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aimandfire21 · 2 years

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Bottles That Chime In The Trees, My Husband Is Speaking To Me - AimAndFire

Wordcount-5343

Characters- Tubbo, Ponk, Tommyinnit, Ranboo

Main Tags-Addiction, Alcohal, Self-esteem issues, recovery

It didn’t start with Schlatt. Though it would be so easy to blame the dead man, it wasn’t his fault. Not really. Even before he met the man, Tubbo would break into Wilbur’s drug stores with Tommy to sneak some potions and alcohol. It wasn’t hard, and back then it wasn’t a problem either. Just two kids having fun and getting in trouble. They weren’t even that strong either, back then the potions were just made to have fun, so overdrinking or addiction wasn’t a huge concern. Then the war came, and all that changed. They had few weapons, little armor, and even less food. What they did have was potions, and plenty of them. They were used for everything, healing, fights, even small pick me ups. Or-Tubbo has a problem with drinking, and it's not a new development.

Tubbo drinks.

He’s not sure if people know, but he doubts it. If they do know he hopes they don’t care. He hopes they don’t whisper behind his back, or go out of their way to avoid him. He hopes they don’t look at him, look at the bottle in hand, and think of Schlatt.

Then the war came, and all that changed. They had few weapons, little armor, and even less food. What they did have was potions, and plenty of them. They were used for everything, healing, fights, even small pick me ups.

Tubbo wasn’t as careful as he should have been, but that was fine. No one was as careful as they should have been, they all overindulged a bit. What was the point in putting off when any day could be your last?

So yes, that’s where it all started. The respawning was painful, so Tubbo drank to dull the agony. Even after they won, and the physical pain faded, the boy still occasionally indulged, something Tommy and the others had long given up. It felt more like a secret then, like something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Something he had to hide.

That was probably when things started to go wrong.

Admittedly Schlatt being elected and his friends being exiled didn’t help. Neither did the almost constant access to alcohol either. But it’s not what people think, either.

Schlatt didn’t make him drink. Schlatt didn’t even want him to drink either. Hell, the president wasn’t even all that cruel. He never hurt Tubbo, just yelled a lot and demanded a lot, which wasn’t all the different from Wilbur at the end either.

The only difference was Wilbur smoked, which Schlatt drank.

Even now people still make jokes about it. How Schlatt was an alcoholic, how he destroyed his body, how he drank himself to death. They laughed about him having it coming, and lament about how he would have been a much better president if he was sober.

Tubbo knows better. Schlatt wasn’t dying because of an alcoholic, he was an alcoholic because he was dying, he was sick and in pain, and the drink made it easier to ignore both of those facts.

Even then he tried to give it up. He tried a couple different times. When first getting into office, when he started dating Quackity, when Ponk told him he had to stop. But it never worked. If anything it only made the man irritable and unpleasant. Once he even threw a bottle at the boy's head.

During all this it was easy to sneak a bottle or two from the winestand once a week or so. As Schlatt’s presidency waned on once a week became twice a week, then three times a week, then almost every day.

That’s when Tubbo knew he had a problem, but that sure as Hell wasn’t the start of it.

He planned to ask for help, he truly did. Pogtopia was already planning on overthrowing him, once that was done he could finally recover. Tubbo could step away from his duties, step away from the alcohol, and get some help.

He just had to wait for when things called down.

But things never calmed down. Instead of being able to step away Tubbo was thrust onto stage, thrust into a role he never wanted, into a spotlight he detested.

Then L’Manburg blew up, and Wilbur convinced his father to thrust a sword into his chest.

Tubbo quickly realized he needed to be strong. Not only for the country that was looking at him to help rebuild it, but also his best friend, whose brother had just died, and who was far more delicate than he let on.

He couldn’t afford to have Ponk come visit, or people would gossip, and fear would spread. So much as a cold would do terrible things to morale, so a doctor visiting the white house? Out of the question entirely.

A bottle of wine, or whiskey, or even a weakness potion kept him functioning through the day. Whatever he could get his hands on really. Tubbo did try to stop a few times, but it left him ill, shakey, and bedbound. There wasn’t time to rest, there wasn’t time to recover. With Dream as a looming threat and the country still looking for guidance, Tubbo needed to project the image of a strong leader. If destroying his body is what made him strong enough to keep everybody calm and the country running, then he was willing to do that.

