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Schlatt did not get much sleep, really in general. Even before he had become the president of Manburg, he had been a businessman, always coming up with ideas for his next scheme, or ways to outsmart the competition. And when he was not thinking, he was doing paperwork, filling out forms, and responding to emails. Coffee was one of his best friends, and with a little whisky mixed it, it was the perfect combination.
But being president had made it so much worse. Before he had been getting maybe five or four hours, now he was lucky if he got two or three. Not even enough to call sleep, really just naps in the blur of time that passed him by. Oftentimes he would lose track of what day it was. Forgetting that people went by days and would just tell his cabinet how many hours it was before the next meeting, or when they had to be at places on time, before walking away, trying to ignore the concerned stare that he got.
But he had to make this place better. Not just for the citizens. No, for his son: Tubbo, a loyal member of his cabinet and really the only thing that gave him a reason to not find the empty bottom of a liquor bottle on a daily basis. They had been pressed to find a place that accepted hybrids, and when they had heard that a green demi-god was creating a new server, they had been one of the first people in line, hand in hand, begging that they would be accepted. With a few scrubs to Schlatt’s record (did Dream really need to know the amount of money he had paid because of scams gone wrong? Did he need to know that?), they had been allowed in. And a blur of time later, Schlatt was president of this little nation, called Manburg, exiling Wilbur and his little brother Tommy. Because Schlatt knew Wilbur. The man would not take no for an answer.
And ever since then, he had been buried in paperwork, legal affairs, meetings, and other things that needed to get done around the nation. Barely any time to eat, or sleep, or be around his son, but this was all for him. This was all for the little ram hybrid who he made sure did not work himself too hard. That was a mantra that Schlatt kept running in his head whenever he got tired or thought “was this worth it.”
So here he was. Once again. Sitting at his desk, papers all around him, with a coffee cup that had been refilled multiple things in the last few hours. Whiskey and coffee mixed together, but the variation always fluctuated. The ram hybrid hated himself for drinking but knew that he needed a little bit to keep functioning. The addiction still ran deep in his veins, knowing that he was tempting fate to drag him back into that dark place. A place where a bottle was first and Tubbo was a distant second. He did not want to be there and had not been for a very long time. A part of him was worried that it was only a matter of time before he returned. Another part hated him for every sip he took. And a small voice in the back of his mind whispered about how good it would feel.
And he did not need that voice to get any louder than it was.
With a deceitful clink of ceramic hitting the wood table, Schlatt pulled his mind back to the paper in front of him. His mind swam for a moment, seeing double e before he blinked hard and it returned to focus. He could feel the exhaustion getting worse in his bones, but there was no time to fix his broken sleep schedule. There was never enough time.
The familiar sound of a door opening made his ram ears twitch, and he slowly looked up, trying to rub the glaze, that he was sure was there, out of his eye.
There, standing timidly in a partially opened door was Tubbo. Little stubs of where his horns were just starting to grow up, with his ram ears pressed low against his face. In one arm he held a bee plushy, one that he slept with more often, ever since Tommy had been exiled. A white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his sleeping clothes.
Schlatt was a little surprised to see his son. Not an unwelcome surprise, but one nonetheless. They were having a...disagreement on whether Tommy and Wilbur should have been exiled. The boy missed his best friend. And his father had been the one to take him away.
The first night still burned into Schlatt’s memory. Watching Tubbo storm home ahead of him, his shoulders tense, and footsteps heavy. As soon as the door closed, he turned to his father, tears in those beautiful blue eyes, shaking with rage against his father. Schlatt wanted to pull him into a hug. Tell him that everything was going to be ok. Something to make him feel better.
Instead, Tubbo started to shout. Screaming and crying at his father. It was unfair. That the first and only friend that he had was being sent away. That was he was alone again. That he was never going to be able to find another friend like Tommy.
That Tubbo hated him.
Out of all of the words that had poured out of his son's mouth, out of all of the anger that seeped out of him, that one hurt the most. That one made Schlatt take a physical step back as his son, the only person in the entire server that he would give his life for, walked away, tears still streaming down his face, angry clenched fists at his sides like he was trying to keep from punching his own father.
That was the closest Schlatt had come to drinking himself into a blackout. That had been the plan. Raiding the alcohol cabinet, setting out bottle after bottle in front him, and just starting. Every time that phrase, those three words “I hate you” went into his mind, he drank before the tears had a chance to form. He drank until he could no longer hold onto memories. Until his speech slurred and he was having trouble pouring himself another one.
