Chapter Text
He likes to think he’s rational and this was all according to plan. That this wasn’t some funny prank but rather something that’s like a museum tour. Maybe he’s making his own adventure - there’s no way that this can happen right?
There’s no way that the painting would just… open up a new world right? There’s no way…
Tubbo swallows thickly, standing at the end of the red velvet rope, looking down at the deep sea monster painting, one that was engraved into the floor. Sickly dark blue colors blended in - and if you could look closely. There was an armless snake-like entity, not moving, but filled with gaping holes and small light blue rounded teeth. His mouth was slightly ajar, as if inviting him closer, beckoning him in the mouth of the beast.
There were dark inky footprints here, shoe prints, indicating that someone went in there. Wilbur’s coat was dipped partially in there too...
And as much as he hated the idea, of going somewhere without Wilbur or Phil with him, of going anywhere that looked sketchy - he didn’t exactly have a choice. There was no one here, nothing but his thoughts. And staying in this lonely museum was leading nothing but just frying his nerves.
Standing here, he wonders exactly how he got into the situation.
It was a normal Wednesday, nothing extra about it. Wilbur had scored some tickets due to a raffle in his school, the museum of distortion. An unknown artist who never finished his paintings - but always wanted them on display, proud of his incomplete art. Showing it broadly outwards because he wanted to make a statement.
Being incomplete wasn’t something to be ashamed of. If anything, it was a start. The starting point where everything lied. Even though he, himself, was incomplete, he still made paintings that fascinated the world. But it never got popular until he died, where it was a dead man's painting that made him more brilliant.
Acrylic paints and golden leaves. Fresco and drying paint, of messed up monsters and love and compassion, empty of emotions. Hung up on display as some work - as a trophy to show off.
Tubbo was still in middle school, the younger adopted sibling of the Minecraft family. He was still wary of exploring anything new, because he didn’t like change. It was already hard to get used to Wilbur’s charismatic aura and Philza’s powerful presence.
Wilbur was an upcoming musician who loved to sing songs. Sometimes, they were horribly morbid - but his voice was as smooth as warm coffee in the afternoons. He was naturally talented, playing guitar and singing to entice his audience. He had such a soft and gentle smile, yet he seemed to real and grounded.
He was so very admirable.
Wilbur had chocolate brown hair and mocha eyes that told many sincerities. He was always a man of his word, he didn’t like to go back on his promises. He had an item of comfort, his dark red beanie he always had on him because it reminded him of his mother.
Philza was their father who adopted Tubbo. He was this powerful man who could recite anything that came into mind. He worked for a printing firm, an editor for authors and endless careers. He worked so many jobs, yet always had time for them. Especially Tubbo, since he was the newest factor of their family.
An extended hand reaching out for him.
He had glossy blond hair and lightly blue eyes that screamed out kindness. He was always a benevolent father who took zero shit from Wilbur and took his time trying to coax Tubbo to be more open, although he was reluctant to do so. And it wasn't because they didn't treat him right it was just! He's not used to this.
A happy family, smiling at the picture frame and being. Happy. He was happy. He was grateful for everything and it was just...
.....it was so strange. To be in a busy family that functioned so well. It was scary.
It was unusual.
Although Philza was there for him, Wilbur was also there for him, trying to help ease him into the family, since this was his first family in a while. Not after the countless foster families that had rejected him because…
“So?” Wilbur grins toothfully, standing before him with his tall legs. He holds up the tickets happily, waving them in the air, offering one to Tubbo. His smile melts however, when he takes a long full look at Tubbo, whose eyes were securely guarded and looking away at him.
Tubbo had just gotten home after school when Wilbur had popped the question. He admits, he wasn’t paying attention when he asked for it, he just nodded and headed to his room silently, shutting the door and locking it so no one could get in. Not that Wilbur had tried before.
He hurriedly takes off his jacket, shrugging off his muddy uniform and sheds his torn pants. He throws them into the laundry bin and grabs the first aid kit. He doesn’t flinch as he applies the alcohol to his fabric burn on his knee, but he does sigh, tired of this…
(He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t like to think about it really.)
