Chapter Text
Tubbo hadn’t intended on his dad finding out about it. He had hidden them fairly well. He was great at putting up the facade that he was ok. Eventually the facade crumbled when his dad caught him in the act. He had ripped the razor from his hand and made an emergency meeting with a therapist he hadn’t talked to since grade school.
He made sure to hide them better the next time. He made sure to hide his razors in places that no one would look. He made sure to only cut either at night or when his parents weren’t home, sometimes he did it at school.
When cutting became too boring for him, he turned to not eating. At first it was just a thing to do almost as punishment for not wanting to cut. Eventually he started to dislike how his body looked when he did eat. He would stare at a mirror picking out every little flaw.
By the time he was in secondary school, his arm was littered with scars. Actually no, his whole body was full of scars. There wasn’t a part of his body that was untouched. Yet his father still had no idea. Tubbo took pride in being able to keep this all a big secret.
However, he knew that secrets can’t be kept forever. And Tubbo didn’t intend for the secret to be kept forever. He intended to die, and soon. He had it all planned out. He had a letter written for his father.
Tubbo loved his father. The man had raised Tubbo most of his life. Back when Tubbo was 8 months old he was left at the doorstep of his father. Who, at the time, was an alcoholic bum who worked as a conman. He hardly had enough money to provide for himself, much less an eight month old.
This caused Tubbo to have some guilt. His dad had to work three jobs just to put food on the table. His dad gave everything to him. And Tubbo did what felt like nothing in return. If he died his dad could have some more peace and freetime.
Tubbo’s plan for his death went as follows: He would spend the entire day with his dad, they’d watch a movie together, wait for his dad to go to sleep, and then he’d slit his wrists. It was foolproof and perfect.
Or that’s what he thought.
The day was going well and it seemed that the plan was on track for success. They had just finished a rewatch of Mama Mia and they were both heading to bed. Tubbo watched until he saw the lights in his dad’s room go out. He sighed and pulled his door closed.
He sat cross legged on his bed. They grabbed a pillow with Freddie Mercury on it. He pulled off the cover and grabbed the razor he had hidden in it. He exhaled, did he really want to do this? He knew everyone would be better off without him. He twirled the razor around with his fingers.
The blade gently split open some of the skin on his fingers, Tubbo didn’t notice.
He felt as if he lost control of his body as he started slicing away at his arm. Going deeper than he ever went before. Blood pouring out and dripping onto his covers. His ears rang and he let out a desperate broken sob. His arm looked like a mangled mess. Like one of those photos of dead bodies that they show at assemblies to scare children into not driving while drunk.
He kept pushing the razor down deeper and deeper until he felt something snap. He stopped he felt the world tilt. He tried to stand up but he couldn’t support himself and fell on the ground.
He couldn’t find the strength to move. He felt someone grab him and muffled words. It sounded like someone was yelling his name. He tried to focus on the voice but it was too hard, and he was so tired.
He only managed to make out one slew of words “Don’t you fucking close your eyes. You focus on me. Stay with me boy,”
Oh, it’s his dad.
He tried to focus on him and stay awake. He really did. But it was too much.
He closed his eyes and slipped into darkness.