Chapter Text
You're back again.
Ranboo chest feels tight. He rereads the scribbled print on the notebook that's being held up for him, and simply nods.
The other boy sighs and pulls the book close to him so he can write again. Ranboo takes the opportunity where he's not looking to simply stare. The boy is small and pale, a maroon suit that was once fitted to him falling off his thin frame, with two sets of cream coloured horns and sandy brown hair falling into bright eyes. Not the same as Ranboo remembers him. He'd chalk it up to memory loss, but he knows it isn't so. There are things he doesn't forget.
Tubbo suddenly glances up and meets Ranboo's eyes. A small snort escapes him, and he holds up the book again. Is it my extreme sexyness that keeps dragging you back? You do seem to be staring a lot.
Ranboo flushes, cheeks warm despite the cold air. "I'm here for you."
There was a time when Ranboo had loved Snowchester. Not anymore. Nowadays, the place is abandoned and somehow colder without any fireplaces running or people gathering, frost creeping across windows and settling across surfaces inside. The torches have long blown out, and mobs crawl through the rotting gardens and leave cobwebs and trails of gunpowder behind. On top of all that, there's the goddamn vines. Thick, vibrant ropes of rose coloured plants tangle themselves across every inch of the place Ranboo had once called home, snaking into every corner and burrowing through each crevice. It's even wound its way onto his old friend. Tubbo's horns are draped in the stuff, flowers blooming in the knots in a way that would be beautiful if Ranboo didn't fucking hate it. The boy looks just as pretty as he always has. It makes him want to be sick.
Here for my good looks, you mean? Tubbo writes, and silently giggles at his own joke. He shuffles his position from the stone Snowchester walls that he's perched on top of, crossing his legs under him. My sparkling personality? Or are you giving up?
It's that last line that reminds Ranboo that this isn't his Tubbo. This isn't the boy he knew. "I'm never giving up," he snaps through gritted teeth, clenching his fists to his sides. "You hear me? I'm never giving up, Tubbo, never."
The ex president shrugs. Suit yourself. You'll join me eventually.
"I won't," Ranboo argues weakly. He's taller than Tubbo is normally, but now he's far beneath him and he feels so small. His neck hurts from craning back to see the other boy. "The egg is hurting you. I won't let it take me too, not when I have a chance of saving you."
Tubbo giggles. And it's a giggle that's so full of genuine joy that Ranboo finds his heart falling, the way it would when you walk down a flight of stairs in the dark and miss a step and your foot plunges and it takes a moment to regain your balance in a world that suddenly isn't what you thought it was. Crap, he has to keep himself together, especially now when his body feels light and his breaths aren't coming quite right. "I'm being serious," he says, slightly louder. "I'm not abandoning you, Tubbo."
Tubbo pouts. Just Tubbo? he scribbles with a wicked grin. Where did all the cute nicknames go? I liked them. "Honey" was rather sweet.
Ranboo shudders. Subconsciously, he tugs the cuffs of his jacket; well, not his jacket. It was Tubbo's. Before that, it was Tommy's. Before that, it was Wilbur's. Ranboo doesn't know how he feels about the knowledge that he's wearing the coat a man died in and the coat a child nearly took his own life in and the coat his husband had numerous breakdowns in. This single item of clothing has history in every stitch, from the Old L'manberg flag sewed onto the breast pocket and the clumsily sewed patch Tommy had put over the hole in the back. And now it's Ranboo's curse to bear.
"What, do you..." he starts, trailing off. The blood red of his husband's eyes throws him off. He keeps looking up expecting to see that same bright aqua that they usually are, only to be forced to remember. "You want me to call you… that?"
Tubbo swings his legs childishly. The vines on his horns swing in time. I don't care. Just shows how soft you are.
"True," Ranboo mumbles, sagging. All the fight has suddenly left him, and he's nothing but exhausted. "I'll do whatever you want me to. Except," he rushes to add. "join your egg. I want nothing to do with that."
Then stop following me around and coming here every day like some kind of lovesick dumbass. You look pretty cringe lmao.
Ranboo takes a deep breath. His eyes burn. "You know I still love you, Tubbo, yeah?" he says softly, watching carefully for a reaction. "So does Michael. And Tommy. We all miss you, so, so much."
Tubbo blinks. For a moment, Ranboo thinks he sees uncertainty there, and the boy's hand shakes when he writes. It takes him an agonizingly long time to hold up the notebook, and Ranboo's trembling himself by the time he does, both from the biting cold and anticipation of what he's said. Has he done it? Has Ranboo finally broken through, has something he's tried actually worked?
Tubbo flips open the book.
Simp.
He shouldn't have expected much more.
Tubbo's quivering lip and wide eyes immediately melt back into a face of complete mischief, and he slaps his leg as he cackles loudly, nearly falling backwards off the wall at his own joke. Gottem, he scribbles rapidly, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Ranboo feels his energy drain away, and it's all he can do to keep his eyes trained on his husband and try not to scream or throw up or break something. At least he's happy. At least he's happy.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asks weakly.
Without warning, Tubbo swings his legs forward and flies off the edge of the wall. Ranboo yelps, stumbling forward to catch him, arms open - but Tubbo lands neatly right in front of him, brushing himself off with gloved hands and grinning. Ta-da, he seems to say, spreading his arms out wide with a mock bow. Ranboo can't help but laugh out of pure shock. It's a move that's so very Tubbo it startles him and he stumbles back. This makes the boy laugh harder.
