Chapter Text
Tubbo knows something is wrong.
It’s this innate feeling he has in his gut, something that fills his thoughts with gnawing anxiety as the days continue to pass. It’s something impossible to shake, no matter what funny anecdote Tommy provides or endearing text Ranboo sends him.
It’s not the sort of wrong that happens all the time, because he knows that everything is always wrong and that’s just how the world is. Nothing is ever in its order or in complete chaos, it’s usually just this shitty middle mess where undeniably, at least one person he knows is having a bad time at any given second (though, he knows a lot of people who seem to be having bad times all the time). It’s not that, otherwise he’d feel sick every second of the day, and usually, he feels just fine. A little apathetic, even. He can be shitty like that.
No, the feeling only comes when something is really wrong. When Tubbo can’t sleep at night because he’s so paralyzed that something might happen, overwhelmingly paranoid and unable to concentrate on anything. It’s some survival instinct he’s picked up over the years, something that tells him that he has to stick to his gut, that if he hears something creak from downstairs he has to hold his breath, or when he hears the front door open he runs out the back door, or something like that.
It’s instinctual, and it keeps him alive. It keeps him safe.
According to the Internet– which is never really a good place to look for medical information, but it’s not exactly like Tubbo has a therapist– it’s a symptom that comes with anxiety. This foreboding sense of doom, that something is going to happen even when nothing is going to, is anxiety . Tubbo had shut down his computer the second it started showing him ads of non-diagnostic tests for random mental health conditions, but it had seemed… somewhat right, in a way.
The difference for Tubbo is that he knows there's a basis to it.
Tubbo doesn’t have anxiety. Doesn’t even have depression, really. He and Tommy have had long, strange talks about this sort of thing, because Tubbo’s said some contrary shit before and Tubbo has bad sleeping habits and Tubbo can’t open up about anything ever, apparently, who knew? But ultimately, Tubbo knows that he doesn’t have any of that.
(At least, he knows that if he says he has any of that, then the people around him would believe him, and it would be taken as a weakness. Tubbo obviously doesn’t find having mental health issues weak when it comes to other people, like Tommy and Wilbur and shit, but for himself? Hell no. He doesn’t want to risk being pitied, thanks.
… And if he admits it, too, then he would have to accept that he has it. That he has some sort of issue, some problem that he needs to solve. That he’s been neglecting and hating himself and there was some sort of explanation for it.
And Tubbo doesn’t want to face that. Tubbo doesn’t want to face that at all, especially not if he doesn’t have to.)
So Tubbo doesn’t have anxiety, but he gets anxious a lot because this shit has some reality to it. This guttural pull telling him that something awful is about to happen is real, and there’s nothing Tubbo can do but prepare himself, keep an eye on his loved ones, and wait it out.
The first one is common practice. The last one isn’t even that hard, really, once you get used to it. It’s the second one that tears at Tubbo the most, when he can’t warn anyone without freaking them out, but he doesn’t want to put them at risk, either.
All of that is really to say just one simple thing:
Tubbo has been texting Quackity every day since their last conversation, and the messages have stopped delivering.
--
Mondays fucking suck.
To be fair, some Mondays can be quite nice, actually, and not overwhelmingly shitty or anything. It’s just, sometimes they are, and those Mondays suck. Which is a really circular line of thought but, whatever, it’s a Monday and Tubbo can’t think.
Even worse, not only is it a fucking Monday, but Tommy is going over to Jack Manifold’s house with a few of their other friends just to hang out, and Tubbo isn’t going. Not because they excluded him or anything, considering that he’s pretty sure Jack Manifold likes him a bit more than Tommy (which is a whole ordeal and too much for Tubbo to try and wrap his head around), but because he wasn’t really feeling like it. Too much homework, he had said.
Mans has zero plan to do his homework, that’s for damn sure.
Not only is Tommy busy, but Ranboo isn’t there, either, off to do his whole independent research thing that he has as his last class, which is cool and sick and awesome and cool, but Tubbo kind of wanted to ask Ranboo if they could hang out today.
(Because here’s his pitch, right. Phil is a pretty busy person doing his academia work, or whatever the hell his job is– Tubbo still doesn’t really get it–, and Techno isn’t around often enough to reliably be the person picking him up, and Wilbur’s off at work most of the time. So like, usually, Tubbo and Tommy will take the bus or just walk home, though it’s kind of a long walk, and then just go from there.
But, now Tubbo has a friend who can drive and can therefore take him places. Plus, Tommy’s probably going to get his permit and hours in soon. Knowing him, he’ll do it in one long session and knock it all out- but, anyway, that means that Tommy can drive himself home and Tubbo can either hitch a ride with Ranboo or Tommy to get back, and he doesn’t have to take the bus anymore. Score.
Right now, though, Ranboo’s the best bet. Except right now, because he’s off taking photos and stuff, so. Back at square one.)
Tubbo walks out of the school building, one hand holding the strap of his backpack, and starts thinking about what he could do. On one hand, he could probably take the bus back home, and if that’s the case he should probably hurry up because that bus sometimes takes off with or without all the students there. On the other hand, he could walk around and visit Wilbur’s place, but he’s… kind of not feeling that, after a lot of recent stuff.
… He could also call Ranboo. The thing is, though, he’d feel kind of shitty for doing that, because Ranboo’s a really nice guy and he knows that if he calls him and tells him to swing by and drop him off home, Ranboo would do it in a heartbeat and maybe also get a little worried about it. And again, he’s off doing work, anyway, so it’s not worth it. Why is Tubbo so tempted to bother him?
