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shutupanakin · 3 years

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Right Where You Left Me ch.1

“Oh— ohhh,” The boy groans, rubbing his face. “I’ve gone back too far. I did it again, we had talked about this—“

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Tubbo says, the boy laughs bitterly.

“Yeah... yeah, I know.” He says, pulling himself up. Tubbo does the same, brushing himself off. He is tall, much taller than Tubbo. Tubbo wishes he got stuck at an age after his promised growth spurt.

or,

Tubbo is immortal and Ranboo uses time travel to outrun Quackity (oh, and Tommy reincarnates, like, a lot)

tw for: illness, death, suicide attempts (nongraphic)

crossposted on ao3 here

Theseus dies first.

Tubbo is seventeen years old. Theseus is sixteen, months away from his seventeenth birthday.

He never reaches it. Not in this life, at least.

Tubbo is seventeen, and Theseus dies, cradled close to Tubbo’s chest. He’s still warm from his fever in Tubbo’s arms when he feels himself begin to fade to.

Tubbo doesn’t have the energy to shake him awake, to beg for him to come back. To open his eyes— because Tubbo knows he’s gone, and Tubbo’s surely minutes away from joining him. They couldn’t afford a medic to help them, or even diagnose them with what illness had struck them. It was just the two, alone but together.

Theseus is dead, and Tubbo’s eyes are glued shut in acceptance.

Theseus is dead, and Tubbo’s going to join him.

Except he doesn’t. Before Thanatos can cut a lock of his hair away, before he could follow Theseus’s soul into the underworld, there are footsteps.

Through the delirium of his fever, he can hear the rise and fall of steps. Perhaps a hellhound thought he was taking too long, and is here to drag him. That probably wouldn’t be pleasant. The footsteps are heavy and are followed by the clanking of jewels— so not a hellhound, then.

It took the last ounce of strength that Tubbo had in his system; he managed to slowly pull open his very heavy eyelids. He opens them just enough for him to see narrowly through. It is blurry; Tubbo felt like he was holding his head underwater.

Surely, there is a person in front of him. They are kneeling down. Tubbo sees the white cloak that is draped over him, and there is some sort of silver crown sitting across raven hair. Tubbo blames the fever, and the fact that this has to be a dream, but if Tubbo focused hard enough he could see the man's red eyes and pointed ears.

Maybe Hades himself had come to collect him? That would be nice.

He is touching Tubbo’s face, and then Theseus. And Tubbo wants to hit him away, to tell him to not touch Theseus, but he can’t because his eyes are closing and they probably won’t open ever again.

And Tubbo’s slipping away, he's falling and he’s losing grip on the edge and—wait, why is he still holding? Theseus is already dead. And he’s falling and he is free and—

The white-cloaked man with the blood eyes and pointed ears catches his arm, and Tubbo is pulled back over the edge.

Tubbo is seventeen, and Tubbo is alive.

His eyes open easily, and his vision is no longer blurry. Tubbo can feel the world, and the world is clear .

They had fallen together in an alley between some houses, too weak to make it further after a medic had told them to leave.

The man is gone. Long away, because the sky is no longer dark and dotted with stars, but painted with mixes of orange and blues tell-taling morning sky.

Theseus is no longer warm. He is stiff and cold.

And… and Tubbo is alive .

Tubbo is far away from the edge. Tubbo is alive. The fever is gone. Tubbo is alive. Tubbo is breathing and—

Theseus is not.

Theseus is pale and still. Tubbo grips him, shaky fingers clutching Theseus’s tunic. A gasp stuck in his throat— turns into a sob that works through Tubbo’s body. “ Thes…” Tubbo’s voice is shaky, and the shakiness turns into a heaty wail. “...Please…”,

Theseus does not move.

Tubbo is seventeen, and he can not die.

Theseus has been buried by Tubbo. Tubbo had managed to pick himself up and drag Theseus to the cloth hut they had set up outside of town to give him a proper burial.

There are a lot more things wrong with Tubbo than he initially thought, apparently.

It starts when Tubbo goes five days without consuming anything and he feels fine. Food and water had not even crossed his mind. He doesn’t even notice until he picks himself off of Theseus’s grave to go into town and a shopkeeper tells him what day it is.

Tubbo can still eat, he can still drink, just like any person, but it does not change how he feels.

Then, Tubbo is sitting in the hut, sobbing into his knees and pulling at his hair because he is alone. Theseus is gone and Tubbo has no one.

And he plunges a dagger into his stomach, and Tubbo is back on the ledge but there is a barrier he can’t see keeping him from jumping and—

Tubbo is alive, and he can not reach death.

Tubbo is eighteen, and he does not age.

Tubbo has managed to take up a job with a blacksmith, but he no longer needs the support that his new earnings would give him.

He does not move out of the hut. Theseus’s spot remains empty. Tubbo doesn’t sit in it.

