The cold snowy wind whipped around the edge of woodland, the constant white snow sharply moving through the air, cutting it quickly like a knife. Each snowflake moved faster than the last, as the air continued to increase in density and the sound of quick moving wind continued to grow louder. It was clear a storm was brewing, yet Tubbo didn't move. His hooves were planted firmly in the thick layer of snow that always covered the ground, yet he didn't feel cold. The fast and sharp wind stabbed his face like a constant stream of staples, yet his wound did not sting anymore than usual.

He covered his brown hair with his soft coat hood as he began walking through the start of the storm. He looked down at the ground, watching his hooves move heavily across the snow, creating prints that followed his every step, soon to be covered once again. As he approached Snowchester, he noticed the storm was far softer in this area, but the violent snowfall in the distance had yet to be calmed. He quickly opened the door to Michael's home and shut it behind himself almost just as fast, locking the storm outside, calming the sound. He slowly lowered his hood and let his eyes drift around the room as he made his way up the ladder.

Michael was happily laying on the floor, a few crayons strewn about the room, and Michael calmly colored a piece of paper with a pink crayon. Tubbo climbed up into the room and closed the trapdoor gently behind himself, quickly turning his attention to Michael. Michael excitedly threw the pink crayon against the sheet of paper as he rushed over to his dad, running straight to hug onto Tubbo's leg. Tubbo thought he wanted to smile. He thought he wanted to reach down and pat Michael's head gently, as he usually did. 

But Tubbo didn't move. He looked down at Michael, and didn't make a sound. He clenched his fists tightly. He couldn't hurt Michael. Michael would be the only one he wouldn't hurt. 

The young zombie piglin looked up at Tubbo, confused as to why he hadn't hugged back like usual. Tubbo's breath was harsh and shaky, and Michael's look of confusion quickly changed into a look of concern as he gripped onto Tubbo's leg even tighter. Tubbo took a shaky breath out as he slowly knelt down and petted his son gently on the head. But his tense look didn't fade, and Michael only became more worried. 

The young piglin grasped Tubbo's coat and brought himself into Tubbo's chest in what was an attempt to calm him down. Tubbo gently wrapped his arms around Michael and allowed himself to feel calm, even if it was just for a moment.

"Michael…" Tubbo whispered, but the soft sound of his name still caught Michael's attention. "Michael, it's gonna be ok." Tubbo brought his voice up from a whisper, making it sound far more demanding. Michael didn't like the way his dad was acting at all. He refused to meet Tubbo's eyes and just continued to hug him. "It's gonna be ok. You and me. Just us two. We're gonna be ok." The more Tubbo continued to talk, the quieter his voice got. 

Michael began to shake, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his father's side. He could barely even understand what Tubbo was saying, but he could tell, by the way he spoke and the way he acted, that it wasn't good. They stayed there. Silently wrapped in each other's arms as the storm picked up pace outside.