It was not until the bottle had been plucked out of his hand did he stop, slowly looking over to the covered face of his vice, Quackity.
“That’s enough Schlatt,” he said warmly, but firm, putting the cap back into the bottle.
That night he was led to bed with a head full of alcohol and, blabbing about anything that so much as had a spark in his mind. Letting his vice take off his blazer, and shoes, lifting the covers, and let him snuggle in. He did not remember that night all too well, only the words that Quackity told him before he left.
“He won't be mad at you forever. Just give him some space,” before the door shut and Schlatt was alone again.
He cried.
Harder than he was willing to admit.
After that day, the voice in the back of his head was a little louder, a little more sweet and tempting. He started the habit of putting a little more whiskey in his coffee before he forced himself to stop. Or tried to.
It had been weeks since Tubbo had talked to him, or even looked in his direction. Schlatt felt a piece of his crumble every time Tubbo looked to the ground when they passed each other in the halls. He wanted to explain himself. He wanted Tubbo to understand that he did not mean to hurt him, or even Tommy. That Tommy would be loyal to Wilbur no matter what. They were brothers after all. And that Wilbur needed people. And his brother was as good as anyone. The best option really. And, after a bit of time, he would be willing to bring the two of them back, when he had the nation in a better place. But that was going to take time. Time that he did not have.
“Dad…” Tubbo’s voice pulled him out of his easily distracted mind, refuting to the boy in front of him. He looked scared. Not scared of him, but of something else. Anxious, standing at the entrance of the office, not sure if he was allowed in or not.
“Yeah bud,” Schlatt put down the paper, forcing himself to not shake the dizziness that rippled through his mind as soon as he did. God, he was so tired. He needed more coffee. “What is it?”
“I….um….” he shuffled his feet a little, still not looking at his father, but less out of anger and more out of embarrassment. “I….had a…..b-bad dream.”
Schlatt’s heart melted immediately, and he fought hard not hard to not let a big, dopey smile stretch onto his face. Not the fact that Tubbo had a nightmare if there was an option to make sure that Tubbo never felt any sort of pain or fear he would take it immediately, but it was the fact that he had come to him after. That, after everything, his son was not angry enough at him that he would stop coming to him when he was hurting. Or worse, in trouble.
“Alright,” Schlatt said, standing up from his chair, and stretching his back, rewarded with a few cracks. He really had been sitting for far too long. “Let’s take care of that.”
Tubbo’s ears perked up a little, lifting from their current position, and his face brightened a little bit. He knew exactly what that meant.
With an enthusiastic nod, the boy followed his father to the kitchen of the White House, making sure to stay close the whole way.
A small hand slipped into his halfway through, and Schlatt’s breathing hitched a bit. Relief once again welled through him as he squeezed the hand, feeling a light squeeze back. Everything was going to be ok.
He flicked on the lights in the kitchen, before the two of them started to work, motions like second nature. This was not the first time they had done this.
Whenever Tubbo had a nightmare, Schlatt would bring the boy hot milk with honey in it. It smelled nice, and always calmed him down, the warmth chasing away any lingering bad dreams that he might have had. After that, Schlatt would card his hands through Tubbo’s hard, whisper reassurances, until he fell asleep. Tucking him in tight before leaving the room, making sure to leave the door a little open just in case.
After a certain point, Tubbo started to help in making the honey milk, and that was added to their little ritual. The nightmares became less and less as Tubbo had gotten older, this was the first one in a while, but the motions were still very familiar. Comforting, that they still had this kind of connection to each other even after everything that has happened.
Two muds made their way to the counter, as Schlatt poured some milk into a saucepan, making sure to stir it a lot so it did not burn. Honey poured into the cups as the two waited for the milk to be ready in comfortable silence.
The milk was poured, and the two set off to Tubbo’s room, the small ram hybrid having a little more pep in his step as he walked, now walking in front of Schlatt as they went.
Schlatt took conscious slips of the milk. He could feel how warm and inviting it was in his stomach, making the exhausted feeling so much worse. He had to be careful. If he drank too much, he would fall asleep, and there was no time for that. Technically there was no time for this, but he immediately banished those thoughts as soon as they came into his mind. There was always time for Tubbo. His son was the whole reason he was doing any of this, the least he could do was be there for the boy.
