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The prince wasn’t back yet, and Tubbo was glad.
He was probably still at a lesson, or maybe he’d gone out riding - or perhaps he was talking with his father somewhere. It didn’t matter, Tubbo was alone and he was grateful as he took a feather duster to the picture frames. Being alone - away from watchful eyes waiting for him to mess up - let him breathe a little easier. Small mistakes - having to go over the same smudge on the window twice, spilling a little water onto a rug, forgetting to check his supplies, and running out of something… they could all pass unnoticed.
In fact… it was strange. Tubbo had definitely made a few mistakes like that already… and yet he hadn’t been punished. For the first time in months his back was completely healed. There were no new welts on his skin, no fresh lines of blood staining his shirts, no stinging pain to push away and try to ignore.
He was… fine.
The prince hadn’t yelled at him, hadn’t hit him, hadn’t beaten him - not even for fun. He wasn’t what Tubbo had anticipated at all.
The first time the prince had complained of boredom Tubbo had felt a chill go down his spine, his scars prickling as he realized what was about to happen. Should I offer? Or - or would that be rude? Maybe he prefers it if I beg him not to -
The prince had gotten off the bed and, ducking his head, Tubbo decided that saying nothing was better than saying the wrong thing. Young nobles get bored so easily… maybe if I don’t react he’ll get tired of hurting me and move on quickly?
Then he heard the door close.
The prince had just… left.
That had been weeks ago, and thinking about it still left Tubbo reeling. The prince still hadn’t started making sense, he was still strange. He kept trying to talk to him - and not like a prince to a servant, but like… like a boy talking to an equal. It was f*cking bizarre. It was confusing and scary and…
Nice.
It was nice.
Tubbo had never really been treated this way before. As an equal. Not by Schlatt, certainly. Even in his first household, he’d known where he stood, what he was. The last place he’d expected to find the hierarchy in disarray was the palace.
And yet it was. The prince laughed with his personal guard. The guard put the prince back in his place. The tutor spoke to the king as an equal. The king treated the tutor like his first advisor. And Tubbo…
Tubbo was…
I’m relaxing, Tubbo realised with a jolt.
And that jolt sent his hand straight into a vase on the mantlepiece, knocking it to the ground, shattering the silence as it smashed on the hard stone hearth.
Tubbo froze.
Sh*t. Prime, I’ve f*cked up. I’ve f*cked up, I’m… I…
Tears gathered in his eyes and he blinked them away furiously as his breathing hitched. I’m f*cked. I’m going to get hurt and it’s my fault, I got too comfortable, I should have paid more attention - I’m going to be punished - he’s going to hurt me -
What if I don’t tell him? What - what if I hide it somehow? He must have other vases, maybe this one won’t matter, maybe he won’t notice if I -
What am I thinking?
Whenever Tubbo had made a mistake with Schlatt - especially one this huge - he’d been expected to own up. Schlatt would reward him by making his punishment a little lighter.
On the other hand… if he lied…
I can’t lie. If he finds out - and Schlatt always found out - he’ll be so angry…
I have to be honest - it’s always better if I’m honest, it’ll hurt less -
Right?
Prime, what if it doesn’t? What if it doesn’t make a difference? Or what if he doesn’t notice and I tell him -
But what if he does notice later on?
He’ll have a harsher punishment for lying…
Does he have set punishments?
Or is he just going to -
I don’t know what to do, I -
The door opened and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. The prince had seen it.
“Oh. Sh*t.”
Tubbo tucked his hands behind his back and bowed his head. “I - Y-Y-Your Highness - I… I-I’m s-sorry… I was - I was d-dusting and m-my hand -”
The prince waved his hand and Tubbo sucked in a breath. “It’s everywhere, Prime, can you come here?”
Could he? Absolutely. Did he want to?
It didn’t matter what he wanted. He couldn’t - he couldn’t resist. He wasn’t allowed to resist, he wasn’t allowed to say no, he wasn’t allowed to escape.
So Tubbo gingerly made his way towards the prince, picking his way past the broken china. It might be pointless - the prince might be a fan of making the punishment fit the crime, the way Schlatt was sometimes. But if the shards were going to end up in his skin he’d rather it wasn’t because he made another f*cking mistake.
He stopped when he was close enough that, if he wanted to - and of course he wanted to - the prince could step forwards and strike him, send him sprawling onto the sharp china. The thought sent another spike of fear through him and he fought to keep his face steady, covering his terror with a subservient mask.
Schlatt always said that he didn’t deserve to be scared, not of something like this, not of a punishment that was so clearly his own fault. He didn’t get to be afraid, because that would imply that it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t deserve to be punished, and it was - he did.
The prince didn’t say anything for a long moment.
Does he want me to say something?
Oh Prime, he does, doesn’t he?! He must think I’m being reluctant or - or disrespectful, sh*t, I -
“I - I’m s-sorry,” Tubbo whispered quietly, because that was the most important thing. He knew he’d been careless and now he had to pay the price. He knew and so he wouldn’t resist - maybe the prince would be more merciful if he knew that Tubbo would take it unquestioningly?
“Yeah - that’s… it’s…” the prince trailed off and took a deep breath. “Could you fetch a broom?”
A broom.
Tubbo’s stomach dropped.
“Y-yes Y-Your Highness,” he gasped out.
He bowed low. Compliant. Obedient. Submissive.
Drawing himself back up he walked over to the door, ducking out into the corridor.
