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Tubbo didn’t lead an easy life. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. A war veteran twice over at 19, and a father to a three-year-old to boot.
And yet even before that, he had led a life of difficulties. The child of an alcoholic, with a run-away older brother, and a family that didn’t recognize him when he found them once again.
So it came as no surprise his mind required a coping mechanism.
Age regression was something mentioned by Puffy to him, when she found him in a child-like state during the war for L’Manburg’s Independence. She explained to him that the stress had forced his mind into a child-like state to cope with the constant pressure, and guided him in gathering supplies and setting rules for his little self. He kept it in a small chest, under his bed, where it would be safe.
Until L’manberg blew up, and then Doomsday to pour salt in the wound. His precious things were destroyed. He was discarded to the side by his own father, who didn’t even remember or recognize him. Hurt by one of his few guardian figures left in this world.
Those words, spoken again and again, rang in his ears like a cruel tinnitus.
“It was never meant to be.”
Puffy helped him buy new things, but it didn’t fill that pit in his heart. It didn’t replace his stuffed teddy Wilbur had given him. It didn’t replace the big sweater Nikki had knitted for him. It didn’t fix anything. It just provided things for Little Tubbo to cling to.
So when Ranboo and him became close, he resolved to keep his age regression secret. Close to his chest. Unknown to anyone but Nikki, who he rarely saw, Puffy, who would keep the secret as she had promised, and Wilbur, who had probably lost the memory somewhere along the path to revival.
He pushed it off for weeks during the early days of their marriage. It came to a head four months after rescuing Michael, who, of course, required new baby things.
He felt guilty, buying things for his little self while buying things for his son, but god, his brain wouldn’t stop yelling and screaming. Yelling for him to just let himself have something, just this once. He waited still for three months, not willing to let Michael have an irresponsible father.
He waited until Ranboo left on a mining trip and Eret had taken Michael with a grin on her face, and then finally let it all wash over him.
That gentle fog came so easily, so soon after putting on his big, bee-striped sweater and loose, flowy gray skirt. He dug through his closet and reached into his chest with a smile of pure innocence, digging out a bottle, pacifier, stuffie, and coloring book.
Care free, Little Tubbo wandered out, scooting down the stairs on his bum. He waddled to the kitchen, setting his book on the table and popping the little forest green pacifier in his mouth as he wandered to the fridge. He clumsily poured juice into his sippie cup, focusing very hard not to spill it, and happily grabbing the crayons from the junk drawer on his way back to the table.
So there he sat, kicking his legs, humming, coloring and signing each picture.
Then it started.
The gentle rumbling in the distance.
Little Tubbo brushed off the noise.
Then it came again. Louder. Closer. More volatile.
Tubbo paused.
Lightning struck, thunder roaring shortly after.
Tubbo’s mind was immediately flooded with bad, bad memories.
Staring at Dada and Quackie while Techno gave him a look that screamed of guilt.
Bright colors in his eyes.
Burning.
Burning.
Tubbo shot out of his seat, pushing over a vase in his haste and shocking himself worse. His pacifier fell out of his mouth somewhere along the way as he shoved himself in the back corner of a closet. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing past his binder, eyes wide and staring into the darkness.
It played through his mind with every roar of thunder outside the house.
The lights.
The pain.
The burning.
He could only whimper as he slipped scarily young.
Ranboo rushed home, cursing as the rain began to pour. He found solace in his armor, which protected him from most of the painfully cold rain.
He quickly hurried his horse into the stable, and dashed across the yard once more to get to the awning.
Under the shelter, he took a deep breath.
He knew Tubbo hated storms. It was something the hybrid denied often, but it was easy to see.
His husband had trauma, and that trauma was triggered by thunder storms.
But he had never seen something like the sight he found when he stepped in his home.
The first place he looked in was the kitchen, where a bottle of apple juice was left out without the cap on, with small puddles of apple juice leading to the kitchen table.
There sat a sippy cup Ranboo hadn’t seen before, along side a coloring book. An incomplete coloring of a cow in a field was left open.
He flipped curiously to the last page, confused.
Signed in childish handwriting was Tubbo’s name, written slightly wrong.
TUbbO_bELOVD
He smiled to himself. The dots were beginning to connect.
He walked along the path of destruction into the conjoined living room, a knocked over vase and it’s resulting shattered glass guiding him further.
The path was now much clearer, as there were bloody foot prints directing him to a closet. He bent low to the ground to pick up a cute green pacifier, and that’s when it occured to him.
When moving in, he had found a box of children’s toys and supplies for a young child. He had asked Puffy curiously if she knew anything about him knowing any children, and she had only laughed and shook her head.
“It’s not mine to tell, Ranboo. Just treat him with love and he’ll tell you one day.”
Ranboo was not new to the concept of age regression. He’d more than once found Tommy in the mind set of a 5-7 year old. Often, his visits to the blonde were to ensure he was taking care of himself- both big and small.
Bubs must be an age regressor too.
He smiled to himself.
Gently, he knocked on the closet door.
“Bubs? It’s Ranboo, can I come in?”
A whimper in response.
God, this is worse than I thought, isn’t it? All that time I was just wandering, and he was…
He cut his own thoughts off as he opened the closet.
There was his husband, shoved into the far corner, tears in his eyes, whimpering and whining, hardly even verbal. Blood leaked from wounds in his feet and his poor skirt was ruined by an accident.
Ranboo began to coax Tubbo out.
“Tubbo? Tubbo, it’s Ranboo. It’s okay. I’m gonna come sit nearby, ok? Let’s get you out of here.”
He spent a good few minutes carefully soothing Tubbo until his sobs were reduced to hiccups, then finally began to ease him out of the dark corner.
“Oh, Bubs. That skirt doesn’t look very comfy any more, Bo. Come here, buddy, let’s get you cleaned up, huh? Then we can get something playing to block out this icky storm, huh.”
Tubbo only nodded. Ranboo picked Tubbo up bridal style and carried the little to their shared bedroom.
One changing into Ranboo’s spare PJs later, and Tubbo was having glass carefully removed from his feet while he sucked happily on a cleaned paci and hugged one of Michael’s stuffies close to his chest.
Ranboo finished bandaging him up and carried Tubbo back down to the couch.
Thunder rumbled, and Tubbo flinched closer.
Ranboo kissed the top of the ram hybrid’s head, gently stroking his hair and comforting him.
He turned on Frozen, made hot cocoa for the two, and finally, finally just…
Relaxed.
He knew they’d have to talk about this eventually,
But for now,
He was more than happy to just hold Tubbo through this.
More than happy to just be there.
To just take care of Tubbo Beloved, his favorite person.