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The two stood there, Tommy had dropped his shovel when they finished but Tubbo still held it at his side. The overcast day cast a gray light over everything. Their shoes, slightly muddy from the wet ground. The moment was almost bittersweet, two friends finally back together after growing apart. Only, the reason for their meeting is one of sorrow.
Tommy reached for his friend’s hand. Tubbo held onto it tight, their eyes never leaving the shallow grave. Tubbo’s breath became shaky, his vision blurry with tears. He tightened his grip on Tommy's hand. The scene had been replaying in his head.
He was walking home in a snowstorm, he was almost home. His eyes widened when he came upon his house, the front door ajar. He sprinted in, hoping his family was alright. The lanterns on the first floor had been blown out from the wind. Tubbo called out to Ranboo and Michael but heard no response. He sprinted upstairs to Michaels room only to find him lying face down on the floor. He was unresponsive.
Tubbo ran as fast as he could to Niki and Puffy, he didn't know where else to go. They tried to help but Michael was already gone. Tubbo couldn't sleep that night, or the next. He kept getting terrible nightmares or Michael dying right in front of him, and him not being able to do anything but scream.
He would wake up screaming and sweating. He lost his voice after about a week. Tubbo had been waiting for ranboo to come home. He went out every night calling for him, searching. Nobody had seen him since the accident. Everyone else came to the conclusion that Ranboo went crazy, killed Michael, and fled but Tubbo refused. His husband, his beloved, he could never do something like that.
After a week of searching and nightmares, Tommy came by with Niki. She had convinced him to go to Tubbo and help him bury his child. Tubbo silently agreed and went to get Michael. They had wrapped him in a small white cloth. Niki gave them some flowers to put on the grave.
Tommy placed the bouquet of flowers on the large stone marking the grave. Tubbo looked up at the sky, clouds heavy with rain, and sighed. He finally let himself accept that Michael is dead. Gone. And his husband missing. He finally let himself cry. Tears or rage, grief, confusion. He fell to his knees and let himself sob.
He let himself stay there and cry until it rained. He was so tired of trying to be okay. He was so tired. He didn't want to go home. He'd be happy to sit there until he turned to dust. He’d just go home to a cold, empty house.
Tommy tapped his shoulder and said, “Let's go back, I don't want you to get sick from the rain.”
Tubbo slowly looked up to Tommy, his mournful eyes red and swollen. He reached out for a hug. Tommy bent down and returned the embrace. They stayed like that for a moment. Tommy picked him up. Tubbo wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around his hips.
As they walked home, it started to rain. Tommy remembered what Tubbo would say about rain. ‘The rain is nature’s way of cleaning, it washes away the old and gives life to the new.’