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They recover a lot of bodies in the aftermath of the explosion. Tubbo’s pretty sure he’ll be stained with dirt and ash for weeks to come and random citizens keep begging him to find a medic but there’s one body that Tubbo’s got to see pulled out of the crater with his own two eyes. Just as he’d been there to witness Quackity haul Schlatt’s body out of the Camarvan.
He shuffles his way carefully across the remnants on the podium, stone and wood shifting dangerously under his feet.
He’s not surprised, as he tries to figure out how to get down into Wilbur’s control room, that someone else has beaten him there.
“No!” shouts a familiar voice but there’s a layer of anguish in Tommy’s tone that has Tubbo throwing all his caution to the wind. He scrambles down the nearest edge, skidding on some rubble and cutting the palm of his hand as he catches himself on the thin ledge below. He presses his now bleeding hand onto his shirt, not caring about how unsanitary it currently is, and focuses on where Tommy’s gone.
He would give anything for someone to have stopped Tommy from coming down here at all.
He squeezes through the hole blown into the wall of the room-
-and freezes.
It’s his first time seeing this room, after all, who could blame him for being shocked. Because despite the description Tommy had given of it before, it’s so much worse, seeing the reality of Wilbur’s break right in front of his eyes. He tries not to even look at the scribbled words on the wall. He’s not sure he would ever hear the anthem the same if he did.
But turning his eyes away from the walls brings him right to the center of the tragedy itself.
Tommy’s covered in blood. Tubbo can’t even be sure how much of it is his own and how much of it…
It’s creeping up the fabric of his pants, stained on the lighter portions of his shirt, splattered all the way up his arms, there’s even a spot on his jaw. But, the closer Tubbo looks at that spot, he thinks that that’s his own injury and he feels bad about the fact that that is just one more scar Tommy’s going to have on his face.
And even still the worst of it isn’t even the gore. It’s in the way Tommy’s shoulders are shaking, how Tubbo can hear his heavy breathing and sniffling. How he knows without even having to see his face what Tommy’s expression must be like. Tubbo can count the number of times he’s seen Tommy really break down crying on one hand. He wishes he didn’t know with perfect clarity that Tommy’s an ugly crier.
Both of Tommy’s arms are wrapped around Wilbur’s limp, limp form, passing under Wilbur’s arms and around his back and so clearly the only thing holding Wilbur up that it’s almost a little disturbing. His face is buried in Wilbur’s dust covered curls and Tubbo swallows hard.
He can still remember the days when he had thought that Wilbur was invincible. When it seemed as if there was nothing in the world that could touch him. He could only imagine how Tommy, who had spent the majority of his life at Wilbur’s side, is feeling in this moment. He doesn’t think that there’s anyone who will be hit harder by this. Sure, Fundy was Wilbur’s biological son but they’d had their falling out, Fundy was adamant that he didn’t care for Wilbur at all anymore. Meanwhile Tommy had bore witness to the worst of Wilbur’s fall and had been sure even at the end that there was still enough of Wilbur for them to save, enough to even elect him president when all was said and done.
But Tubbo doesn’t want to even think about the presidential hot potato. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to deal with it when the reality of his new title finally sinks in.
He slowly walks forward, all of his words have left him, and he doesn’t even care when his shoe squelches into the blood on the floor. Nor can he be bothered by it as he drops to his knees in front of Tommy and Wilbur.
“This can’t be happening.” Tommy cries. “This can’t be happening! We were gonna- We were finally going to- to fix things!” He rocks himself and Wilbur subtly back and forth and Tubbo hesitantly reaches out a hand and places it on one of Tommy’s forearms. “L’Manberg was going to fix him…” he sobs.
Tubbo feels the tears welling up in his own eyes spill down his cheeks and wipes at one of his eyes with his free hand. “Tommy…” he starts but he doesn’t even know what to say to his friend. So, he just sits there with him.
They sit there with the remains of the man they’d both admired, that they’d both given up so much to follow, whose ideals they did their best to represent even now. That they would continue to try and hold onto even with him gone.
