The Final Control Room

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

The walls around him are familiar, or perhaps feel familiar.  They ache in cold dusty confinement. Yet Tubbo's never felt so free.

A tick,

tick,

tick

follows faintly behind the solid gray , drowned out by dried cement and silicon. Beneath those walls that surround him lies destruction. The possible calamity that comes with ticking bombs, handcrafted, by his hands.

And Tubbo's not afraid, because he knows it's the end. He's attained a kind of control that trembles in his breath, the faint whistle that drifts through his consciousness saying;

"It'll be okay."

That he's safe now. Finally,

he truly believes it.

 The door to the room is bright red, he'd know because he painted it himself. It always came back to him after all. Because deep down he knew his ending wouldn't come from the outside evil, but the evil within. There was no villain that could ever defeat Tubbo, only himself. 

 He knows this because he built this room months prior because deep down he always knew it would end this way;

alone, destined for tragedy.

 He's not scared, he's not.  It clouds him with a foggy warmth that trickles through his skin like liquid gold. Death, the concept of it, the nightmare- the dream, It's so close, he can taste it, right in front of him.  He traces his fingers along the corners of the walls, letting them linger, feeling the beat of it, the life. He remembers building it, scraping cement and obsidian into a square, packing nukes and TNT lined in yellow tape beneath the walls. Creating the detonation, the timer,

That he set off minutes ago.

And Tubbo begins to smile because he knows he only has two-minute left, and the tears wash over his cheeks, they're hot and confused and paint his face with life. And the bombs go,

tick,

tick,

tick

with every passing second.

He feels safe, and whole, despite all the broken pieces he knows he'll leave behind. But he knows Michael will be too young to remember when the years come, and Ranboo will eventually forget, and Tommy...

Tommy has a note, the only one he left.

The only person he knows deserved one.

And it hurts him to know that Tommy will be so broken, and alone, and it's selfish to leave, selfish to die, but Tubbo can't find it in him to care anymore. As much as he wants to. He's tried. 

So Tubbo looks at the door, red, for a reason he can't quite place. Perhaps the color can recall memories from a boy of fire and gold, or blood from revolution, a single stripe in The L'manberg flag,

he will be gone like L'Manberg.

He wonders what he'll think about when everything goes off. Maybe he'll go blank, maybe not.

Will people remember him? Sing songs or write stories about the young boy, forever young. He doesn't know.

And the timer is counting down from 60, and Tubbos is laughing and crying. And the ticking drums in his ears till all he can hear is quiet, his eyes flash with the life of a tyrant and traitor, a soldier adorned with scars, a father, a husband, a boy. 

And there's an instant in oblivion when he finally understands why Wilbur did it. because-

"Tubbo?"

He stills, his face falls incredulously, and he turns around, and there is Tommy, tall and golden, clutching his note in steady hands. He found him too soon, too soon.

Not yet, he thinks.

Not you.

And the timer is at 10 seconds, but Tommy knows, he's always known.

Because the red door behind him is closed and locked and the bombs go

tick,

tick,

tick.

And they reach for each other and Tommy smiles, it's crooked and it's perfect.

There comes a flash, an eruption in times swallows the two boys whole, and they quake beneath the weight of the world they were never meant to hold. And Tubbo fumbles for Tommy's hand because they're not scared anymore 

because they know it's the end.