After he finishes wrapping up his wounds, he changes into something comfy. Some black sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt with a mario logo. He prepares to go out to fix dinner when he catches his reflection in the dark room, the mirror taunts him with a glare.
Dirty blond hair, almost brown and murky green eyes.
Nothing like his family.
His family now .
Tubbo tries not to think about it, shoving it back as he opens the door and is greeted with a worried Wilbur at the door, leaning against the wall.
“Wil.” He calls out softly, watching as Wilbur jumps, taking off his earbuds, “Are you helping with dinner?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wilbur nods, and he can see his little frown in his eyebrows, “Are you quite alright?”
Tubbo nods again, reaching out and grabbing his sleeve. He tugs Wilbur downstairs, where they start making pasta. The older sibling has to reach above the stove, to grab the pasta strands as Tubbo researches the recipe on his phone.
“Was it those kids again?”
His eyes flicker to Wilbur then back at the task. He swipes some cheese from the fridge and digs out a pot. He clicks it silently onto the stove and gets the rest of the ingredients out.
“I told those fuckers to leave you alone.” Wilbur hisses, taking a seat at the counter. He doesn’t like him helping and Wilbur knows it. So he helps only at small amounts, when the younger can’t reach for things.
He wants to earn his keep, although he won't say it, afraid of losing this kitchen opportunity.
“It’s fine.” Tubbo says softly, shaking his head, “It wasn’t that bad.”
“But it could be!” Wilbur protests loudly, shaking his head back and burying his head in his hands, “I should have walked you home, I could have! I have a car, hell, I can pick you up next time!”
Tubbo brings the fire to medium heat and starts boiling the water, “It’ll just make it worse.” He states firmly, moving around in autopilot. He doesn’t have to look up to see Wilbur flinch a bit, then looking down at his lap like a guilty person.
It was common knowledge around the school that Tubbo was adopted. He looked nothing like Wilbur or Philza - and although it was none of their business, they made it their business. Like pesky bugs that always grew bigger and bigger until he couldn’t defend himself. Until they crushed him.
But they were scared to do anything drastic. Wilbur wasn’t just a musician or a singer and Philza wasn’t just a busy man who was always tired. They were his family, first and foremost. So he got lucky when it was just a few accidental scrapes and shoves. They've always been strong, firm and safe.
He was lucky.
“It’s not fair. ” Wilbur mutters quietly from his seat, “I wish I could help more.”
“If anything, Wilbur.” Tubbo offers him a half smile, “You and Philza have done enough. I can handle my own fights. Thank you for worrying.”
He doesn’t miss Wilbur’s “No, it’s not.” but he does ignore it.
Family bonding, they had explained when they tucked him in the car. Philza was driving today, he had taken today off just to spend some time with his boys. And Wilbur had won tickets to a museum, the one he was talking about when Tubbo came home about a week ago.
And Tubbo wasn’t one to reject an offer to get closer to his family. He wasn’t opposed at all actually. Although he seemed dismissive when Wilbur had brought it up - he’d be lying if he wasn’t excited for it. He had gotten his bee bag ready, packed with honey treats and sweets.
(“Bees!?” Tubbo had blurted out loudly, causing Philza and Wilbur to look at him with wide eyes. Tubbo visably shrunk, his hands falling from the bee bag, “Ah… I mean….”
Tubbo looks at his feet, frowning and grabbing at his cheeks with his hands. Why? Why had he said something.
A large shadow casts over him, causing him to look up. Wilbur had a wide goofy grin and slowly spread across his face, “Yeah? You like bees, Tubbster?”
Philza didn’t hesitate, buying him several bee related things as Tubbo tried to not wilt away from the amount of attention given to him. His face was so red, he fanned it to try to keep it cool. He smiles nervously as they throw him anything sweet, loving his smile for whatever reason.
