Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you asked the president himself, Schlatt was intimidating, cool, suave and intelligent. A true businessman with a heart of stone, wardrobe exclusively made up of crisp suits complete with his blood-red ties. Neat hair, clear skin, polished horns, impeccable fashion. The image he projected was professional and slightly threatening.

If you’d asked literally anyone inside the president’s close circle, they would’ve laughed in your face and told you that he was really just a big fucking softie.

As Schlatt stalked the halls of the White House at (he checked the clock) great Ender, three fucking AM on the lookout for anyone who was up a little too late for his liking, he begrudgingly saw what those idiots meant.

Not that they were idiots, of course. Schlatt’s cabinet was made up of people just as smart as he was. Fundy whose mind was sharp and who could understand coding and redstone and was one of the most innovative people Schlatt had ever met. Quackity, who while on the surface seemed like a bumbling idiot, kept the order and peace outside the White House with more efficiency than any judge Schlatt had ever come across. George who acted as a bodyguard, was Schlatt’s direct link to Dream, and was the by far the best at paperwork. And Tubbo was their voice of the people, the public favourite who listened to their troubles and did their best to fix them. Kind despite everything that happened to him, and Schlatt couldn’t be more grateful that the same kindness was extended to him always.

However, his cabinet were the biggest dumbasses he’d ever seen, often working themselves to the bone for his sake. Which was especially troubling considering two of them weren’t even full adults and the other two rarely got enough sleep as it was.

His daily rounds began near the bottom of the White house, on the first floor where George and Fundy were. Both, thankfully, had made it back to their beds. George probably to the house he shared with his friends, and Fundy to Niki’s house.

On the next floor were Tubbo and Quackity. Tubbo had adamantly refused to have a separate office from his room, saying that it was ‘unnecessary’ and ‘really stupid Schlatt, honestly’. (Schlatt put it down to laziness, and he didn’t exactly blame him either.) So, they’d compromised and now, Tubbo had his desk moved to the corner of his large bedroom.

When Schlatt pushed the dark oak door open, he was a little disappointed to see the kid slumped over his work, still scribbling away. He jolted, spun and squinted at Schlatt. “Sch-Schlatt?” he mumbled, barely stifling the huge yawn that left him.

Schlatt strolled over, kneeling down next to his seat and gently extricating the pen from his loose grip. He frowned at the messier-than-usual handwriting on the documents and sighed a little. “Come on, Tubs. Off to bed now.”

“It’s not that late!” he protested weakly, standing up anyway.

Schlatt smiled to himself, holding the kid to his side as he led him over to the bed with the yellow blanket. “It’s three in the morning, buddy,” he said, gesturing to the clock.

“Oh.”

“I’m moving the damn thing to your desk tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Tubbo was listless as Schlatt tucked him into bed gently, stroking the hair out of his eyes as he dimmed the lights and lit the soulfire lantern on the bedside drawer. The blueish glow illuminated Tubbo’s small face, the gleaming ram horns that were still growing in.

“Goodnight, kid. Sleep well,” he whispered, standing up and leaving the room.

“Night,” Tubbo mumbled softly. Schlatt made a mental note to not wake him up before noon. Goodness knew he needed the damn sleep.

Next up was Quackity, who was arguably the worst out of the bunch. While the others had some internal body clock (or external clock although Tubbo rarely checked it and it showed) and a sprinkle of common sense, Quackity had neither, staying up ungodly hours to finish off assignments that were much more suited to be spread out over weeks.

(Schlatt knew that Quackity was always trying to prove something, despite the fact that he had nothing more to prove.)

He knocked at first, listening for the tell-tale rustling of paper or the screech of chair legs against wood. When nothing met him, he opened the door.

Quackity was asleep, head resting on his folded arms in front of him, white and blue wings drooping over the back of the chair. He was peaceful in sleep, and looked as young as he actually was. Schlatt shook his shoulder gently, huffing when he didn’t wake up like normal. That left him with no other options. (This was the fourth time this week for Ender’s sake.)

With some difficulty (Ender, the wings made it hard but Schlatt managed as he always did), he’d managed to pick Quackity up, his arms hooked under the kid’s neck and knees. The wings dragged behind them as they always did, leaving Schlatt hoping that they wouldn’t catch on anything on the short trip to his bedroom. When he glanced over at the paperwork on the desk formally hidden under Quackity’s head, he smiled softly. The plans for the upcoming festival were spread out across the desk. Orders for food, décor, speeches, advertisements.

“Good job, Quack,” Schlatt murmured, beginning to walk and tried not to look too giddy when the kid curled toward his chest and buried his face in his suit. He pushed open the door to Quackity’s room, just across the hallway, with his shoulder, blinking in the total darkness before feeling around for a switch with one hand.

The lights flickered on, a little too bright for Schlatt’s likening. (It was fucking three in the morning, sue him.) He pulled back the blankets on the bed and laid Quackity down on his side, letting him tuck his wings in properly before pulling the sheets around him tightly. “Night, kid.”

There was no response but a contented sigh. That was all Schlatt needed to retreat, turning off the light and closing the door as he did.

No, he wasn’t fucking soft. He just needed his goddamn cabinet, who were all dumb as fucking rocks, to be in tip-top shape to work.

“Morning,” Tubbo said through a yawn as he wandered into Schlatt’s office at two in the afternoon. Schlatt had the common courtesy to put down the book so that he could give his kid his full attention.

Ender, that was so strange to him. That Tubbo was the kid he thought he’d lost all those years ago. The similarities were striking though. The same chin, the same nose, the same shade of hair (though Schlatt’s was curlier), and the same horns that were just growing in. (He remembered the days where they had begun to grow, splitting the skull apart to do so and shuddered at the screaming, the pain, the exhaustion. He remembered the realisation afterward that had stolen the air from his lungs.) His other features, the doe eyes, the mouth, the shape of his face were from his mother, however.

“Good morning,” Schlatt said amicably. “How’d you sleep?”

Tubbo shrugged, rubbing at his eyes as he sat down in the chair that was a little too big for him. His suit was a little rumpled, but that was the case with Tubbo. Nothing Schlatt did could fix that at least. “Good enough. Any plans for today, Mr President?”

Rolling his eyes, Schlatt leaned forward, resting his chin on a perfectly manicured hand (it was professional, and it looked good). “Festival planning, some of that tax paying bullshit. I think I have a meeting with foreign dignitaries next week, so I gotta prepare for that. The usual.”

Tubbo sighed, a little dramatically. That was his kid, alright. “And here I was thinking you finally had time for me.”

“Tubbo, bud, I’m the president.”

“Yeah, and Quackity’s Vice, but he still comes with me to town!”

Schlatt put on a patient smile. “Because Quackity’s barely three years older than you are and he needs the breaks. One day, kiddo. Fuck, possibly the weekend. That’s, what, three sleeps away?”

Tubbo frowned thoughtfully, nodding along. “Can I make you promise this time?”

Humming to himself, Schlatt grabbed the calendar that sat dutifully at the corner of his desk and read through it. “Actually,” he said, picking up a pen and scribbling something down, “I think you can for once.”

He didn’t miss the way Tubbo physically brightened when he said that. His own heart fluttered with the reaction and he couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off his face. Fucking fuck, he was not going soft.

Tubbo leapt out of his chair with a cheer, leaning across to give Schlatt a warm hug which he reciprocated by patting the kid’s back twice. “Fuck yeah!” He paused for a second. “Can I bring Tommy?” he asked timidly.

Schlatt blinked. Tommy, the kid’s closest friend. Looking back, he recognised that evicting Tommy along with Wilbur mightn’t have been the best decision he’d ever made. Especially considering how close Tubbo and Tommy had been.

He wasn’t at all surprised in any way when his kid began visiting Tommy while he was in exile, sneaking out in the dead of night. Of course Schlatt knew immediately. The instincts that came with the horns gifted him the ability to be hyperaware of his own kid’s movements (whether he knew it or not) most of the time.

But what was he supposed to do? Schlatt was a businessman but he wasn’t heartless. They were sixteen and best friends for crying out loud! So the visits persisted, until Schlatt couldn’t take the fearful way Tubbo looked at him anymore and asked for a meeting. Ender, the way he froze up when Schlatt had admitted that he knew about the secret meetings, the desperation in his tone to ‘please not hurt Tommy!’ as if he’d ever commit such an act broke his fucking heart.

No, he’d just told Tubbo to visit his friend whenever he wanted, to even invite him over to Manberg if he wanted to. Tommy’s citizenship was still up in the air, but Schlatt was willing to change it as soon as the kid agreed. Wilbur forbade it, however, but it was a fight worth fighting for.

“Yeah. I need to talk to the guy under better circumstances, honestly. Hopefully, he won’t kill me,” he added dryly. Tubbo giggled.

“I’ll talk to him today! Thank you again, Schlatt!”

Schlatt pulled away, staring into his kid’s eyes. He’d finally stopped seeing his wife in them, feeling elation instead of bitter grief. “Honestly, you and Quackity can take a day off. You two worked hard yesterday.” Tubbo beamed at him.

No one needed to know that Schlatt would die for the smile in a heartbeat.

Quackity glanced around nervously for the umpteenth time, staring at the shadows that hid behind the trees like the little fucking monsters they were. “Tubbo,” he hissed again, “are you sure this is the right way?”

They were heading through the forest on the outskirts of Manberg to Tubbo’s bee sanctuary. He had yet to show it off to anyone but Tommy, so Quackity would be the second person (apart from Tubbo) to ever grace the valley. Neither of them were in their suits for a change. “Quackity,” he said patiently, “I’m the one who built the place. I think I’d know where it is.”

“We’re in enemy territory dude!”

Tubbo chewed his lip, fists clenching. “Tommy isn’t an enemy. Neither is Wilbur or Technoblade.” He glanced back at Quackity, pale as a sheet and smiled reassuringly. “Come on. It’s well worth the walk! You really think I’d let anyone hurt you?”

Quackity rolled his eyes. “Okay, shut up. I’m supposed to be protecting you.”

“Oh how the turntables.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright then you little fucking gremlin.”

Tubbo scanned the area, eyes lighting up when he realised he knew exactly where they were. “Ten more minutes!” he promised to a relieved Quackity who’d finally begun to lower his defences. “You’ll love it, I swear!”

“I trust you, kid.”

There was an audible crack from somewhere to their left followed by the rustling of leaves in a bush. Quackity, lightning fast, pushed Tubbo behind him, wings flaring up protectively while his hand went for the sword at his hip. George had been teaching him to fight properly so he could swing the damn thing around pretty well in his opinion.

Nothing followed the noise. No more rustling or whispered conversation. If it was a raid, they would’ve shown themselves by now. Quackity was ready to chalk it up to some animal, like a wild pig. “Let’s go a bit quicker,” Tubbo whispered, and Quackity was inclined to agree.

Their pace quickened. Every sound set them further on edge. Creepers, zombies and skeletons were lurking about. Or, worse yet, people. The grip on the handle of the sword never truly lessened.

They were nearing the edge of the forest as well, could spot the sunshine and greenery beyond the trees. That was when Quackity stepped on a patch of leaves, when he’d heard the mechanism go off and realised what was happening too late and pushed Tubbo out of the way as a hidden net sprung up from the ground and enclosed Quackity in it, wings flapping, limbs flailing and shrieking all the while.

“Quackity!” Tubbo cried, grabbing the rope and tugging harshly. “Shit! Okay, just, uh, gimme your sword!”

Quackity tried. He really did, but the rope was surprisingly tight. His arms were stuck by his side, his legs pinned down and one wing was stuck covering part of his torso while the other was underneath him. Footsteps were nearing. Time was running out. “Tubbo, I can’t,” he said gently, trying to soften the blow.

The kid’s face turned hard. “What do you mean you can’t?” he hissed.

“I’m stuck, kid.” He glanced around quickly. “Shoot a message to Schlatt, yeah? It’s not safe to go back the way we came, so hang around here and hide yourself really well. And send him your coordinates! That’s the important one.”

“What about you?”

Quackity winced, giving another bout of struggle to loosen the rope even a little bit. “I’ll try and stay right here, but if someone comes, do not follow them.”

He was fucking terrified. He couldn’t lie to himself, but he needed to stay calm. He was the oldest one there. Ender forbid Tubbo go through this as well. “Quackity—”

“Just go, Tubs!”

“Tubbo?” His head whipped around expectantly, eyes alight.

“Wilbur?” he asked, excited. Quackity’s eyes widened. “Is that you, over there?”