They sit in that silence until some of the others finally find them. Until Niki pulls Tommy away with soft words, hugging him and keeping him from chasing after Wilbur’s body. Quackity tries to keep Fundy away, but Fundy pushes past him. And it’s Fundy who picks his father’s corpse up off the floor and, with Quackity’s reluctant help, works to remove it from the control room. If it weren’t for...everything, Tubbo might think that he’s just sleeping when he finally sees Wilbur’s slack face.
Tubbo realizes three days later, when rescue efforts are slowly dwindling into recovery and demolition of unsalvageable buildings, that he’s in charge of this disaster. He’s sitting on the bench, Tommy pressed up against his side as if there isn’t the whole rest of the bench open on his other side. They’re watching the sunrise instead of sunset for once, both of them awake before the sun due to...well for Tubbo it was the nightmares. He just sort of assumed that it was the same for Tommy.
It’s surreal to stare out over the SMP and know that Dream’s just...let them off the hook. Dethroned Eret and replaced him with George, which is its own concern, sure, egged on Techno and Wilbur, definitely, but for once was the one to retreat.
Tubbo’s sort of spaced out between the quiet atmosphere, a rarity with Tommy nearby, and the exhaustion that hasn’t left him since-since, well, probably the festival if he’s honest. But when Tommy murmurs, “So, who’s gonna be in your cabinet?” it snaps Tubbo right back to the present.
“What?” he asks, jerking upright and unsettling them both.
Tommy mutters and shoves at him until he’s got his back leaned against Tubbo’s shoulder and his legs spread out over the rest of the bench. “Well, you haven’t made anything official yet. And surely the people will all feel better once they know that things are returning back to normal.” he says, hands moving through the air with his words though he’s less animated than typical. Probably thanks to the early hour.
Tubbo chews on his lip and shrugs. “I-I don’t know.” he admits. He’s thought about it some, of course he has, but never for long. Because he knows who he wants for his cabinet, just like he knows who Tommy wants at his side when he goes hunting for the discs. He laughs nervously. “Problem is, there’s only one person I trust to not backstab me immediately if I make them VP.” He feels bad even saying as much out loud. Even letting the words pass his lips, putting all this on Tommy after he had so clearly been trying to get rid of his responsibilities. He keeps talking anyway. Tries to justify what he’s saying. “Fundy won’t listen to a word I say, Quackity’s still too attached to Schlatt for me to give him that much power, and I,” he hesitates, “I asked Niki, but she said she had some personal things she had to take care of first.” He wrings his hands and only grows more nervous as Tommy’s silence stretches on. “Said she wasn’t sure how long it would take her…” he trails off and waits.
Tommy’s quiet for a long time and it makes Tubbo want to take back everything he’s said. Sure, he doesn’t want this responsibility either but...the people need someone to lead them until they can pull L’Manberg back together enough to be able to hold official elections. And even if Wilbur hadn’t passed it on to Tubbo, it would’ve been a natural progression for the people to look to them, as the previous driving forces behind the revolution, for leadership anyway.
“Just until we can hold the next elections!” Tubbo continues quickly when Tommy still says nothing, staring at his hands in his lap. Tubbo can tell he’s conflicted and not happy about it. “I don’t even care if you do literally nothing, it’s- it’s not like any of us know what a vice president is supposed to do anyway!” He knows he sounds desperate but, to be fair, he is. If Tommy says no he has to come up with a new plan that doesn’t involve Tommy by his side. A first and something he’s not particularly interested in having to adapt to.
Maybe if he goes and begs Niki again she’ll say yes this time around.
“But…” Tommy finally starts, lifting his head and meeting Tubbo’s eyes over his shoulder. “Tubbo, what about my discs?”
Tubbo feels for him, he does. Tommy had thought he’d finally be done, only to end up right back where he started. But Tubbo can only feel so much sympathy when Tommy and Wilbur were the ones to spearhead this whole thing, Tommy was the one who ultimately dragged him into this, he couldn’t just abandon them all for his own self interests now.
If that was an option, Tubbo’s not sure he would even still be here. If not for these people now relying on him, he’s not sure he could keep himself here anymore.
