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1.
The first time Tubbo wanted his dad was just after the first independence war. He had donned the L’Manburg uniform and he had paid the price. His house was burnt down, his crystals had been stolen and since he pledged his loyalty to L’Manburg, he couldn’t hide away in his jungle base. This, however, wasn’t his breaking point.
The Camarvan had been rigged, holes in the ground and a shattering boom left Tubbo stumbling, gasping for air. His ears had started ringing then, they would never stop. The ringing only got worse after being jumped in the Final Control room, when he lost his first life. This still didn’t drive him over the edge though.
It was that day he had watched the duel between Tommy and Dream, that was it. It was the tension in the bowstrings and the air, it was the scream that ripped from Tommy's throat. It was the gurgling as he fell in the water, screaming in pain as he started drowning.
At the time he acted impartial, unbothered if not slightly disappointed. He acted happy and proud when Tommy seemed to put his material attachment to the side. When Tommy got all of their freedom for both of his disks.
But that night, as the whines and screams echoed in his nightmares, he wanted nothing more than to curl up with his father. The image of Tommy collapsing into the water, drowning and bleeding out from the arrow wound in his shoulder. The idea that Tommy was just 12 and being dragged into all this. That HE was just 13. He shouldn’t have run away.
He remembered how once when he was caught off guard by a skeleton, the arrow had lodged in his shoulder and he screamed. He knew how much that hurt, but after it had happened his father had swooped in- slaying the skeleton who harmed him and brought him home.
His father gave him potions and then wrapped the wound. His father held him as it was torn from his skin then treated for infection. His dad swaddled him in pillows and blankets, gave him physical therapy until he had full movement back. Tommy died from his injuries, he would never be able to lift his arm above his shoulder, he would never shake the phantom pains.
Tommy was alone to suffer, all of them had to scatter as his loss meant that they had lost. Tommy died alone and in pain, Tubbo left him alone. What Tubbo wouldn't give to have his father here, his dad was the best marksman and the best at medicine. Tommy could've been safe.
2.
The second time Tubbo wanted his dad was on the night of Schlatt’s first day in power. His friends had been exiled and although Schlatt shouted loud enough that he could be heard over the obscene ringing in Tubbo’s ears, the man wasn’t particularly nice. Tubbo had been pushed and knocked too many times to count in the past 6 hours, his upper arms and back had deep bruises forming.
Tubbo was curled up in his bed, the memories of being forced to chase his friends, no, Family out of their country while threatening to kill them. He had to pretend he hated them, tears threatened his eyes at the time but now they were full-on pouring.
His father had told him of war before, war of fun and pranks, of stealing but never breaking. A war of known limits and boundaries where no one was ever permanently hurt. His father had lied to him- he knows it now. The small horns starting to poke through his hair and the small hisses he made when he talked still bring him reminders of home. Of his family and who he was.
Schlatt had horns, ones that curled demonically around his ears ending at a sharpened tip in front of his eyes. His dad’s horns were curled yes, but never that much, never that sharp. His dad’s horns were perfect, stopping just below his ears and perfectly manicured. A brief memory of pool noodles being cut up and forced on the ends of his dad’s horns brought a small smile to his tear-stained face.
His father had never hurt him, actively going out of his way to keep Tubbo safe. His electronics were always covered and tested for safety. His horns were filed down into stumps and anytime he got riled up or excited over anything, there was always someone else to make sure Tubbo was out of the way. Everyone there was so kind.
He really wanted to go home right now, be accepted into his father's warm embrace. But he had to help Wilbur and Tommy, he had to help Niki and Fundy. He was neutral ground, he was important in their story. Right?
3.
The third time Tubbo wanted his dad was when yellow walls were closing in on him and the acrid smell of gunpowder was violating his senses. Tubbo was scared out of his mind, this was supposed to be a celebration of their success but now it was his execution.
Technoblade was talking about how he was sorry, he was trying to stall the inevitable, Tubbo understood, yelling for Wilbur to do something to save Tubbo. Wilbur was doing nothing, he was never going to do anything, was he? Tommy was screaming and Schlatt was egging Techno on. The ringing in his ears got louder before it happened, deafening him to the colourful blast that would be his end.