The man, the myth, the legend came out of the thicket in his worn trench coat and beanie. Quackity didn’t know if he should be relieved or offended over his style being butchered in this way. “Tubbo, what on earth are you doing back here?” Wilbur asked in his soft, gentle voice.

“Well you see, I was taking Quackity over to my new bee farm. But he got stuck. Do you happen to have shears on you?”

Wilbur hummed to himself, eyes slightly glazed over. Unseeing of them or the situation, and Quackity felt that something was amiss here. “No. No I don’t. Hey, Tubbo, does Schlatt know you’re out here, by any chance?”

Tubbo and Quackity shared a glance. “Well, yeah Wilbur, that’s how it works. But I don’t really see how that—”

“Is Schlatt treating you well, Tubbo?” Wilbur asked with sudden, strange intensity, getting almost uncomfortably close.

Tubbo gulped, fingers still wrapped around the cord holding Quackity. “W-well yeah. I don’t see why he should mistreat us.”

Something odd passed over Wilbur’s face. “Tubbo, don’t you see? He’s manipulating you. So’s he.” Wilbur gestured to Quackity, who squirmed under the gaze. “Quackity isn’t safe.”

Tubbo laughed nervously, recalling he conversations he and Tommy had had concerning Wilbur. (“He’s going insane, Tubbo. He’s so paranoid all the time and he keeps asking me what I’ve been doing and where I’ve been. Even Techno’s getting pissed off over it and he’s the one that wants everything to go to shit! Ender, I wish Phil was here. He’d be able to talk to him at least.”)

Tubbo shook his head and he didn’t miss the way Wilbur’s eyes tracked the budding horns. “Tommy and I trust Quackity. Isn’t that enough?” He stood up, standing over his friend almost protectively and wishing Schlatt let him carry a sword around. Or that Tommy were there. That would’ve been infinitely better.

Wilbur’s head tilted to the side. “He follows Schlatt, Tubbo. And Schlatt drove us out. Schlatt drove me out, Tubbster.” He let out a humourless laugh. “Don’t you forget how we fought together? How you helped us in the campaign? Or how that man took your Tommy away from you?”

“Tubbo, go,” Quackity whispered, already sensing how this conversation would turn out.

When Wilbur reached a hand out, Tubbo ducked under it nimbly, spinning around and backing up a few steps. He realised his mistake seconds later, as he’d abandoned Quackity on the ground next to Wilbur, whose boot was firmly planted on his chest. “Tubbo,” Wil sang. “You don’t want to run from your friend, do you, traitor?”

The word filled him with nausea and his vision swooped for a split second as memories involving a glistening crown and an obsidian escape room filled his head, shoving their way to the forefront of his mind. His breath rattled on the way out.

He needed to be smart about this. “Wilbur,” he began placatingly, “listen, I think Schlatt honestly regrets throwing you out of L’Manberg.” The use of the name brought some light back into those cold, dark eyes. “I-I can get you a meeting with him if you want. You and Tommy could be brought back into the country. We could throw a party for it! Quackity, you’re planning a festival, right?”

Quackity nodded quickly. “It’s shaping up to be a big one.”

“There!” Tubbo cried. “It could be a festival for your return! Schlatt’s already thinking about it anyway!”

Quackity piped up. “If you present a good enough case, he won’t have any reason not to let you back in. Hell, you could possibly run for president again!”

That part was a total lie. Schlatt had done far too much good to be taken out of office, and he sure as shit wouldn’t give up the position without a fight either. Wilbur might have had his loyal supporters, but Schlatt’s popularity was growing by the day.

“You really think so?”

“Why not?” A silence passed between them all, broken by the distant chirping of the birds periodically. “Hey, Wil,” Tubbo started nervously. “Quackity’s still stuck.”

Wilbur nodded, crouching down with a dagger extended toward Quackity and hoisted him up. It was a little odd how he kept pulling, until his friend was on his feet unsteadily, and how he held the dagger near his throat even though there was no rope there—oh.

“Come with me,” Wilbur ordered. “Or it’s his life on the line.”

And yeah, they could risk it and respawn. But respawn was traumatising, where every atom, every cell, ever strand of DNA in your body ripped itself apart and built itself back up again and could take hours or even days depending on the greatness of the injury. Judging by the terror in Quackity’s eyes, that wasn’t an option.

“Wilbur,” Tubbo breathed, “don’t you want anything I talked about?”

“Tubbo, have you heard of sirens?” He didn’t wait for an answer, continuing straight on. “Sirens lure in unknowing sailors with their song. They represent seduction and temptation. Did you know that it was said that after Odysseus listened to their song and didn’t die, they threw themselves into the water and killed themselves?” He levelled a (crazed, insane, bloodshot) look at Tubbo, staring him dead in the eye. “I will be the Odysseus to your siren song.”

Tubbo met Quackity’s eyes and the plea shone in them. They flickered to Tubbo’s communicator and then to the trees on either side of them over and over, conveying a message Tubbo (rightly) wanted to ignore. “What do you want from us, Wilbur?” Quackity asked, hoping to stall.

Wilbur laughed gently, so at odds with the situation. “A little birdie told me that your president truly cares about his traitor son and his worthless Vice.”

“You don’t—” Tubbo began furiously, cut off by Wilbur.

“You’re my ticket into L’Manberg. I get my citizenship back, we gather everyone in one spot and…” he smiled, wide and deadly. “Kaboom,” he whispered. Something heavy and very cold settled in the pit of Tubbo’s stomach.

“K-kaboom?”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

Tubbo took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, eyes tracking Wilbur’s movements and Quackity’s nervous twitching. The grip on the knife wasn’t particularly loose, he realised with a start. Wilbur meant to chase him if he tried escaping. Good. He could use that.

“I’m sorry about this, Wil,” he said before bolting off into the tree line.

He heard the thump of Quackity’s body hitting the floor and the rapid footsteps of someone chasing him, crashing through the bushes and branches that littered the forest floor. Tubbo’s eyes scanned for anything he could possibly use. He hated to say it, but he was far quicker than Wilbur ever was, and their differing diets over the last months had helped build up their strengths.

“Tubbo!” Wilbur called, sounding slightly worn already. “Tubbo, you can’t keep running forever!” He didn’t answer, still deep in concentration. As he ran, he slowed down and grabbed a low hanging branch to pull back and release, grinning at the satisfying smack it made when it hit Wilbur’s face. “Fuck!”

He hadn’t any witty quips for that one, preferring to keep his mouth shut and stay alive. The forest was thick, but the trees were far enough apart to be able to gauge a line of sight and see the ground ahead in all of its uneven, grassy glory. He thanked his stars that he wasn’t in a taiga forest, with its prickly berry bushes.

And there it was. The sharp incline of the floor, the way the grass just dropped off into a pit that could possibly do enough damage to buy him some time. That was all that he needed. So, after jogging to the side and seeing it properly, he backed away from the edge of the hole, Wilbur right in front of him. “You don’t have to do this,” he panted, gripping his chest.

Exertion shone on Wil’s face as well, but his eyes were aglow with the energy of a predator catching its prey, and it sickened Tubbo. “Oh, but I do. Don’t worry, Tubbo. It shouldn’t hurt you that much.”

He didn’t think Wilbur was expecting him to charge forward, putting a step forward in anticipation as Tubbo grappled onto his torso tightly, pinning his arms to his side and pushing him backwards while Wilbur tried to struggle against the grip. He fought dirty too, kicking at Tubbo’s shins and feet, trying to get him to trip up. But the hold was tight. He let go at the last second, retracting his hands to shove Wilbur away from him as hard as he could, teetering over the edge of the pit for a split second and having to throw his body weight backwards to be able to escape.

It worked, and Wil stumbled backwards, expression going from furious to panicked in the span of a second as he fell backward into the pit. He heard a small crack and then a howl of pain.

But Tubbo was gone, scrambling to his feet and sprinting away toward Quackity, away from the screaming that told him to ‘come back! Come fucking back!’

He opened his communicator, fumbling around as he shoved the earpiece in and pushed on the contact.

He could see Quackity, thankfully unharmed but still stuck, in front of him a little while away as the person picked up. “Hello?” Schlatt asked gruffly. “Tubbo? Everything alri—”

“Help,” he got out, waving madly at Quackity who lit up when he saw him with no one following. “You gotta-shit-you gotta help us,” he panted, skidding to the ground next to his friend brother.

Schlatt’s voice had an edge on it this time. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Wilbur.” Squatting down while still trying to catch his breath, Tubbo tugged at the ropes hopelessly. “Quackity’s stuck in a net and Wilbur found us like this and he threatened us and he chased me and I shoved him into a pit and—”

“Slow down,” Schlatt ordered. “Breathe for a moment, Tubs.”

“I can’t!” he burst out. “Wilbur could come back at any second!”

There was rustling on the other end. “I know. I’m arranging a rescue as we speak. Just stay on the line and be on the lookout. Can you get Quackity free?”

“I can’t.”

“Okay. Okay, listen to me. Grab something you can use to defend yourself and stay there.” Tubbo grabbed his earpiece then and cranked up the volume so that both of them could listen and speak. “Do not try to fight Wilbur. Just keep him as far away as you can. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

A look was shared between them. Tubbo’s eyes filled with silent terror, Quackity’s with resignation. “Tubbo,” he said softly.

“No!” he hissed. “Shut up! I can try to get the sword free, Schlatt.”

“Do you know how to use it?” Schlatt asked, a little worried.

Tubbo nearly scoffed. “I fought in a war, old man. I’m good at this.” Though he wasn’t sure what his skill was matched up against Wilbur Soot.

There was a distant thump thump of boots. Tubbo sped up his, flipping Quackity over onto his other side and trying to dislodge the sword that was stuck in its sheath. Quackity even wriggled around to try and make it easier on him, as the handle was stuck tightly to his side courtesy of the net. “Who made this thing?” Quackity muttered to himself.

“Tubbo?” Schlatt called. “Is there anyone coming for you?”

The area fell silent as they sat and listened for a moment. There! From behind was that same thump of boots on dirt. “Yeah,” he whispered. It wasn’t Wilbur. Help, maybe?

“Tubbo,” Quackity said, a little louder now, “you gotta get out, man.” As he opened his mouth to argue, Quackity cut him off. “Listen to me for a sec. You get outta this, get back to Schlatt and I’ll go with Wilbur. Then, either I die—” that made them both wince, “or you come and save my ass.”

They were all silent for a moment. “Too risky,” Schlatt finally said. I’m coming, just give me a moment!”

“No time, Schlatt!”

The crack of a branch made the two of them freeze. Quackity looked past Tubbo, going very pale. “Oh. It’s you two,” a new, deep voice said.

“Techno,” Tubbo whispered shakily, turning around slowly and flinching away from the loaded crossbow in his face. “Help us. Please.” Schlatt had disconnected. Why now?

He didn’t know what to expect. Tubbo knew Techno wanted to fuel the fires of anarchy for his own goals (whatever they were). But a small part of him was hoping that he’d remember the days with Phil, where Tubbo would ride on his shoulders as they chased bees in a meadow lost to memory. The war had changed a lot, but he was still stupidly optimistic.

Techno glanced down at Quackity, shaking hard, and Tubbo with a defiant gleam in his eye before lowering his crossbow the slightest and jerking his head a miniscule amount to the side. Run, he was trying to say.

Bile rose in his throat. Techno did care enough about him. But he cared more about the war going on, he guessed.

So he stayed stubbornly by Quackity’s side, even when Wilbur emerged from the trees, limping and bloodied with that crazed look in his eyes wholly intact. “Oh thank fuck you found them, Techno!” he said gleefully, walking around Tubbo to force his hands behind his back and tie them up. “I’ll be taking this,” he hissed, ripping the earpiece out of Tubbo’s ear and stomping on it before taking off the communicator. Quackity was talking very fast, very quietly in Spanish to himself as he was hoisted up by Techno, still stuck.

Being pushed along by Wilbur, Tubbo hoped Schlatt would find them soon enough.

Quackity was separated from Tubbo as soon as they entered a cave. Tubbo went one way with Techno, and he was passed off to Wilbur. He gave his little brother a small, thready smile as he was whisked away.

They walked in silence, Wilbur having the decency to cut his legs free at least, pulling him by the elbow through an iron door and into a tiny, stone room where he was pushed to the ground with an ‘oomph!’

“Start talking.” Wilbur was right above him. Quackity’s forehead touched the cold ground as he tried wiggling his way into a proper sitting position instead of being facedown in the most uncomfortable way possible. “Tell me about Schlatt’s cabinet.”