“A little longer.” Tubbo insists. “Your discs aren’t going anywhere but L’Manberg needs you. I need you.” He shifts so he can bump his forehead against the side of Tommy’s and lingers there. “You know I wouldn’t ask if I had any other options.”
Tommy presses firmly back and sighs. “Fine. But I’m not playing nice with Dream. Not anymore.”
Tubbo snorts and shakes his head. “You act like I don’t know you at all.”
Throughout the next day, Tubbo gathers his cabinet and sets them all about telling the people of an announcement and subsequent celebration that night. A day of levity they all desperately need.
When they return to him - word has always traveled among their people - Tubbo hesitates before telling them, “I want us all in our uniforms.” He glances to Niki and Jack, helping out because Tubbo would bet they don’t really know how to not. “The cabinet especially but preferably everyone who’s been here since the beginning. I want you up there with us.” He says, firm in his decision. Niki won’t accept the power yet and they haven’t figured out a title for Jack but Tubbo won’t be leaving them behind. If surviving Manberg has taught Tubbo anything, it’s the value of taking care of the people you trust and rely on because then they’ll take care of you as well.
And not abandon you and leave you to have a heart attack in a drug van as the people around you despise you and seek to usurp any power you thought you had.
Tommy groans, he’s never been one for ceremony, but it’s Fundy and Quackity who look the most genuinely upset and angry, respectively, over the request. “I don’t have one of those.” Quackity snaps, more than a little irate now.
“Yeah and mine’s still got all those color problems from the cheap dyes we originally got.” Fundy says, chewing at one of his nails.
Tubbo’s about to start damage control on this one when, surprisingly, Tommy beats him to it. “If you want it, Fundy,” Tommy starts, staring at the ground where he scuffs his shoe against the path, “I’ve got Wil- Wilbur’s old coat laying around somewhere.”
Fundy’s eyes go huge and a little wet. “But it’d be too long on me! I’d look like some idiot kid!”
To which Tommy huffs, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but if you stop whining and we go now, I could probably get it fitted well enough that you won’t look like shit.”
“Really?” Fundy asks, bottom lip quivering.
Tommy sighs but nods. “Really.”
“Oh, thank you!” Fundy cries and reaches out and Tubbo knows that Fundy can only wrap himself around Tommy because Tommy allows him. Tubbo knows, logically, that Tommy and Fundy have spent most of their lives together, that they consider each other brothers even if they never say it out loud.
It always surprises him to see them act on it, however.
The connection doesn’t last long before Tommy’s shoving at him though. “Get off!” he spits. “If we don’t get going now you are gonna end up in that fuckin’ pastel monstrosity.”
Which is all the nudging Fundy needs to let go and start pulling Tommy along instead. “Let’s go, let’s go.” he says as Tommy starts spitting increasingly creative insults over the manhandling.
Niki snickers, hiding her smile behind a hand. “I’m going to go and help them.” she says.
Tubbo appreciates that more than he could admit. “Thanks, Niki, please don’t let them be late.” he says, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
She laughs again and pats him on the shoulder. “Of course.” she agrees and turns on her heels and heads off after the two of them.
One problem down-
“Well, that’s just fantastic but what about me?”
-one to go.
Tubbo sighs and turns his attention on Big Q now, who’s standing with his arms crossed, brows furrowed, and jaw set mulishly. There’s going to be no winning this one, he just knows it. “I’m sorry, Q, but only those who fought during the revolution can wear the original uniform.”
Jack claps Q on the shoulder with a grin. “It’s more of a big deal not to wear the uniform, Q, believe me.”
Q’s frown shifts from anger to confusion. “What?” he asks, looking between them both.
Tubbo nods quickly, thanking the world for Jack Manifold even if what he said is just the truth. “Yeah, symbolism of a sort that Wilbur reinforced during the elections.” Q grimaced and Jack shrunk a bit in on himself as well. Tubbo gets it, he doesn’t like to think about the elections more than anyone but they have to remember where they come from now more than ever. “No one but veterans who had them could wear them and those who didn’t were better for it anyway as it meant they’d never been forced to break the pact of non-violence.” Tubbo explains.
