later.
“It’s over,” Tommy whispers, and Tubbo pulls back and cups his face. He wipes away the tears he can see, but more keep coming, and his chest hurts so bad. Despite his crying, Tommy gives Tubbo a smile and reaches out to rest a hand in his hair, reassuring him, “It’s over, Tubbs. I know Wilbur, he’ll apologize and Techno will make it up to him, too. It’ll be alright.”
Tubbo can’t stop himself from letting a tear spill over, and soon he’s sobbing, too, and his head is in Tommy’s lap as Tommy sniffles and tries to reassure him, telling him about how Wilbur will make Techno hot chocolate and how the two have fought before and it’s always ended fine and how his family loves each other because Phil told him so, and Phil never lies.
But Tubbo can’t stop sobbing, because he’s fucking weak, and he knows how much worse it could have been. He knows that it isn’t always a door, it isn’t always just an argument, there isn’t always that understanding. When he was a kid, braver than he is now, he wouldn’t cry because nobody would hold him. And it was so much worse back then. And it could have been so much worse now.
It must be ten minutes before Tubbo hears Tommy’s door open, and the characteristic click of Wilbur’s footsteps fill the room.
“Why did you yell?” Tommy asks, and Tubbo can hear the anger, can hear the anger on Tubbo’s behalf.
“I texted Techno,” Wilbur responds to an unspoken question, what he must have known Tommy would have asked next. “He didn’t reply, but he’s alright, I know he’ll be. I told him I loved him.”
Tommy shakes his head. “A bit too late, innit?”
“It is,” Wilbur admits, “but it’s something.”
There’s another silence, and all Tubbo can hear is the ringing in his ears and the sobs escaping his mouth.
Beside him, he hears Wilbur kneel, and an arm wraps around Tubbo. He wants to pull away, and he hates when people see him cry, but Wilbur’s being so gentle and he’s genuine when he says, “I’m sorry, Tubbo and Tommy.”
Tubbo never used to get an apology. So, he melts.
Wilbur and Tommy stay for the half hour it takes Tubbo to cry himself out. Somewhere during then, he hears the front door open again, and another argument starts between Techno and Phil. Tommy covers his ears and the three of them wait it out, and soon, it stops too.
It could have been worse. It could have been worse. It could have been worse. It could have been so, so, so much worse than anybody here understands.
When the pain mostly passes, and Wilbur goes downstairs, and no yelling comes from his conversation with Techno and Phil, and Tommy’s still holding Tubbo and telling him nonsense stories, Tubbo thinks about Tommy’s two brothers accusing the other of abandonment. He thinks about how he abandoned his own family, just for a chance of happiness.
And when all apologies are given and all of Tommy’s family goes to bed, Tubbo goes out on the roof again, and he finally decides to respond.
--
Tubbo: don’t blame yourself
Tubbo: i think i know what you mean
Tubbo: did you break up with him because you wanted to, or because you were scared?
Tubbo: idk sorry
--
“Tubbo!”
“Why do you have to keep waking me up?” Tubbo whines, blinking his eyes open a little easier. He has less of a migraine, this time. Score.
Tommy grins, happy with himself. “Because you don’t use your alarm clock. Be lucky you’re not Wilbur, I used to jump on him ‘n shit to wake him up.”
“You’ve done that to me before,” Tubbo sighs and sits up, squinting outside.
“Have I?” Tommy frowns.
Tubbo glares at Tommy. “It’s so fucking early, why the fuck did you wake me up?” Tubbo pauses, and then, his voice going up a pitch, adds, “It’s the fucking weekend , dickhead!”
“Wilbur felt bad about yesterday, so he wanted to hang with us. Me, you, Wil, and maybe Tech, we’re not sure yet.”
“Mm. Okay. Give me, like, thirty minutes to wake up.”
“Can we take that down to, like, ten?” Tommy negotiates. “Because Wilbur’s ready to go.”
“Fuck you,” Tubbo says, which is a yes.
Tommy cackles and ruffles Tubbo’s hair before leaving the room, abandoning Tubbo to get dressed and emotionally ready in ten minutes to hang out with his best friend and his brothers. Fun.
… Really though, he thinks it might be fun, if he like, cuts the complaining bullshit. Maybe he needs this. Just some happy time after whatever the hell yesterday was that he’s still actively trying to repress because wow, he really did just cry in front of Wilbur and Tommy, huh. Fucking cringe.
He finishes getting ready, trying not to think about yesterday as he does so, and grabs his phone as he leaves the room. He shoves it in his pocket, ignoring the vibrations of new text messages and desperately trying to put that aside as Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur fight for a place in the front seat of the car (being the shortest, he’s given up).
Maybe he’ll have a nicer day today. That’ll be good, he thinks. Maybe he can peer pressure everyone to stop by Ranboo on his shift, assuming he’s not too busy, and Tubbo can finally have one fucking nice day.
He thinks he deserves that, at least, after everything. He thinks all four of them do.
--
Quackity: I broke up with him because I had to, and that’s what matters
Quackity: too much shit going on, man. I’m not putting it on Wilbur
Quackity: have a nice night, okay Tubbo? Don’t think of ol Big Q too much, y’know
Quackity: it’s all alright. talk to you soon.