“No.”

A war must be pretty fucked up if this is what people would go to for a scrap of useful information. But then again, Quackity was VP. He was very valuable.

A hand stroked his wings and he shuddered. Why was it so cold? Fingers clamped around a primary feather. Quackity felt his head spin. “I’ll give you five seconds.”

Five seconds. Four (he hated this, hated how fucking useless he was being, how fucking weak he was), three (Schlatt shouldn’t have to suffer because of him at all), two (Schlatt had done so much for him and he wasn’t going to repay him by giving away secrets), one (Quackity was so fucking scared).

He let out a scream as the feather was ripped from the skin.

Chapter Text

The last communication with either Tubbo or Quackity had been hours ago. Since then it had been radio silence and it was driving Schlatt up the walls. He strode back into Fundy’s office after pacing around and giving orders to sweep the country and the borders for any signs of them, and sat down at the desk which and papers and wires and maps strewn over it. Normally, Schlatt would be peeved. Today was not a normal day.

Fundy was peering at his own communicator, which was linked up to Schlatt’s, and glanced back up at him tensely, golden eyes blinking in the change of light. “I found something interesting,” he said quietly, shifting around so that Schlatt could see the paper map he had pulled out with red crosses and dots marking it. He pointed at one such cross. “This is where Tubbo was calling you from. I got the coordinates from the log. The signal was active for a few moments afterwards, but it was cut off from your end abruptly. I found out that there was work done on the connection lines today around that time. Either that or human interference, but it doesn’t look like it.”

“Great fucking Ender.” Schlatt felt sick.

Fundy pushed on. “That’s what I got from the call logs. From Tubbo, I found that his device was probably destroyed. It isn’t taking in any new data from what I can see. Quackity’s is still alive, but the GPS was probably intentionally destroyed.”

“You can’t trace it anymore?”

“Not unless I can fix it.”

“So what does this mean, Fundy?” It was a trick question, almost. They both knew what it meant.

Eye’s downcast, Fundy returned to fiddling with the exposed wires in the comms. “It means they could be anywhere.”

The worst had happened. Schlatt pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off the oncoming headache. “Can you find out if anyone was there with them? Or if you can track Wilbur’s device?”

Fundy shrugged carefully. “I could but…see every comm device has a unique serial number on it. I got into Quackity and Tubbo’s comms because I knew their numbers already. But, either Wilbur changed his somehow, or he got a new one. Whatever it is, I can’t get into his comms right now.”

Right now. Schlatt sat up straighter. “What would you need to do so?”

“His coordinates. Or a general twenty-block radius of his location.”

“Right.” He pursed his lips. “I could possibly arrange that, but I’ll have to look into it. And there’s also the fact that they might not even be with Wilbur,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but he saw Fundy nod along, intensely concentrated on his screen. “Will you be staying?” Schlatt asked him. If the look on his face was any indicator, the lot of them would be in for a long night.

Fundy glanced up. “I guess.”

“I’ll set up a room for you.” Fundy’s head shot up and his mouth opened to argue, stopped when Schlatt shook his head. “It’s fine, kid.”

George walked into the office, bags under his goggles, holding a long, wooden box under his arm. “Schlatt?” he said softly. “This came addressed to you.”

“Put it down on the table, George.” He did, setting it on the one spot that wasn’t covered by something. They all stared at it for a moment, almost too afraid to open it. “Who sent it, George?”

“I’m not sure. I did the checks and there aren’t any traces of gunpowder. I haven’t opened it though.”

Schlatt looked up, almost asking for permission. Fundy nodded at him to go on, staring at it oddly. “That box looks…familiar.”

“That might be good?”

It wasn’t.

Schlatt opened the long, thin box that might’ve once held a flute or something in it, and stared blankly at the blue and white feather, the end that was uneven and tinged with red nestled in the crushed blue velvet. Fundy gasped sharply but it didn’t hit Schlatt as to what it could be. A feather. Too large to be a bird’s so maybe a hybrid’s?

Oh. Oh.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the air gone from his lungs as he stared, uncomprehending, at the thing laying there innocently as if it didn’t represent a horror Schlatt had only dreamt of until now. “Fuck!” he cried louder, jumping up and backing away from the evil thing. His vision flashed red and his hands shook violently.

Fundy’s shaking hands pushed the lid half closed to get a better look at the design. He dropped it as if it was a hot coal. “It’s Wilbur’s,” he muttered, slightly choked. “That’s why I could recognise the box. It was fucking Wilbur’s.”

“Then we know who they’re with,” George mumbled, shutting the box with a snap. The three men stared at each other, lost on what to do and where to go from there.

Schlatt tried to get a grip on himself. You’re President! You got money and men! And power! What does Wilbur have? Something far more precious than any of those. But Schlatt’s influence had to have some kind of use. “Fundy, I need the coordinates of where they were last seen sent to me and I’ll send people to the sight to try and see if they can track them down. George, go interview people who were or are still close to Wilbur. Niki and Eret might be good bets on information. Maybe I can get Pogtopia’s position from them or something.” Truthfully, Niki hated him, and he doubted that she’d want anything to do with his cause. But she had a soft spot for Tubbo and that was absolutely crucial to him.

“On it.”

“Fundy keep working at it. Is there a central database somewhere? Surely there’s a record of Wilbur’s old device somewhere.”

Fundy looked thoughtful for a moment. “There is, but it was updated after the election.  I could try and recover the data. It shouldn’t be completely lost. From there I could possibly get a footprint from before he ditched his first device.”

“Get on that.”

“Will do. I’ll talk to Niki if you want.”

George stood. “I’ll call you when that time comes. Anything else?”

Schlatt resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands, sitting up straighter and already beginning to type up commands for Ponk and Punz who were in charge of defence and security. “Not for now. I say, gentlemen, we work toward kicking Wilbur’s ass tonight.”

“Cheers to that.”

“Quackity,” Wilbur began to the little room, patient and condescending as always. “There’s no use trying to be all brave and noble. You must be tired. Just tell me what I want to know.”

Quackity shut his eyes, breathing stuttering in his throat. The answer was on his traitorous tongue. Wilbur had been asking him for what must’ve been hours now on the password to his comms. His goddamn device which held a wealth of information against Schlatt. He’d already said too much.

(“It’s George!” he shrieked as the pole came down on his hand. White-hot agony coursed up his arm, and he shuddered along with it, fingers twitching futilely as he screamed himself hoarse. Lip quivering, he didn’t meet Wilbur’s eyes. “G-George is Schlatt’s b-bodyguard.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wilbur crooned, kicking aside his broken, bloody hand. Quackity gasped sharply, tears clouding his vision.)

A boot pressed itself against his jugular, pushing downward. Quackity couldn’t breathe.

His hands scrabbled against it, clawing at whatever skin he could reach weakly with his uninjured hand. “St-stop,” he choked out, his wings fluttering against the rope Wilbur had tied around them. His legs kicked, body squirming and fighting viciously. The pressure increased and the guttural panic set in. “Wi-Wilbur! N-stop!”

“Fucks sake Quackity, give me the goddamn password!”

His vision was blackening around the edges from lack of air and he couldn’t fucking talk, instead using his energy to try and push the foot off his throat in blind fear as his eyesight clouded up with tears that ran down his cheeks.

When it slid off eventually, the grip on the soles scraped across the skin of his neck and it burned. Quackity’s lungs heaved, sucking in oxygen and fighting off a coughing fit as his fingers cupped his throat and the blood that poured from it. “Sch-por favor!” he yelped at the hand that gripped his hair and pulled him upright. “Please!”

Something sharp glinted in his hand. Quackity froze, shivering and shaking, as it was pressed against his bloodstained neck, slowly trailing its way down with the flat side of the blade touching his skin. “I’ll cut those fucking wings off, do you hear me? Not a word from you other then that fucking password. Do you understand?” he hissed.

He nodded quickly, hiccupping and repressing a shudder as the knife tip touched his collarbone.

“Now let’s try this again. What is the password to your comm device—”

He was interrupted by a harsh knock at the iron door. Wilbur leapt up, pushing Quackity behind him. “Who is it?” he growled, brandishing his knife.

Quackity shouldn’t let himself hope. Because he hoped. Hoped it was Fundy or Schlatt or George come to rescue him. But when a monotone speaker answered instead, he felt himself curl in on himself. “Me. Listen, Tommy just texted me that he’s coming back. Wrap up whatever you’re doing and come join us.”

“Already?” With a look filled with utter contempt shot at Quackity, he threw the knife at the wall and grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him up to his feet and pulling him along. “Stay quiet,” he ordered. “Or it’s Tubbo’s blood this time.”

Nodding quickly, Quackity was dragged out of the room of terrors with his eyes glued to the ground. He saw black boots in his way that belonged to a certain king. “I’ll take him off you,” Techno said.

“Why? I can do it fine.”

“Go clean up Wil. You’re covered in blood.” Quackity blinked back the tears at that statement, feeling his stomach churn unpleasantly.

Wilbur let go and a new pair of hands grasped at his elbow, the hold not as tight as the previous one. “Take him straight to the cell. If Tommy comes by…do what you need to.” Oh, he didn’t like the implications of that.

“Got it. Come on.” Techno pulled him gently in one direction and Quackity went, limping slightly.

(Through the haze of pain, Quackity registered Wilbur sopping up the blood streaming out of his calf with a dirty rag. “Don’t want you dying now, do we?” he asked, pulling out a healing potion and pouring it over the wound. Quackity screamed hoarsely, trying to pull his limb away from the burning.)

Techno didn’t try to initiate conversation. Quackity wouldn’t have responded anyway, too busy trying to stop himself from quivering in fear and pain. He wanted to ask about Tubbo, but one quick glance at the mask face that was set in a deadpan put him off immediately.

They walked through the cave for a while. There wasn’t much to identify the place other than the occasional bit of iron or coal that jutted out of the stone. Techno stopped at a blank wall and stepped on a stone button that was completely camouflaged in the ground. Quackity just watched in amazement as the wall opened up to reveal a small opening. Through it, a cell, lit by a single torch. And also—

“Quackity?” Tubbo called, squinting in the sudden light, elation on his face quickly replaced by horror. “Oh my dragon, what did he do to you?” Techno pushed him inside gently, letting him go, and for a brief second, Quackity really did think about grabbing Tubbo’s wrist and bolting.

But then he remembered Wilbur’s knife, his threat and Techno’s axe. He limped forward, knees wobbling, and near collapsed against a wall, sliding down slowly. “Nothing I can’t handle, Tubbo,” he whispered, exhausted.

Tubbo scampered over to his side, hands hovering above Quackity’s chest uselessly and turned his furious gaze to Techno. “What did he do?” Tubbo gritted out. His chest hurt, heart squeezing and constricting because he could do nothing against fucking Technoblade. “Tell me what he did!” he screamed, and the sound bounced off the walls.

Maybe he was imagining Techno’s flinch, but he wasn’t imagining the way he seemed to droop slightly, as if he was a wilting flower. “Tubbo, he’s with Schlatt. We can’t trust him,” he said quietly, and there was definitely guilt in that tone.

“Fuck you! We did nothing to hurt you! Fuck you and fuck Wilbur and go rot in the Nether!”

“Tubbo—”

“Shut up and get out!”

Techno backed out, readjusting his mask coolly. His hands didn’t even shake. Tubbo kept his glare on him until the stone wall closed up completely, leaving them alone in the near darkness.

(No one noticed the tall shadow watching the exchange from the darkness, leaning against the cave wall with a hand against his lips to muffle any noises. No one noticed him slip away quickly as the final, shrill note pierced the air, head aching with unshed tears.)

Quackity lifted a wing and moved it so that Tubbo could scoot closer and nestle into his side, bringing the wing down and wrapping it around him securely. “You didn’t have to do that, Tubs. It’s dangerous.”

Tubbo shook his head with a mirthless laugh. “Wilbur wouldn’t hurt me. I’m blackmail material, aren’t I?”

He leaned back, head against the cold wall as he stared at the flickering torch light. “I’m sorry for getting us—”

“Nope.” Tubbo reached up and clamped a hand over Quackity’s mouth. “It’s not your fault or mine. Shut up.”

They were silent for a bit. “Do you think Schlatt’s on our case?” he asked, voice quiet and croaky. Tears gathered in his eyes, tears that he had to blink away. Stay strong, he reminded himself. For Tubbo’s sake.