When they got back in the car, he had a bee hat, honey candies and his bee bag. A brown and yellow scarf tucked under his chin, since it was cold. He can see through it, looking at Philza, who was so happy that Tubbo actually said something that he liked for a change, instead of basing it off of Wilbur or his own likes.)
“Aw shit, look he’s in his little world again.” Tubbo blinked at Philza’s gentle eyes under the rearview mirror, “Say, sport, you ready for the museum?”
He nods quietly, holding his bag closer to him. He plays with the bee’s antennae, watching it as it bobs back and forth in a quiet manner. He likes fiddling around with it, watching it go back and forth in a comforting motion. A constant thing.
He’s always been a quiet child, he didn’t like stirring up trouble at the least. He hated the idea that he had to focus on what he wanted. He rather just go along with the flow.
(“No, Astria, you can’t have that. It’s Tubbo’s turn.” Her eyes had faded from his memory, he can’t remember her name. Her face. Her accent. She sounded stuffed up, sick perhaps?
The older girl stomps her foot angrily, pointing at Tubbo in a vicious manner, “It’s not fair! He’s not even my brother and he’ll never be!”
Ah that’s right. He was taken in to replace a kid, a kid that Astria had viewed as her brother, but he was too quiet for that. Her brother was more out there, more sport-like.
Unlike Tubbo, who preferred to look at drawings.
Tubbo reaches out, picking the thing that Astria wanted, “It’s okay, let’s get this for Astria.” He smiles at her, wanting her love.
A firm line, showing that the mother was disappointed with him listening to her daughter - but not correcting her daughter, “Fine.” She bites out bitterly.)
Quiet. How does Tubbo stop being so quiet? He isn’t sure, he doesn’t like the attention, he never did in the first place. He likes playing games, ones where he can grind for materials. One where he can think and plan out. But he’s not loud. He's not talkative as the kids in the home - or at school. He clams up when adults talk to him and he's been working on it, gods he's been trying.
He doesn’t go on voice chat or anything like that. He gets the play of the game most of the time and he doesn’t… get angry...or loud...
He leans on the window, resting his chin in the small divot of his elbow and looks outside to all the passing cars. The buildings they go past have people bustling themselves around, smiling and talking to one another. Socializing. He wonders if he can ever do that one day without freezing up...
Wilbur and Philza were talking about something, new renovations on their newest gigs. Philza was laughing at something the older sibling had said. A soft smile graces Tubbo’s lips as he yawns, deciding to go to sleep until he gets there.
Tubbo’s been always interested in art. He just likes how it feels. When the paint gets between your fingers and makes a mess. There was just this feeling about it that made him feel… Somewhat content. Like he was happy when he got a brush in his hand, where he can doodle without any worry.
Painting his feelings out was a great stress reliever, other than eating pufferfish he has heard about. Only that it was extremely expensive and there was no way he can put that strain on Philza, after everything he has done for him.
So he settles on looking at it instead.
Walking in the building was intensely scary.
Pure white walls and crystal black floorings with sparkles in them. He stood well behind Wilbur and Philza, his hand reaching out to grab the end of their shirts. So he doesn’t get lost. There were paintings in golden frames and it wasn’t crowded by any means. It had just enough people, glancing around in a curious manner, memorized by the paintings.
“Two adults and one kid please.” Philza did hand motions as he spoke, a mindless task he had learned when doing his jobs was sign language. He had grown so used to doing sign language when he spoke that it became a handy skill down the line.
He holds onto Wilbur’s dark blue tattered coat tightly, tugging it slightly so that he can see at the front desk too and admire the notable pictures behind him.
There’s a quiet gasp, from the lady in front who looks down at him in mind shock, surprised at him. At his appearance?
“Huh?” Tubbo peeps out, tilting his head as she scrambles for something, a pamphlet of some kind and opens it to show a picture of…
Himself…?
But it’s not him, although Philza is laughing at the coincidence and Wilbur had put his hand on his shoulder, as comforting motion as he looks at the picture in confusion.