Tubbo leans against the side of the school, too non-committal to walk towards the bus going back to his place ( Tommy’s place, he keeps having to remind himself, not ‘home’ ). He needs to figure something out sort of fast, because he can’t loiter on school property for that long without having a reason to be there, nor can he really walk around aimlessly that much and not trust himself to lose track of time.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually, Tubbo gets an idea. Albeit, not exactly an idea that he likes, but it sort of kills two birds with one stone, honestly.
Tubbo went back to his actual home not too long ago. Because of the texts from Schlatt, not wanting to disobey him and make the next time worse, being too weak-willed to stand up for himself. It had been a real awful experience, and Quackity had promised it’d be the last time. But then again, Quackity and Tubbo both tell themselves that it’ll be the last visit every time, and then Tubbo ends up going back there again and getting hurt, so maybe there’s no real point to that anymore.
It would be a stupid idea to go there, especially when Phil sort of probably expects him back at some point. He doesn’t always keep the closest eye on them all, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to entirely miss a person not being back at his house when they should be.
… Tubbo has a cover, though. Because Tommy’s off hanging out with his friends, and it would make sense for Tubbo to have tagged along, meaning that Phil probably thinks he’s there. Tommy never specified that Tubbo wasn’t coming with, that was Tubbo’s job, and Tubbo doesn’t really tend to say that kind of stuff if he doesn’t have to.
So he can very well lie, so long as he can guess when Tommy’s coming back. That won’t be an issue; worst case scenario, Tubbo gets home first and loiters in a neighbor’s front yard until he sees Tommy.
Decided, Tubbo starts walking to the buses, passing by the one he usually goes on and opting for the one that takes him back to his real house. The house he hates more than anything, and the house that he, for the first time willingly in years, is going back to.
Not for nostalgia, or homesickness, or anything that shouldn’t exist in him even though he knows it does. Not because of Schlatt. Definitely not because of Schlatt, Jesus Christ; Tubbo can only deny for so long that he still holds some kind of feeling towards his cousin, but none of them really translate into literally going back to his house for him and solely him. It’s always a bit more complicated than that.
No, Tubbo’s going back because of Quackity .
Tubbo isn’t great with psychology, and he doesn’t really understand himself much either. He can sort of puzzle people out, and he’s got a great deal of perception when it comes to some of the stuff people around him do, but he can’t really look at someone point blank and understand why they did everything they did. Tommy, maybe, but that’s only because he knows Tommy really well. People like Jack or Ranboo or Wilbur , close enough to him but not the best friend he’s had for years? He can take a few pokes at it before giving up.
He knows Jack is a resentful person like he knows that Wilbur has more volatile emotions than most people and that Ranboo is constantly troubled about a lot of things. He maybe kind of knows what draws Jack to continue his friendship with Tommy or how Ranboo has contacts on his phone of people that Tubbo doesn’t even want to think about (a solid maybe on this last one, honestly, Tubbo is really trying not to think about it). Deeper than that? He can’t really go down there. He literally lives with Wilbur, and he still doesn’t know why he dropped out of college.
Quackity is someone that Tubbo would like to think he knows just as well as he knows Tommy. He and Quackity aren’t related, nor has Tubbo ever really lived with him in long stretches of time, but he was around enough that Tubbo gets the sense that he can sort of trust him. Or should, at least. Both of them know Schlatt and came out of that situation, and Quackity saw some of the worst situations unfold, and vise-versa to that, but Tubbo doesn’t understand Quackity so much as he just knows him.
When Tubbo found out that Wilbur and Quackity broke up, he genuinely hadn’t been too surprised. What he had told Ranboo that night in the car had been true, with that.
At the same time, though, he knows Quackity. He knows that Quackity’s choice to break up with Wilbur is just as calculated as his choice to keep seeing Schlatt, because Quackity has always been methodical in that way.
Tubbo just doesn’t know why. Why did Quackity make that call, methodical or not? What is the benefit of it? What does anybody stand to gain from Quackity re-traumatizing himself and pushing himself away from his now-ex-boyfriend when things had been good?
Why hasn’t Tubbo fucking stopped him?
Tubbo’s not going back because he misses home. Tubbo’s not going back because he misses Schlatt. Tubbo’s going back because he knows that Quackity has to be there, and he may not understand Quackity, but he is a person of logic and he has to at least try .
And he doesn’t want Quackity to be alone, either, even if it means Tubbo has to take on the bad company.
--
The house looks the same as last time– bleak, depressing, fucked-up for lack of a better phrase– aside from the addition of a white car sitting in front of it, surprisingly clean despite its color but not needlessly posh or fancy.
Quackity likes to take care of his own things, Tubbo knows. He’s had that car for years, paid for half of it upfront and worked for years to pay his grandparents back for the rest. He’s usually the only one to ride around in it, and Tubbo’s not sure he can ever remember being inside of it, because Quackity is careful with money like that and Tubbo’s always been destructive.
It feels out of place in front of the house, but then again, it’s better than the time that Schlatt’s dad rented a sports car and it sat outside, so starkly wrong, until he couldn’t pay for it any longer and he had to give it up again.
Tubbo was never let inside that one, either, but it had coincidentally been the first vehicle Schlatt ever drove, around the age of 14. Tubbo’s pretty sure that, alcoholism aside, Schlatt doesn’t drive now. He got his permit for it, Tubbo knows that, because Quackity had been proud when he did, but Schlatt’s since let it expire.
Tubbo’s been battling himself for a while about whether or not he should start trying to learn how to drive.
Being back at home makes him think that he should give up before he starts. Nobody needs more of his kind out on the road; nobody’s wanted it in the first place.
But Quackity can drive, at least. Drove himself here.