Q looks genuinely surprised by this, Tubbo’s surprised he could know so little of the culture of the people he tried to rule over. “It’s why Wilbur and Tommy wore theirs throughout the election.” Tubbo continues. “Showing people that they’d already made the ultimate sacrifice for the country, other than, of course, dying for it.”
“Sacrifice…” Q mutters, thoughtful.
Jack laughs and jostles his shoulder lightly. “And that makes it our job, now, to make sure that you and everyone else who’ve never fought, never have to.”
Q tilts his head as he looks at Jack, the furrow in his brow deepening. “You know that’s really weird, right? Like, what if they have to defend themselves? Why should they be afraid of breaking their values in order to keep themselves safe?”
Tubbo shrugs, shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s not here to argue semantics. That’s a conversation he feels like he’d lose to Q when it comes down to it. “Then they’d defend themselves because they’re allowed to do anything to survive, that’s true.” He sighs. “Though, to be honest, there aren’t many in L’Manberg who didn’t fight in the war and no one travels alone around here, not to mention that you aren’t allowed to carry weapons in L’Manberg.”
“So, it’s not a problem we worry about much.” Jack agrees, nodding. “And even if it was you still wouldn’t get the uniform ‘cause it’s not like you’ve just fought a war.” Tubbo’s glad that Jack isn’t leaving them entirely for his little Manifoldland, if only to have back up at this moment.
That seems to surprise Q more than the uniform thing. “You’re going back to all that?” he says, almost nonsensical.
It takes Tubbo a second to catch on and then he frowns and says, “Of course we are, Big Q.” If Tubbo had his way, he’d tear out every bit of influence Schlatt and Manberg had on them but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Especially with opposition still within their ranks. “It’s one of the pillars L’Manberg was built on, that non-violence and I want to bring it back, especially as we rebuild, I want to focus on resolving things peacefully before anything else.” Just like Wilbur had done during the revolution. He’d never backed down from Dream’s threats and judgements but he hadn’t been the one to drive them into war. Tubbo stares towards the crater they were trying to turn back into their home and wondered when things had changed for them all. “Just wear something nice, Big Q, the people will be quicker to really accept you if they know you’re not trying to force it.”
Of course, he still didn’t seem entirely pleased about it, Tubbo hadn’t expected him to, but Quackity nods. “Fine, I guess I’ll go see what I’ve got that Schlatt’s never fucking touched.” And he shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweats and walks away, scowl not budging from his face.
Leaving Tubbo alone with Jack now.
In front of whom Tubbo felt no shame in pinching the bridge of his nose and blowing out an aggravated breath.
“So...why’re you keeping him around again?” Jack asks, chewing on the inside of his cheek, arms crossed as he stares after Quackity.
Tubbo waits until the blue of Quackity’s outfit is no longer visible before saying, “Because even if he did turn on Schlatt at the end, I want him somewhere I can keep an eye on him.”
“Really?” Jack asks, head snapping over to him now.
Tubbo nods. “We can all agree Schlatt’s biggest downfall was not pursuing Wilbur and Tommy, giving them the chance to recover and plan.”
“You think Big Q would really plot against you?” Jack’s brows are slowly inching up his forehead.
Tubbo hums, he hasn’t really decided what he thinks of the Quackity he’s now getting to experience out from under Schlatt’s influence, then shrugs. “If we had shunned him? Exiled him or worse for giving Schlatt the means to coming into power to begin with? Maybe.” Tubbo pinches his chin between his fingers, head tilting as he really gives the possible outcomes some thought. “As it stands, I’ll believe he’ll be fine and, if nothing else, there’s a reason I’ve got Tommy as my VP.”
Jack snickers and jabs a sharp elbow into Tubbo’s side making him yelp. “You mean other than having no better options?”
Tubbo swats at him and Jack dances away grinning, Tubbo can’t help a smile of his own. He’s happy to see Jack acting up like this again. Schlatt’s administration had really sucked the life out of all of them by the end. “Well, of course, Jack Manifold, but contrary to popular belief not all of us were raised on the streets and were actually taught about proper manners.” he says, tilting his head up for peak snobbery.