Tubbo scoffed. “Probably.” Hopefully. “Don’t worry, Quack. He’ll have us out and safe in no time at all.”

Quackity felt the strain of exhaustion on his aching muscles and drooping eyes, yawning. “You’re too optimistic, Tubbo,” he mumbled, curling up closer to his friend to get warmer. Tubbo leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around Quackity’s waist.

“Someone has to be.” Fingers brushed over a bruise on his cheek gently. “We’ll get you out and fixed soon enough.”

“Yeah. Hope so.”

Tubbo caught sight of the right wing, wincing when he saw that some of the feathers were missing and clung on tighter, as if he alone could protect from the dangers outside. It was a childish hope, but it gave him something to hold onto.

“You should sleep, Quack,” Tubbo said softly. “I’ll keep watch.”

He didn’t get a reply. Quackity was already snoring.

Tommy sauntered into Techno’s room in the ravine an hour after he had escorted Quackity into the cell. Techno looked up from polishing his sword, raising an eyebrow at his younger brother, who looked somewhat distressed. “What’s up, Tommy?”

He didn’t miss the way Tommy flinched. Techno had no clue what to feel about it. “Tubbo didn’t come meet with me today. He promised he would.”

Techno tried not to freeze at the accusatory tone. “Things get in the way, Tommy. Tubbo’s, what, secretary of state? He has other things to do.”

Shaking his head, Tommy leaned against the doorway. “Schlatt always lets Tubbo come see me no matter what happens.” Techno squinted at Tommy. “Techno, did something happen to Tubbo? That you know about, of course?”

“Would’ve told you if there had been.” Lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie. Tommy knew. There was no way he didn’t. Kid couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, and if Wilbur caught wind of him knowing…shit. Tommy knew and Techno couldn’t do anything. And if Tommy knew, and Tommy had seen, Tommy wouldn’t trust him again. At all.

Tommy scoffed, and Techno’s heart and last chance at redemption disappeared with it. “Okay, Technoblade.” The name was delivered in an icy tone. The pit in Techno’s stomach grew bigger. He turned away. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Where are you going?” Techno demanded, and Tommy bristled at the tone.

“None of your fucking business,” he snapped.

Sighing, he stared down at the sword on his lap. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Techno didn’t get a response.

The total fucking silence and absolute uncertainty was driving Schlatt up the walls. He skittered around the White House, trying to throw himself into work and make himself somewhat useful. It had been hours. The sun was beginning to set and washed the city in rosy light. It would’ve been a much prettier spectacle if his fucking kids were there to enjoy it with them.

He tried not to think about it too much, honestly.

Ponk and Punz had gotten back from their search. The footprints ended in the middle of the forest and led nowhere else. Fundy was still searching the database for Wilbur’s old data and even the interview with Niki provided to be for naught. She’d been distressed but couldn’t (or wouldn’t) disclose Pogtopia’s location.

There had been a fire in her eyes when he’d explained the situation, and he was surprised when she didn’t combat the fact that Wilbur was the one to have done it. Maybe she saw his madness too.

“I’ll help you with whatever you need,” she promised Schlatt, and he had smiled, had nearly broken down. “Not for you,” she added quickly, steel in her voice. “For Tubbo.”

“Thank you,” he said, and they both ignored the way his voice cracked.

George walked in and they both turned around to face him and the new person who stood by him. Niki gasped and flung herself forward, throwing her arms around Tommy who returned the hug just as enthusiastically. “Oh Ender, you’re safe!” she cried.

“Hey Niki,” he mumbled into her shoulder, relaxing in the embrace. Schlatt stepped back impassively to let them have their moment.

Yes, he was technically not supposed to be there, but the rules were flexible around Tommy specifically, and Schlatt wasn’t about to turn his new ally against him again.

They broke apart eventually, and Tommy surprised him by turning directly to Schlatt and staring him in the eye. “You’re looking for Tubbo and Quackity, aren’t you?”

Taken aback, he nodded once. “I am. You know where they are?”

“I saw them. They’re in Pogtopia.” His eyes wandered away from Schlatt’s gaze. “It’s bad,” he admitted softly.

Schlatt nodded, already dizzy. His boys were in Pogtopia, in Wilbur’s grip and it was properly confirmed now. And something bad was happening to them and he was going to throw up. “What’s Wilbur doing to them?” he whispered, not wanting to hear the answer.

Tommy shrugged, staring at the floor. “I’m not sure. It’s mostly to Quackity. He keeps Tubbo locked up.”

What would he want with Quackity? Schlatt knew the anger was clouding his thought process, knew that he had to calm down but Quackity was only a fucking kid and Wilbur was an adult and didn’t he see that what he was doing for this stupid fucking war was going too far and—

Oh. Quackity was VP. Schlatt had made Quackity VP and Quackity had information that was too valuable to pass up and now it had come to bite them both in the ass. Oh Ender.

When he next spoke, his voice came out strangled and breathy. “Are you willing to help us Tommy?” he asked, feeling almost disconnected with his body.

Tommy nodded vigorously. “Fuck yeah I will! Wilbur was the one thing tying me to Pogtopia and now he’s gone fucking insane. I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“Right.” Schlatt strode over to the nearest chair and sunk into it. “Alright, well, Fundy can get your comm number from you. I—”

“I can get them out,” Tommy interrupted. Schlatt head shot up and their eyes met.

“Too dangerous.”

“Not if everyone’s asleep.”

“What if they wake up?”

“We’ll be extra quiet.”

Schlatt shook his head, anger bubbling to the surface. “It’s too much of a risk,” he hissed. “I’ll send people over there and—”

“They’ll come too late! You don’t know what they’re going through. And besides, what if Wilbur finds out before you guys arrive? What then?” Tommy laughed without humour. “I’m Wilbur’s closest confidant. He won’t expect me to betray him. Let me do it, Schlatt. I care for Tubbo and Quackity as much as you do.”

“Tommy,” Niki murmured, and he turned to her, his gaze softening. “Are you sure about this? Wilbur wouldn’t shy away from hurting you as well.”

“Trust me Niki. I know what I’m doing for once.”

Schlatt stared the kid down. He was right. Any backup that arrived tomorrow at wherever the fuck Pogtopia was could be too late. Tommy was inconspicuous and would be perfect for infiltration and excavation. But the risks could be catastrophic. Especially if they didn’t have a Plan B in place. “Kid, you understand what you’d be going into, right?”

“Yes. I thought about it a bunch before I came here.” His expression turned pleading. “Just let me do this. For all of us, please.”

The moon was beginning to rise, nearly overshadowed by the gathering storm clouds in the distance. “You text me as soon as you get them out. Don’t let anyone see you. We’ll be on standby if anything goes wrong.”

Tommy grinned. Schlatt would’ve mirrored it if he wasn’t so fucking petrified. “You can count on me, Schlatt!”

“Sure I can, kid.”

(Unbeknownst to them all, a man in a heavy cloak watched from just outside, curled up underneath the window and pressed against the wall. A polished netherite sword hung from his belt. He let out a long sigh, cursing his brothers, cursing fate for letting things turn out this way as he stood carefully and made his way back into the forest.)

“Quackity.” Wilbur stood in the opening of the little cell. The aches in Quackity’s bones came back full force and he hissed between his teeth. “Get up.”

Tubbo had fallen asleep on him, cuddled up to his side underneath a wing. Gently, he pulled the kid off with trembling fingers with a whispered ‘goodnight’ and stood up to limp over to Wilbur, head bowed and cringing when Wilbur’s fingers clamped onto his arm.

The cell shut behind them as they walked in total silence, leaving Quackity holding back the tears and steeling himself for the long hours ahead.

Chapter Text

Niki hugged Tommy tight a moment before he left, just as the clock struck midnight. “Be safe,” she whispered. Her hands did not shake. Her heart did not waver. There was ice in her veins and steel in her eyes as she stared out the window at the darkness beyond. “You know how to reach me,” she added, a secret between only the two of them.

Tommy smiled at her and nodded. “Yup.” Because while he wasn’t exactly sure what she was capable of, he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.

Next was Fundy, who squeezed his shoulders, eyes faraway. “You’ve got this,” he mumbled. “I’ll be tracking your position the whole time and we’ll be waiting in the meeting spot.”

And Tommy caught his shaking hands. “Thank you. And it’s okay, Fundy. You didn’t betray anyone,” he reassured, and Fundy lit up bright, the tension between them broken. The question had been hanging in the air since his arrival. He’d forgotten what it meant to be at peace.

Schlatt was last, surprising everyone. He didn’t touch Tommy, standing in front of him. Suit rumpled, hair greasy and sticking up everywhere, exhaustion in the lines of his face. For once looking unhinged. Human. Well, as human as a hybrid could look. He nodded once. “You’re a brave kid, you know that?” he said, loud and clear. Then, quieter, for only the two of them, “Bring ‘em back in one piece, won’t you?”

“I will,” Tommy promised. And that was good enough for Schlatt, who nodded once and presented him with the diamond sword with its scabbard. He opened the door for him and watched as the cloudy night swallowed him whole.

Tubbo woke up alone. Terror filled him when he reached out and pat the ground next to him, finding nothing but cold, smooth stone. “Quackity?” he whispered into the silence, but he already knew what had happened. “F-fuck.”

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, trying to ignore the hunger pangs and the cold that stuck to his skin despite his jumper. He didn’t think the shivers that wracked him was from the cold actually.

Tubbo moved, shuffling over to the space just next to where the secret door opened and leaned against it with his left ear pressed against the stone to hear better.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he was there, muscles locked into place and barely moving at all from his wall with one ear on it at all times, but it must’ve been at least an hour before some movement caught his attention. He felt, rather than heard, the footsteps, heavy so they must’ve been from boots, and scooted away from the opening, curling up in a corner and pretending to sleep.

He knew it was Techno and Quackity the moment they opened the door. Techno said nothing, and he felt soft, uneven footsteps approach and a weight sag beside him. The door closed. A shaky, damp hand stroked his hair accompanied by the thready murmurs of a song. Something heavy and soft covered his body. Tubbo peered at Quackity, eyes widening in shock at the welts and bruises that snaked up his neck and face. His hands looked worse, crusted in dry blood and swollen at the joints. From cold or something else?

Tubbo reached up and grabbed one of the hands, holding it as tightly as he dared and clutching it to his chest. “Tubbo?” Quackity mumbled, blinking in shock. “It’s late, kid. Go to sleep.”

“You should get some rest too,” Tubbo said through the lump in his throat.

Quackity laughed a little. “Someone’s gotta stay up to keep watch.” He was slouching, and while that wasn’t out of the ordinary, the stifled groan of pain that came whenever he moved his torso was.

“Did he break your ribs?”

Quackity’s eyes betrayed shock at the question but he shrugged it off. “Probably bruised them. It’s fine, Tubs.” I’ll just respawn if he goes too far.

“It’s really not, Quackity.” He wished so bad to have something to fix him up with. A potion or a few bandages or warm water or something. Food would’ve been good at least. And if Wilbur kept going the way he was going, things were bound to get worse.

Tubbo thought about offering himself up next time. He was afraid of Wilbur. Afraid of pain. But Quackity had suffered so much. It might be the only choice left.

“Trust me I—”

The door opened and both of them flinched involuntarily. Quackity’s head smacked into the wall behind him in fear. Already?

But it wasn’t Wilbur who peeked his head in.

“Tubbo? Big Q?”

“Tommy?”

And suddenly Tubbo was leaping to his feet and flinging himself at his best friend who caught him swiftly in a hug that lifted him off his feet. “Tubbo!” Tommy exclaimed, spinning them both around. They were laughing. Even here, they were laughing, and it was a beautiful sound.

“Tommy, what are you—” Tubbo began as he was put back on his feet, quickly silenced by Tommy with a raised hand as he gave him a hunk of bread.

He strode over and gave Quackity his own food, placing it in his lap and squatting down with him, lowering his voice. “I’m getting you both out. Schlatt’s crew are waiting for you at the edge of L’Manberg so we’ve got to start moving. Eat up. Techno’s gone back to his base and Wilbur’s fallen asleep.”

“Wait, wait—Schlatt?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Eat,” he said pointedly. Tubbo shoved the loaf into his mouth as Tommy continued talking. “I found you two earlier when Techno was bringing Quackity back here and I went straight to Schlatt who was already trying to look for you anyway. We talked a bit, made a plan together, he sent me back to get you and get the fuck out.”

