Chapter Text
There was one rule when visiting Philza, the god of death: do not do anything outside of protocol. Protocol had been drilled into his head by the prison’s warden, then by Quackity, and then by himself every morning in the mirror. The winged god must be kept in his cell, in his chains, in his binds. Every door must require a keycard or key and must be locked at all times. No guests may visit. Only approved guards may visit him to bring meals or other required checkups.
Bring him his meal, place it outside the cell and send it through the slot. Then, leave. Do not speak to him.
Now, Tubbo knew why they kept the old god locked up in a cell in Pandora. It was the only way to keep the blood god asleep, or comatose. He knew that there was a massive danger if the man was ever given any liberties besides what he had, but Tubbo felt sorry for him.
The god of death had been there longer than he could remember. The war ended five years prior, and the god had been in there another year before that at least. It was a cold and empty cell with no visitors but the guards and anyone approved, of which there weren't many. Maybe Tubbo could speak to the man. Maybe provide comfort in the dark, or convince the god to join Manberg’s side for his freedom.
So, of course, the next time Tubbo brought him food he decided to ignore the one rule and break protocol.
Once he was past all of the checks that Sam, the warden of the prison, had in place to keep everyone safe, he walked into the long and dark hall that housed the god.
The brunet swallowed his fears as he watched his feet tap against the hard blackstone floor. He reached the cell sooner than he’d wanted. Tubbo looked up and stared through the glass at the chained man, tied up by his ankles, his wrists, and his neck. The largest chain was attached to a metal bind around his wings, which were compressed into little containers. The god didn’t look at him as he placed the food in the slot, sliding it to him.
Tubbo should have left. That was protocol, and Sam was watching. But Tubbo knew that the audio had broken the night before due to a storm shaking the whole prison, so if he was fast, he could speak.
He took a deep breath, staring at the figure sitting in the cell. The god was a blond man with long and dirty hair and a rough beard. He wore an orange jumper and kept his head down and his eyes closed. He was skinny, clearly starving himself of any food but what was absolutely necessary, and he looked dirty and exhausted. His wrists where the chains lay were even bloodied, likely from pulling on them in an attempt to free himself.
Tubbo had never seen his wings, but he knew they were black as the night with white diamonds lining the primary feathers.
The man sat in the middle of the large obsidian cell, which was much bigger than needed to house a regular man, but Tubbo was sure that if his wings were free they would reach the walls.
The god of death and the teen only had a glass wall, a glass door, and a slot for food to seperate them.
Tubbo stowed his fear and spoke.
“Does it hurt to have your wings tied up?”
The god didn’t move.
“Are you awake?”
No response.
“If there is something I can do, you must tell me now. I don’t know if I will have another chance to speak to you.”
That got a response. Not a verbal one, but the man moved ever so slightly. He just shifted his head. Maybe he was asleep.
Tubbo turned to leave, thinking of what to use as an excuse for not leaving right away. As he walked down the long hall, he almost hoped to hear the chained man speak. He didn’t.
———
Sam was the warden of the prison. What he said was law, so Tubbo was worried to defy his rules. However, despite how much Sam would put the prison first, he did have a soft spot for the kid. And from his side of the camera, all he knew was that Tubbo stayed in the room a little longer than necessary, no talking involved. Tubbo made it out of the hall and passed all of the checks and out of a portal to where was technically considered outside the prison; he wasn’t surprised that he was called into Sam’s office instead of being allowed to leave.
The office wasn’t anything special—it was blackstone lined with gold like the rest of the prison—but Tubbo was still worried when he stepped in and stared at the four-armed man sitting at a desk and typing something on a tablet.
Sam looked up at Tubbo with a serious expression. “Everything alright in the cell?”
Tubbo nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I saw he moved. Did he speak to you?”
“No, sir.”
Sam nodded and looked back at the tablet. “You didn’t address him, right?”
He could come clean. He doubted he would be punished, Sam would probably let him off with a warning. But if he wanted to speak to the old god ever again, he would have to seem trustworthy to the prison.
“No, Warden.”
Sam chuckled, which confused Tubbo.
“You don’t have to be so formal, kid. We’re out of the prison by now. Just Sam out here.”
Tubbo sighed. “Sorry, Sam. I’m just tired lately.”
“Ah, no issues here, except the audio still being all wrecked.” He stood up. “If you’re on your way out, tell Quackity and Ant I say hey. And if you see Schlatt, uh… tell him to screw off.”
The two shared a soft chuckle and Tubbo was on his way. On one hand he was glad not to get caught, but on the other hand he could now try to speak to the god again, which was terrifying on its own.