Jack rolls his eyes but presses a hand to his chest. “Low blow there, Beeboy.”
“I’m quite sure you can handle it, Manifold.” Tubbo says in the same manner before dropping it and saying, “We should probably get ready as well.” He considers. “And I’ve got to make sure we’ve got a decent spot set up for all of this to go down.”
Jack nods, sobering up as well. “I’ll come help out with that when I’ve finished, see if I can herd the others that way as well.”
“Thanks, Jack.” Tubbo says, genuine.
Jack grins. “No problem, man. We got this.”
“Yeah,” Tubbo agrees, almost surprising himself by doing so, “I think we just might.”
During the war, they had once learned a lot of things, most of them the hard way. One of the least exciting of which was the difficulty of separating uniforms and returning the appropriate pieces to their owners after bulk laundry day when they were, well, made to be nearly identical. It was too time consuming, they’d all been ready to tear their hair out even after just the first time.
It was after the third that they all silently agreed they could remain identical no longer.
Not that some people hadn’t already started adding bits of their own personality to their uniforms but it made it clear that a bit more distinction was necessary.
Tommy’s had gained more red, replacing much of the white, Tubbo had exchanged most of his red for green. Fundy’s uniform had always been its own problem and Niki had taken diluted whitener to hers to purposely get the same effect. Jack had gone so far as to tear one of his arms off and promise Tommy half his rations for a week in exchange for a red replacement.
They’d gotten wild enough with it that Tubbo had sort of forgotten what the standard had been once upon a time.
Of course, then he saw Fundy and recalled.
Tubbo considers the chance that they might not have thought through Fundy borrowing Wilbur’s uniform enough before going through with it.
Because there was no way that anyone who saw it wouldn’t know immediately who it had belonged to, not only because of the stark uniformity it still adhered to but the repaired tear on the arm where Tubbo knew a patch of the L’Manberg flag had once been.
Though, at first, he hardly realizes he’s looking at Fundy at all. It’s all Wilbur, the curly hair, sharp jawline, the way his eyes shift constantly to take in his surroundings, the way he tells Tubbo, “You just stood there. You don’t know what it was like. You deserve this, you deserve to know what I went through for-”
-except Tubbo blinks rapidly and focuses instead on how Fundy’s shoulders round, curling in on himself, how he wrings his hands together, fiddles with the mask tied to his belt. Wilbur never would have allowed himself to seem so uncertain where so many people could see. If there was one thing of his father’s that Fundy had never had, it was his self assuredness, faked or not.
A fact that was obvious in this moment as, even with hardly anyone gathered yet, it appeared as if the only thing keeping the man from fleeing was Niki’s arm looped through his own. Tommy stuck right alongside them, bracketing Fundy in until Niki began to guide Fundy towards a few people setting up blankets on the grass already.
Then Tommy makes a beeline for him, and Tubbo is about to ask how that had gone until Tommy holds up a hand and shakes his head, lip curling. “Don’t.” he says. “Don’t say it, don’t think it.” Tommy blows out a breath and scrubs both his hands through his hair, turning it into even more of an unruly mess. Tubbo wonders how Tommy’s feeling as the longer he goes without a haircut the more his hair reveals gentle curls of its own. “It took us long enough to get him out here, it’ll be a fucking miracle if he doesn’t make a run for it before we even start.”
“Maybe he should have just worn the pastel.” Tubbo murmurs despite the warning.
Tommy scowls at him. “Fuck off with that shit.” Tommy says and Tubbo’s a bit taken aback by the genuine vitriol in Tommy’s voice. He’s not used to that tone being directed at him. Tommy seems to realize what he’s done rather fast, however, as he shrinks in on himself and mutters, “Sorry.” a distinct two syllable sound that illustrates Tommy’s distaste for the word. “You know he’d be acting like this no matter which he wore, at least in this one he looks presentable.” Tommy, hypocrite that he is, takes that moment to reach up to tug at the collar of his red undershirt and Tubbo takes great pleasure in viciously swatting his hand away.