Tubbo is splashing his face and scrubbing the soot off when he catches his reflection in the stream. Surely it’s his brain playing tricks on him— because Tubbo looks nearly the same as the day he pulled himself off the floor to go wash his hair in this same stream.

His hair is the same length.

He hasn’t needed to cut his hair, which is odd . Because his hair used to grow so quickly that Theseus would sit him down and take a blade to his hair so it would stop getting in his eyes. Tubbo hasn’t touched it since.

Because he hasn’t needed to.

His face—other than the smudges of soot—remains unchanged.

Tubbo jumps up and sprints from the pond, no longer caring about the soot that covers his face.

Tubbo can still feel pain, he realizes.

It is a relief, more than it should be. It reminds him that he is still human.

Tubbo starts his new unhealthy habit when he snatches some fruit from a vendor. He doesn’t need it for himself, but some birds land near his hut a lot, and Tubbo thought if he could not do something for himself, he can do something for them.

But then there's a tight, harsh grip on his arm and a fist is connected with Tubbo’s jaw. Tubbo is on the ground and the vendor is standing over him. Tubbo is blocking his face with his arms, but he’s already started kicking Tubbo in the stomach. He’s calling Tubbo harsh names and Tubbo can not open his mouth to retaliate.

He leaves Tubbo, taking the fruit that Tubbo stole with him. Tubbo lies, not being able to move his arms from his face.

Pain . He can feel pain. His jaw aches and he’s sure there would be bruising if he was a normal person— Tubbo is not a normal person, not anymore.

The pain subsides quickly, and Tubbo can stand up as nothing happened.

When Tubbo checks the stream later, there is no bruise on his face. He was correct, then. His ribs, which were supposed to be broken , feel fine.

Tubbo breathes easily, and he hates it.

But Tubbo can feel pain.

Everything else that had made him human, that had made him mortal, has been stripped away from him; by a man whose face he doesn’t completely remember, matching to a name that Tubbo does not even know.

Tubbo wonders if he knew just how much he was cursing Tubbo.

Pain is temporary, but pain is addicting.

So Tubbo picks fights.

Maybe he stumbles too hard into a mean-looking man and eggs him on with curses. Tubbo will see a group of boys his age (or, his age when he had stopped aging, he reminds himself) and throw insults at them until he gets a reaction.

And Tubbo is left in an alley, leaning against a wall, similar to the way he was all that time ago with Theseus— and the pain is there. Tubbo can feel it, and it makes him feel real.

But the pain fades, and Tubbo goes back home wishing they had hit him harder.

Tubbo tries different methods, and none of them work. He throws himself off of a structure— he lands on his head. He’s at the cliff, and he’s banging on the barrier and... Tubbo wakes up on the ground because no one had cared enough to come to collect the poor little scrappy boy's body— completely fine, other than a headache that eventually subsided.

His blood does not soak the stone.

His frustrated tears do, though.

Tubbo started teasing some hunters' chained canines. Tubbo would irritate them and throw the little food he had— which he could, because Tubbo didn’t need it— until they were barring their teeth and barking at him.

Tubbo steps closer, well within reach of their chain.

He only touches the barrier. He’s too tired to try to push it.

Tubbo wakes up and he’s somewhere else, but he’s alive, and it didn’t work.

Tubbo stabs himself again. He lays down in the steep end of the stream near his hut. Tubbo finds higher buildings and even goes as far as climbing up trees and—

Nothing works.

Tubbo can not die.

Tubbo is immortal, but he can still sleep.

So, when he’s not working under the blacksmith— Tubbo sleeps. It’s not something he needs, he realizes now, and he doesn’t dream. He realizes bitterly that is another thing that the white-cloaked man had taken from him; his right to die, his right to dream.

It’s devastating, honestly. Because he can never truly see Theseus again now, not in reality, not even in his dreams.

Tubbo fears forgetting his friend's face.

So, Tubbo sleeps. Because for a few hours, he doesn’t have to feel. He doesn’t have to exist, not mentally. Tubbo can close his eyes and he will float in the void.

It’s been a while since his last string of attempts, but Tubbo is so bored , so it can’t hurt to test.

Tubbo tries to die again.

It doesn’t work.

It never works.

In reality, it’s become a tradition for Tubbo. A sick and twisted one, albeit. A new constant in his life now that his old one was gone.

Once a month, he tries. New methods and old. He fails. He sits at Theseus’s grave after. Sometimes he talks to him, hoping Theseus might hear him. It’s all Tubbo has. Tubbo has accepted his immortality, but he can’t accept his loneliness.

Tubbo is immortal, and he is so lonely.

Tubbo is sitting at Theseus’s grave again. He hadn’t done this in a while, he thinks.