A broom.
In the - relative - privacy of the hallway Tubbo let his mask fall, and buried his head in his hands.
This is going to hurt.
He was only too familiar with how the blunt wooden handle would feel as it slammed into his skin. He knew exactly how many strikes it would take for blood to start seeping through his shirt, he knew just how the bruises would look, imprints of his stupidity etched into his back, or his ribs, or his -
Wherever he decides. It’s not up to me, is it? It never is…
I - I’ll have to just take it, no matter what. I can - I think I can - it’s been a while…
Well… maybe it won’t be as bad? At least he’s doing it himself - he could have got Technoblade to do it, and that would really hurt, Technoblade probably doesn’t get tired easily…
He could have gotten someone stronger… b-but he wants to do it himself. Maybe he’ll get tired faster, or he won’t be as strong as Schlatt, maybe his anger will burn out faster…
Or maybe he’ll just beat me until he’s bored with it and gets someone else to finish the job.
Tubbo felt his hands grow damp and screwed his eys shut against the tears. Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying. Shut the f*ck up and just take it.
What choice do you have anyway?
Turning around Tubbo pulled open the hidden door to a servant's cupboard.
The broom was leaning against the wall, and with a sinking heart, Tubbo saw that it was one of the sturdy, thick-handled ones. Meant to put up with years of sweeping up palace floors - and years of punishing palace servants, it seemed.
He picked it up, trying not to think about the weight of it in his hand, the shame of bringing his own punishment back to his master. After a moment’s hesitation he picked up the dustpan too. After his punishment was over he’d have to clear up the mess he’d made anyway. Maybe - if he didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t complain or cry out - maybe the prince would let him use the broom to sweep away the broken porcelain, rather than making him use his bruised and shaking hands.
Tubbo let out a long, slow breath, steadying himself and walked back into the prince’s room. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.
The prince stared at him. Tubbo kept his eyes on the floor, not daring to make eye contact, not now - he didn’t want to see the anger or glee. He would rather not know. It was better not to know.
He took a step forward - it was good to show he was eager, right? That was what Schlatt had wanted, for Tubbo to accept his punishment without hesitation - and held the broom out towards the prince.
Just get it over with. Just do it, so it’s over and done with and I can finally go back to… back to normal.
I got too comfortable. Show me I was wrong. Please.
The prince reached out and took the broom from him and Tubbo inhaled sharply. He was trembling now, he knew, despite his efforts to keep his apprehension hidden.
Had he been with Schlatt he might have been forced to still himself before being punished, even as the anticipation made his fear grow even stronger - and the wait made Schlatt even angrier.
Tubbo clenched his fists behind his back, digging his nails into his palms, trying to ground himself as he lowered his head further.
Just get it over with.
I can’t escape it, and I can’t fight it and I can’t complain, so please just do it.
Stop making me wait.
The prince took a step forward and Tubbo screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the handle come towards him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from flinching from the blow before it landed if he knew where the prince was aiming.
He waited for the strike, for the shock and force of the impact, for the pain that blossomed moments later, for another strike over the fresh bruise and another and another and another…
But the first blow never came.
Tubbo counted to ten before cautiously opening his eyes and lifting his head, just slightly.
The prince wasn’t in front of him anymore - but there was no threatening presence just behind him either.
In fact…
Tubbo twisted around and his eyes widened at the sight of Crown Prince Thomas sweeping up the shards of china.
Tubbo stared. The Prince was just… sweeping it up. With a broom. Like a servant. Like that wasn’t below his station, like it wasn’t Tubbo’s job, like the mess wasn’t his fault -
What the f*ck?!
The prince reached out. “Can you hand me the dustpan too?”
Tubbo nodded and passed it over, too shocked even to speak. The prince twisted around awkwardly until he managed to maneuver the broken porcelain into the dustpan. He straightened up and smiled. “Can you - uh… get rid of this?” He flushed slightly. “I’m… I’m not really sure where it would go…”
Tubbo nodded dumbly and took the dustpan from the prince’s outstretched hands. The prince’s smile didn’t falter. Tubbo couldn’t believe something so… soft was directed at him - he was used to harsh words and agonizing punishments. Not this. This can’t be real.
But the prince was looking at him, and there was no malice in his face, no tension in his hands. No sign of a trick or attack, and his eyes were… gentle. Gentle and… worried?
Tubbo lowered his gaze. “Y-y-you didn’t - you could have - you don’t have t-to…” he tried, his voice far too unsteady to properly convey his confusion.
You didn’t have to sweep it up. So why did you?
You could have hurt me. So why didn’t you?
You don’t have to be so nice. You don’t have to talk to me, or smile at me, or help me…
So why do you keep breaking all the rules?
Outside, in the hallway once more, Tubbo found himself leaning against the cool stone wall, asking that question over and over again.
Why does he keep breaking the rules?
He thought about the small jokes the prince would make as Tubbo followed him down the long corridors, about the subtle eye rolls directed his way when the prince spoke to a particularly pompous noble, about the way he would animatedly describe the plot of whatever he was reading that week.
And Tubbo wanted to respond. He wanted to laugh and joke and…
And he knew he wasn’t supposed to relax. Getting too comfortable… that was how you got hurt. That was when everything came crashing down, like a vase onto a hearth, like a fist onto flesh.
Tubbo knew he shouldn’t relax.
But…
Why does he keep breaking the rules?
And why does he make me want to break them too?