Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tubbo had been staring at his worksheet for the last hour. 

Well, that was a bit of a lie. He had also been staring at his phone for a good portion of that time and glancing out the window for the rest of it; honestly the only evidence that the teenager was even aware of the homework laid out messily in front were the few doodles at the margins of the work made from the same pen he was currently using to drum away anxiously at his desk.

This was a bad idea, no scratch that, it was an awful idea, but Tommy had been so excited when he told them and Tubbo had been so busy laughing at Ranboo's panic that he hadn't realized he himself was panicking. 

Tommy had booked them a gig. Bench Trio's first ever gig.

(And maybe last. Probably last, especially if Tubbo's dad found out about it...or if any pricks from school were there...or if they tanked. God they were going to tank so hard, Tubbo was gonna be sick.)

The teenager had no idea how Tommy had even managed to get them a spot at The Syndicate on a Friday night; there was actually a pretty big chance  that he had hurt, maimed and/or killed some poor performer for it, but what he did know was that they’d have to be crazy to throw this opportunity away. Not only was The Syndicate the best ( the only ) club in town with live performers, it was also crawling with agents and talent scouts who had gotten it in their heads that just because one pretty cool dude came from their shitty, stupid, little town that somehow it was some sort of breedimg ground for huge future artists.

Yeah, right. The only thing this town was full of was self absorbed pricks. And usually he wouldd exclude Tommy and Ranboo from that list but considering his best friends actually expected Tubbo to sing to a whole crowd of people, important people even, was enough to earn them the title of "massive fucking arses".

It wasn't that Tubbo thought he or the band was bad, they were actually really good and had improved immensely over the last few weeks, but so far they had only practiced alone in Tommy’s old garage with no audience; Tubbo himself had only ever played guitar in front of like five people and sang to, well, no one but the band and his phone really. The band only had one and a half original songs, no ‘real sense of identity’ as Ranboo would always put it, Tubbo’s guitar was ancient and filled with cat and goofy stickers that did not fit the band’s overall style at all but he was far too attached to them to even consider getting rid of them, he had probably forgotten to tune it earlier too, his strings were ancient and could easily just snap mid-

Something hit his window hard, making him jump back.

“Tubbo?!” His father called from downstairs, making him tense. “Is everything alright up there?”

He nodded before realizing he was alone in his room. “Y-Yeah!” He yelled back before getting up and strapping his old guitar case to his back. “Just dropped something, it’s fine!”

He raced to his window so fast he almost trips over his own feet before pulling it up, it’s already getting dark out and if he sticks his head out he can see the shadow of his father, sitting in the living room downstairs watching tv. He doesn’t have time to focus on that tho, as bickering coming from beneath him draws his attention.

“-already texting him!”

“You take too long! The rock was faster.”

“You could have broken the window! That would defeat the whole purpose of sneaking out!”

“Relax! What are the chances that could happen a fifth time.”

“ Fifth?!”

“ ‘ey, dickheads, you done?” Tubbo called, making Tommy and Ranboo’s heads immediately snap up to face him. He couldn’t see Ranboo’s expression with the sunglasses on, but Tommy at least looked slightly sheepish. “Or do you actually want the entire neighborhood to hear you?!”

“Sorry.” Ranboo whispered at the same time Tommy mumbled. “Sorry, I guess.”

Tubbo sighed and looked down at his friends, taking them in under the dim light of his room above. Ranboo, as usual, looked pretty much stage ready; his bass case was strapped to his back, he had his knock off Doc Martens on, signature red and green tinted glasses, black trousers and a black and white flannel shirt thrown over a T-shirt from an indie band Tubbo has never heard off. Tommy on the other hand, looked like he’s just out for a night stroll, he had ripped jeans on, a red hoodie and his old beat up white sneakers. Both the boy’s bicycles were thrown down on the yard and Tommy seemed to have broken into the shed again before throwing a rock at his window because his dad’s ladder was propped up against the window.

“Just-Just keep your voices down!” The teen cried, making sure to keep his voice down even as he scolded his friends. “And hold the ladder, please. I don't wanna snap my neck or something.”

Both boys sprung into the action, moving to grab the sides of the ladder and keep it steady as Tubbo swung his legs over the windowsill and climbed down onto the ladder. Tubbo considered himself a good kid, I mean sure, he didn't have the best grades and he was prone to back talking sometimes, but he was pretty sure he was at least ok, but still this whole process had become pretty familiar at this point. It's not that his dad was bad or anything he's just...strict, and not a fan of the whole music thing. Or the Tommy thing. Or the Ranboo thing. Or the getting out on weekdays thing.