Every inch of him hurt when he woke up back in the most uncomfortable bed, rushing to grab Tommy and reassure him that he was okay. Tubbo stressed that his friend would be torn up over his death as Tubbo had been for him. However, Tommy pretty much blanked him, too angry at Techno for betraying Wilbur and him to care about Tubbo. Tubbo had to just sit back and watch as they both fought almost to the death in a pit. It was sad. He could see the pain in their faces, see how they screamed at each other.
He could only watch, the screams never reached his ears to follow the argument. Not past the never-ending ringing. Not past the echo of a firework in his brain. Not past the thoughts of wanting to be warm, having his fathers towering figure swallow him in a hug.
4.
When tubbo wanted his dad next was after November 16th. He sat in what remained of His Country. His now. His alone. Wilbur was dead, Tommy still wasn’t happy with him and it left him with himself. Ruling over a crater.
Schlatt was dead, however much of a shitty person he was, the good part reminded him of home. Schlatt would ruffle his hair, an affectionate ‘hiya kid’ when there was no one else around. He gave good advice and good company when he was sober. Tubbo could go as far as to say that he would miss Schlatt.
But as for right now, he was alone, cold and pretty severely injured. He thought back to the times he would wander around his father’s creations - they never built anything that nice here, he didn’t think they could - when he would find himself trapped or hurt. His father would immediately have healing potions, gapples and plasters, hissing and chirping small noises to calm him down.
He thought of the care on each wound, the pressed kisses to even the smallest of bruises and the endless hugs for broken bones. Tubbo thought of the blanket piles and movies, the only times where his dad would stay home for longer periods of time, putting off work for another day, for him.
Right now he was curled around a first aid kit, pulling a bandage as tight as he could manage around his upper arm since it had been caught by someone’s blade. He had sloppy healing salves rubbed everywhere and so many bloody tissues littering the floor.
His suit was torn to pieces, and so was he. He probably looked a sight to whoever passed him but he didn’t care anymore. He would have to build everything back up again, make it his own place. Not Wilbur’s, Not Schlatt’s, it would be Tubbos New L’Manburg.
He would make his Dad proud.
5.
Tubbo wanted his dad, he’s not really sure if his dad would be proud of him, or even be pleased to know he is alive. Tubbo had a bottle, it was hanging loosely in his grip and almost empty, the boy was freshly 16 and already was drinking as He did. Schlatt had to have taught him a few tips and tricks along the way.
The whiskey burned his throat and tears burned his eyes. His country was blurry but so was his memory and sadly he was very clear when he ordered Tommy into exile. Right now he was thinking it over again.
Tommy had burnt down George’s home, the same crime that he himself went through, it had displaced him enough to get him to be involved with this whole mess. Tubbo suffered, and although he knew Tommy wasn’t the only one to blame he even had to admit to himself that Dream was right. His regret was harder to swallow than the liquor.
Tommy was a constant, always causing and resolving conflicts, he caused many issues for Tubbo, and never once had Tommy ever apologised from his own back. He had to learn from pain the way Tubbo had. Tubbo fought hard against everything his father had taught him about being kind to those who made honest mistakes, Tommy was not an honest man (or that how he rationalised it)
The whisky loosened his thoughts to let the memory of his father seep in through the blockade he put up. His home server didn’t have true wars or permadeath or hard decisions. A smashed mirror that lay fallen from the wall reflected how his horns had now curled around his ears, going far enough that they now sat in front of his eyes. They were sharp and if he did nothing about it they would grow through his skull.
He never did anything about it.
He didn’t want to do this anymore. More broken glass joined the pile on the right side of the floor, Tubbo never heard it smash, he couldn’t even see it on that side. He recently found himself wondering if his father would even recognise him if they were to meet again.
The right side of his mouth was pulled up into a mockery of a smile from the scarring, the same scarring that spread up and around his whited out eye. The scarring that disrupted his hair until past his torn up ear. The scarring that ran down his neck emphasising the tendons and veins that carried his lifeblood below paper-thin layers of skin.
Would he recognise the stoic and apathetic personality, the swearing and nihilism? Would he recognise the tainted horns that threatened to blind him fully or the lack of a hiss that had been forced out through the time spent with Schlatt and Tubbo’s TNT traumatized friends? His third bottle of whiskey told him no, that his father wouldn’t recognise him, nor be proud of him nor even accept Tubbo to be his son if they ever reunited.
He wanted his dad, he wasn’t sure if his dad would want him.
+1.