Tubbo swallows his anxiety, walks up to the front door, and knocks. Because it’s actually locked, this time. Good work, Quackity, promoting house security.
Nobody comes to answer the door a few seconds after he knocks. One minute. Two minutes. Several minutes, now, and Tubbo is still standing out there.
He bites his nails on his non-dominant hand and knocks again, trying to be louder. It always hurts his knuckles just a little bit, which is funny, because Tubbo’s a pretty resilient person and injuries like that aren’t exactly the norm for him. It’s always just been knocking on doors, making his hands sting a little and turn cherry red. Bruised, at their worst.
He remembers one time trying to get into his humanities classroom, maybe around the age of thirteen, and the teacher had a movie on so nobody heard him knocking. He tried three times, too, but nobody ever heard him. He had sat outside and waited, and no janitors passed him or anything, nobody. He just sat outside and waited until the movie was over before trying again, and eventually, the teacher came over.
It’s kind of a funny memory. The teacher was also a bit of a bitch, though, so not the funnest memory. Halfway there, at least. C+ for effort.
Schlatt still isn’t answering the door.
Third time’s the shot unless you’re thirteen year old Tubbo. He gives it another round of knocks, loud enough for him to suck air through his teeth after, half-scared the wood would break and half-terrified that his hand would shatter first.
Luckily for the longevity of his bones, this time is the one that worked and, surely enough, after a minute or so, the front door swings open.
It isn’t Schlatt. Which, maybe Tubbo should have expected that, seeing as the other is most likely either blackout drunk or not in a good state to get up and move. Tubbo already knows that he sympathizes with his cousin more than he really should, and their shared struggle with episodes that render them unable to leave bed doesn’t help matters.
It hurts, how Tubbo can understand. It hurts, knowing that Tubbo is the only one who knows of their connection-- that Schlatt had shut it out, that Quackity never believed it, that nobody else knows that Schlatt exists in the first place.
So no, it’s not Schlatt who answers the door.
It’s Quackity.
And Tubbo’s heart sinks, because he can see, then and there, that his anxiety over Quackity’s well-being had been justified.
Quackity furrows his eyebrows at Tubbo, a non-verbal indicator that Quackity can’t remember if Tubbo is supposed to be there or not. Following the eyebrows are his eyes themselves, which widen in a way that’s almost comical if Tubbo didn’t know the look very well, like some childhood secret. Under his eyes are shadows, and Tubbo only has to glance once to know Quackity hasn’t been sleeping. Quackity’s mouth opens and shuts a few times, disjointed sentence starters forming but never escaping past his chapped and slightly bleeding lips. Finally, he moves, shutting the front door behind him and standing in front of Tubbo with movements a bit too slow.
With broad arm gestures, towards both the house and Tubbo himself, Quackity asks, “What the hell, man? Why are you here?”
Tubbo makes to say something, unintentionally mimicking Quackity’s exact movements, and realizes he doesn’t know what to say.
He had been so sure coming here, knowing that Quackity had been acting strange lately, knowing that bad things were happening and he needed to come back here, specifically, to fix it. And he knew that Quackity being here is just further proof of it, he just…
He knows his reason.
He’s not so convinced this was a good idea, anymore.
“Tubbo?” Quackity isn’t gentle. He never has been. Even when he was staying silent, or helping Tubbo reach the bandaids on the top shelf, or avoiding Schlatt’s gaze, he was never gentle. His hands are fast-moving and calloused, and his tongue is sharp, and he lacks a filter unless he needs to play a role. He’s had to play roles before, but he isn’t now, because he says Tubbo’s name with what Tubbo knows is concern but comes off as scrutiny.
Quackity is waiting for a response that Tubbo doesn’t know how to give.
And so Tubbo puts on a smile and says, casually, “Oh, y’know. Just stopping by.” As if there is any room for just stopping by when he’s standing in front of the house that caused his past self so much hurt, the house he fled from that Quackity came back to.
If you can run and come back, he thinks, why can’t I?
Both of them have better places to go than here. Tubbo could go home, and Quackity could go make-up with Wilbur, or stay over at his other ex’s house, or his other ex’s house, or go back to his own place if he even has one anymore– neither of them have to be here.
But Quackity has found a fixed place where he shouldn’t. And Tubbo will never stop running back to the things that hurt him.
“How is he?” Tubbo asks, voice low, before Quackity can find some exasperated response to his lie, something about how Tubbo couldn’t possibly by stopping by and Quackity can call Phil if he needs to and go home Tubbo you’re not meant to be here and all the things Tubbo wishes were possible.
“Fine,” Quackity lies, or evades, or otherwise disregards as if the implication of Schlatt’s worsened state isn’t the least well-kept secret Quackity has. “Seriously, Tubbo, why are you here? School just got out, don’t you have shit to do?”
Tubbo wants to tell Quackity, I’m upset and I’m angry at you and I’m so, so worried something is going on, because I can’t sleep without thinking that something bad might happen here and maybe I don’t trust you anymore.
Instead, he blurts out, “Why did you break up with Wilbur?”
Quackity’s surprise is transparent on his face, and Tubbo blames the slip-up on exhaustion for his sake. After a few seconds of scrambling for an answer, Quackity responds, “I told you, it had nothing to do with Wilbur. It’s just how I am.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Tubbo presses. I’m upset and I’m angry at you and I’m choking over my words because something is so incredibly wrong and none of this feels real right now. “Did you come here because you broke up with Wilbur, or did you break up with Wilbur so you could come here?”