As it turns out his dad is not a fan of many things.

Tubbo only makes a few steps down before his bandmates start talking again beneath him.

"Ranboob, I got it." Tommy snarled despite the fact that his side of the ladder was probably the shakiest. To demonstrate how little he knows about holding ladders steady, Tommy takes one hand off the damn thing to wave Ranboo off. "Go grab his outfit already."

"I-huh?" Ranboo hissed and oh, oh that was not a good sound. Tubbo had been hiding his stage outfit outside his house since he got it, it was just some generic indie shit he and the boys thrifted together, but he still didn't want his dad to find it and ask why he was suddenly changing his style. "I don't have his outfit, I thought you did!"

"Oh my g-" Tubbo shushed him, and Tommy shot him a look before he continued, quieter this time. "What do you mean you don't have his clothes?! You're his husband ."

"What-What are you implying?!" Ranboo asked, clearly flustered and Tubbo had to suppress a giggle. If he wasn't going down a ladder he would have probably turned to wink at him but the boy is too busy just trying not to fall and break his neck to embarrass his best friend.

"You know damn well what I’m implying, bitch.” Tommy said, somehow managing to sound louder when stage whispering than when talking normally. It is not the least bit surprising. "Do you at least have my outfit?"

" Why on earth would I have your- "

Tubbo skipped the last few steps and jumped down on the floor, dusting himself off. Thankfully it's enough to make them stop arguing for at least half a second. "Can we figure this out anywhere other than my lawn?" He hisses, grabbing Tommy's arms and dragging him to the bike. "Let 's go already."

It's a miracle they don't crash on the way to the club since Tommy rides his bike like he isn't carrying both Tubbo and his guitar on the back of it or like he's certain that if they dont get there in time. It's a miracle that the security backstage let's them in when Ranboo gives them their name, considering Tubbo had been pretty sure Tommy had been lying when he told them they were invited to play, with no audition, to the best club in town.

From then on everything was a blur. There were a mess of artists, of instruments, of music and sounds all around them. He might have had a panic attack at some point, followed by some sort of weird visual hallucination because he's certain Wilbur Soot is there at some point, telling him it would be okay. And then imaginary Wilbur Soot gets chased off by an angry Tommy which honestly was the first thing to make any sense that day.

And of course it's only when Tubbo finally, finally starts calming down Ranboo starts freaking out. 

"I'm just saying! Shouldn't we have had at least a sound check beforehand?!" He asked, starting his pacing. Tubbo was sitting cross legged on the floor, checking to see if his guitar was actually tuned despite how much noise there was around them and Tommy was sat next to him, watching Ranboo’s panic while tapping away at his own thighs with the drumsticks he had ‘borrowed’ from some other band the moment he realized he had forgotten his at home.

“Dude, we are like the seventh group to go up tonight.” He said, rolling his eyes before getting up and putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’d know by now if the sound was fucked up.”

“Alright, true, true. But on that note,” Ranboo continued, raising a hand and somehow  sounding even more exasperated than before. It would be endearing if they weren’t about to go on stage and if Tubbo wasn’t also on the cusps of a second (third?) nervous breakdown. “Are we really supposed to follow after the actual real life celebrity ?!”

Huh, so Wilbur Soot wasn’t a visual hallucination. Good to know.

“Oh, c’mon. That prick is not even good!” Tommy argued and Tubbo didn’t even try to hide his eye roll. Wilbur Soot was probably the only good thing to ever come out of this stupid town; some people, his father included, thought he was just a sellout and held a grudge against him because he shit talked the town and left as soon as he could, but to everyone else Wilbur was a legend and he knew damn well Tommy felt the same. Hell, Tubbo was pretty sure Tommy had been humming one of the artist’s more upbeat songs on the way over to the club. “I’m serious! He’s like, average at best.”

Outside backstage the crowd erupted with thunderous applause, most performers around the trio did too. Ranboo and Tubbo shot Tommy an unimpressed look.

“Yeah, well…” Tommy mumbled, shrugging. He was getting nervous too, Tubbo could tell, but if Tommy was good at anything it was faking confidence when need be. "What do these losers know anyway?"

Tubbo snorted, but Ranboo still looked somewhat hesitant. "I don't know man…" he said, rubbing his arm as he shifted from foot to foot anxiously. "Maybe we should just go home and let someone else take over for us."