He had to quit his job with the blacksmith; the man was starting to notice the lack of— well, growth , on Tubbo’s part. Tubbo only lasted so long because he counted on not being looked at too much, too focused on smelting metal and controlling fires to look up.

Tubbo didn’t have good luck though, because if he did he wouldn’t have to be here in the first place.

Because he started to notice the way Tubbo never grew, or how his chair never changed length, or how the baby fat on his face never really went away.

Tubbo had collected all his payments anyway, not that he really needed them.

Tubbo had spent the good part of the last few months laying in his hut. He had a proper cot, now that he could afford it. Tubbo figured it would be a good investment considering his desire to sleep.

His rests are still dreamless, but Tubbo can’t bring himself to care about that anymore. It passes the time, and he doesn’t have to feel, or think. He enjoys that.

Tubbo woke up this morning with the full intention of going to sleep, but there were birds outside his hut, making god-awful noises that Tubbo couldn’t drown out.

Tubbo scowled, pulling himself off the cot, hastily stepping outside.

The birds in question were odd-looking— they weren’t a species he recognized. Certainly not like the birds he would usually see in this area. The birds in question were rather fat and white, with rounded yellow beaks.

Tubbo had almost not noticed that they all had mismatched eye colors. They wouldn’t be noticeable if it was just the one, but they all shared a yellow right eye and a blue left eye.

And the noises . The noises they were making were just awful.

“ Shoo !” Tubbo hissed, kicking dust at them while waving his arms. “Go away!” He yelled, the weird-looking birds scattering.

Tubbo squinted, holding his hand above his eyes. He hadn’t stepped outside in a minute, so contempt with just sleeping .

Tubbo had felt guilty, having not visited Theseus' grave in a while. Spirits get lonely too , Tubbo thinks.

So Tubbo sits. He doesn’t talk, because he’s already said so much to his friend's gravestone. He’s talked and talked and there is never any response.

The birds remain nearby, making their gods' awful noises— it’s more bearable when they’re not so close. Tubbo sits protectively in front of Theseus’s burial, not wanting them to trample it.

Tubbo wonders whether or not Theseus is having a similar experience in the underworld, listening to the howls of the...

There is a pull, and for the first time in his new life, Tubbo feels sick .

Is this it? Have his prayers been answered? Has the white-cloaked god finally come to take him?

The pull snaps and Tubbo doubles over, holding his chest. He’s breathing, heavily, so he’s alive but why why why—

There’s someone else here.

There is a boy, a few feet away from him. He is coughing into his arm, and Tubbo wonders if he is sick.

He looks up, and his eyes are like the odd birds. But instead of the blue and yellow, they are red and green and are framed by freckles and puffy blond hair that is so dark it is almost brown. He’s probably Tubbo’s eternal age, perhaps a bit older.

He’s wearing odd clothes, not similar to the white-cloaked man but certainly out of place. A pattern is on the cloth over his weird-looking tunic, and his trousers are made out of a harsh-looking material that Tubbo can’t place his finger on.

“Tubbo?” The boy breathes out, like a question.

Ah , he thinks. “Are you a god too?”

“Tubbo,” The boy says again.

“That’s me,” Tubbo says. “You’re a bit of a stupid god then,” He hums. Maybe, if Tubbo makes him mad he’ll strike him down, that would be too good.

“Oh— ohhh ,” The boy groans, rubbing his face. “I’ve gone back too far. I did it again , we had talked about this—“

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Tubbo says, the boy laughs bitterly.

“Yeah... yeah, I know.” He says, pulling himself up. Flustered, Tubbo does the same, brushing himself off. He is tall, much taller than Tubbo. Tubbo wishes he got stuck at an age after his promised growth spurt.

The birds are freaking out now, and the boy stumbles back, eyes blown wide. His pants turn into quick, short breaths, rubbing his neck. “He’s... already here…” He clenches the leather-bound journal close to his chest tightly. He steps back, nearly falling into the stream, Tubbo catching his arm. He doesn’t notice. “I can’t— I can’t jump again! It’s too soon— I can’t—“

He’s panicking.

Tubbo doesn’t understand what’s going on.

Tubbo, was in fact, minding his own business, thank you very much. He could be trying to conquer Rome right now, or parading himself as a deity with showing off his immortality, but he’s minding to himself in his little hut and the least the gods could do is leave him alone .

“Who?” Tubbo presses, stepping closer. “Who is after you? Who are you?”

The boy looks at him wide-eyed, hit with a realization that Tubbo wishes he understood. He grips Tubbo’s arms, and Tubbo flinches back because oh , it’s been so long since he’s had contact that he’s forgotten what it feels like, but his grip only tightens

“I’m sorry.”

Tubbo wasn’t expecting that. The birds are closer now.

“Pardon?” Tubbo asks.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry— I’m sorry I should’ve—“

He’s cut off, because before he can explain, give Tubbo an answer for how he knows Tubbo’s name; he’s bleeding from the abdomen.