Only that didn’t work either. He had to exile Tommy, had to exile his best friend.

The look of betrayal will never fade from Tubbo’s memory, not truly, but that night he drank till he forgot. Then the next the same, then the net the night after.

Quackity didn’t mention Tubbo ordering more wine in. Half of him is grateful, and half of him wished that the older man said something. But it wasn’t his responsibility anyway, it wasn’t his job to take care of or help Tubbo. That was Tubbo’s job, and if he couldn’t even do it properly, then why should anyone else be expected to?

But then the drink stopped helping him get through the day as a strong and competent leader, and had started to help him barely get through the day. He stared to become weak, lazy, a pushover, everything he despised.

Perhaps if he was truly strong he could have told Quackity no when he suggested the butcher’s army, he could have held his ground, he could have ignored his insistence that the people of L’Manburg needed something to celebrate. That they needed a victory, and what better to celebrate than the defeat of any enemy?

It didn’t work, not even remotely. Instead Techno escaped, and Quackity lost not only a life, but also an eye.

Tubbo’s hands shook as he tended to the vice president, as he tried to keep out infection and sooth his cries of pain. Those two days were the longest he’s been without drinking for a few months at that point, and his body was reacting poorly. As soon as Quackity was recovered enough to stand Tubbo went back to his room to sip on some wine and make the pain and agony go away.

Sometimes he pretended it was medicine. That he just had shaking hands and pounding headaches naturally, and that whatever he was drinking that day, no matter if wine or potions, was prescribed from Ponk to keep it all away.

Not true of course, but it was still nice to pretend.

A few days later he finally got the strength to visit Tommy, both mentally and physically. But it was too late.

Instead of Logsted and a pissed off teenager, what greeted him was a crater and a single block wide dirt tower that reached the sky.

Tubbo doesn’t remember much from after that, only waking up in his bed with Ranboo at his side holding a bowl the next day. But he can hazard a guess, especially with how Ranboo pleaded for him to never drink so much again as soon as he was sober.

For his credit, Tubbo tried. And he actually somewhat succeeded. He never quite drank enough to black out again, but certainly drank more than he should. Enough to dull the pain, enough to keep himself functioning, enough to forget that his best friend was dead.

But not enough to concern Ranboo, his kind and slightly too observant minute man. He was always there with a baked good or some coffee, always there to check in, always there with a sweet “Hey I just wanted to make sure you’re ok. You’ve been working very hard.” Gentle words that kept him away from the bottle, even if just for a few minutes.

Then it turned out that Tommy wasn’t dead, and that Tommy hated him. He apologized almost immediately, later claiming he didn’t mean it, but Tubbo wasn’t stupid. Even if Tommy didn’t hate him now, for those few minutes at the community house, there was nothing in the world he despised more.

Tubbo doesn’t blame himself for L’Manburg’s destruction. A lot of pieces had fallen into place that he couldn’t move or had nothing to do with. Sure, maybe a few actions could have been changed, but it seemed like something that was destined to collapse at some point.

Like Eret said, it was never meant to be.

That didn’t mean the sight of his burning country hurt any less, that the smoke in his lungs didn’t burn, and the sound of explosions didn’t send him into another flashback.

At least when it all cleared Tubbo wasn’t the only one drawing his sorrows with booze. He only drank the most, not that anyone else noticed. They were all too numb and dazed to care, something he was grateful for.

Everyone except Ranboo.

“I’m just worried about you,” Ranboo admitted to a glazed eyed Tubbo. The sun was starting to rise, but it didn’t bring him much hope for the future.

“You don’t have to worry,” Tubbo responded, voice soft and slurred. “It’s just been a bad couple of months, that's all.”

The enderman wrung his hands. “That’s why I’m worried! Drinking so much, especially to cope, isn’t good for you!” Then he lowered his voice. “You’ve been drinking a lot. I don’t remember it exactly, but almost every page in my memory book mentions that you drank something that day. That doesn’t sound healthy.”

Tubbo sighed. “I’ll work on it. I’ve been meaning to anyway.”

For his credit he did. After the country was gone, and Dream was gone, and people stopped looking to him to fix everything, his drinking started to decrease. It didn’t go away of course, he still drank more than he should, but there's a difference between a glass a night and a whole bottle.

He had support as well. Not as much as he could have if he asked for help, but Ranboo knew what was going on, and Ranboo was all too willing to help him out.