"Wh-Oh, come on, Ranboo, not you too!” Tommy cried, putting his head in his hands exasperated. At that moment Wilbur Soot walks off stage, looking perfectly disheveled and...vindicated? Their conversation immediately stops as they cautiously follow him with their gaze.

But Wilbur smiles at them, kindly and brightly as he ignores the other performers and shoots them a small wave."Good luck." He says after a little bit before walking away; he doesn't sound mocking or full of it like Tubbo would have expected him to, he sounds genuine, like he actually hopes they do well.

Ranboo puts his facemask on quickly after that, desperately trying to cover the way his jaw most definitely dropped at that and the blush in his face.

(It didn't work, Tubbo did not miss how red the boy's ears got.)

There were a few moments where all of them were too stunned to move, just staring at each other as they figured out their next move. Outside, the crowd slowly stopped their clapping and loud indistinct chatter picked back up, someone with a clipboard walking up to them and told them they're up before walking away. Tommy clears his throat.

"...Please don't make me go on stage alone." He says softly, eyes glued to the floor as he fidgets with his hands. All the fake bravado, all the fake confidence suddenly dissipating in mid air and leaving a jittery, anxious Tommy behind. He looks up at them, eyes pleading. "Guys, we're good , we might not be as ready as we wanted to be but it's the fucking Syndicate. ” The bright spark in his eyes was back now, and his voice had that raspy infectious excitement overflowing from it once more.”When are we ever getting the same shot again?!”

Tubbo considered for a moment. “I mean, we already biked all the way here.” He said, watching as Tommy’s face splits open into a grin. “And they do give out free chips for performers and I am pretty hungry.” Both boys looked up at Ranboo expectantly.

“I guess I’ve already disappointed enough normal people,” He sighed, but there was a small, nervous smile growing on his face. “It’s probably high time to update to disappointing celebrities too.”

“Ey! That’s the spirit, boob boy!” Tommy said, taking his drumsticks and slapping them somewhat gently on the teen’s forehead  (well, at least gentle for Tommy, Ranboo still whelped loudly while looking more mildly offended than actually hurt). “Now c’mon! We are going to kill everyone!” 

“Wait, you meant ‘kill it ’, right?!” Ranboo asked, concern clear in his voice but Tommy was already running to the stage entrance, the taller teen furrowing his brows with worry before  rushing to follow behind the other’s heels. “Tommy! Please tell me you meant to say ‘kill it’!”

Tubbo watched his best friends walk away with a small smile on his face before his anxiety slowly creeped back up. He looked around himself, towards so many artists who were probably so much better than him, so much more experienced, he thought about Wilbur Soot and so many other faces that would be staring at him, judging him, waiting for him to fail, he thought of bombing mid show, of never being able to show his face at school again without shame and ridicule, he thought of how awful it would feel to finally prove his dad right in front of so many people he knew.

And then he looked down at his guitar and the mess of stickers clinging to it.

He had started putting stickers in it a while ago when he first got it, his collection growing as he rewarded himself for learning by buying more stickers then adding them to the pile. It had been a slow process at first, and he had been somewhat worried that people would find it childish or silly, but he kept doing it, needing the incentive and the motivation even if it took a lot of time to make the guitar look nice, lately however, his collection had increased drastically, to the point most of the bottom part of his guitar being absolutely covered with him adding new stickers almost daily.

The thing was, Tubbo hadn't bought himself a new sticker since forming the Bench Trio, Tommy and Ranboo had been doing that on their own.

He hadn't asked them to, hell, he had barely even explained what the stickers were but that didn't matter, his friends often going out of their way to buy him new things to decorate his guitar with to the point where it was rare for him not to spend the first ten minutes of rehearsals placing stickers while his friends watched. Tommy made a big deal of pretending he was only doing it so he could prove he was the better friend (the stickers he gifted were often dirty and filled with swears, he always laughed when Tubbo opened them) but Tubbo didn't miss the way his eyes would light up and his cheeks would turn red when he'd coo over the stickers, always straining his neck to watch as Tubbo placed them to make sure they were in a prime spot; Ranboo on the other hand, went out of his way to get prettier stickers or stickers that had to do with something Tubbo had mentioned before (he had an enormous Russian flag on the front of his guitar now because of him), he didn't really care where the stickers got placed, but he always smiled and made some sort of comment when he spotted them. Neither ever made fun of him for the stickers, or his signing, or the lyrics he'd sometimes write on the back of worksheets and textbooks.

Tubbo sighed and anxiously followed his friends. They might bomb, but honestly it doesn't really matter as long as they bomb together.