The artist was generally unknown, although records show that there were a few pictures of him. Schlatt went by, although he sadly passed away sometime this year, making these paintings more valuable.
And he looked… bizarrely like him. Schlatt had dark brown hair with a pair of silly horns on him, like a ram’s. Was he cosplaying as something? His eyes were hidden under a mask, but he had his same cheek bones and hair.
(He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t like to think about it.)
They wander away from the lady, after getting their tickets. Tubbo feels more attention on him, or maybe it was his imagination. He looked similar to the artist apparently.
Apparently.
And he had this attraction to paint...
He holds onto Wilbur’s coat as they went from frame to frame. There were many things distorted, much to its name. Some of the paintings weren’t even finished, with a white canvas with pencil sketchings still up there, framed. Small notes written on the side of it, so small that he couldn’t even read it - it being cursive didn’t help either.
He’s really bad at English. Most of the letters tend up blurring together and he mixes them up sometimes. He flubs words when he speaks too - so he rather save himself the embarrassment and not speaks out loud when the teacher calls out for him.
Wilbur helps him with the words, smiling kindly at him as he listens, nodding slowly as he tries to repeat the word in his mind.
Reserved seating. (A chair covered in red vines, the sofa looks invitingly good for his sore legs.)
??? on table. (Pool? There's a stick in on the side of it and he thinks the number seven ball is right beside it.)
Fabricated world. (A long painting that stretched from wall to wall, messily angrily scribbled in to describe absolutely nothing.)
……?
Tubbo blinks as the lights flicker, he lets go of Wilbur to look up, covering the light from his eyes as it flicks on and off in a pattern.
He reaches for Wilbur again, only to be caught off guard when all he makes contact with is the air.
“Wil…?” He calls out confusingly, looking around when the lights flicker back on. There’s no one near him, there’s no one anywhere actually. Wilbur had vanished?
Tubbo keeps going, catching glimpse of paintings as he hurriedly tries to find his older brother, “Wil? Wil?” He calls out quietly, trying to not get attention to himself, and find him. He had let go of his coat, just for a moment! Just a quick moment and he had lost him!
“Wil? Wil, where’d you go?”
Enlightenment. (It’s a picture of an eye, similar to one that’s in history books, about Egypt.)
Your dark figure. (It’s kind of like a cat?)
???
Dread fills his chest as he looks up at the large blue lady, melting away above him, nearly towering over him with it’s sheer height. He grows more anxious, feeling something grip his heart - but he can’t cry. He can’t - not right now.
He’s in public.
Even though there was no one near him, he didn’t want to cause a scene. He doesn’t want to cause trouble…
Wasn’t Philza behind them too? Where did he go to? Where was everyone? Where?
Where was everyone?
Was this some sort of prank???
Was this planned or…
Did they finally get tired of him?
No, he bats that insecurity away and grips his bee bag closer to his chest. No matter how much he had insecurity, everyone was gone from the museum, it was just him in this quiet room. In these halls that told no lies.
Something was obviously suspicious. It seemed like a welcome to the museum kind of deal, where it was a prank. Like a surprising tour where he can explore everything himself.
Taste cleaning tree (Looks like hanging lights, multicolored lines hanging from the black stem.)
??? (A ball of pink paint is being stabbed by something sharp, large comedic knives?)
Lady in red (A brown haired girl with a kind smile, dressed in a red dress. Some of it is dripping outside of the golden frame.)
Maybe he should check the front desk. He peels his eyes away from the painting, spotting the stairs and skipping two by two, hurriedly getting down. However, as he lands on the last step, the lights once again flicker, only this time shutting off entirely. He’s engulfed in darkness, which only heightens his anxiety.
There’s no one near the front desk either.
He tries the door, maybe they’re waiting for him out there, in the car. Maybe he took too long. Maybe they were mad at him.
Maybe he did something wrong.