Tubbo whirled around to look at Quackity gleefully. “I told you he was coming!” Then, in a softer, concerned voice because Quackity didn’t really respond, staring at the food in his hands blankly, “Hey? Quack?”

“Huh?” He seemed to shake himself out of his stupor with a flinch, grabbling at the wall behind him and hauling himself up. Tommy had the same, troubled look on his own face as his eyes tracked Quackity’s slow, jerky movements. “Yeah, sounds good.” He smiled wearily. “Let’s get outta here.”

There was no cheering. Only silent, strong resolve.

Tommy led them out into the main cave system, heading in the opposite of the room of nightmares after shutting cell to not rouse suspicion. They were silent as they walked closer and closer to Pogtopia, entering a claustrophobia-inducing tunnel and popping out the other side into a huge…ravine. Pogtopia was a ravine with a network of suspended bridges hanging precariously above them.

Tommy tapped his lip with his finger, signalling them to be quiet. Quackity grabbed Tubbo’s hand, squeezing gently. Tubbo squeezed back. They both knew who they were reassuring.

As quiet as a mouse, they crept across the ravine, heading toward a flight of stairs. Tommy pointed upwards at an opening in the wall. “Exit,” he mouthed. Tubbo nodded.

Something was wrong. He felt it before it happened.

“Tommy?” Quackity let out a quiet sound of distress, spinning around. Wilbur and Techno were standing a little way back. The former had on a might scowl. Tubbo’s heart sank. “So Techno was right, then. You are a dirty little traitor.”

There had been many times in Tommy’s short life where he’d had to make a difficult decision. And now, looking at Quackity and Tubbo petrified behind him, at Wilbur and Techno who stood menacing at the other end of the ravine, he made the easiest decision of his life.

He pulled off the sword and the scabbard from his waist and shoved it into Quackity’s hands. “Go!” he yelled, darting toward a nearby chest and pulling out a battered iron sword. They didn’t budge and Wilbur begun to advance. “I said go!”

“Don’t you fucking go anywhere!” Wilbur screamed.

Tommy raised his sword, teeth grinding against each other. “Don’t you fucking come any closer you bitch,” he spat.

Quackity moved first, slipping the scabbard around his waist and grabbing Tubbo to run (hobble really, his bad leg was too damaged to properly sprint) up the steps. There was screaming below them, but they didn’t pay notice, adrenaline fuelling their every step as they made their way back up to fresh air.

It was pitch black outside, and freezing, rain pelting down in sheets. They were soaked to the bone within seconds. Tubbo knew that Wilbur and Techno had horses somewhere, and that they would be hot on their tail soon. Quackity’s expression was odd. He looked down at Tubbo for a moment and nodded to himself. He then curled his wiry arms around Tubbo’s torso and took off, powerful wings flapping madly in the wind and sleet as they slowly gained altitude.

Tubbo shrieked, holding on for dear life as he watched the trees get smaller and smaller below them.

(Neither of them were around to watch Tommy get skewered by Wilbur. The rain drowned out his screams, his pleas. Wilbur stood back impassively and turned on his heel, hell-bent on getting his prisoners back. Techno stared at his little brother, breathing shallow and shaky. What had he done?)

“Uh, guys?” Fundy said in his ‘I have bad news voice.’ Schlatt nodded at him continue, already bracing. They were all on their horses in rain cloaks with the hoods drawn up and waiting anxiously for any kind of movement. Tommy had sent them a message five minutes ago. “Tommy’s comm isn’t moving.”

“What?”

Fundy’s fingers moved, typing in commands with his brows furrowed. “He’s just…not moving. There’s something wrong with his vitals as well. They’re…dropping?”

“Shit.”

George peered over his shoulder. “Now might be the time to get into Wilbur’s comms.”

Fundy faltered. “I told you, I might—”

Schlatt turned to him, eyes filled with fire. “I know you’re more than capable. You shut your mouth and work at it because if anyone can do it, it’s you,” he snapped.

Fundy bristled. “I’m thinking, just give me—”

“Think faster, then!” Schlatt all but yelled. He was overstepping so far. He knew it. The anxiety in Fundy’s eyes, the way George bristled, the horses getting bothered.

The fox shook his head furiously. “The database deleted all of Wilbur’s old records! I can’t get anything useful from there.”

Schlatt snorted in agitation. “There’s another solution, Fundy! Surely you can fucking see that! Think, for Ender’s sake!” Thunder clapped above them. Rain was still bucketing down, and Schlatt felt his clothes get drenched despite the meagre cover.

“I—” And he froze. Looked down at his comms and then back up at Schlatt, not really seeing, lost in his own world. Schlatt didn’t dare relax yet. “Oh fuck. The network.”

“The what?”

George tutted. “Schlatt!” he snapped, and he got the message to shut up as Fundy thought a little more, slowly going and typing something in, hesitating multiple times.

“We’re all on the same network. If I can get into it then…” he trailed off, staring intently at his wrist. “How much of a time crunch are we on?” he asked suddenly.

George hummed. “I’m saying we have ten minutes to get to them.”

“I’m on it.”

Tubbo was freezing. No one could’ve prepared him for the cold that seeped into his bones and the air that just felt too thin. Quackity was born for the air. Tubbo was decidedly not.

But this was their best option. Up high in the air, soaked by rain, battered by wind. Flashes of lightning lit up the air around them, giving them some light to see with. “Q-Quackity?” Tubbo stuttered, teeth chattering. “Wh-where are w-we?”

Quackity was trembling underneath his grip. He was flying while injured in the rain and it couldn’t be good for him. “I don’t know,” he said, somehow loud enough to be heard over everything. “I’m t-trying to get as far away-away from him as p-possible.” He smiled a little hollowly. “D-don’t look down. T-trust me Tub-Tubbo.”

So he didn’t, squinting to see better as his face was assaulted by the terrible weather. Quackity shrieked every time a lightning bolt came too close for comfort, or when the crackling thunder got too loud. Tubbo jumped with him, heart in his throat as he tried to keep his eyes either closed or on a fixed spot on the horizon.

“D-do you see anyth-anything?” he called.

Quackity’s breaths were coming in little gasping wheezes. Tubbo had a bad feeling that he wasn’t going to last much longer up here in the air. “No. H-hang on!”

He swerved, angling his wings downward so that they swooped to the ground. Tubbo’s stomach dropped with their descent, wrenching a scream of fear from him.

He heard the arrow before he actually saw it, but his warning cry came too late.

Quackity let out a hoarse cry as the point ripped through feathers and skin and muscle, piercing the base of his left wing as if it were paper, knocking them dangerously off-balance. “It’s Wilbur!”

The reply was barely a whisper, lost to the storm that raged on around them. Tubbo got a very bad feeling in his gut. Quackity tried again, lips moving and still not making much sound. “P-poison,” he breathed.

Realisation was like a punch to the gut. The arrow had been poisoned. They were slowly losing altitude. They would crash down below, onto the forest floor where Wilbur could easily kill them. “Wait! Quackity, hold on! Just a little longer!”

His efforts were futile. “I’m sorry, Tubbo. I’m so sorry,” Quackity mumbled his voice cracking, wings giving up and curling around them both as they plummeted toward the ground.

Tubbo screamed the whole way.

“I’ve got it!” Schlatt’s head snapped up to meet Fundy’s eyes. “Wilbur’s moving eastward. Uh…that way. He’s beelining it as well. He’s also going really fast. I think he’s chasing something.” Or someone. The words hung, unsaid, in the air.

Schlatt flicked his reins, jittery with a sudden boost of energy. “Lead the way.”

With a sharp nod, they fell into formation, urging their horses into a sprint as they chased the madman down.

Quackity had cushioned Tubbo’s fall by manoeuvring his body so that was underneath his own and by using his wings as a protective shield.

Whatever the case was, Tubbo was conscious. Sore and bruised pretty good, but he could walk. And, by extension, fight.

Shadows whispered from the trees. With quivering hands, he grabbed the sword off Quackity’s limp form, standing over his friend with the weapon raised, not daring to call out in case he drew unwanted attention.

Tubbo wished it was a creeper he was facing. At least those didn’t come back after death.

“Tubbo?” Wilbur sung. His voice took on an eery quality now. “Tubbo, there’s no need to hide! I’ll find you no matter what!” Truth. He remembered the days before in the bright meadow, where Tommy and him would play hide-and-seek with Wilbur. It only ever took him ten or so minutes to find them. “Come out Tubbo! Listen, I’m not mad that you’re a traitor. I’m mad because you left us.”

Tubbo wished he could stop shaking.

Wilbur emerged from the shadows on a skeleton horse holding a soul fire torch. Lightning flashed with the arrival of the strange creature, illuminating its pale face with its hollow eyesockets. Teeth, exposed to the night air, clicked impatiently at its owner. It stared Tubbo down, and maybe he wasn’t imagining the red pinpricks of light he found where its eyes were supposed to be.

“G-get away!” he said, lifting the sword. “Stop!”

Wilbur threw his head back and laughed, dismounting the horse and taking out a sword (netherite) of his own. “You really want to do this now, Tubbo?” He peered at Quackity. “He’s not looking so good there, is he? Help had better get here quick.”

“Shit,” he breathed. Quackity was sickly looking, slightly green even in the gentle torchlight, and curled up into a tight ball. Blood oozed from the arrow wound. It wasn’t clotting. Why wasn’t it clotting?

Wilbur beckoned with a finger. “Come on. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Tubbo didn’t have a choice. Wilbur launched himself forward and he just managed to bring his sword up to block. The clang of steel bounced around the inside of his skull, disorientating him for a split second. Tubbo pushed upwards, breaking contact and ducking away before Wilbur could swing back down and decapitate him.

He was slightly more alert now, swiping at his eyes to get rid of the water obscuring his vision. Wilbur pushed his wet hair out of the way. “Not bad,” he crooned. He darted forward, trying to stab at Tubbo’s right. He parried quickly, taking advantage of the close range to push himself forward and elbow Wilbur in the side. It only half worked, hitting his arm, but it was hard enough to hurt. They broke apart again. Tubbo got no breathing space, however, as a blade came straight for his throat. It was too quick to deflect, so he ducked, smacking into the ground hard.

He felt the next one from above and rolled away to his right, scrabbling in the slick mud to get to his feet again. A foot caught him in his rib, but before he fell, he flailed for a moment, striking out with his sword. The rip of fabric caught the air.

Wilbur yelped, hopping away. Tubbo got him in calf, had scraped the blade across the back. The cut wasn’t substantial, but it gave him time to get up to his feet. “Don’t do this Wilbur,” he said, adrenaline running high and his blood rushing about his ears.

“I’ll do what I want,” Wilbur snarled back venomously.

Another attack at his left side this time, and Tubbo blocked it again. He didn’t see the foot that came with it that swept his legs out from under him. Tubbo fell with a yelp, head hitting the ground hard. He rolled up off the floor, grabbing at his sword which was only a little way away—

Crack!

Something heavy and metal and a little bit sharp smashed into his temple. Pain exploded across his head. Tubbo cried out, landing in the muck again as his head throbbed a steady beat, in synch with his heart. “Wi-Wilbur,” he rasped out, peering through the double-vision and the darkness that obscured everything. “Pl-please.”

He was so cold.

Tubbo’s teeth clacked against each other almost violently. Mud caked his arms and legs, soaking his clothes and deepening the chill. His joints ached. His head was killing him. Wilbur was going to kill him.

No. Wait. Wilbur dropped the sword. Instead of going over to Tubbo, he went the opposite way. “N-no!” he got out, vision swooping as he tried to get onto all fours. But Wilbur continued his march toward Quackity, helpless and poisoned and sick and injured and barely moving at all with his eyes blown wide in fear.

With tenderness that was uncanny for the man it came from, he delicately picked up a wing off the ground. Covered in grime, feathers tangled in leaves and branches, they looked nothing how they did yesterday while they were walking to Tubbo’s new bee farm.

Ender, that was how all of this had started, hadn’t it?

“Such pretty feathers, aren’t they, Tubbo?” Wilbur murmured, stroking them gently. Quackity was talking under his breath. Breathless and hushed and very fast and definitely not in English. He caught names in the chatter, as well as the words in Spanish for ‘mum’ and ‘please’. He also caught Schlatt’s name once.

“Don’t you fucking t-touch them.” Tubbo stared Wilbur down. He lifted the wing higher with a smirk as Tubbo’s addled mind tried to figure out what he was doing. Then, he raised a boot.

Quackity had once confessed to him that it was easier for his bones to break because they were more birdlike than other peoples’. He proved this about a week later by breaking his arm when he fell down the stairs. Tubbo, who’d done the same thing a few weeks earlier, had gotten off with a bad bruise.