“ Tubbo.” Quackity’s voice is sharp. Forceful. Tubbo’s only ever heard it like this when he was fighting with Schlatt, but maybe there’s something in the DNA of Tubbo’s family that makes Quackity hate them. “I’m being serious. You need to go the fuck home-”
“I am! ” Tubbo interrupts, and it feels like every word he says is taking something physically out of him. And yet, somehow, it makes him feel heavier. “Big Q, this is home, and something is going on and you won’t-” and God, he’s getting choked up for no fucking reason, he has to be better than this because otherwise Quackity isn’t going to listen, “-you won’t tell me anything , and he’s my cousin, so if something is going on, I should know ! And- and why aren’t you answering my texts, Big Q-”
His voice breaks, and he tries to fight back a sob, but Quackity’s looking at him with rough-edged compassion and Tubbo hates this, hates everything, hates that he came here at all because Schlatt’s like this every day and he should be used to it, that it’s his own fault he left Quackity behind to handle this, that none of this would have happened if Tubbo never left his home.
“Tubbo,” Quackity starts, voice a touch softer than before. The same way he used to talk to Tubbo when he was a child. It’s not gentle, but it’s something close. God, he hates this so much.
“Just tell me,” Tubbo chokes out, and he decides then and there that he never wants anyone to see him cry ever again- “is he okay?”
The few seconds of silence that come from Quackity, interrupted by Tubbo’s gasping breaths, are near deafening.
Slowly, Quackity replies, “He’s okay, Tubbo. He’s going to be okay.”
And Tubbo doesn’t believe him.
Tubbo doesn’t believe him at all, because Quackity talks the way cough syrup tastes, falling down your throat and sickly sweet and meant to fix something that only worsens with the season. It’s approaching winter, and Quackity still lies to Tubbo, and Tubbo never believes him.
But he tells himself that Quackity is telling the truth, even if both of them know it’s a lie. He knows how to play the role– the neurotic kid, the calculating adult, the idealistic teenager. He tells himself that Schlatt is taking a nap, but when he wakes up Quackity will help him with his college work, and they’ll throw out the old bottles, and one day Tubbo will get a Christmas card from Schlatt telling him I miss you, kid, come home.
And Tubbo will come home. Tubbo will come home, and Schlatt will meet Tommy’s family, and Quackity will make-up with Wilbur, and Tubbo will introduce Jack Manifold to Schlatt because both of them like math, and Ranboo will come, too, and Tubbo will come home.
He knows that it’s a lie. The dreams die on his tongue the way they always do.
But he’s tired. He’s tired, and he doesn’t want to do this anymore, and he just wants to be happy. And he’s a traitor for leaving Quackity like this, struggling under the guilt of his lies and the loneliness of his care, but Tubbo can’t take it. Tubbo wants to believe it’s true even if it feels like he’s never believed Quackity once in his life, because he wants, more than anything, for this to not be his fault.
And so Tubbo nods.
Tubbo wipes away his tears with his sleeve and he nods, sniffling, and he whispers, “Okay.”
“Go home, Tubbo,” Quackity says again. “I need to talk to Schlatt, sort some things out.”
“Don’t tell him I was here,” Tubbo pleads. “Please.”
Quackity gives Tubbo a wry smile. “I wasn’t planning on it. Goodbye, Tubbo.”
“See you.”
The front door shuts, and Tubbo is left standing there.
It takes everything in him not to collapse on the sidewalk, not to break through the windows that he knows he could break through with hands too weak to knock but small enough to destroy, not to climb up to Schlatt’s room and beg him to come back, not to steal Quackity’s car and drive them all to the next town, not to set the house on fire and take them all down together.
He sucks in a breath and starts walking, a little aimlessly. He knows the bus stop from here to school and back, and from there the walk home isn’t unmanageable, but he doesn’t know how far he’ll have to walk to get to Tommy’s place entirely on foot. It used to be a much more familiar distance, but he’s gotten used to the miracle that is Phil’s undeserved hospitality and he doesn’t know anymore.
It takes a few blocks before he goes from winded to outright exhausted, and he entirely gives up. Checking his phone shows that nobody has asked about him, that Tommy’s busy with his friends and Phil thinks that Tubbo’s with Tommy.
Quackity hasn’t texted him, either, asking him to come back.
Tubbo hesitates. He knows that if he really pushed, if he cried enough and screamed enough and acted enough, Quackity would fall apart and the kindest parts of him, the parts that cared about Tubbo even if he couldn’t phrase it gently, would leave Schlatt to rot and drive Tubbo back home.
He knows that if he called Wilbur to come pick him up, he would do it in a heartbeat. Because Wilbur’s kindness is different from Quackity’s kindness– Wilbur’s almost doesn’t feel earned, even if it’s meant to. Tubbo still doesn’t understand him, maybe.
But Tubbo doesn’t want to sit in a car with Quackity. He doesn’t want to sit in a car with Wilbur, either. Because he knows that both of them get bad road rage, and both of them have questionable music tastes, and both of them wouldn’t let Tubbo sit in silence even if they ordinarily would, because being stuck in a car with Tubbo is the exact opportunity both of them would take to try and stage a one-man intervention.
And Tubbo doesn’t want someone to help, right now.
Maybe Techno’s a good choice. Techno wouldn’t ask Tubbo what’s wrong; Techno might check just once, but regardless of Tubbo’s answer he would let it rest. He would stay quiet until Tubbo chooses to talk and he would stay quiet even if Tubbo never does.
But Techno would remember, that’s the problem. Techno would never ask, but he would never forget, and Tubbo can’t put into words why he’s so scared of Techno perceiving these kinds of things in him.
Also, Techno listens to weird white noise as his choice of music half the time, and Tubbo doesn’t understand why the fuck he does that, so he’ll pretend that that’s the reason he isn’t calling him.