But the brown doors were firmly shut, not budging the slightest. In fact… He presses his hand on them, startled by the brown paint sticking onto his hands. The door… was a painting? The pleasant feeling he mentioned earlier, with the paint between his fingers, wasn't there, in fact his heart had started racing, raising in fear and anxiety...
“Huh?” Tubbo blinks, rubbing the brown glossy paint onto his pants, making a large brown stain on his dark blue jeans. “What the hell…?”
BANG BANG BANG!
Tubbo jumps ten feet in the air, looking wildly at the window that had hand prints on it.
Was someone banging on it?
“This isn’t funny!” He tries to say confidently, but his voice wavers, falling back down in a default whisper, “If this is a prank… it’s not funny anymore!”
No one responds.
Quiet just like him.
If he dies, no one will hear him scream.
He keeps wandering, using the dim back up light as a guide, trying to find someone, anyone. An adult he can talk to - to find anyone. But it’s lonely, it’s incredibly quiet in here.
He’s twelve, he should be fine on his own. He just entered middle school, he should be braver. But he follows along the walls.
Cough cough!
He jumps at any bizarre noise, they all catch him off guard, there’s something scary about it being noiseless, then sudden noises. It breaks it out of suspense, because he feels like it can hurt him. But this means that there was someone near him, right?
Hurriedly, he darts to the left, his red sneakers are silent too, he’s used to not making any noise, back in the home. He sees a large painting, an angry red feminine lady raising a finger at a smaller blue boy, who was playing a piano.
Well meaning ???
If Wilbur was here, he could help him read this word - but he’s not.
But-
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wilbur’s dark blue coat, slightly dipped in the painting below, on the floor. There’s blue footprints here too and the red velvet rope was open, practically inviting him in there. He grabs the thick coat and keeps it folded between his arms. It’s a bit too big to put on and he’ll just end up dragging it though the floor so he’ll hold onto it, just until he finds Wilbur.
Tubbo swallows thickly, standing at the end of the red velvet rope, looking down at the deep sea monster painting. Sickly dark blue colors blended in - and- and if you could look closely, there was an armless snake-like entity, not moving, but filled with gaping holes and small light blue rounded teeth. His mouth was slightly ajar, as if inviting him closer, beckoning him in the mouth of the beast.
He sighs deeply, gaining all his courage and walks in with a noisy splash.
Tubbo isn’t covered in paint. In fact, the brown stain on his pants had disappeared, leaving him at the very top of a eerily cold hallway.
Blue walls and blue floorings, with a golden frame adorning the left and right side.
Rocks that seemed washed with the sea, the red on the right, the blue on the left.
Where the hell was he?
He doesn’t know what’s going on, he has no idea. He had somehow lost Wilbur and Philza, and now he was in a painting, trying to find them. He holds onto Wilbur’s coat, holding his bee bag a bit closer as he continues down the hallway.
On the walls, as he walks down towards a vase with a red flower in it, there’s small lettering that spelled out something...
C….O…..ME…...TU…...BBOOO.
Tubbo shivers, grabbing at his arms as he stops in front of the vase. There lies a red rose in a grey vase. Hesitantly, he reaches out, holds it gently and moves the table out the way of the door. There’s a bit of water in the vase still, so he’s not sure what to do.
He walks in, sputtering and taking a step back as there’s a large lady in a golden frame, smiling creepily at him. He spots a small sparkle on the floor, it’s a blue key. Carefully, his eyes pinned on the lady, whose grey blue hair was curling out of the painting, and reaches out with his foot to grab the key. His foot catches the tip of they key and it slowly drags along the floor, towards him.
Her face distorts, twisting into a crooked grin when he has the key in his hand.
Disturbed, he shuts the door and locks it from the outside and leans against the blue door. He collapses, falling down to his knees. There’s a note on the floor that wasn’t out here before, and the letters spelling out his name had turned red, causing a chill to run down his spine.
(You and the rose are ?????? Know the weight of your own life.)
He takes a deep sigh and burries his eyes in his knees. He just.... needs some time to process this.