He remembered Quackity saying that wing bones were the worst because they were much more fragile than his other bones.

Wilbur’s smile was wild. His eyes were crazed, maddened with power and bloodthirst. “No more flying away for you,” he whispered.

“Wil-Wilbur no!” Tubbo screamed as the foot came down on the wing.

The crack resonated through the forest, almost drowned out by Quackity’s wail of pain.

All three of them heard the scream coming from just in front of them. Fundy’s fur stuck out, ears flattened against his head. George looked nervous and Schlatt…Schlatt looked murderous. “Same direction as we’re going, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Fundy affirmed. He shuddered. The cold was getting to him. “That was Quackity, wasn’t it?”

Schlatt just nodded, not wanting to know what could’ve drawn a sound so wretched and anguished from his boy’s mouth. “We’re nearly there,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get moving.”

Quackity was sobbing into the ground, his broken wing still in Wilbur’s grip. He dropped it, drawing another cry from him. “St-stop. Please stop!”

“Shut up.”

The other wing was in his hand. Tubbo lunged forward, throwing himself at Wilbur who just kicked him away. He felt winded, dead as the air left his lungs. “Don’t-please,” Quackity blubbered. “It hurts, please I can’t please I won’t! Please!” Something big was thundering their way. Tubbo wondered faintly if it was backup.

Still crying brokenly into the dirt, Quackity could do little as Wilbur’s boot came down on his other wing. The scream got stuck in his throat halfway and dissolved into whimpering as the tree line was broken by three, beautiful, alive horses.

Tubbo could’ve cried when he saw the curling ram horns set in hair that was drenched with water.

Wilbur dropped the second wing. Quackity had stopped making any noise, just a quivering pile of feathers and clothes on the floor. Tubbo reached out but he couldn’t get to him.

“Schlatt!” he said amicably, spreading his arms wide as if he were welcoming an old friend. Schlatt just dismounted and didn’t say anything, shaking his hood off. “Ender, it’s good to see you.” Wilbur’s sword was out the moment his feet hit the earth. A second later and Schlatt was armed as well. “What? No hug for your old pal?”

And Schlatt spoke in a voice Tubbo had never heard before. A voice that made chills rake their way up his spine. “You stopped being my pal a long time ago.”

When they clashed, it was a demonstration of power and skill. They way they spun around each other, the parries, the ducks, the blows that always seemed to hit something, the footwork that was always in time. It was like a dance. A deadly dance that could end up in a death if Schlatt wasn’t careful.

Tubbo vaguely recalled something about Schlatt fighting in a war before he came to this server. Before Tubbo was born, even. He wondered if Wilbur had fought with him, judging by the way they seemed to be able to predict each other’s movements.

Schlatt refused to show his true mental state, moving fluidly and carefully, planning things out barely milliseconds before he executed them. Wilbur’s style had become less flamboyant and more…wild as time went on. He was unfocused. That was his mistake.

Their swords met, his underneath Wilbur’s and he flicked upwards. In one, smooth motion, he caught his opponent’s sword arm by the wrist and twisted it none too gently with a snarl. Cracks were appearing in his mask as rage bled through.

Wilbur’s sword clattered to the ground, and Schlatt’s followed soon after as he leapt on top of him and began pummelling his stupid face in, face twisted into a grimace. Wilbur screamed out between blows but that didn’t stop Schlatt on his fury-powered rampage with red in his eyes and fire in his heart.

“I’ll kill you, bastard!” he roared. Blood stained his hands. “I’ll make you wish you were never fucking born! I’ll end your miserable life here and now and I’ll end it for good!” Wilbur’d stopped crying out. “How fucking dare you do this? I trusted you! I fucking trusted you and I saved your life and this his how you fucking repay me?” Someone was pulling him away, talking very fast, very quiet, into his eat. “Fuck you!” he shrieked as the fight left him, as George dragged him away from the broken body.

He wasn’t dead. “We need him alive,” George said monotonously, dumping him next to Fundy who was trying to do first aid on Quackity. “Stay here.” He left to gather up the man bleeding out on the floor and Schlatt felt nothing for him.

A hand tugged at his cloak. His head whipped around. Tubbo. Of course.

The kid looked at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Kid,” he breathed, opening his arms. He didn’t expect Tubbo to jump into them so readily after what he had done, but there he was, holding his kid in his arms as he cried into his shoulder. The rain had stopped, Schlatt registered dimly. “Hey, hey, bud I’m here, it’s okay, it’s alright, you did so good, I’m proud, it’s okay,” he chanted into Tubbo’s hair. The words were meaningless. No, they wouldn’t be okay for a long while. Maybe never.

He stood up unsteadily as Fundy started hauling Quackity up, carrying him bridal style. Schlatt put Tubbo down if just to hold Quackity for a moment, stroke the hair from his eyes and cradle him (he was so fucking cold) as Fundy mounted his horse and beckoned for the kid. Schlatt gave him up begrudgingly.

He helped Tubbo onto his own horse before getting up himself. Wilbur’s wrists were tied to the reins of George’s mare. Together, they trotted back to Manberg, the silence between them thick with grief.

They left those woods half an hour later. Wilbur wasn’t awake and neither was Quackity. Tubbo refused to sleep, pinching himself occasionally to keep his eyes from drooping.

The soft lights of Manberg were a welcome sight for them. He saw Niki drop everything to sprint toward the horses, screaming his name over and over. Schlatt helped him get off to collapse in her arms, numb with exhaustion and pain from the steady headache that had plagued him the whole while and the ice in his veins that was freezing him over. “You’re okay! You’re okay, Ender, you’re okay!” He just nodded into his shoulder and tried not to cry at the scent of freshly baked bread.

Eret was right behind her and had moved forward to help Fundy and Schlatt carry Quackity. His wings dragged behind him, both of them in a makeshift splint. Resetting the bone would be hell.

Ponk and Punz strode forward to help George with Wilbur. Niki averted her eyes pointedly, rubbing Tubbo’s back and swaying back and forth slightly. “I want to go home,” he mumbled.

“I know,” she whispered. “But you gotta go to a hospital first. I’ll be with you for as long as I can.”

“Okay.”

He was aware of a hand on his shoulder. Not Schlatt’s calloused one, but one that was softer, with longer fingers. When he opened his eyes, he stared at orange fur and amber eyes. “Hey,” Fundy muttered with a little smile. “Come on, Tubbo. Time to go.”

He pulled himself upright, reaching out and leaning against Fundy anyway to walk away from the forest.

A shout rang out. He froze.

“Hello?” That voice. High-pitched in panic and barely recognisable. “Help!” Tubbo spun around, the name already on his lips.

“Techno?”

He was right. The pig came out from the trees, stumbling with every step, exhaustion in his tone along with the anxiety. In his arms was an unmoving bundle. Schlatt abandoned everything to race toward him with George in tow.

Something electric zipped through Tubbo’s body and he ripping away from Fundy’s grasp to follow his father, sprinting toward Technoblade himself.

He was panting as he stopped a few meters short of where they were. Schlatt approached carefully, as if Techno was a dangerous animal (he was in a sense), hand on the hilt of his sword constantly. But Techno wasn’t about to attack, raising his arms to lift the cloth off of the bundle and—

“Tommy!” Tubbo shrieked, charging forward. Something caught him, knocking the wind right out of him.

“Tubbo!” Schlatt hissed, holding him tighter as he squirmed to try to get to his best friend who looked so fucking pale what had happened?

Techno avoided everyone’s eyes. “Wilbur. He…he saw Tommy help Tubbo escape.” He needn’t finish his sentence.

George made the decision this time. “Eret, I’ll need you to carry Tommy.” He locked eyes with Technoblade himself, not an ounce of fear shining through those goggles. “Technoblade, you’re under arrest by Manberg law for aiding an assisting Wilbur Soot in committing various atrocities. Will you come with us quietly?”

Tubbo didn’t expect Techno to nod. But he did, and gave up Tommy to the former traitor Eret (he was a traitor as well and so was Tommy, so they were all even). Tubbo felt far too much as he watched Tommy’s limp body be carried away.

He twisted in Schlatt hold suddenly, breaking free and leaping at Techno, slamming his fists against his chest. “This is your fault!” he screamed, pounding at every bit of skin he could reach. Techno didn’t fight back. “This is all your fault! You did this! Fuck you Techno! Fuck you! Go back to the fucking Nether!”

“Tubbo, I’m sorry—”

“Shut the fuck up!” He was sobbing, hysterical, inconsolable. “You-you helped t-torture Quackity and now Tommy’s dying and you did nothing to help us! I hate you! I hate you!” A set of arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him away and the energy was zapped from Tubbo’s system completely as he collapsed, vision spinning.

“Come on, Tubs. Come on bud. It’ll be okay. Just—it’s okay. They’ll be okay.”

Arms were cradling him as if he were a child again. He felt a blanket get wrapped around his shoulders, and warmth crept back into his icy skin.

He wasn’t sure when he passed out, but it was to the sound of Schlatt’s quiet humming of a long forgotten-lullaby.

Chapter Text

It was three in the morning.

Three in the morning, and Tubbo was out cold, Tommy was still fighting for his life and all Schlatt could do was sit next to Quackity on his hospital bed and stroke the hair out of his unblinking eyes as he sat up, slumped over because of his ribs, while they both waited for Bad and Skeppy to reset his wing bones.

His eyes were glazed over fixating onto certain points like Schlatt’s tie or the wall tiles and was listless during the whole examination process.

(Schlatt ground his teeth together, staring at the hole in the skin, the shiny, inflamed skin around the wound at the base of his wing, caused by Wilbur’s poisoned arrow, the blood that had barely clotted and was slowly leaking onto a once-pristine clump of gauze. “Just give him the damn healing pot! He’s in pain! Can’t you fucking see that?”

Bad had smiled sadly, placatingly, strangely unperturbed by the swear. “Not until the wings have been set. Or they might end up healing wrong.”)

Schlatt tried to ignore the flushed skin, unnaturally hot despite the shivers that wracked his body, instead focusing in on the steady stream of somewhat incoherent chatter coming from Quackity’s mouth in an amalgamation of both English and Spanish. Schlatt tried to keep up with the words, interjecting with his own whenever he heard something that made a little sense.

“Where am I?”

“Hospital.”

“Tubbo isn’t here.” Eyes suddenly blown wide with fear, the grip on his sheets iron tight.

Schlatt shook his head. “No, no, he’s in another room,” he said quickly. It was true. They didn’t want to wake him up now. Poor kid looked like he was on death’s door. “He’s okay.”

“Oh.” Quackity slumped. “Okay, dad.” (Schlatt’s chest constricted painfully at the word but he tried not to let the emotions show to Skeppy who had a look of pity on his face as he stared at him. It’s the fever, he told himself firmly.)

Ender, this is was fucking wrong. This was Quackity. The guy who shrieked Spanish at the top of his lungs with his wings flapping madly in the middle of the night on top of the White House like some kind of deranged rooster because he felt like it that particular night. (That wasn’t even the first time either.) Quackity who’d stuck by Tubbo’s side for those first few weeks and the days while he was growing in his horns. Quackity who flirted with him unashamedly and constantly tested his tolerance and patience. Quackity who’d pushed him to actually go and fucking spend time with his kid. Quackity who’d ditched all of the alcohol bottles in the whole building in lava and hadn’t flinched when Schlatt had screamed at him for an hour straight in blind fury. Fuck, this was Quackity who’d helped him nurse the wicked hangover that came with the following morning.

Quackity was loud and boisterous and took up space and was brave and kind and everything Schlatt couldn’t be.

He was a fucking kid that got dragged into this mess because of this stupid political game Schlatt had decided to play instead of actually talking things out with Wilbur.

Schlatt was growing more and more restless by second, almost relieved when Bad and Skeppy surrounded the right wing. “Ready?” they called. A healing potion was brought forward by someone Schlatt couldn’t be bothered to identify, ready to give Quackity as soon as both wings were set and held properly in place. He grabbed a bandaged hand and held it close.

Schlatt didn’t think Quackity knew what was going on by the way he let out a low, distressed keen when Bad gently grabbed a hold of the first wing. He had to bite back the urge to snarl at him. “Eyes on me,” he said gently as Quackity’s gaze began to wander away. The hazy eyes snapped back onto Schlatt’s own. “That’s it, bud. I’m right here, okay?”