He stumbles, and Tubbo catches him in a forced hug, both of them hitting the ground with their knees.

There is a man, not much taller than Tubbo himself. He, too, is dressed oddly. A deep blue stitched hat sits on his head, covering most of his dark hair. A scar runs down the man’s right eye. His eyes are double-colored as well, blue and yellow, like the birds. Also, like the birds, he has wings , yellow and wide.

Tubbo knows that this is a god, not the dying boy that Tubbos is holding in his arms— who forces the journal he held so tightly into Tubbo’s hands. There’s a bloody handprint on it.

He leans into Tubbo, like he’s done it before, like he’s comfortable.

“I’m sorry.” The boy mumbles into Tubbo’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to—“ Tubbo wishes he knew what that meant, but he shushes him, in the same way he did Theseus when he woke from a nightmare when they were children.

It’s a few more moments, and his breathing is more shallow. His grip on Tubbo loosens, fingers desperately trying to grip the fabric of his tunic. Tubbo doesn’t have the heart to shove them off.

The panicked breaths stop, and Tubbo looks up. The man is still there, and he is frowning.

“Can you take me to?” Tubbo asks. Please , he internally begs. Please, let him die .

The man purses his lips together. “No.” Tubbo’s heart dropped. “I’m sorry. I can’t, I can’t undo what he did.” He looks at the boy, his stare hard. “This was another Keepers fuck up I had to fix. I can’t help you— I’m sorry.”

And Tubbo wants to cry, because it’s not fair.

Here he is, with death himself, come to take the life of this stranger , this boy who knew Tubbo’s name but Tubbo didn’t know the name of. Tubbo had waited his turn, he’s tried, and tried and tried to die and he wasn’t allowed and now Death has denied him too.

Tubbo lays him down, gently, prying his fingers out of his grip on Tubbo. His eyes are gray now. Not in the way that Theseus was when he died. These are natural. Tubbo thinks they look like storm clouds.

Death is gone, when Tubbo looks up.

For the second time in Tubbo’s eternal life, he is left by a god with a corpse.

Tubbo buries him next to Theseus.

His stone is unmarked, because Tubbo does not know his name. It’s the least he could do for him.

Tubbo hopes this doesn’t become a habit, burying bodies. Honestly a disgusting hobby.

Tubbo sits in his hut after he buries him. His hair is damp; he had washed himself in the stream to rid the blood that stained him. The birds are long gone, replaced with silence. Tubbo fucking hates it, so he starts a small pit fire to give him noise and the false feeling of warmth.

He’s holding the journal, and Tubbo looks at it with furrowed eyebrows. It feels like an invasion of privacy, to read it. The boy held it so tightly, with such care and worry that someone might rip it out of his hands.

Dead men in the ground don’t get privacy though, so screw Tubbo for being curious, okay?

Tubbo opens it, and what he sees next nearly makes him throw it into the flames.

Tucked between the cover and the first page is a portrait.

Tubbo is going to be sick.

Tubbo is going to be sick, because there’s… there’s a portrait! A small, rectangular portrait, far too detailed and untextured to just be a painting . It’s like a moment from real life was captured, it was too real.

Which is impossible; this can’t be real, it’s not just a portrait.

Tubbo isn’t even rich enough to afford portraits.

The person next to him in the not-portrait makes Tubbo reel, makes him hold it tightly, and keep it away from the fire.

Because it’s Theseus.

Tubbo sobs, because it’s Theseus. Theseus like he remembered, not the sick and deathly pale boy that Tubbo held in his arms the last time he was breathing.

Theseus's hair is yellow blonde and not dirty and matted, and his eyes are bright blue and not the pathetic gray they had faded to the last time Tubbo looked into them. His cheeks aren’t hollow and his lips aren’t turned down in a permanent frown. He is smiling, and Tubbo knows that smile because he’s seen it a thousand times right before Theseus came up with a mischievous plan that would get him in trouble.

On the other side of Tubbo, is the boy.

His eyes are covered by dark frames with shaded glass on his face, but it’s unmistakably him. His eyes are different colors.

Tubbo shoves the portrait back into the journal, slamming it shut.

He couldn’t stomach looking at it anymore.

He has so many questions, and none of them can be answered. Because Death had abandoned him, and the one who gave him this curse hasn't been answering him, and the nameless boy couldn’t even tell him how or why.

Tubbo is immortal, and even Death himself won’t let him die.

Tubbo is immortal, and he locks the book away in his chest.

Tubbo is immortal, and if he could dream, he knew the nameless boy with dual-colored eyes and freckles would haunt his dreams.

#rwylm shutupanakin #ranboo #tubbo #bee duo #dsmp #tommyinnit #bench trio #dream smp #shutupanakin posts #quackity #sapnap

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