Chapter Text
“I—I thought you would react different,” Sam says, voice edging towards confusion but still steeped in regret and shame.
And yeah, in the back of his mind, Ranboo a hundred percent agrees with Sam. The news that Tommy is dead—that should shake Tubbo to his core, right? Ranboo felt numb trying to process it at first, but it was impossible not to laugh when Tubbo said “Poggerrrs.”
They chase Sam off pretty quick. He doesn’t seem to be able to deal with them cracking jokes, and Ranboo doesn’t blame him. But, “There’s no way he’s actually dead.” Right? “Sam wouldn’t have let that happen.”
Tubbo hesitates. “He… I dunno. I really don’t.”
“Sam—Sam, yeah, Sam plays tricks sometimes, right?” Ranboo rationalizes. But Sam wouldn’t joke about… that . It’s sinking in that what Sam said is probably—definitely—“Yeah, I don’t—no—I don’t think—” But Ranboo does think so. There’s an awful sinking in his chest that he can’t ignore. “No. He’ll be back pretty soon.”
“Yeah. There’s no way he’s actually dead,” Tubbo repeats Ranboo’s earlier statement. “I refuse to accept that.”
They go back and forth like that for a while. No way Tommy would have gone out without a bang. Getting beaten to death in a prison, ( What a way to go , Tubbo mutters), is just not something Tommy would let happen to himself.
Without warning, Tubbo stops when it’s his turn to add to the banter. Ranboo doesn’t speak up to fill the silence, just waits. And waits.
“What do we do now?” Tubbo asks.
“Do you wanna just… work on the hotel? I guess?” Tubbo could use a distraction, right? The sinking feeling in his chest grows heavier. No matter what they say, Tommy is… gone, right? Ranboo really liked Tommy, and he already feels awful underneath the numb exterior. It must be so much worse for Tubbo. He’ll just… be there for Tubbo. Whatever he needs. If what he needs is a distraction, then that’s fine.
“Mmh… nah, this has got too depressing.” But Tubbo’s tone is flat, like he’s bored. “What’s the first stage of grief? Is it denial? ‘Cause if it is, that’s not good.”
“If it is, we’re in it.”
“What is it—Denial? Anger? Fucking crying? They go in that order, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“Oh man. Surely not.” Tubbo scrunches up his face, the same way he does when he’s trying to puzzle out one of his redstone machines that go right over Ranboo’s head. “Surely not.”
“He’s—” Ranboo can’t finish the sentence. Tommy is gone. It takes him a painful amount of time to force out a quiet “I dunno.” He tries to keep his tone light, but his voice is quiet, bordering on a whisper.
“What’s the second stage of grief… Anger?” he asks again. “Am I about to get all pissed off?”
“I think so.”
Tubbo doesn’t follow up on it, instead grinning and saying he can pull the “my best friend is dead” card to get things for free. Ranboo can’t help but laugh at that, too. Tubbo always seems to make everything brighter, even when bad things happen.
~
Ranboo doesn’t technically live in Snowchester. He’s always visited a lot, especially to see Michael. He’s been staying over there frequently ever since he and Tubbo got married, though they’ve talked about him moving in permanently. It would be good for Michael to have Ranboo around more frequently, but Ranboo is attached to his little shack by Technoblade and Philza. He’s got important things there after all, and he’s not sure he wants to move them to his house with Tubbo just yet. This arrangement works fine enough for the moment.
He hadn’t originally planned on staying in Snowchester tonight, but after a good scream at Sam… he doesn’t wanna be alone. Philza and Technoblade aren’t exactly the comforting types, and even if they were, Ranboo wouldn’t dare impose.
Not to mention, they both have—had—complicated relationships with Tommy. Whatever rift Technoblade and Tommy had with each other was brutal, he knows. And then… Actually, Ranboo has never exactly been sure what Tommy’s relationship with Philza was. Philza’s only son was Wilbur as far as he’s aware of, but Tommy told Ranboo he thought of Wilbur like a brother. If Tommy is to be believed, Wilbur thought the same of Tommy. So maybe Philza is kind of like his dad, actually?
But that’s not the point. The point is he needs to be with Tubbo. Tubbo needs Ranboo just as much—more , even, way way more than Ranboo needs him right now.
Ranboo is shaking, staring at his open memory journal in his hands and trying so, so hard to believe the words that Sam wrote down.
The argument is already slipping through his fingers. Was it an actual argument? Ranboo knows he yelled. Probably. He thinks he did. His throat hurts. It’s always especially hard to remember emotionally charged events—they get clouded, confused, stretched thin in a way he doesn’t know how to describe. But he has this, physical and unchanging, in his hands.
And he wants to believe it, he wants to be angry at Sam, but it’s hard. It’s hard to be angry at anyone right now. Even himself. What did Tubbo say the stage after anger was? Crying?
Yeah. He thinks he might be there right now.
He feels numb. Maybe from shock. Or—oh, huh, maybe it’s because he’s been standing just outside Tubbo’s house in the freezing cold for who knows how long by now. That’s probably why he’s shaking too.
Normally Ranboo is… polite. About coming to Tubbo’s house. He has a key, of course, but he always knocks. He doesn’t want to barge in and interrupt something. But once he realizes that he’s at the door, (and he doesn’t even remember the journey over here, huh), he fumbles for his keys and throws the door open, wincing as it slams into the wall. He shuts it much more gently.
