Day 16 - Does it hurt? with hurt!Tubbo

Other characters: Techno

Other tags: Dream smp setting, post avenging Ranboo, scars, implied chronic pains

Summary: Sometimes, an offer does not need to be more than that


Techno needed some time at first to get used to having Tubbo around.

It isn't the same as Phil or even Ranboo (at the end, not the beginning). There was a certain synchronicity to the three of them living together, moving around each other. When Phil walked in to grab some stuff from his chests, Techno barely took notice from where he was engrossed in his work at his brewing stand. When Techno made his way into Ranboo's basement to trade with his villagers, the enderman acknowledged him with a quick wave before getting on with his chores unfazed.

They didn't question each other's presence. They didn't ask for explanations. They simply shared, in everything - food, potions, supplies, company.

And, well, perhaps Techno could recognize that partly there had been a root of privilege there. Not all of it - not half of it - but close to 20%, he would admit sharing is easier when what you have is in abundance.

Tubbo was raised on survival.

Tubbo now is a fractured mirror image from the child Techno knew in Pogtopia, picking flowers and making music and staring at Wilbur with openly held trust. And Techno has seen small harbingers of this change in darting moments. In the too-large suit Tubbo wore as president and in the cold, desperate eyes that met his on doomsday and in the boy from Snowchester who held protective venom in his voice when he spoke about weapons of mass destruction.

Techno has seen the changes, and he knows them for what they are.

He knows Tubbo would not like sharing his stuff, not out of some selfish lack of generosity but because of an integral fear of scarcity. And really, that's fine because Techno doesn't need anything from Tubbo. The problem lies in the fact that Tubbo would not accept charity either, probably. He is much too stubborn for that too. Techno isn't sitting around thinking of ways to be charitable, but he has at least a smidge of conscience.

A bare-bones thing it is at times, hollow and steadfast. He knows his morals, he acts upon them. He questions them when necessary and isn't afraid to admit when he'd been wrong and needed to learn.

Techno might not see the use in continued guilt over Tubbo's death, that didn't make it easier seeing Tubbo struggle with the aftermath.

And he'd have to be a blind man not to notice Tubbo is in pain since moving.

Techno has a fair suspicion of the cause too. People often believed coldness had an adverse effect on scar tissue since old wounds tended to act up in winter, if that were the case Tubbo would be familiar from his time in Snowchester. Contrary to common belief however, the thing that actually would make a difference is barometric pressure.

The arctic, with its constant storms and northern location, will wreak hell on somebody used to the milder, more temperate climate of Snowchester.

"Does it hurt?" Techno asks, watching Tubbo trudge after Michael through the backyard, allowing the tiny piglin to chase his chicken within the safe confines of Phil's fences. Tubbo isn't limping entirely, but it's a little too close to it for comfort. With every step, his right leg jerked as if trying but unable to keep pace. His right fist is clenched, his shoulder pulling up so Tubbo can rub his scarred cheeks against the coarse fabric on his jacket to help with the itching.

"Hm?" Tubbo doesn't look at him.

"Your scars," Techno says. "Are they hurting? I mean, you're not being very subtle."

Tubbo's shoulders drop abruptly. "Nah, it's fine."

"I didn't ask if it was fine," Techno says. Tubbo doesn't answer either.

Michael managed to catch his prey - Benny? Bonso? Techno forgets what the chicken is called - proudly coming over and holding it up to show them. When Tubbo congratulates him, giving him a little pat on the head, he winces like moving his arm hurt.

Techno sighs. "Two measures of honey, one of rose haw. Dilute with an equal amount of water and just slather it on as much as you like. Be careful when you go to bed though, your sheets will be sticky. Your hair too, clothes, everything really. More than sticky, it'll get stuck like glue, and then you have to explain to your roommate why you ripped part of your braid off."

"What?" Tubbo asks, and Techno can't tell if he didn't understand the advice or his tangent about sticky ointments.

"For your scars." He cranes his neck to the side a bit, pushing away the great mess of pink strands that fall over his shoulder so Tubbo can see the spiderweb of thin golden scars on the dip of his neck. They're much worse down his spine and shoulder blades, but he's not going to take his cloak off outside, he's not stupid.

He's just trying to help.

"They hurt pretty bad at the start, but the salve helps. Now I only use it on stormy days."

"Maybe I'll try it," Tubbo says. Not a commitment, nor a promise, nor an acceptance of help really.

And in his chests, Techno has probably three whole vials of the stuff stacked away. But he knows better than to offer Tubbo one.

"There's so much honey in the hives, I don't have time to clean them out. If you're in there, just grab some to save me the time later, yeah?"

Tubbo nods. Techno won't ask him about how he's getting the other ingredients.

(Tubbo was raised on survival)

A few days later he's standing in his cabin and watching Tubbo in the yard again, making snowmen with Michael. Ranboo hovers nearby, a perpetual blur in Techno's peripheral he tries not to focus on. So he watches Tubbo instead, getting shoved into a snowdrift by his son and then cursing loudly before chasing the piglin around in a game of almost-tag.

Tubbo isn't limping anymore.

Techno goes back to his book, not particularly feeling like heading out. He's sure his hives are clean anyway.