And, of course, not to mention that any of these options sort of indicate that Tubbo is lying about being with Tommy.
Tubbo has no options, basically. So it’s time to keep walking.
He makes it a few more steps before he realizes he’s a complete fucking idiot.
Swearing under his breath, because Jesus why did this not occur to him sooner, he pulls out his phone. There is exactly one person on the face of the Earth who would pick him up, take him home, play decent music, and give Tubbo the space he needs without leaving him to spiral. The only person Tubbo knows who can somehow walk that line perfectly, with barely any direction from Tubbo, and even the few mistakes they make aren’t enough to scare Tubbo off forever.
Ranboo picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, man, on a scale of, like, one to ten,” Tubbo blinks, his eyes still irritated from his previous crying. He knows his voice must sound rough as hell right now, too, so he clears his throat before continuing, “how, uh. How busy are you?”
“I mean?” Tubbo hears a beeping sound, and it suddenly occurs to him that Ranboo’s actively driving right now. He hadn’t thought this out as much as he should have, maybe. “I’m just kind of going home, so not too bad? I’ll give it a three, I think.”
“Cool.” That sort of makes things easier, at least? Now comes the part where Tubbo has to figure out how to ask Ranboo to come pick him up. Shit.
“Cool, cool, cool,” he stalls.
“Are-” Ranboo’s audio is briefly cut off, but it comes back to him saying, “-alright?”
Tubbo gives a thumbs up to the air for no real reason. “I’m great, dude. Say, what are your thoughts on making a, uh, detour right now?”
Ranboo must be so confused right now, but bless him, he tries his best to keep up with the vague shit Tubbo’s pulling. “I’m not opposed to it?”
“So if I were to send you an address,” Tubbo should probably figure out the address of the street he’s on, actually, “you could hypothetically come to said address and pick a hypothetical me up?”
“... Yeah?”
Tubbo grins, despite the fact that both his eyes and throat are pissed off at him crying only twenty minutes ago. He should start carrying water on him if he’s going to start crying like this just whenever . “Give me, like, five minutes to figure out where the fuck I am.”
“You don’t know where you are?” Ranboo sounds a little concerned.
“Okay, I did, but I, like,” Tubbo starts walking towards the closest street sign and immediately, his lungs decide they want him dead. He grits his teeth and keeps moving anyway, until he reaches the street sign. Score. “I kind of walked, like, three blocks away from where I was. Anyway, I have the address now.”
“Okay, hold on.” There’s more rustling noises, as well as the faint sound of some other car honking, before Ranboo talks again, “I have the GPS pulled up. Just say the address.”
Tubbo recites the address slowly, waiting for Ranboo to give him a verbal cue before moving between each part of it. He repeats it twice, just to be sure, before the voice of Ranboo’s GPS comes through the speakers.
“I’m on my way,” Ranboo says, and Tubbo wonders for probably the thousandth time how the hell he found someone like Ranboo. Not that Tubbo doesn’t know any other loyal people out there, but still. What the hell.
Tubbo leans against the street sign. “Okay, cool. See you soon.”
“See you.”
Ranboo hangs up, and Tubbo lets out a heavy sigh.
Act over. Scene closed. Tubbo never could go to Tommy’s middle school plays, anyway.
… Talking to Ranboo sort of always cheers Tubbo up, but he also has to consider the fact that he’s currently in the middle of nowhere because his cousin and best friend’s brother’s ex-boyfriend told him to leave after lying to him and saying that the aforementioned alcoholic cousin is doing okay. And Tubbo’s just- here. With just his phone and his school backpack. And he just broke down crying a little bit ago, which is establishing this sort of streak of Tubbo crying that he does not appreciate.
Ugh. This fucking sucks.
Out of all the extrapolated parts of Quackity’s lie that Tubbo wants to believe, the one that’s fucking with his mind the worst is the last part. The part where Schlatt reaches out, and Tubbo becomes his family again, and he gets back the parts of Schlatt that came before the alcoholism, when he was still mean and selfish but he was nicer to Tubbo than anybody else.
He knows that there’s no way in hell that Schlatt would ever try to get him back. Tubbo isn’t the sort of person people miss in their lives; Tubbo isn’t the sort of person that anyone would want back, least of all Schlatt. For fuck’s sake, Tubbo isn’t so sure he’s not the reason Schlatt started drinking in the first place, so he’s stupid for thinking that Schlatt would ever miss him.
But Tubbo does.
And part of it has nothing to do with Schlatt. Nothing to do with Quackity, even. Part of it is just that all of Tubbo’s friends have some kind of family, and none of their family dynamics would be considered normal, but they all have something, at least. And Tubbo has nothing.
Jack’s parents are divorced. Tubbo’s other friend, Aimsey, just has her father. And Purpled, the kid that Tommy worked with once and somehow dragged into befriending him, was an orphan taken in by a nice, albeit eccentric, pair of parents.
So it’s not like Tubbo is the only one to ever exist on the face of the Earth who has a weird family situation.
It’s just, all of Tubbo’s friends have talked about theirs. Tubbo’s seen Aimsey’s dad before, and he’s a little stiff, but when Aimsey bickers with him it’s light-hearted. And Purpled talks about his parents a decent amount, and Jack makes plenty of jokes about his– not to mention, Tommy talks about his family a lot– so all of them have that.
But Tubbo?
Tubbo lives unofficially with Tommy and with his family, and he gets lumped into Tommy’s conversations about family for no real reason aside from convenience. Okay, then back it up. Before Tubbo lived with Tommy, he lived with his older cousin and, unofficially, his older cousin’s boyfriend. Okay, back it up further. Before Tubbo lived with his older cousin and, unofficially, his older cousin’s boyfriend, he lived with his older cousin and his uncle. And then, going back to the start?