Tubbo walked out of the prison's detached entrance and sighed. He drank some milk, courtesy of Sam, to remove his mining fatigue; an effect caused by sea creatures kept under the prison to prevent Philza from breaking anything.
A long week was ahead of him if he wished to gain the god's trust.
———
Manberg was a beautiful city. As the sun began to set over the hills, Tubbo could see the happy townspeople lighting lanterns and starting to close up shop. As the president's son, a cabinet member, and a well respected teenager, Tubbo was well liked and the townspeople waved at him as he passed by. The stone paths and wooden houses were all new, as they were burnt during the war, but they had the homely atmosphere of a town never plagued by war in a hundred years.
Tubbo walked the length of the town, away from the prison suspended on a lake and past the houses and shops and gardens, to a large white mansion that sat just by the edge of the forest on a small hill.
He sighed, a little more tired than before, and walked in.
President Schlatt was not a delicate man. He was boorish and loud and often drunk, and not in a good way. Luckily he must have either drunk much more than normal or simply started earlier, as he was passed out on a couch in the living room of the white house when Tubbo entered. It was certainly much nicer to not have to deal with his drunken rambling while finishing up paperwork.
Unfortunately the peace did not last long, as Quackity arrived at the White House not long after Tubbo, most likely having finished his shift at the prison around the same time. It was strange that the Vice President and the Secretary of State worked at the largest prison the server had ever seen to house the biggest threat Manberg faced, but they had both seen weirder.
Quackity was nice, if a bit pushy, and mostly left Tubbo to do his work.
Mostly.
"You know, for once I'd like to come home and not be happy to see the President passed out. It's kind of screwed that I like when the bastard's asleep more than when he's awake."
"Hmm." Tubbo signed his name over a form. It still felt weird that he had to sign 'Schlatt' as his last name. He did think he was an orphan until seven or so years ago.
Quackity leaned on the desk. "I'd take his beers away but he'd probably have such shitty withdrawal that he'd have a fucking heart attack or something."
"Yep." Tubbo mumbled.
Quackity snapped his fingers in front of the teen. "Yo, kid. You awake?"
"I'm fine, Big Q, just working on some papers."
Quackity rolled his eyes. "You know secretary of state doesn't mean you're a secretary, right? Take a break and sleep or something."
Was it really already dark out? Tubbo glanced out the window across the room, seeing the dark sky and the moon rising from behind a large tower.
"Oh, whoops. I'll hit the hay, then. Night, Quackity."
The vice president sipped his drink, probably coffee, and waved the kid off.
———
Day came sooner than Tubbo wanted. A new day meant another shift at the prison, meant a new chance to speak to the prisoner.
Tubbo knew that gaining the god's trust could be nothing but helpful, but he didn't want to risk anything, especially Manberg, to do it.
The prison was the exact same as the day before, including the audio problems. If he wanted, Tubbo could probably ask a question again, maybe three if he delivered all the meals that day, though he doubted he would get an answer.
Soon, breakfast time came and Tubbo brought in the food. Philza didn't even look like he had moved all night. He rarely did.
"The audio is broken again, so I can speak to you." He said as he walked into the hall, sure that the camera wouldn't see his mouth moving from the angle he stood at.
"My name is Tubbo, you're Philza, right? The god of death?"
Phil didn't move or respond, his eyes still closed. Tubbo knelt down and began to slide the food into the slot.
"I, uh… I don't really have anything to say, but I have questions if you're willing to answer."
Another silence as Tubbo finished sliding the food through the slot.
"I might be able to help you if you cooperate. I don't know when the audio will be fixed, but it won't break again for a long time and I'm not going to sabotage it."
Tubbo turned as Phil remained silent, not wanting to stall like the day before.
His footsteps echoed through the hall before a voice that he hadn't heard before spoke.
"Wil?"
It was quiet, shaky, and strained, clearly the voice of a dehydrated man that hadn't said a word in a long, long time.
Tubbo turned to face the cell on the other side of the hall. The god was looking at him with glazed over blue eyes, yet still so tired and worried.
"What did you say?" Tubbo kept his voice gentle. The last thing he wanted to do was scare or anger the god.
Walking closer, Tubbo could see the small scars on his neck, like pins had pricked him over and over. He’d never seen them before as Philza always looked down.
"Wil..." Phil's voice was stronger now, but barely by anything. "You… when did you get so short?"
Phil smiled, a joking tone to his voice, but it faded instantly as he bowed his head and closed his eyes. It disturbed the teen.
"Philza?" Tubbo didn't get a response.
Unless of course, you count Sam's voice blaring to life and yelling at Tubbo to leave immediately over the speaker as a response.
Tubbo did as he was told.