Chapter Text
Schlatt’s kitchen table is pretty small. There’s only two chairs that go with it, so he has to grab his desk chair and cram it into most available space. Sam and Tubbo watch the process from their spots at the kitchen table, hogging his normal chairs. Christ, this is embarrassing. He wasn’t lying earlier when he said he could afford to look after a kid, it’s just— L’Manberg apartments are expensive, alright? He’s not emptying his pockets for a shitty two bed, one bath and furnishing it with shit more expensive than discount Ikea furniture. The only things he owns that are remotely expensive are his flat screen (stolen), his laptop (gifted), and his leather couch (also stolen).
Not that Sam needs to know about his spending habits. Or, well— stealing habits. He doesn’t really do that shit anymore, but, you know. Guys will be guys, yeah? Anyway .
“So,” Schlatt says, dropping himself into his desk chair. “This is my place.” It, like his kitchen table, is pretty small. It’s been on the up and up, though, thanks to his business expertise . He stares at his two guests.
“Cozy,” Sam says.
“I like it,” The kid says quietly, surprising both Sam and Schlatt. He isn’t looking at either of them, but rather, at a handful of crumbs littering the table. “It’s dirty.” The observation — completely innocent, like he’s never even heard of the concept of being impolite — startles a laugh out of Schlatt.
“Yeah,” He says, “Well, I’d like to see you do much better. I bet you couldn't even use a broom.”
“I can,” Tubbo says, voice slightly louder than before. Apparently, the kid has a personality beyond just being vaguely shy. Schlatt grins. Whenever he interacts with kids — and he doesn’t often — he usually winds up picking fights with them. Just for fun. They’re easy to rile up, and they usually forget about the little argument like five minutes after it happens.
“No you can’t,” Schlatt replies, sounding bored. “Look at you, you’re two feet tall.”
“I-” The kid starts, then he looks down at himself. Calculating. Schlatt cackles. Across the table, Sam clears his throat.
“Alright,” He begins, smiling like he’s not entirely sure whether Schlatt is genuinely making fun of the kid for his height or just goofing. “Let’s talk about what Tubbo can expect from his time living here with you, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Right, yeah. Let’s.” Schlatt agrees. And hey, he’ll be the first to admit that it’s awkward as fuck. He’s just not used to this shit, you know? Not being the guy in charge. If Sam picks up on how out of place Schlatt feels doing all of this, he doesn’t make a point of it. Instead, he places his briefcase onto the table and opens it with a gentle click , quickly sliding a sheet of paper out and placing it on the table. Schlatt leans forward to take a look.
“This is a sort of… checklist we have. It just goes over the basic things you want to reiterate to a child coming out of a stressful situation, like Tubbo.” He slides it closer to Schlatt, dropping a pen (when the fuck did he take that out?) on top of it. “It’s not a very long checklist.”
“I can see that,” Schlatt says, grabbing both the pen and the paper. There’s a handful of statements/questions, evenly spaced, across the page. Plenty of blank space in between each one, probably so Schlatt can write out his answers like this is a fucking middle school homework assignment. They didn’t even provide lines for him to write on. He hates when they don’t provide lines for him to write on.
“The first one is pretty simple: Will physical punishment be a part of this household?”
“What? No.” Schlatt answers immediately. Tubbo blinks at him.
“We should reiterate that so it’s a little more clear, for Tubbo’s sake,” Sam says. He seems pleased by Schlatt’s answer, at least — not that Schlatt was trying to please anyone.
As the silence between the three of them stretches on, Schlatt realizes Sam expects him to reiterate. Right, okay.
“So, uh, kid.” Schlatt turns to more fully face the kid. “I won’t hit you if you do something stupid. Uh— I won’t hurt you, I mean. I might get a little loud, sometimes, but I won’t put my hands on you, alright?” How sentient are six year olds? Do they understand the concept of hitting as a punishment? Well, this one definitely does, but does he get the idea of not hitting? Tubbo looks dubious as fuck. Schlatt glances back at Sam, who nods encouragingly.
“If he does ever put his hands on you in a way that hurts, you know what number to call.” He adds. Christ . Sure, Schlatt definitely gets the need to impress upon the kid that he can call for help when he needs it, but something about it is very… heavy . Tubbo nods his head.
“I know,” He says. Sam smiles.
“Good. Next point, Schlatt?”
“Oh, uh, right. Okay. Next point is—” Schlatt glances down at the page in front of him. “Will food be withheld at any time as a form of— what? No. what the fuck.” He frowns at the page. All of the questions are pretty much exactly like this. The only point that isn’t awful is at the end, which asks what form of punishment will be acceptable in Schlatt’s household. Schlatt looks up at Sam. “No to all of these, man. Does every parent — or legal guardian, I mean — have to fill this out?”