Tubbo is an orphan with a dead mother and a deadbeat father, taken in by his uncle and his older cousin, and after his uncle finally ditched them, his older cousin and his older cousin’s boyfriend raised him. And then, when all that went to hell, Tubbo came to Tommy’s doorstep, and now, he has more family than he deserves and none at all.
It’s not exactly a good story for the cafeteria.
The only other person Tubbo knows with an ambiguous family situation, he realizes, is Ranboo. But then again, Ranboo has Niki. But Ranboo also doesn’t have Niki,
so maybe Tubbo’s being selfish. Maybe he’s overexaggerating this, and it’s no big deal, and he’s making up trauma where there isn’t any.
He bites his lip so hard that it bleeds, wiping away the blood with his index finger. He heaves out a sigh. This is such bullshit. Everything is fine , this is the way his life has always been and he’s never wanted anything different. He’s happy enough, isn’t he? Who the fuck is he to start asking more from people who never cared anyway?
But they did care, didn’t they? Schlatt and Quackity, both of them cared.
Both of them saw the scars on Tubbo’s face and risked their safety to get justice for him. Tubbo saw both of their scars and did absolutely nothing.
He wishes he could blame it on him being a kid.
But neither Schlatt nor Quackity were adults when some of the worst shit happened to them. And Tubbo is as good as both of them at pretending to be a well-adjusted adult, anyway.
So Tubbo’s pathetic. And maybe the worst person alive.
And that’s fine, he can take it. He can take all of it, he can handle it, it’s his fault so he has to handle it, everything is his fault and maybe if he just took all the hits for everyone, they would all be happier, maybe if he learned to stick up for himself and learned how emancipation works and learned how to drive so he could stop fucking calling people to pick up after his shit, it’d be fine.
Tubbo lets out a gasping breath, shoving his head between his knees. He needs to stop fucking panicking, this isn’t like him, he’s always been so weak and he needs to be stronger, now, but he’s the weakest person he knows. God, he fucking hates crying, and he hates panicking, and he used to think he was strong but now he knows he’s not and that was the only thing he had, because all that’s left is how much he cares and how stupid he is and that’s such a weakness.
His entire chest is wracked with pain, and he wants this to stop. God, he’s supposed to be the one that can look Quackity in the eye without being the one to break first. He’s supposed to be the one that only cries over stupid shit, like fishing and insects and music. He was never the one to cry over a scraped knee, not after he left, and he’s not supposed to be the one who cries over his best friend’s brothers arguing, or his cousin’s ex telling him to go home, or anything. He’s supposed to be strong, supposed to protect himself and, hell, protect everyone. Because he’s supposed to be stronger than them, he’s supposed to be stronger than everyone. He’s stronger than Tommy, and he- fuck, Tommy.
He hates when Tommy sees him cry more than anything, because Tommy loves him so much, but Tubbo can’t let Tommy love him. But when he’s crying, it all goes to hell, and it’s always been Tubbo and Tommy against the world, but he hates it when it’s Tommy’s turn to defend him.
He’s still sucking in breaths, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating, when he hears a car drive past him and slow to a stop. He doesn’t look up, instead curling closer, hoping whatever innocent person coming back to their house doesn’t pay any mind to the teenager having a panic attack in the middle of the sidewalk.
His wishes aren’t granted, and the car engine turns off and is quickly replaced with footsteps and a soft voice calling out, “Tubbo?”
Tubbo, admittedly, has never been less excited to see Ranboo in the entire two months he’s known him. Which isn’t a long time, but still.
In seconds, Ranboo has walked over to kneel beside Tubbo, and he catches a glimpse of his friend’s heterochromatic eyes, both of them wide with concern.
It irritates Tubbo, because doesn’t Ranboo know that his concern isn’t worth it? That there’s only so much concern one person can spare? Ranboo only has so much to give, and he’s given so much to Tubbo, and he hasn’t even been six months.
Tubbo’s going to hurt him, like he hurts everything. Because he’s weak, and Ranboo’s so much stronger than he is, and the strongest thing about Ranboo is the fact that he’s kind. He is so concerned over Tubbo, something in limited supply, and Tubbo does fuck all with it. And Ranboo is so much stronger-
(Tubbo wasn’t supposed to be the one to break first.)
“Sorry,” Tubbo gets out between gasped breaths, begrudgingly moving his head up out of his arms. He meets Ranboo’s eyes once before both of them avert eye contact, and Tubbo’s back is pressed painfully against the street sign. He tries to breathe in again, but his chest hurts so bad, and it’s mostly a wheeze when he says, “Sorry, Ranboo-”
“It’s okay,” Ranboo replies quietly. Tubbo can tell that Ranboo doesn’t know what to do in this situation, and it makes him feel guiltier, but there’s something at least a little comforting knowing that Ranboo is just as lost as Tubbo is. That this isn’t Wilbur asking for an apology, or Quackity wanting him to go. It’s just Ranboo.
Tubbo notices, a few seconds too late for it not to be a bit awkward, that Ranboo has his hand held out. His palm is upturned, and it’s clearly not him trying to force anything, seeing as Ranboo is currently paying his own limb no mind, but Tubbo realizes that it’s Ranboo’s way of offering something to ground him as he tries to figure out how to comfort Tubbo.
