Work Text:
Tubbo sits. He’s in the Camarvan, since he doesn’t really have a home after his burnt in the first war.
He stares blankly at the wall. The bags under his eyes are heavy, weighed down by his guilt. He hasn’t truly slept since becoming President. Every night there’s more and more work. He would sit at his desk for hours, forcing his brain to focus on the documents in front of him. Not to mention the huge amount of rebuilding he’s had to do.
Not just physically (even if that was the majority of it, with L’manberg being a crater and all) but he’s also had to repair the relationships L’manberg has with the other factions of the SMP. And well, he can safely say the country is at least on neutral terms with the entire SMP.
He laughs at this. It only took the banishment of his best friend, the last person who truly had his back.
Tubbo laughs because if he doesn’t he will cry. And he doesn’t know if he would ever stop.
Despite Tommy being the one banished, Tubbo has never felt more alone. Quackity and Fundy don’t respect him, and after today, they don't trust him. Tubbo sighs, anger and rage burn inside of him, but beside that.
Fear.
Fear is what fills his veins, it’s what makes his hands shake, it’s why he’s here. In the middle of the night. Instead of working or trying to sleep. But the fear stays, coiling throughout his chest, wrapping chains around his heart.
He wants to rip it out of him, to dig his hands through his chest until he can claw the fear out of him. Until everything that reminds them of him of Schlatt is dead and gone. He can still hear them, screaming at him, as he’s forced to exile the person he cares for most, just to save his nation.
“You’re being just like Schlatt”.
It echoes in his skull, bouncing around the walls of the van until it’s all he can hear.
“You’re just like Schlatt. You’re just like Schlatt. You’re just like Schlatt. You’re just like Schlatt”.
It repeats over and over, poisoning his mind.
He wants to scream, wants to beg for forgiveness and mercy. He clutches his head, his chest, all of the places that are filled with this deadly fear. He still hears him, still feels him.
Schlatt’s hand digging into his shoulder he can still feel those claws, drawing blood , dragging him to his side as his friends flee the country they’ve bled for. Schlatt’s arm slung around his back, pulling him over it is too harsh and it hurts and hurts and hurts...he has bruises for days after.
He hears his voice call out to him.
He remembers every order, every “Yes Schlatt” “Of course Schlatt” “Whatever you say Schlatt”.
The screams of anger that would shake the entire office as Tubbo pleaded.
“I pay you too much for stupid mistakes like this”
“You’re fucking USELESS you call this work?!”
“ Looks like it’s time for another chat hmm” “
You think there’s fucking TIME for you to be CRYING RIGHT NOW!”.
Did they not see? The way Schlatt chained Tubbo like a dog, just to get back at the revolutionaries. Did they not see when he would shower Tubbo in praises? When Tubbo thought that he finally, finally! Had done something right. Something to be proud of! Only for his own brother, someone he thought he could trust, to fucking blow him to SMITHEREENS!
Tubbo sits, and he stares, and he remembers. He feels that same fear, that same disgust, curl throughout his body. That urge to tear and claw is back again. To rid himself of the characteristics that remind them of Schlatt.
He can’t he can’t HE CAN’T be like Schlatt.
Tears spill over and he cries.
He cries for Tommy. For his best friend who has been through so much, who has GIVEN SO MUCH to this country, only to be exiled once again.
He cries for Wilbur. For the man that they had looked up to, their role model, only to destroy the very thing he created.
He cries for himself. For the abuse that he dealt with under Schlatt, the silent sacrifices he’s made for L’manberg for Tommy. He cries for the position he’s been forced into, and he cries because all he wants is to help L’manberg. All he’s wanted since he became President is to help L’manberg.
And to be compared to Schlatt, the man that tore him down over and over again, just for power! It fills his chest with pain, pain that envelopes his heart, crushes his lungs, leaves his hands shaking. He sits, and he cries.
Until the sun has risen on a new day. And he wipes away the tear tracks. Straightens his tie. And leaves the Camarvan. He is president after all no time for crying .