Quackity sucked in a breath as he realised what was happening. “W-wait. Wait, please, no—"

“Three,” Skeppy called, and his kid shuddered again, choking out a weak cry as bone fragments ground against each other. Schlatt shushed him, giving the nurse a firm nod. “Two—”

Schlatt did not realise exactly how much time adjusting setting a wing bone would take.

There was the first scream that tore Quackity’s throat in two, that ripped through Schlatt’s heartstrings. It dissolved into a strangled gasp for air. His grip went tight, crushing Schlatt’s hands but he held on and pulled him into his chest tightly, whispering encouragement as Quackity writhed for five, long seconds.

“St-stop!” he sobbed into the suit, muffled. “It hurts! Stop, Sch-Schlatt please I don’t wanna-please dad, please!”

The first wing was being bandaged already against wooden rods to keep it as straight as possible without damaging the feathers. There was another one left to go that they were prepping. Schlatt brushed the hair out of his eyes. “That’s it, it’s okay, that’s it, you did good, you did really good,” he blabbered, trying to stem the flow of the tears.

“N-no more dad, I don’t, I can’t—”

“I know. I know, bud. It’s to help you, I swear. One more. C’mon, you can do this.” He let go of Quack’s wrists and wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he dared in preparation for the second one. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“Ready?” Bad asked, gentler this time. Schlatt nodded again jerkily. “Three—”

This time, Quackity’s body spasmed, the muscles in this arms and back twitching wildly as he struggled futilely. The cry wasn’t as loud, but it was just as heart-wrenching and Schlatt had to physically hold him down to keep him still. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s done, it’s over, you did so good I swear, I’m so sorry, that’s it, it’s okay, no more I promise.”

Quackity cried into Schlatt’ chest but didn’t try to escape. Bad cleared his throat, holding the glimmering, pink potion out to the president. “He trusts you a lot more than he trusts us.”

Schlatt took it with a nod, carefully setting it aside to pry him off. “Hey bud?” he tried, voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat. “Can you sit up for a sec, Quack?”

“Don’t wanna.” Schlatt barely heard the answer.

“I know. But the potion’ll make it hurt less.”

He tilted his head so that one red-rimmed eye stared at him brokenly. “Prom-promise?”

“Promise,” and Schlatt had to force the smile for Quackity’s sake.

Gently, ever so gently, he helped him sit up by himself, half slumped against Schlatt anyway as he reached for the potion, uncorked it and tipped it down his throat slowly. With each gulp, the numbing took effect and Quack’s body relaxed in his arms. He just slumped forward, and Schlatt was content to hold him for a little bit, rubbing his back gently as Quackity wrapped his arms around his midsection.

Setting the empty bottle away, and suddenly very aware of the stares he was getting (he decided at that moment that he didn’t fucking care anymore), Schlatt rocked him back and forth. “You gotta stay awake a little longer.”

“W-why?”

“You’re really hurt, bud. The doctors are gonna take a better look at you. After that, you can sleep.”

He didn’t expect to feel so much emotion with Quackity’s response. “St-stay with me?”

Schlatt swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I’m not leaving for a long time.”

“Would you like him moved to be with your son after this?”  Bad asked after the long, stretching silence that followed those words.

Schlatt was jolted out of some kind of haze, head snapping up at the sound of the word. “My what?” he asked incredulously, still not completely processing the question.

“Your son,” he repeated patiently. “Tubbo. Secretary of State?”

“Uh,” he said eloquently, blinking a few times as he registered everything. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Right.” He gave a weary smile. “You should catch up on sleep, Mr President. Word is that you haven’t touched a bed for nearly a day.”

Schlatt shrugged. “Later maybe. Thank you for everything, by the way.”

“It was nothing at all.”

Schlatt nearly left it at that when he remembered one, very important detail. “Hey, shit, what about Tommy?”

Bad frowned. “Ah. Truthfully, we aren’t sure if he’ll make it through the night. He’d lost a lot of blood and the pneumonia isn’t exactly helping. But if he does die, and that is an if, we have already set his respawn here, so we’ll be ready for it. But whatever happens, we’ll update you first.”

“Right. Okay.” That was good enough for Schlatt for now at least. Maybe later, he could deal with everything else.

Tubbo woke up to sunlight streaming through a window at his left hitting the clean, white sheets and creating a glare that was strong enough to bleed through his eyelids. He felt warm which was a far cry from his dreams. They didn’t really have any shape to them, but he remembered them to be cold. Bone deep frigidity that had frozen his muscles and blood so that he couldn’t move.

He was lying on his side, and rolled onto his back, blinking in the sudden light. The sound of a curtain opening echoed through his skull and was proceeded by fast footsteps approaching him. Tubbo had half a mind to duck under the soft sheets and hide.

“Tubbo?” the voice called. A friendly voice with a note of relief in its tone.

Shifting his head slightly, he stared into Fundy’s amber eyes that had concern shining brightly within them. “Mm?”

Fundy chuckled softly, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to the bed. He looked a little worse for wear, fur sticking out whichever way, mouth drawn downward slightly. He looked tired. “Welcome to the land of the living. How are you feeling?”

Tubbo’s ribs and arms hurt. His head hurt. His legs hurt. His stomach was growling. His tongue felt sandpaper dry. He still felt exhausted. So he tried to shrug in answer. “Bad,” he mumbled.

Nodding sympathetically, Fundy drummed his fingers on his thigh for a moment. “Oh shit, are you thirsty?”

Now he was talking! Tubbo nodded and went to sit up, ignoring the aches and pains that plagued every movement, as well as Fundy’s protests for him to not do that. “Water,” he said, as loudly as he dared.

Reaching out an arm to stabilise him, Fundy lifted a cup of cool, sweet water to his cracked lips and Tubbo had to fight not to just down it all in one go, sipping as slowly as his body allowed him to. He was immensely disappointed when the water was finished, however, but Fundy set the cup aside with a sheepish smile. “Apparently you shouldn’t overdo it. So that it doesn’t come back up.”

Tubbo nodded with a sigh and took the time to actually look around in the silence that followed. It was a simple room, walls made of oak planks and the floor of quartz as far as he could tell. It was white at least. Lanterns hung from the ceiling and a clock on the wall told him it was just before midday. With a start, that his wasn’t the only patient here.

Peering behind Fundy, he saw the second bed. Saw the great, big white and blue wings held up awkwardly with bandages, feathers now clean and free of any mud that had once plagued them. A tuft of dark hair peeped out from underneath the white sheets (Tubbo had half a mind to ask about his beanie). And next to him…

“Oh. It’s Schlatt,” Tubbo mumbled dumbly, staring at the president with the wrinkly suit which had splotches of mud and dust on it that was sleeping with his head down in his arms by Quackity’s side. His horns rose and fell slightly with each breath.

Fundy gave him a sad little smile and moved out of the way so that Tubbo could see better. “He tried staying up for you, but I made him fall asleep. Not before he made me promise to wake him when you woke up.”

“Are you going to?”

“Do you want him to?”

Now that threw him for a loop. The events of last night were very hazy in his mind but he did remember Schlatt beating the shit out of Wilbur and nearly killing him and while that did save their lives, it was also traumatising. So in short, he had no fucking clue what he wanted. “Uh,” he said instead.

Seemingly catching on, Fundy shrugged. “That’s fair. But if he wakes up, I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Deal.” Tubbo leaned back and shut his eyes before opening them to steal another glance at Quackity.

He couldn’t see much apart from the massive wings and the back of his head. Everything was covered up by the blanket. Fundy must’ve caught the longing gaze because he started to speak up. “He’ll be okay, Tubbo. Schlatt reckons you saved his life.”

“What?” Tubbo’s eyes were wide.

“You fought Wilbur, didn’t you? You bought us extra time to get to you. And, by extension, you saved Quackity’s life. And your own,” he added.

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of the failed duel in that sense. It was what it was in his mind. A failure. And Quackity’s wings were still broken. No, he couldn’t think about that right now judging by the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Where’s Wilbur, exactly?” he asked, somewhat loudly.

Fundy’s ears twitched. “Prison. George and Punz dealt with them as soon as you were taken to hospital. Same with Techno.”

“You captured Technoblade?”

Fundy didn’t look proud at that. “He gave himself up.” And Tubbo somehow knew that there was something Fundy was hiding from him. Something extremely important. “George is trying to pull a few strings to get them out of the server apparently. I’m not sure where to.” I’m not sure if any place is prepared to receive them, Tubbo thought.

“Oh. That’s…good?”

With a long sigh, he stretched. “Good enough for now I guess.”

A rustle from behind Fundy startled them both and they turned to stare at the source of the noise. Schlatt lifted his head up from the bed to look at them blearily, blinking a few times to process what he was seeing. “Tubbo?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Hi there,” Tubbo chirped as enthusiastically as he could. Schlatt stood up very quickly, almost tipping over, and marched toward Tubbo’s bed, something unreadable in his (red, puffy, had he been crying?) eyes. Fundy vacated the seat and let the president take it instead.

Schlatt dropped onto the seat heavily, jaw clenched as he looked Tubbo over. “You doin’ okay?”

“Better than before.”

To his surprise, Schlatt’s eyes went all watery. He opened up his arms and Tubbo kinda just fell into them, savouring the warmth and comfort the hug brought. He graciously ignored the tears that created a damp patch on his shoulder, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Good to see you, bud,” Schlatt rasped.

“Mhm. I’d missed you.”

“I’d missed you too. So much.”

Because it had only been barely a day, but everything had changed. Only been a day and nothing could be the same again.

Eventually, they drew back. Schlatt wiped at his face and both people present made a mental note to never mention any of it to the tabloids. “Now what do we do?”

The president hummed, running a hand through his hair. “Not sure. George is doing his thing right now. You won’t have to see either of them if you don’t want to and Tommy—”

“That was what I was forgetting!” Tubbo exclaimed. Schlatt glanced at Fundy, eyes vaguely panicked, and Fundy looked even more anxious. And now Tubbo was afraid to ask. “Where’s Tommy?”

Their faces visibly dropped and Schlatt rounded on Fundy. “You didn’t tell him?” he hissed.

“I didn’t get the chance to,” Fundy muttered back with equal verve.

“Er—I’m still in the room.”

“Oh fuck.”

Schlatt took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, locking his eyes onto Tubbo’s doe ones. “Tommy died, kiddo,” he said, as gently as he could. The words felt like a punch to the stomach. “Sometime last night. He’s respawned here but the doc doesn’t know when he’ll wake up.”

“O-oh.” The words were getting stuck in his throat, lumping up so that he couldn’t speak properly. Tommy had died for his sake. Tommy had died because of Wilbur and Techno but it was Tubbo’s fault as well. “Is he—can I—” he stammered, and his hands trembled from where they were fisted up in the blankets.

Schlatt laid a steadying hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “Breathe for me,” he ordered and Tubbo complied, sucking in a sharp breath and forcing it out again. “Good job. Again, bud.”

That was the cycle they were stuck in. Schlatt telling him to breathe in and out slowly as if it wasn’t a completely normal human function that Tubbo was suddenly incapable of doing for some fucking reason. Maybe it was the fact that his best friend had died to protect him. Maybe it was the fact that his pseudo-brother had gotten really hurt for his sake. Maybe it was the fact that someone Tubbo had loved and trusted would have killed him if Schlatt hadn’t arrived when he had. Maybe it was the fact that all of this was Tubbo’s fault.

“N-no!” he gasped out, scrabbling at his chest because it was squeezing around his lungs and he could breathe and oh Ender he was going to die— “I did-didn’t—pl-please!”

“Tubbo,” Schlatt said, somehow loud enough to hear through the haze. “Tubbo, what are five things you can see?”

Oh. Oh, he knew this one. Schlatt had done it with him before. Back, after his first nightmare in the White House. He blinked, mouth moving with no sound at first. So he tried again. “Fl-floor. Windo-window. Y-you. Bed. Fun-Fundy.” Every word was punctuated with a strangled gasp that grew less painful to draw in by the second.

“Good. Four things you can hear?”

Tubbo had to think hard about that one. “Me. Y-you again. Cl-clock. Um.” He turned his head this way and that. “Birds?”

“Three things you can feel.”

“Sheets. Your hand. Uh, py-pyjamas.”

“Two things you can smell.”

Tubbo smiled tightly. “You. You smell b-bad.”

Schlatt laughed. “That’s my boy. Feeling better?”

His chest was still being crushed under the weight of an anvil and he was still shaking hard, but breathing had become a little bit easier and he no longer felt like he was suffocating. So he nodded in answer, already feeling absolutely drained. “Mhm.”