Tubbo hesitantly reaches out and grabs Ranboo’s hand. The second he does, he feels a little better, because Ranboo’s hands are freezing but it gives Tubbo a lifeline as he tries to calm himself down. Ranboo’s left his gloves in the car, evidently, and Tubbo’s a little glad for that, if only because it feels better to hold onto Ranboo’s hand than be clinging to tight fabric.
“I’m here,” Ranboo reassures, sounding a little nervous. “You- you’re safe now, I’m- it’s okay. It’s just us and, uh, the street sign and- and nothing bad is, um, going to happen. It’s just- it’s just us.”
Tubbo nods, feeling a little lightheaded as he does, and he’s squeezing Ranboo’s hand tight before he even recognizes that he’s practically cutting off his circulation.
Instead of complaining or telling Tubbo to piss off, Ranboo holds out his other hand, and when Tubbo grabs it and starts squeezing both of Ranboo’s hands hard enough to hurt, Ranboo only strokes his thumb back and forth in an unsure attempt to soothe him.
“Sorry,” Tubbo says again, squeezing his eyes shut.
“It’s okay,” Ranboo repeats. “You’re safe, I promise. I’m- I’m right here, and I’m not going to let, um- let anything hurt you. Because I’ll- I’ll be here, and- and you’re safe. I promise.”
Tubbo shifts forward, away from the sharp pole that will inevitably leave marks down his back, and rests his forehead against Ranboo’s shoulder. He hears Ranboo make a small sound of surprise, but he quickly stifles it by repeating the same reassurances under his breath, that Tubbo’s safe and Ranboo won’t let anything hurt him and Ranboo’s right here.
As clumsy as they are, the comforting words slowly start to drown out the panic in Tubbo’s brain, and after a few minutes, his breathing goes back to somewhat normal. He still feels dizzy, and his chest really hurts; he should probably avoid having panic attacks when he’s wearing his binder, but it isn’t exactly like he could have ripped that off in the middle of a neighborhood and just, like, held it while he hyperventilated, though that admittedly is kind of a funny image and makes him giggle a little. To which Ranboo seems expectedly confused, and Tubbo realizes that he’s basically leaning his entire body against Ranboo right now, and he probably should not be doing that.
He lets go of Ranboo’s hands. “Sorry. Think I cut off your circulation a little, boss man.”
Ranboo shakes his head. “I don’t mind. Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah.” And Tubbo does. Given, he feels completely like shit, and he’s probably going to accidentally kickstart some kind of weird mood that will make him fall asleep at 5 AM on the roof again, but it’s better than being terrified of passing out in the middle of nowhere while too panicked to stop himself. “Thanks. Seriously. Sorry about that.”
“Tubbo, you- you really need to stop apologizing,” Ranboo says, like a hypocrite. “It’s okay. I’m glad you feel better.” Ranboo stands up and offers Tubbo his hand again. “If you aren’t ready to go, it’s okay, we can keep sitting here. Or I can wait in the car while you do, I just- it’s kind of cold out here, so I thought you might, uh. Appreciate the car. It’s warmer.”
Tubbo takes a deep breath before accepting Ranboo’s hand and standing up. He immediately gets hit with another wave of dizziness, and he holds onto his hand for a few more seconds until he can see straight. Ranboo’s concern skyrockets again, judging by the look on his face, but Tubbo makes his way over to the car wordlessly, dragging his backpack on the road with him.
Like Ranboo said, it is warm in the car, which is nice. Between Ranboo’s freezing hands and the November weather, it’s appreciated. Tubbo puts his backpack in front of him and waits for Ranboo to get in the car before he, almost by instinct, reaches over to pull out a CD.
Ranboo smiles, starting the car and turning the GPS on to Tommy’s house. “I’m glad you like my music taste,” he comments, and Tubbo was absolutely right in calling Ranboo to pick him up, actually. Self-hatred be damned.
“Yeah,” Tubbo replies, and he wants to say more, but like with Quackity earlier, every possible phrase he could say gets lodged in his throat. This time, though, he thinks it’s more okay. At the very least, Ranboo won’t kick him out of the car.
Ranboo seems to silently understand that Tubbo isn’t exactly the most eloquent person right now, because he doesn’t try to force any more conversation. Instead, he makes snippish comments back to the GPS system, and when one of the songs has a particularly neat bassline, he does a pathetic attempt at vocal percussion and makes bow bow bow noises alongside it. Tubbo can sense that this is the sort of thing Ranboo does when he’s by himself, and it’s actually really cute and sort of is cheering Tubbo up.
Which Tubbo also thinks might be part of Ranboo’s goal, seeing as every time Tubbo lets out a small laugh, Ranboo beams.
That’s really fucking sweet. God damn him.
They’re only a few minutes away from Tommy’s place before Tubbo speaks again, voice still hoarse but a little more tolerable to listen to, hopefully. “Thank you.”
Ranboo glances at him. “You don’t need to thank me, really.”
“Yeah, but consider, I want to,” Tubbo challenges.
“Well, in that case.” Ranboo smiles, and the part of Tubbo’s brain that’s juggling every single human emotion right now mentally erupts in applause. He’s going to have some complicated Ranboo-related thoughts tonight when he’s on the rooftop at 5 AM, huh. “You’re welcome.”
“Yeah.” Turns out that’s Tubbo’s favorite word today.
“We’re almost at your place,” Ranboo informs him, turning off the GPS. Tubbo looks outside and, yeah, he can recognize these houses, now. It’s kind of strange how he’s more familiar with the neighborhood here than the places back at home. “Thank you, too, by the way.”
Tubbo blinks. “Why are you thanking me?”
Ranboo decidedly does not look at Tubbo as he says, “I, uh, kind of needed company. And I’m really glad you called someone instead of, um, walking home. So… thank you.”
