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The Angelic Ones were everything. They were always there, always watching, always present.
They were almighty. They were good.
And they were angry at him. Wait, no, Tubbo thought, as he slashed with his key and stabbed a silverfish right in the head. Not angry. Just…upset. Upset. Yes. If they were truly angry, he would be dead already. But they couldn’t be happy with him either, now, could they? He messed up. He messed up a lot. Even though it technically wasn’t even Tubbo’s fault. It was never supposed to happen like this, but then it did and everyone was screaming at him, and Ros had been so scared, why couldn’t they just leave Ros alone -
No, no, don't think about it, don't think at all - just hit and stab, focus on the here and now. Blood dripped from the blade that wasn’t meant to be a blade, and under his feet, the scales of dead silverfish crunched. The noise was almost sickening.
Tubbo lifted his head. The spawner glowed above him, daringly and dangerous. He should have broken it, the second he came into these parts of the sewers, but…He needed the thrill.
Tubbo knew that it was dangerous, especially with him only having one life left (and oh boy, didn’t that feel familiar?). But the feeling of adrenaline in his veins, blood rushing and heart pumping, it drowned the thoughts in his head.
More blood wetted his sleeves, mixing with the red that was already there, old and dried. He probably should wash his robe.
Above him, more silverfish fell. One almost landed on his head, but Tubbo made a step to the side and it missed him by barely a few centimeters. One slash with the blade - the key, whatever - and now the creature was missing an eye and hissed in pain.
Tubbo decided that that was enough. He turned and made a run for the wall Ros had put up, his claws digging into the wood as he jumped and climbed and then sat on top of it, overlooking the massacre he left behind. Broken and bloody corpses, barely recognisable as the beings they once were.
Could they eat the silverfish?
The thought came suddenly, but it was justified. They could only get away with stealing food for so long.
And, being honest, Tubbo had eaten worse. Far worse, actually. He would keep this idea in mind, he decided, just in case. In case they got desperate.
Tubbo gave the glowing spawner one last look, before he turned and jumped, down to the safer parts of the sewers.
On the other side of the little wall, more dead silverfish laid on the ground. Their corpses were old and had started to rot, the smell almost had Tubbo gagging. He made his way past them fast, ignoring the wet feeling under his feet as he stepped in something he was sure was just water.
It was probably just water.
…
Ew.
–
In their little hole, Ros was sleeping peacefully next to the skull. Her robe was thrown over her shoulders as an improvised blanket, and she shuddered in her sleep.
It was cold, Tubbo realized, as the little adrenaline left in his veins finally wore off, and his beating heart calmed. His skin began to process the cold air again, and he shuddered as well.
They should probably light a fire, but there were only so many dry things to burn down here, and the few materials they had, they had to save up. Their new home consisted of cold stone and cold air and cold feelings.
Ros had tried to make it look a bit more homey, with angelic symbols painted on the walls and some chests to hold what little they had on food, but it wasn’t the attic. It wasn’t warm air, and the sun through the windows and rats who would share their food when others didn’t have any.
If only they could get in contact with the Angelic Ones. They would know what to do, how to escape from the hell the other rats had banished them to, and how to fix everything that needed to be. But the gods, spirits, beings, whatever they were, they just wouldn't talk to them. No matter how long and desperate Tubbo prayed, and no matter how many symbols Ros painted on the sewer walls.
They punished them with icy silence.
Tubbo sat down next to Ros. It was better sleeping next to each other, to save the body heat, then sleeping apart and freeze even more. He tucked himself in his blood stained robe and sent a pleading look to one of the symbols on the wall.
Why wouldn’t they just talk to him? They hadn't ever before had a problem with coming into his dreams, so why had they now? If he could just explain what happened, that it wasn’t his fault and certainly not Ros’s -
What if he made another sacrifice?
The thought made Tubbo stop in his tracks, the robe slipped from his shoulders. Another sacrifice could be exactly what they needed. To show the Angelic Ones that they were still devoted to them and only them, that he was still worthy.
But, what was there to sacrifice? They were alone in the sewers, not a single rat-soul in sight. It was only them and the silverfish, only Tubbo and Ros -
Ros.
Tubbo’s gaze wandered to his companion, who was sleeping peacefully next to him. Her robe had slipped off a bit and exposed her shoulders. He could see her shudder in the cold air.
Could he sacrifice Ros - ?
No. Tubbo shook with the sudden fear that overtook his body. Not Ros, no, never Ros, not again.
He was almost surprised by how strongly his mind repelled the mere idea of losing her. Ros was all he had in this cruel world. When he killed her the first time, she held no grudge, and when they were banished, she had watched his back.
When she was offered to return to the attic, Ros had stayed. “We are a package deal.”
No. He couldn’t do that to her, Tubbo simply refused to ever even consider it again.
They would find someone else to sacrifice. At some point or another, there would be an opportunity. And if that meant Tubbo would have to be in these sewers for weeks, months, years, then so be it. Not Ros. Never again Ros.
She was his…friend? Family? The only one he could trust, that was for sure. No one else would understand, no one would get why they were doing what they were doing. No one else had seen the Angelic Ones, had felt their power and had been ready to do whatever it took.
If Tubbo lost Ros, he would -
Tubbo had no idea what he would do. Probably storm the attic and kill, scream bloody murder as he swung his key-blade and cut through skin and bones, the blood soaking his robes, until, eventually, someone took him down. If he lost his only friend, he would go mad.
So no. No killing Ros. No matter how many life’s she may have left, if there was only the slightest chance to lose her forever -
No. Don’t even think about it.
Tubbo remembered the feeling of Ros’s blood on his fingers, the weight of the knife in his hand and her screams in his ears. Never again, he swore. Never would anyone make Ros scream like that again.
He took her robe and pulled it up, over her shoulders. The still-asleep Ros buried her nose in the fabric.
Yes, he could sacrifice someone, he would find someone to sacrifice. A rat, a human, he didn’t care who it was and he didn’t care how many it took for the Angelic Ones to accept them back. But not her.
Tubbo stared up to the ceiling and took a breath of cold, moldy air.
It was only him and Ros now. A package deal.