Ranboo cared about him like no one else did. He didn’t want to use him or manipulate him. Even Tommy didn’t care in the same way, always trying to put on a facade of strength, so much so that Tubbo never felt comfortable taking his walls down. Besides, after how much he’d gone through with exile and betrayal, Tubbo felt guilty asking for any assurance or help.

With Ranboo he didn’t even have to ask. Which is good, because he knows he could never bring himself to ask. It was a flaw of his, one he was starkly aware of. But it was also one of the least concerning things about him, so his inability to ask for help went by the wayside.

Keeping Ranboo happy was worth all the pain and insomnia of weaning off. His smile was worth the headaches and agony. Then they adopted Micheal, and Tubbo couldn’t have been happier. Sure, he was frequently sick from withdrawal, and spent days unmoving and nonfunctional in bed, but that was ok. Ranboo was able to watch over Micheal when the bad days came, and when the days were good Tubbo was the best father and husband he could possibly be.

He should have listened to the one rule about recovery that Puffy once brought up. Though Tubbo doesn’t remember the exact wording, it was something like ‘you should recover for yourself, not someone else.’ It was a warning, but not one Tubbo heeded. It meant that ones motivation for getting better should be because he wanted to get better, not because someone he cared about wanted him to recover.

But Tubbo paid it no mind. Even if Ranboo or him had a falling out, or a divorce, or if he left him, that was fine. Tubbo would still have Micheal, and relationships could be mended. Besides, Ranboo wasn’t going to leave him. And he wasn’t going to leave Ranboo. They both cared too much about each other to just one day grab their things and go.

Tubbo could never even fathom that Ranboo would get murdered, and that Micheal would be taken the very same day. That both would be torn from his desperate grasp, without thought or care. Both a sacrificial pawn used against someone who would easily sacrifice a queen.

When he heard the news from a stranger, no one was there to pull him from the bottle. For the next three days all he did was drink and drink and drink. Though he doesn’t remember any of it, only waking up with a splitting headache, surrounded by vomit.

He rescued Micheal at some point, though even he’s aware that wasn’t really his doing. Eret and Techno did most of the work, they found Micheal, they helped overpower Sam. It was all a blur though.

After that Tubbo had to adjust to being a single father. He hated himself everytime he opened a bottle, fully aware that a good father wouldn’t drink, a good father wouldn’t need potions to function. But Micheal needed to be cared for, fed and played with, and Tubbo could no longer afford to have bad days. He had to be there for his son, not bedridden with a migraine once a week.

Once again he was destroying his body, not eating, not sleeping, barely even functioning. But that was ok, as long as Michael was ok. If Tubbo could do it for a country that was doomed anyway, then he could do the exact same thing for something infinitely more precious.

But without Ranboo he was alone, truly alone. No one was there to make sure he ate, to pull the bottle away when he had too much, to make sure he wasn’t killing himself. Sure, there were visitors, but they never stayed for more than a few hours. That made it easy to put up a strong facade, to stop people from worrying.

At least, he thought it was enough to keep people from worrying. But today Tommy showed up with Ponk in toe, insisting that he needed to look the boy over.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re clearly not well. Something’s wrong.” Tommy insisted, clearly not in the mood to back down, no matter what Tubbo said.

“Tommy, you really don’t have to worry about me. I’ve just been doing poorly after Ranboo, that’s all.” He couldn’t let his friend worry over something that was entirely his fault. It wasn’t right.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re clearly not well! I’m worried.” He pleaded, and Tubbo found himself grateful that Micehal was already asleep. This arguing wouldn’t wake him.

“I’m handling it just fine.” Tubbo bit back, very aware of how irritable he was. All the boy wanted to do was pour a glass of wine and try to ignore his crushing guilt. Today wasn’t a good day to try and reassure his friends. Hell, today wasn’t a good day in general. It was one of those days that everything made him feel sick and dizzy, and all he wanted to do was lay down. But of course he couldn’t do that, at least, not until Tommy finally left.

“Why don’t I just do a quick check up, yeah? I’ve been going around the server for doctors appointments, you’re not going to be the only one.” Ponk told him softly, as Tubbo’s head was starting to spin.

Tubbo did his best to subtly grab onto the door frame without being noticed. His head felt like it was splitting. Gods he needed a drink. “Maybe a different day, but I’m exhausted, and Micheal is asleep. I’ll go find you later.”