“It’s a new thing,” Sam replies. “We’re still testing it out. You don’t like it?”
“No, I don’t, man.” Schlatt looks back down at the page. “I mean, I get it, I guess, but some of this stuff feels pretty case-by-case. Like, forms of punishment. Shit’s gonna get more severe depending on the situation. I mean I’m never going to hit him or withhold food or whatever, but all the non-abusive shit is pretty complicated. What I’d do if he, like, back-talks me and I’d do if he gets straight F’s in class are pretty different, I think.” He looks straight at Tubbo, who seems sort of stressed about this whole thing. “I’m not gonna hurt you, kid. You can ask me for snacks if you’re hungry. I won’t be awful to you, alright?”
Silence descends upon the kitchen, heavy. Tubbo seems more confused than anything, and Sam’s face is pretty much blank. Totally unreadable. Did Schlatt just, like, fuck up? Fail a patience test? If he got all worried about having to take in this fucking kid for nothing—
“You're going to need to reiterate all of that a few times,” Sam says slowly. He grabs the paper and pulls it towards him, pen forgotten. “A lot, actually. He’s six, and coming from a lifetime of living in a stressful home environment, and you’re probably going to want to enlist the help of a child pscyhologist. You don’t need to fill this out, it isn’t mandatory yet.” He drops it back into his suitcase, swapping it with some other papers. By the looks of it, they seem like legal documents, medical forms, shit like that. On the top is another fucking form. “You do need to fill this out, though.”
“What is it?” Schlatt takes it from the pile.
“You’d be accepting official legal guardianship.” He holds a hand up, as if to cut Schlatt off before he even gets the chance to ask any questions. “It’s not the same as adoption. You’re accepting all the legal responsibilities of a parent — healthcare, education, et cetera — for a temporary span of time, to be terminated by yourself or my organization at any time after a month-long period. So, basically, if we find a permanent home for him.” Sam explains, patiently. Schlatt looks down at the document.
“...Right. Okay.” He grabs the pen off the table, clicks it once, and gets to signing. Tubbo sits in his chair, looking bored out of his mind.
“I apologize that you didn’t find the checklist from before very useful,” Sam says as Schlatt scrawls his signature across the page, messily. “It’s actually been mostly used for older kids, in order to provide a written assurance that their new home will be more responsible than their last one.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s whatever.” Schlatt slides the form back to Sam, leaving the pen on top. Sam places them both back into his now mostly-empty briefcase. “It just feels kind of mechanical, you know?”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam replies. They sit in silence again for a moment before he turns to Tubbo, smiling. “Alright, buddy. I think I’m going to head out now. Unless there are any more questions for me?” He glances at Schlatt, who shrugs.
“I think I’m good,” He lies. He’s definitely not good, but he can’t force Sam to stay for the next month and show him how to be a parent. Legal guardian. Whatever. Sam nods and turns to Tubbo.
“Anything you want to tell me before I go?” He asks.
“Why are you leaving?” Tubbo questions immediately. Sam smiles.
“We talked about this a little before we left, remember? Schlatt’s going to take care of you for a while. He’s going to do a great job, too.” He assures, glancing briefly at Schlatt. Tubbo frowns.
“Is he like you?” He asks. Sam’s smile falters a bit.
“What do you mean?”
Tubbo makes an annoyed sound. “Is he nice?” He looks at Schlatt. “Are you nice?”
Schlatt’s mouth opens. Closes. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? He’s not nice. He’s a… generally okay guy, overall, maybe, but he’s not nice. In fact, he’s kind of the opposite. Sam answers for him, though.
“Yes, Tubbo, he’s nice.” He says. “This is going to be completely different from your old home, and if you don’t like it, we’ll come right back to pick you up. I’ll pick you up. Okay?”
Tubbo stares. “...Okay.”
“Okay,” Sam nods. “Great.” He stands up and walks over to the door, ignoring Tubbo’s wide-eyed gaze tracking him. Beside the door is Tubbo’s suitcase, which is almost comically small. Schlatt gets up and follows Sam to the door, trying to think of what the fuck to say to the guy. In the end, he stands in silence as Sam opens the door and pauses in the hallway.
“You can expect a call in one month. You can update us and we can update you,” He says. Schlatt nods.
“Yeah, alright.”
“Alright.” Sam nods, once, and starts walking towards the stairs. “Have a nice day, Schlatt.”
Schlatt doesn’t even bother responding. They both know it’s a little late for
that
.