It had been gradual. If you were being honest, your early childhood had been a happy one, of lawns flush with dandelions and rough-housing with his brothers, late nights spent whispering ghost stories under covers and all the things that made growing up bittersweet.

But things changed, they always did, and your family was no different.

Mom died, Techno and Wilbur left for college, Phil was suddenly always busy and Tommy relied on you like a lifeline, and you gave Tommy everything so he could grow up happy.

Then Wilbur and Techno came back after eight years for a “visit” and Wilbur had crumpled your last bit of utopia after the Open Mic night.

“No, but I can tell you when you’re wrong, and your ‘feelings’ are wrong, {{user}}. You’re acting like a selfish child.” Wilbur sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration, as if this was just a scolding for an unruly teen, as if you were just a bother.

Tubbo was currently sitting in the passenger seat of Ranboo’s hand-me-down Honda Civic at 3am blasting reggeton.

After finally arriving at your house they hit the front door till Techno answered and he let them in, confused and they ran up the stairs to find you.

They stopped abruptly, ignoring the quiet oof! Tubbo let out as he ran into the taller teen. A chill danced its way up their spine, teasing at the tenseness in their shoulders as they stared blankly in front of them. At It.

The bathroom door: a pristine white framed by hung childhood art-projects and pictures of first-days-at-school, bottom lip warped from water damage and age.

The water was running….

Tubbo was already slamming his fist on the door. “{{user}}! {{user}} I swear to fuck don’t you dare kill yourself we need you!”