Tommy crossed his arms over his chest. “No you won’t. We both know you won’t. You never do anything to take care of yourself, not unless someone forces you. So here I am, with a doctor, making you take care of yourself. So come on, let Ponk in.”

He hated the fact that Tommy was right. “I’m tired ok? I’ll do it tomorrow. Can’t you respect that?” It felt like the world around him was starting to spin. He barely even noticed Tommy storming up to him with how dizzy he was.

“I respect you, I care for you, and I want you alive ok? You look like you’re seconds away from keeling over.” He felt like he was seconds away from keeling over too. “And I get that you’re stubborn and shit, but come on. Even you must know something’s off.”

Part of him wanted to laugh. To say things were off would be to say the L’Manhole was merely a creeper explosion. Things were so much worse than just off, but they weren’t anyone else's business. No one else needs to worry.

“Tubbo?” Tommy’s voice sounded odd, a little softer and whisperer than he usually sounded, like it wasn’t there. “Tubbo? Can you hear me?”

The boy's vision went black. Something hard hit his head, making the boy yelp out at the sharp pain. “TUBBO!” Someone screamed, but he wasn’t sure who as he frantically blinked to try and regain his vision.

When his eyes finally caught up Tubbo realized he was on the ground, with Ponk leaning over him, eyes filled with concern. The boy reached up to rub his sore head, only to feel a warm liquid. He brought his hand back in front of his face, to see it was covered in blood.

“Hey, can you hear me? Tubbo, can you hear me?” Ponk said. Her voice was echoey, but Tubbo nodded nonetheless.

“Yeah, I just fell, I think?” He mumbled, before sitting up and ignoring how it feels like his head is splitting. “I did fall right?”

“Fell? You collapsed! Your eyes rolled up like you were possessed! You hit your head!” Tommy practically screeched, clearly panicking.

“Stay calm, it’s ok.” Ponk reassured softly, before turning back to Tubbo, holding a finger in front of his face. “Follow this with your eyes.”

Tubbo tried, but from the frown on Ponk’s face, he could tell he didn’t do as good as he should have. “Ok, so I don’t think you have a concussion, but your eyes are still a little glossy.” Well fuck, he’s been caught. “Tommy, go to one of the empty houses for the night. I’m going to look Tubbo over in his mansion.”

“But come on! He’s my best friend!” Tommy protested, clearly worrying.

“Yes, but he’s my patient, and having you around would distract from the appointment.” Even in his dizzy state Tubbo could tell there was something the doctor wasn’t saying. “Get some rest, I’ll get you in the morning.”

Though hesitant, Tommy eventually nodded and went to leave, but not before giving him a few pitiful glances.

He let Ponk bring him inside, very aware of how the doctor was eyeing the empty bottles and glasses all over. He tried his best to keep them out of the way of Micheal, but it wasn’t as clean as he would have liked for having guests.

Despite the fact that he would have clearly noticed the excess of alcohol, Ponk said nothing, instead sitting Tubbo on his couch before starting to run tests.

“Do you feel nauseous at all?” Was his first question as he took out a pad of paper and started making notes.

“Um, no?” He was a little nauseous, but no more than usual. It wasn’t a sign of brain injury, just his default state of being. Ponk didn’t need to worry about that.

“I see,” She mumbled, pulling out a flashlight. “Hold still.” They commanded, shining the light in Tubbo’s eyes. His pupils must have responded correctly, because Ponk nodded in satisfaction. “Alright, now count backwards from ten.”

This confused the boy, but he complied anyway. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one?”

Ponk nodded “That’s good, that’s good. Are you feeling tired or drowsy?”

“No more than I was a few minutes ago.” He admits “But I’ve been up since seven today. So that’s not a sign of a concussion, is it?”

“From the looks of things no.” Ponk conceded, but it was clear he wasn’t pleased. “I still want to run a few more tests.”

Tubbo nodded, figuring that made sense. Head injuries weren’t something to be taken lightly, so the doctor's caution was warranted. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to just be left alone to have his nightly glass of wine before going to bed.

But he agreed, so Tubbo willingly sat through test after test, measuring his blood pressure, listening to his heart beat, testing his lung strength. Each test seemed to make Ponk’s frown deepen, which wasn’t as surprising at Tubbo wished. He hasn’t been taking care of himself, not for a while now. Of course his numbers or whatever would be off.