You'll stay whether I ask you to or not, Tubbo writes. It takes him longer without his legs to lean on, and the silence seems to stretch on forever. You always do. I know you love me too much to leave.
That's true. That's very true.
He almost wishes it wasn't.
Tommy's sitting on the steps to Techno's house when Ranboo arrives back home late that night.
"Lemme take a flying fucking guess," he spits, his dark, stormy eyes boring into Ranboo even from a few feet away. He stands, pulling himself to his full height - which, even when standing a couple steps upwards, still isn't as tall as Ranboo. This seems to annoy him, and he moves back to the top so he can get more of a height advantage. Ranboo lets him. "You were with fucking Tubbo."
Tommy looks a lot different after his death and eventual revival. Snow white hair with streaks of his normal golden blonde towards the back, scarred skin and dark bags under grey eyes, skinnier than usual and wearing Phil's old clothes. He also looks furious, as he often does these days. Ranboo's ok with taking the brunt of it. It's the least he deserves. "I was," he admits quietly, not breaking eye contact despite how shaky it makes him. "As I usually am."
Tommy huffs loudly. The look on his face alone feels like it could kill. "Of course," he snarls, and his tone is sharp and hot with anger. "Of fucking course. Because he only talks to you still, yeah? The fantastic Tubbo Underscore will only talk to his ex boyfriend and not any of his actual family -"
"Husband," Ranboo corrects, annoyed. "And there is no "ex" in the equation."
When Tommy is upset, he carries a storm around him, hot and crackling and unpredictable like lightning. Ranboo saw it first during the exile; the cruel comments he'd receive upon every visit, the lashing out, the ignoring and the silent, simmering fury. He'd also seen Tommy at his darkest, which neither of them speak about anymore. There is none of that weakness now. Just anger, just grief, just the pain of a loss that can't be measured. "You think he still fucking loves you?" Tommy snaps, and in one quick movement he shoves Ranboo so hard that he flies back into the snow with a loud oomph. Tommy descends the steps and stands over him, fury written into every line of his face, every scar, each bag under his blazing eyes. "You think he cares about anything? Tubbo is gone, you stupid bitch, he's gone and all you're doing is falling for a stupid shadow that wants to kill you, you know that, right? You think you're gonna get him back with the power of, what, of love? Gonna give him a kiss and he'll wake up like bloody Sleeping Beauty? Gods, you're so fucking self sacrificing! You're just like him! You're just fucking like him, Ranboo, no wonder you two insufferable pricks were perfect for each other - he always did shit for others, he never gave a fuck about himself, he was such a stupid idiot and you are too! You are too! You both think that as long as you're being all sweet and selfless no one will notice you're trying to fuckin' kill yourselves, well - I - I see you! I see you! Stupid, stupid, selfish arsehole, I hate you, I hate you both so much -"
And then Tommy gasps and is cut off, and Ranboo finally opens his eyes again to see Phil, one hand gently on Tommy's shoulder, the other hanging in the air between them like a promise. "Breathe for me, Tommy," Phil murmurs calmly. "You're alright, mate, it's -"
Tommy shoves Phil off of him and wrestles away, breathily heavily, clutching his arm and red in the face. "Don't you dare fucking touch me!" he howls, shaking stiffly like a broken wind up doll. "And don't you, of all people, dare tell me I'm alright! You don't know anything, you piece of shit, and you never fucking wanted to, so leave me the fuck alone!"
Ranboo's eyes shut again so he doesn't see Tommy slam the front door behind him.
A scarred hand silently reaches down and pulls the boy from the snow, gripping his arm as he sways. "You alright?" Phil asks quietly, and Ranboo can do nothing but nod dumbly.
The older man takes a deep breath, awkwardly staring out across the snow. "Well. Uh. Do you wanna help me with the turtles? We've been trying to set up a more effective living space for them where mobs are certain to -"
"Not right now, Phil," Ranboo interrupts. Usually he'd feel bad for doing that. Today he doesn't feel anything. "I'm pretty tired. Is Techno back from the village?"
Phil shakes his head, holding his hands together in front of him. "Should be back by midnight or so. Hopefully before then. You're still staying here?"
Ranboo nods. His neck is stiff. "Where else would I be?" he mutters, kicking the snow beneath his boots. "Nowhere else to go anymore."
Phil's silent for a moment.
"I'm sorry about Tubbo," he says, and he sounds so genuinely apologetic that Ranboo looks up in surprise. Phil looks more serious than usual, blue eyes softer. "Really. I've known the kid for a very long time, since he was young, and… we're gonna destroy this fucking egg. Me and Tech are already coming up with plans to take down the Eggpire and prevent it from harming others, and even how to remove the red shit's influence from someone's mind. We'll get him back, alright?" He smiles without much warmth. "Promise."
Ranboo has not trusted the promise of adults in a very long time.
"Ok," he agrees numbly, and heads back into his house with a click behind him.
He wakes in the wee hours with lungs empty of air, clawing at his neck, his husband's name on his lips. Tubbo's not there, obviously. Hasn't been for a good long while. Ranboo ought to stop getting his hopes up.
He doesn't fall asleep again.