“Oh.” Tubbo was not expecting that. “Yeah, anytime. I mean. Not the panic attack bit, I don’t- the panic attack bit was not very fun, but-”
“Yeah, I-” Ranboo chimes in, “I didn’t imagine that’s what you meant.”
“Yeah, well.” Tubbo sighs, but he’s smiling. Weird. “You’re welcome, I guess. Sorry if I took up your time or anything.”
“No, no, you’re okay.” Ranboo pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and parks, looking back at Tubbo. “I really don’t mind.”
“If you say so.” Tubbo opens the door and picks his backpack up, slinging it over his shoulders. Before he shuts the door, he peeks his head back in and says, “See you, Ranboo. Also, your vocal percussion skills suck. ”
He shuts the door, but through the metal he can hear Ranboo say, sounding a little like a kicked puppy that also bites people, “Hey!” It draws a laugh out of Tubbo from somewhere previously dark, and he makes his way back up to the house as Ranboo mournfully drives off.
He pulls out his house key and unlocks the door, opening it to see that Tommy is apparently already home, sitting with Wilbur in the living room.
“Oh hey, Tubbo!” Wilbur greets. “Where have you been? I thought you were with Tommy.”
Tubbo shoves the house key back in his pocket and makes direct eye contact with Tommy. Him and Tommy have this way of communicating that they’ve had since they were younger, where Tommy knows when Tubbo’s silently telling him to give up and confess to something, versus when Tommy is being told cover for me.
This is the second situation.
“I was with Ranboo,” Tubbo half-lies. “He was bored and free, so we told him to swing by and me and him ended up talking a little too long.”
“Tubbo was being a little bit homosexual, Wilbur,” Tommy pips in.
Admittedly, this was not exactly the cover that Tubbo was hoping Tommy would perpetuate, but considering that Tommy’s doing him a favor here, Tubbo can’t complain all that much.
“I wasn’t being homosexual, for the record,” Tubbo still stands to clarify anyway. “Ranboo’s my friend.”
“I know,” Wilbur assures. “Don’t worry, I never trust Tommy about anything.”
Tommy looks as if he’s never heard worse news. “Wilbur, I could kill you, you know.”
“Try me.”
“Aaand I’m going upstairs,” Tubbo comments before Tommy and Wilbur get in a fistfight on the couch. “If Philza gets mad at you, I said nothing. But my bets are on Wilbur.”
Tubbo races up the stairs before he can make out Tommy’s complaint to that. Given, having known Tommy for several years, he can sort of autofill what he anticipates the insult had been.
He lets out a major sigh of relief when he gets to his room, shutting the door and throwing his backpack down as he collapses on his bed. He’ll take a shower in a minute and change into some pajamas– and take his binder off, because it’s being a bitch today–, but for now, he just… needs a second.
… He went back to his house today, huh.
Tubbo wants to cover up the bad parts with what had come after. Replace the way that Quackity stared at him with the gentleness of which Ranboo looked at him. Swap out all the words that Quackity had said with everything that Ranboo had comforted him with. Change the lie of “he’s going to be okay” with the much sweeter lie of “I’m not going to let anything hurt you”. Take apart everything and reconstruct it.
That makes Tubbo selfish. But he already knows that.
He doesn’t want to cry again. He doesn’t want to break again. He never wants to be caught in this same situation, pitied by Quackity and asking too much out of Ranboo, proving to everyone he’s desperately tried to be strong for that he’s weak. He’s erasing the action of crying from himself. He’s never going to do this again.
Swapping a lie for a lie is harmless. It’s how Tubbo’s survived this long. Between the doom of knowing that something’s going to happen and the ability to bluff a decent alibi, he’s taken a silent business of equating two untruths, finding which is safer to believe and which will keep him alive longer. Sometimes, it’s to the police. Other times, it’s to himself. Both have a glock on their side– metaphorically, of course.
So he’ll believe Ranboo, because he’s out of bullets and there’s no mockingbird to shoot.
He sits up with a sigh, hardly trying to shove down the restarted spiral of self-loathing, and spares one glance at his phone before he gets up.
Ranboo: my vocal percussion skills don’t suck >:( you liked them !!
Tubbo lets out a small laugh, and maybe that’s enough, today.
(The proverbial gun always has to go off in the last act.)
--
Something bad is going to happen to Schlatt, and it’s your fault. You’re the only one that can stop this, and you know that.
You could have stopped all of this. You knew him before the alcohol. You could have stopped him from drinking. You could have stopped yourself from drinking. You could have stopped Wilbur from being such a smoker. You make everyone addicts because you’re too weak. What if Tommy starts abusing his prescription? What’s wrong with you?
Quackity lost everything, only for you to leave.
Ranboo said he had needed company and you didn’t even ask if he was okay.
Tommy lied for you when he didn’t know where you were, either. He must be worried. Get up and ask him if he was worried.
It’s 4 AM. Why are you still awake?
I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you.
Your mom died and your dad left you. Your uncle left Schlatt when you started showing up. Wilbur went to college when you started staying with his family. Maybe everyone’s meant to leave you. Maybe you’re meant to be alone.
Phil must be planning to kick you out of the house.
Get the things out from under the floorboard and go. You know how to get train tickets. You can leave this place and show the world that nobody has ever, ever wanted you.
Nobody is going to miss you.
Tubbo covers his head with two pillows, pulls his two sets of blankets over his face, and rolls over. He’s so fucking tired. He just wants to sleep. It’s so, so fucking quiet at night, and the scar on his face is itching. It’s already Tuesday. He just wants to sleep.
And how do you think Schlatt sleeps at night?