“So your blood pressure is low, and your resting heart rate is fast.” Ponk finally told him, something uneasy in his face.

Tubbo played dumb. “Ok, how do I raise my blood pressure.”

“There are many things you do.” He mused, looking around the room. “But I have a concern I want to talk to you about.”

Though he knew exactly what the doctor was going to say, Tubbo merely shrugged. “Ok, shoot.”

“Tubbo, how frequently do you drink?”

Once again he shrugged “Probably more than I should.” It was a nonanswer more than anything, but he wasn’t about to open up to anyone about what was really going on.

“Have you ever considered trying to cut back?” Ponk said, clearly trying to be diplomatic.

Tubbo laughed. “Yeah, I’ve tried like twice. I’m aware it’s a problem.” Though he had other problems, far more pressing ones. Taking care of Micheal, reviving his husband, it was all too much. All things considered, this was unimportant. “So what I’m hearing is that it’s an addiction?” The doctor asked, which was met with a shrug. She sighed “Tubbo, how long has this been going on?”

“How long has it been a problem?”

Ponk shook his head. “No, when did you start drinking? I need to know how long this has been going on to help to the best of my ability.”

Tubbo was embarrassed to admit it, but eventually he mumbled out “Since the drug van.” While his gaze was averted to the floor.

Ponk merely nodded “I see, so about two years. Ok.” Then he looked at Tubbo, gaze somewhat intense. “I need an honest answer here Tubbo. Do you want to quit drinking? Or are you not ready yet?”

“Of course I want to quit.” Tubbo answered quickly “I told you, I tried before.”

They nodded “Alright, I just want to check where you are currently.”

“The issue is I can’t quit right now, I can’t afford to.”

“Oh?” This seemed to peek Ponk’s interest, as he beckoned for Tubbo to continue.

The boy was hesitant to do so, but eventually started talking again. “I have to be here for Micheal, I can’t afford the side effects of withdrawal. Ranboo isn’t here to help. No one is here to help.” His eyes were becoming wet with tears. “I’m alone. So is Micheal. I need to take care of him.”

“Did you try to quit cold turkey?” Ponk enquired.

This only confused the boy, but he nodded. “Yes? Aren’t you supposed to just quit?” If you take more of a drug, or drink more after trying to quit, isn’t that a relapse? A relapse is a bad thing, even Tubbo knows that.

The doctor shook his head. “For some things that's advisable, but for alcohol especially one cannot simply stop drinking.” Their voice softened. “It could kill you Tubbo. I applaud your efforts, but I’m here to make sure you can quit the correct way, if you want to.”

He was still hesitant. “But I already told you, I have to take care of Micheal. I can’t do that with being so sick all the time. Recovery isn’t worth neglecting my son.” Above everything else he was a father. There was a lot you could say about Tubbo, but no one could call him a bad dad.

“I understand the concern.” Ponk told him, voice sympathetic. “But there are others who would be willing to watch Micheal, the server loves your son. If you really want to be the best father you can be, alcohol is only holding you back. I mean, look at what happened to Schlatt-”

“Don’t bring him up!” Tubbo yelled, before he could stop himself, anger starting to build. “I’m not like him just because I have a problem!”

“I wasn’t saying that-” the doctor started, only making Tubbo angrier.

“But it’s what you were implying! It's what you were implying, and you are wrong!” A headache was starting to form. “Schlatt wasn’t bad because he drank, he was just cruel. I’m not the same as him and I’m not going to be the same. The only similarities we have is that we’re both just trying to deal with our pain. And yeah it isn’t healthy, but it works. I’m functioning, I’m still alive, and I’m doing what I need to. That doesn’t make me evil or mean, or whatever he was. Is that clear?”

Ponk was clearly surprised at the boy's fervor, but nodded nonetheless. “I wasn’t trying to suggest you were like him, but he destroyed himself with alcohol. I don’t want the same to happen to you.”

“Schlatt was sick.”

“Yes, but the drinking only made it worse. You have a future ahead of you, and I want it to be a healthy one.” Her words were gentle and tingged with pity.

Tubbo hated it. “I can’t let people know. You heard the rumors going around when I was president.” They called him Schlatt two, claiming he was following the ram’s footsteps. Photos of him were hung up around L’Manburg with horns drawn on. It was a comparison Quackity made often, and though Tubbo knows the purpose was manipulation, it still hurt.