Tommy glares at him and Tubbo grins, beatific. There, they’re even again now.
“Well,” Tubbo carries on amicably, “thank you for handling that.” he says mostly to see Tommy squirm about it. “Now, help me get these tables set up, Jack left to see if there’s any more furniture we can borrow for this thing.”
“‘Kay.” Tommy mutters and does just that.
As the day grows later, more people slowly trickle in. More blankets are set out, some people bring food to share with friends and neighbors. Groups form and the chattering becomes a buzz in the air. Many people wear their uniforms as well and even those who don’t have them or choose to leave the past behind them are still dressed in deep reds and navy blues, splashes of white where there’s no danger of grass stains, the occasional shadow of black or streak of yellow.
As soon as Tubbo steps up onto their makeshift podium stands, pulling Tommy up alongside him, the crowd goes silent. Tubbo swallows and his hands shake and he’s never been the people person that everyone else was, why is this his to handle-?
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder and Tubbo shoots Tommy a wide eyed look and Tommy motions to the other tables they’ve got around them. Quackity and Jack on one, Niki and Fundy on the other, and it’s a good reminder that he’s not as alone now as he was before. He has more people in his corner, people he can rely on to help him through this.
Tommy jostles him a little and murmurs, “You got this, Big T, nothin’ to it.”
Tubbo nods and lets out a breath before focusing on the crowd once more. “Good afternoon, everyone.” he calls over the crowd, loud as he could manage with no sound system to assist him. “Thank you for appearing on short notice and in high spirits at that!” A chuckle goes through the crowd. Tubbo’s chest warms. “I’m sure that we’ve all got more important things we could be working on.”
“Like not sleeping in a tent anymore!” Quackity shouts, stomping his foot and nearly sending him and Jack to the ground when the table protests the treatment. The scattering of laughter for the people is louder this time and Tubbo huffs, rolls his eyes.
“Like rebuilding.” he agrees in more appropriate terms. “Like stabilizing the crater to make it habitable again, working on the memorial to remember those lost on the 16th and before.” The memorial from the revolution is long gone between Schlatt’s rule and the disaster of the 16th, but a new one has slowly been growing beneath the L’Mantree. What had started with a few photos and bouquets has grown to nearly encompass the base of the tree.
Hidden somewhere in all of it was even a picture of a grinning Wilbur in his shiny new uniform. Tubbo wonders sometimes when exactly Wilbur’s happiness became so much of a show. “But here you are, here we are,” he motions to himself and his cabinet, “just like we’ve always been, ready to approach this not as just one more bitter end but a hopeful new beginning.” A cacophony of cheering and clapping follows. Tubbo grins, bolstered, and waits for it to die down before continuing. “Schlatt’s gone! We no longer have to fear the future, we can embrace. Continue to grow and change without compromising the values that we built on.
“Together, I wish to bring about a new era of peace, the first real peace we’ve ever known!” He grabs onto Tommy’s wrist, lifts both their arms above their heads. “To help with this, Vice President Tommy Innit.” He releases Tommy, waves towards Jack and Q, “Secretary of State Quackity. Jack, our ally in Manifoldland.” He motions towards Fundy and Niki. “Historian Fundy S- Soot.” He stumbles over his name before committing. “Niki, here to advise us where she can, as she has the experience.” He turns back to the crowd at large. “And I look to all of you in the same way, we have all built this nation together and I don’t see why that should stop now!”
Everyone cheers and hollers and whistles and Tubbo laughs and Tommy throws an arm over his shoulders and smashes them together. “For L’Manberg!” Tommy yells and the callback from the people, their people, was one of the greatest things Tubbo’s ever heard.
And then, in a sea of reds and blues, Tubbo’s eyes catch on something mostly yellow. Yellow and grey with a bright splash of brilliant blue so different from the near navy of L’Manberg-
-and he’s staring into Wilbur Soot’s ashen face, eyes a white voice staring right back, blue like blood staining a yellow sweater.
Wilbur salutes, Tubbo blinks, and the vision is gone like it was never there to begin with.