He felt Schlatt’s hesitation a little later. “Can I ask you something real quick?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled.

“Techno asked us to update him on Tommy’s condition whenever we could. Should I tell him…you know?”

Tubbo had to sit and think for a moment. Techno, who’d sat by and done nothing. Techno, who’d only cared enough to give Tubbo a small opening to run. Techno, who’d ratted Tommy out to Wilbur knowing what would happen.

Techno, who bought Tommy straight to them and hadn’t resisted arrest. Techno, who he hated.

“Yes,” Tubbo said finally. I want him to know what he did.

“Alright. Thank you for that.”

“Will you tell me when Quackity and Tommy wake up next?” he asked pleadingly, pulling his best puppy eyes.

“Of course we will. Go to sleep, kid. We’ll be right here.”

Schlatt helped him ease back onto the bed, and pulled the sheets up around him, stroking the hair from his forehead in a gentle motion until his drooping eyes finally closed and the world slipped away.

When Tubbo woke up next, it was face-to-face with a very unexpected but also very expected (how did that even work out?) visitor. He registered the great, black dragon wings that arched over his head that was adorned in his green bucket hat. The dark green robes that matched, the blond hair, the nose that was in a book.

Phil didn’t notice him at first, reading intently. He looked pale and wan and extremely stressed. The hair underneath his hat was tousled and not in the stylish way. There were light bags under those eyes as well. Tubbo winced on his behalf. “Phil?” he mumbled sleepily.

Startled, Phil nearly dropped his book, slamming it shut and fumbling around with it before settling it on his lap. “Tubbo!” he exclaimed softly, careful to be quiet. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright. When did you come?”

Phil took off the hat and proceeded to look very odd without it. “Last night.” Oh. It was the next day. “George and Schlatt called me here.” His gaze saddened, and Tubbo realised with a pang that those were his sons. He couldn’t imagine what Phil was going through, honestly. “I’m here to take Techno and Wilbur with me to another world, just to ourselves. Until they’re…as normal as they can be after all that.”

Which wouldn’t be a long time. That part wasn’t said, but it hung in the air between them. “Oh.” Tubbo shut his eyes and relaxed at the sudden feeling of fingers carding themselves through his hair softly.

Wait. Tommy was his son too. If he was taking Wilbur and Techno—

Tubbo shot up and let out a hiss as ribs fiercely protested the movement. “Tubbo!” Phil cried, trying to shove him back onto the bed as gently as he could. “Stop!”

Tubbo swatted at the hand with fear burning in his gut. “Tommy!” he got out. “You won’t take Tommy!” That part came out not as a plea, but a snarl. He’d fight Phil, and he’d definitely lose, but he’d fight Phil to keep his best friend safe from them.

Phil didn’t look the slightest bit fazed. If anything, he looked sadder. “I’m not going to take Tommy from you,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t trust Wil and Tech with him anymore.” His voice cracked halfway through but neither of them mentioned it. “Schlatt promised to take care of him so he’s staying here.” He smiled and there were tears brimming in his eyes. Tubbo felt them prick at his own. “With you.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.” He nodded to himself. Tommy was with him. Wilbur and Techno were leaving. The bad things were leaving. Well, not Dream but Dream couldn’t leave, could he? “When do you leave?”

He didn’t mean it to be rude, but flinched at the hurt that crossed Phil’s face anyway. He didn’t want Phil to leave, but he did want Techno and Wilbur to be as far away from Quackity and Tommy as humanely possible. But he couldn’t explain that to Phil, who’d already started talking. “I’m going to stay till Tommy wakes up. I’ll leave a few days after that, I think.”

“That’s good.” He stared up at the man who’d raised him. “I’ve missed you.” Infrequent letters hadn’t been enough for Tubbo or any of the really. Dream hadn’t let Phil onto the server no matter what Tommy said. Wait. Who let him on?

“Same here. Schlatt’s been treating you alright, hasn’t he?”

Tubbo nodded. “He has. I’d have told you if he wasn’t.”

“And I’d have kicked his ass if that was true.”

They shared a quiet laugh together, and when Phil opened his arms tentatively for a hug, Tubbo collapsed into them, snuggling up to his chest. A small fragment of the old times, back before everything went so horribly wrong.

A few hours after Phil visited, Quackity woke up and was actually coherent, if a little confused and unsettlingly quiet. Tubbo, who’d been absently doodling on loose, blank pages, was the first one to his side at the sound of a little mumble and rustling from his bed, ripping off the covers to stumble over to Quackity’s bedside. He sat down with a little huff and grabbed at a hand, squeezing tightly.

“Wake up,” he mumbled, shaking at his shoulder a little sleepily. “Come on, Quack.” Please.

“Mh. Go away,” Quackity whined, and Tubbo giggled as he burrowed in deeper.

He tried again. “You have to get up now. Schlatt’s been wanting to talk to you.” Quackity’s forehead still felt a little warm but not as feverish and definitely not flushed.

“He can fuck off.”

“He really won’t.”

Quackity cracked a slightly hazy eye open, staring straight at him. “Our little secret, then.”

He sounded oddly normal. Soft spoken, but that playful tone was undeniably Quackity’s. “But he really wants to talk to you.” He’d been walking in every half hour to check on him, was what Tubbo didn’t say. “Please? He’ll be sad.”

Quackity groaned and rolled his eyes, rubbing at them tiredly. “Fucking asshole,” he muttered underneath his breath, starting to haul himself up. “Is there any water around these parts?”

Tubbo pointed at the jug. “Would you like me to pour you some?”

“Nah. I got it.” Waving off his concerns, Quackity adopted a look of total concentration as he picked up the jug to pour the water into the cup that was placed conveniently close by. His hands shook a little, and the jug was glass and very heavy.

“Quackity,” Tubbo began, standing up and steadying his hands. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t.”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Thanks Tubs.”

There were a hundred things that were left unsaid between the two of them. All of them could go ignored for a little while. They’d talk properly later. For now, Tubbo held up the glass to Quackity’s lips and helped him drink, ran a hand through the feathers that were already growing in, hugged him tight and joked around with him until he had to relent and call Schlatt.

And he didn’t mind one bit when Schlatt sent him out to wait by Tommy’s bedside as they exchanged their own, private words.

Tommy, on the other hand, took three, whole days to wake up.

And Tubbo wasn’t even there when it happened! He’d been discharged, completely in the clear after the second day and had gone home to the White House though he still spent most of his day visiting Quackity who was still stuck in hospital, under Bad’s watchful eye.

(In his heart, he knew that Bad was a lot more terrifying than most people gave him credit for, and that Skeppy was just as scary when he stopped goofing around and giving Bad flowers. In his heart, Quackity and Tommy were safe there, but his brain always said otherwise.)

It was Phil who’d messaged him of Tommy awaking at around midnight, and Tubbo sprinted out of the White House in just his sleeping clothes and socks with a cloak thrown haphazardly over his shoulders with Schlatt in tow, yelling at him to ‘come back, oh my fucking god do you know what fucking time it is, Tubbo?’

He got into the hospital and bodily shoved Skeppy aside to dive into Tommy’s room, panting heavily as the door slammed shut in Schlatt’s face behind him.

Phil flinched, blinked (the circles under his eyes were dark blue and he look so fucking old) and beckoned Tubbo over. He approached quietly because respawn was horrible and coming out of it was disorientating and just the worst.

He sat on Phil’s lap, near cocooned by the billowing robes as if he was five years old again, and sitting by the fireplace, listening to Wilbur sing.

Then he stopped thinking about that. Those memories were too painful to reminisce on.

Phil was holding Tommy’s hand. Tubbo just watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he blinked slowly, drowsily, and tried to comprehend the world around him. “That’s it, mate.” Phil’s voice was low and soothing, and he was rubbing circles into Tommy’s palm. “Good to see your eyes again.”

Tommy turned slowly to face them, blue eyes a little watery. Tubbo waved awkwardly. “Hey, big man. You feeling good.”

There was a small, affirmative sound that came from Tommy’s throat. Phil shushed him. “Hey, no. Take it easy, yeah? You’ve been through a lot.”

Schlatt was standing in the room, still in his blue hoodie that was reserved specifically for when no eyes other than his cabinet’s could see, looking a little uncomfortable next to the door. But there was softness in his eyes as he surveyed the scene.

“I missed you, Tommy,” Tubbo said softly. “I’m glad you’re awake.” Thank you for everything.

“Hey, Tubs?” Schlatt asked, breaking the odd spell that had fallen over the room. “Do you wanna spend the night here?”

It wasn’t even a question, because Schlatt knew the answer. A quick nod. “Yes please.”

“Alright. I’ll arrange something for you.”

“Thanks.”

Schlatt left then, and the family was left alone. Just the three of them. The only sane ones left.

Phil helped Tubbo clamber onto Tommy’s bed and he curled around his best friend protectively, both of them huddled under the blanket likes old times.

And maybe that was all that they needed.

Here Schlatt was, doing his rounds again at two o’clock in the morning.

It had been a stressful day. Phil, who was staying in the building, next to Schlatt’s room, was leaving in the morning with Wilbur and Techno. Tubbo and Tommy were going to be there, if only to say goodbye to Phil. Quackity had been deemed too injured to go but they all knew the reason why.

Everyone in hospital had been moved to the White House after Bad and Skeppy deemed them well enough to go back to their old rooms provided that they still went in every day for check-ups and the like.

That had, of course, left the boys tired constantly, so none of them were staying up ridiculous hours anymore.

Still, it didn’t hurt to check. He’d already (gently) yelled at Fundy to go home when he’d found him, holed up in his office like some kind of mole.

He paused when he stopped outside Tubbo’s door. Tommy had moved in with him, so the two of them were rarely apart. It suited everyone just fine. Besides, no one had the heart to separate them (or Schlatt and Phil would rip the offender apart limb from limb).

Gently, he pushed open the door, squinting around in the dim light, eyes fixating on the twin beds that were pushed together. His heart plummeted, and he was doused in icy cold.

They weren’t there.

No, no, no, no not again please not again!

He pulled the covers back on both beds to find them bare. Not even a hair left of them and he could’ve cried. Could’ve cursed the Dragon as he bolted out the room and to Quackity’s as he prayed and prayed that he wasn’t missing as well.

The door slammed open and the lights flickered on and Schlatt found himself staring at the lump in the bed, muscles relaxing because oh Ender he didn’t know what he would’ve done if Quackity was taken as well and—

Wait.

That lump was way too big to be Quackity.

Carefully, he edged closer, hand on the dagger he kept with him at all times, and peeled away the covers, ready to fight anything that jumped him.

Oh.

Quackity was there, fast asleep and completely fine, curled around Tubbo and Tommy, the latter of which was splayed out so that he was half on Tubbo.

They were fine. Schlatt went loose with relief. They were fine. They were here, safe and sound and no one would touch any of them again.

He leaned down and planted a kiss onto each of their foreheads. Because that was him. J.Schlatt, businessman, president, entrepreneur, father of three and a big fucking softie apparently.

Tubbo’s eyes opened slowly and he smiled sleepily. “Night, dad,” he whispered.

“Heh. Night, kiddo.”

Chapter Text

Hello, hello, hello to everyone reading this message! While this isn’t necessarily a chapter, it does lead into more reading material by yours truly.

So the reason I decided to go anonymous was so my actual account on this site wouldn’t be linked to these fics. I have an Aesthetic, guys. I will not sacrifice that Aesthetic for block men. HOWEVER that does mean that no one can read other stuff I’ve written, which apparently people want??

So, below I’ve included links to other fics I’ve written in order from first to last. Some are good, some aren’t, and basically I really like the hurt/comfort trope but can you blame me??

You will also notice that I enjoy switching it up. I love Villain!Schlatt and Dad!Schlatt equally and frankly, no one can stop me.

So uh. Enjoy I guess?

BTW: I’m copy-pasting this exact text for all of the announcements on all the fics because I am a lazy hoe. That is all.

'low, keep you head, keep your head low'

a finished fic series set in Manberg with schlatt as the villain

'i'll take what's broken and i'll make it whole'

niki being a bamf and also ranboo's older sister

'isn't it lovely, all alone?'

ranboo gets put in prison for his betrayal of l'manberg and has a Hard Time

'and the earth said she loved them, because they are love'

the fic that made even my stone cold heart cry a lil bit as i wrote it. unsympathetic anarchists and the goddess of the earth being the only cool adult ever