There’s a squeal from upstairs and the sound of hooves running across the wooden floor, followed by Tubbo shouting “Michael, wait!” and an abrupt stop to the running.
“The door is locked,” Ranboo calls up just as he takes the key out. “It’s safe.”
The skittering hoof noises return and the trap door slams open. “Be careful on the ladder,” Tubbo says.
Michael, who does not understand Worldspeak, does not be careful. Ranboo has to rush forward to catch him before he slips barely halfway down, and Michael immediately wraps his arms around Ranboo’s neck as tight as his little arms can manage.
“Oh—! Hey there, kiddo. How’s your day been?”
Tubbo climbs down the ladder, sees Michael’s display of affection, and rolls his eyes. “Don’t be fooled by him playing cute. He’s pissy because it’s bathtime.” Tubbo grabs Michael. “Come here, you little shit.”
Ranboo yelps when Michael grabs his hair in a desperate attempt to hold on, but Tubbo pries him away from Ranboo’s face.
“Just too attached to all the dirt in your fur, huh?” Ranboo laughs, smoothing his hair back.
Tubbo hefts Michael up. Michael is squealing and doing his best to wiggle out of his father’s hold. “Nah, he just flips out around water.”
“Oh. Ohhh, right, ‘cause there’s—in the Nether, there’s no water, yeah. I guess he’s not used to it.”
“Yep.” Tubbo huffs and walks away, hoof halfway through the door before he freezes. “How do piglins normally take baths, then?” He turns around to squint at Ranboo. “Wait. Wait, hold on, you can’t take baths either, can you? How the hell do you stay clean?”
“Um. Oils. And dry soap.”
“…Wait, that’s actually really convenient. I might start doing that,” Tubbo mumbles.
“I have stuff with me. My soaps and stuff. I could show you? Michael probably won’t put up as much of a fuss getting clean if there’s no water.”
“Honestly, that would be
.
.
.
alright, big man?” Tubbo’s voice is as calm as ever. He puts a hand on Ranboo’s arm, thumb smoothing out the wrinkles of his sleeves.
They’re in the living room. Michael is nowhere to be seen. “I’m—I’m alright, yeah.” Ranboo’s voice cracks, a warble creeping out of his throat.
“You’re crying,” he points out. And—oh, Tubbo’s right, he is crying. How long has he been crying for? Why is he—
Right.
Right, but Tubbo shouldn’t have to…
“I—I should be the one comforting you—you just lost your best friend, I—I shouldn’t—” his voice clicks and wavers. It takes conscious effort not to start warbling. “ Sorry ,” he mumbles.
“I’m not gonna tell you to stop crying ‘cause you weren’t as close to him as me.”
Tubbo looks sad, kind of, but like he’s sad for Ranboo, not sad because Tommy is…
“How are you okay right now?” Ranboo croaks.
“I’m not really sure if I am. But you’re definitely not, so… let’s focus on that right now, yeah?” Tubbo sighs. “It’s late. You might feel better if you sleep.”
“Yeah, I—yeah.” Ranboo is suddenly aware that he is, in fact, ready for bed. How much time did he lose? “I can… go get my cot.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’ve got room.”
“Room, uh, for the cot?” Ranboo asks uncertainly.
“Room in my bed.”
Ranboo freezes.
They’ve never slept in the same bed before. And why would they? Yeah, sure, they’re married, but they eloped for tax purposes. It’s not like they planned out… any of this. They didn’t tell anyone they’d done it, not even Tommy.It didn’t seem important. They just needed the paperwork.
(Tommy will never know now.)
But then Tubbo rescued Michael, and Ranboo kinda just fell in love with the little guy so he started coming over to Snowchester way more than usual, and then he was spending like half the week at Tubbo’s house and—
Well. Legally(?) Tubbo adopted Michael. And… legally … Ranboo is Tubbo’s husband.
Somewhere along the line they really did become a family, huh. And that makes sense, they’re good friends! (Best friends? (Tommy is was Tubbo’s best friend)). But Ranboo never really expected to get quite this close to Tubbo. Adopting a kid does that, he supposes.
Yet, with all that, with the knowledge that they really are some kind of family now, Ranboo feels like he’s invading something. He should just go get his cot anyway. He doesn’t want to make this weird just because he’s upset—
“I can hear you overthinking.” Tubbo tugs Ranboo’s sleeve. “You know we’ve slept in the same bed before, right?”
“…Have we?” Ranboo did not mean to sound terrified but he definitely sounded a little bit terrified. Oh Prime, did he forget other developments in their… whatever this is?
“Just get in. Sleeping alone won’t do you any good, you need a hug.”
Ranboo isn’t one to argue with Tubbo even when he’s in a good state of mind, so he certainly isn’t gonna try and fight him when his head is fogged up. He lets Tubbo pull him down until they're sitting on the bed.
“Are you actually okay with me hugging you, boss man?”
Ranboo nods. Tubbo pulls him into a hug and then lies down, Ranboo still in his arms. The bed isn’t quite big enough for two people—it certainly isn’t long enough for Ranboo, so he ends up curling into a ball, forcing him even closer to Tubbo. He can’t say he minds.
Tubbo gently bonks his forehead against Ranboo’s. “It’ll be okay.”
Ranboo chirps in response.
It’s only as he’s falling asleep that he registers just how hard Tubbo is gripping him.