Tubbo had since left L’Manburg, made his own settlement with his new friend Ranboo. He had gotten married, he even had a child! The bottles of whiskey quickly turned into bottles of milk in hand for his son, the shredded suit traded out for a heavy coat and a crater was replaced with a mansion.
He was happy here, raising his son and joking with his husband. Together they managed to adjust with Tommy gone, then back, then gone again. Ranboo helped Tubbo cope, healthier and safer, guiding him to read stories for Micheal when his own story was too much to handle. Ranboo greeted him with gentle arms, soft words and understanding.
Ranboo replaced home, he became comfort and he didn’t long for his dad as much anymore. Ranboo was there for him when Dream was imprisoned, when his last life was threatened, when Tommy was dead. He had his own family he couldn’t go leaving behind, he wouldn’t even consider trying to find his home server when his family existed on this one. He was happy here.
Until his family wasn’t there anymore. Technoblade had approached him, telling him Ranboo had died trying to get Dream out. After that, he couldn’t read Techno’s lips through the tears that blurred what was left of his vision. Techno gave him a picture of his son. The one who had gone missing and apparently the one who Ranboo had sacrificed himself for.
He had died quietly and alone, no one was there to really even save him. Apparently, Ranboo was a useless hostage and now Ranboo wasn’t coming home. Neither was Micheal. His family wasn’t coming home. How could he go home, where he had no one? again.
He once again wanted his dad, he had lost everything that kept him in the horrid server. Everything that had stopped him from hitting a certain big red button. Techno might have still been talking when Tubbo walked away, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He walked all the way to Snowchester, the cold numbed his hands as he entered the back door to his nuclear facility. The nuke had never gone missing, it was just in a secret area, one only he could access and one that kept it aimed at Snowchester. The nuke was failsafe. He had failed and now it was time to make him safe again.
His keycard had been left in the machine, he twisted it. A red button popped up in the middle on the control panel, with no hesitation he hit it. With a quick salute to the machine, he ran outside.
The cold didn’t matter as the mania of being free overtook. The boom of the launch followed by his maniacal laughter was the only warning before Snowchester was no more.
>Tubbo_ went out with a bang!
Tubbo woke up in a lot warmer of an environment, a birch building towering over him from where he was sprawled on the floor. Before he could even sit up and gain his surroundings he spotted that fireworks were being spammed in his direction.
He threw himself into a ball, arms over his head as a heavy object hit the floor followed by the vibrations of someone running closer. A cold metal hand wrapped gently around his forearm pulling it up so that Tubbo was looking into a tear-stained mechanical creeper's face.
His father.
With all the desperation in his heart, Tubbo bowled over Doc in an attempt at a hug. The man shook with a laugh or maybe a sob, his low voice buzzing through his chest into where Tubbos head was now resting. Tubbo was sobbing, he was free from that hell and he was finally home.
Doc had message Xisuma and Ren to bring over potions, a first aid kit and plenty of blankets, they took only 2 minutes to show up but by the time they had, Tubbo was already sleeping in utter peace. The boy was treated for his wounds after he had been blanket burrito’d then carried to Doc and Ren's base.
Once Doc got a true look at his son's new appearance he had sobbed harder, having to remove himself from the room, Ren had to hold him while he yelled at the universe for daring to hurt his son in that way. Eventually, he slumped in the stairwell of their base, crying into Ren's shoulder as the man whispered comforts.
When Tubbo woke up, a whole week later, he found himself not in pain. That shouldn't have been the first thing he noticed but he had been in pain for years, scarring having messed with his muscles in places, bones having not healed properly as well as how his head always seemed to hurt from the constant ringing.
His dad was passed out at the foot of his bed, mechanical hand interlaced with his in a gentle hold. A man whose armour represented a pink axolotl, the style of the armour letting Tubbo clock him as Xisuma, was sitting in the corner. He had a small holographic screen pulled up, it was covered in notes about him and his condition.
As soon as the heart rate monitor in the top left corner picked up, Xisuma looked over at Tubbo. He looked exhausted. The helmet that was resting on a spare chair beside him let Tubbo see the age that now lined his face, his dark eye bags and the pure stress stitched into his brow. He opened his mouth to talk, took a breath then began.
All the man had to say was:
“Welcome home, Tubbo.”
And he was crying, Tubbo was free and safe. Tubbo was home.