“Is your reputation worth your life? Worth your future?” Ponks words were even and calm, yet still intense. “I understand you’re scared, but you have people you can trust. Tomy would do anything for you. Eret and Puffy would gladly watch Micheal while you’re receiving treatment. You have a support system, now is the time to use it.”

Tubbo looked down at the ground and said nothing. Ponk sighed. “How much have you drank today alone?”

He squirmed “A couple of glasses.” Snowchester had wine imported, and it was easy to take a few bottles from the shipment without anyone so much as batting an eye. It most certainly wasn’t health, but who cares?

Apparently Ponk. “That's a lot, and you’re not a very large person.”

“I know this, I’m not stupid.” Tubbo bit out, slightly guilty. “I just don’t want to stress anyone out. Tommy has enough to worry about.”

“Tommy’s already worried about you. He’s been worried for months, and he knows something is wrong. If anything, being able to help you out would alive some of his concern.” Then she sighed. “But I don’t think you should be worried about Tommy, or Micheal, or anyone else. You need to worry about yourself. Taking care of yourself isn’t malicious, and your belief that you don’t deserve to be taken care of, that you don’t deserve help, is how you got here in the first place.”

Once again Tubbo didn’t answer, but he knew Ponk was telling the truth. Tubbo couldn;t do this on his own. Even when he temporarily stopped drinking, he had Ranboo to help him out.

Tubbo needed help.

“How do I stop drinking? What do I need to do?”

Ponks words were gentle. “The first step is that you need to be kind to yourself, and keep your expectations reasonable. This is going to be rough, and you’re going to relapse. That doesn’t mean you’ve failed at recovery, I want you to know that.”

He scoffed “What are you? A therapist?”

“No, I’m not” Ponk chuckled “But I do want you to talk to Puffy, seeing her can also help. I also want you to talk to Tommy about what's going on too. Having someone supporting you and helping you along will make things easier. Plus, you’ll have someone to watch Micheal when you’re going through withdrawal.”

It all sounded reasonable, but he wasn’t certain. “What about you, you’re a doctor right? How do I stop drinking?” He needed to stop, he knew he needed to stop, but it still held like an impossible task.”

“I’ll move into Snowchester to help monitor your health.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that!” Tubbo blurted out, eyes wide.

Ponk just smiled “I’m a doctor, it’s my job to look after patients. Especially when they won’t look after themselves.” Then he frowned again. “Like I told you, you can’t quit cold turkey, you need to wean yourself off of alcohol, or it could be lethal. I can help you keep to the right amount, and I can provide some medicine to help you with withdrawal side effects. But it’s going to be rough.”

Tubbo didn’t answer. Ponk sighed.

“I mean it when I say if you’re not ready for recovery I’m not going to force you into it. If this is all too overwhelming I can back off and let you think, and you can just contact me when you’re ready.”

“Why are you being so considerate?” Most people just told Tubbo what they thought was best for him and ignored any protests made in response. But for some reason she wasn’t doing the same, despite the fact that they were right. Tubbo did have a problem, and he did need to recover.

“Tubbo, if someone doesn’t want to recover or aren’t in a state where they can, trying to force them won’t help anything. And I know you haven’t had many people being considerate to your decisions, it’s the least you deserve.”

Once again he didn’t respond right away, and Ponk sighed, before smiling and standing up. “I know this is a lot, yeah? You don’t have a concussion, so you’re good to get some rest. I’ll tell Tommy to leave your health alone for a bit, and then come back to check on you in the morning. You don’t have to come up with a decision then either, just to let you know.” The he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Tubbo called, before he could stop himself. Ponk paused and turned back to look, expression confused.

“Yes?”

The boy let out a sigh. “You're right, I need help. I want to recover, I want to stop drinking.” He looked up, finally meeting the doctor's eyes. “Will you help me? Please?”

Ponk’s fond expression spoke almost as loud as his words, but it was still a relief to hear the words “Of course” from the doctor's lips.

Tubbo was going to get better for the sake of getting better. He’s already tried to keep Ranboo happy, to take care of Micheal better, to be a more competent leader for his nation. It never worked.

So now he was going to get better for himself. He was going to get better because he wanted to recover. Tubbo was going to heal for him, and no one else.

#beeduo #tubbo dream smp #tubbo #dream smp ponk #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fanfic

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