They entered Tubbo’s, slightly, messy room. A twin-sized bed was shoved into one corner, with most of the walls covered with bookshelves. Some of them actually having books, the rest covered with little odds and ends that Tommy and Tubbo had found on one of their adventures. An ender chest stood on the corner of the room, glowing faint purple, with small little particles floating off of it. A calming light for the desk that was next to it. Neat and orderly, with a single laptop plugged in charging. There were a few clothes on the floor, just shy of the hamper that was next to one of the bookshelves, but Schlatt had never been one to tell his kid what to do with his room. It was his space. Unless it got really bad, he could do what he wanted.
Tubbo shuffled over to the bed, immediately getting under the covers, and sipping more of his milk, most of his already gone. Schlatt followed, sitting on the very edge of the bed, taking another sip of the milk.
Watch it he thought to himself, as the drink started to relax him. He needed to stay awake. He needed to.
Tubbo set his empty cup off to the side, before looking at Schlatt, big blue eyes staring right into his soul. His brow furrowed with worry.
“Dad?”
“Hmmm.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
Fuck.
A long time ago Schlatt had promised to never lie to Tubbo. It was not something that he wanted to get into the habit of doing like he did with everyone else in his life.
Tubbo would not like the answer. No one liked the answer to this.
And telling this lie would not even be that bad. It was one little, white lie that would keep his son from worrying about him. There was just a lot to do, and he had such little time. A voice told him to do it.
And his conscience told him to keep this one part of his life as pure as possible.
“Two hours, I think twenty hours ago,” Schlatt said, cringing at the amount of time himself. It sounded a lot worse when he said it out loud.
Tubbo’s face dropped.
“Dad,” he rolled his head a bit, before looking at his father.
“Yes, I know. You and Quackity like to get on my case. I’ll sleep better, I promise, just after everything is sorted out.”
“You look like shit. Is all of that really so important?”
Yes.
“You’re always telling us to get more sleep,” Tubbo continued, “why can’t you follow your own advice?”
Because I can’t.
“Want to talk about your nightmare?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Yes, because you are the one who woke up in the middle of the night to find me, not the other way around. When I wake up suddenly, we can talk about me all you want, but right now this is about you.”
There was a bit of silence. Schlatt really did not want to talk about himself, especially not when Tubbo was the one who had a bad dream.
Tubbo sighed.
“I dreamed that Tommy was killed,” his voice sounded so small, and fragile, starting to fiddle with the edges of his blankets. “I found him dead in the middle of the forest. I don’t know who killed him, but...I was not able to stop it.”
Tears started to coalesce in his eyes.
This time, there was something that Schlatt could do.
He opened his arms, and Tubbo basically fell into them, clenching onto his white dress shirt, blazer, and tie long abandoned when he was in the privacy of his own office. Tubbo buried his face into Schlatt's chest, shaking a bit as he tried not to cry.
“I miss him so much.”
It broke his heart, hearing that. Knowing that he was the reason that Tubbo was so upset. Knowing that he would not be here if it had not been for him. But there was no way that he could bring Tommy back, not right now. There was still so much that had to be done before they were ready for whatever plan he knew Wilbur was coming up with. And Tommy would follow his brother, faithful to the very end. No, they needed more time.
“I’m sorry,” that was all Schlatt could think to say as he carded his hands through Tubbo’s hair, feeling the little horns as he passed them, pulling his son closer to him. He would make it right. He would. He just needed more time.
They stayed like that for a while, Schlatt whispering nothings at Tubbo while the boy clung to him, shaking. Hours could have passed in minutes before Tubbo started to lose the tension in his shoulder, leaning against Schlatt instead of holding onto him. He started to fall asleep.
With as much care as he could, Schlatt pried Tubbo off of him, gently laying the boy down onto his bed, before handing him his bee plush, which he immediately curled up around. Placing a kiss on his forehead, he started to leave. Before something tugged on his shirt.
“Dad,” his voice was thick with sleep, but the desperation was very hard to miss, “please stay. I don’t want to be alone.”
God, what had Schlatt done to deserve this boy.
An evil voice told him he did not have time for this. That there was still so much to be done, that he did not have time to hold his son while he fell asleep.
Another told him that he was exhausted, and needed some form of rest.
So, with shaky hands, Schlatt lifted the covers, gently getting under them. Immediately, Tubbo threw his arms around Schlatt’s torso, pulling in close, and tucking himself under his father’s arm so he had no choice but to put one around him. Which he did. Tentatively pulling his son close, while setting his head down onto the mattress.
Just a few minutes. Just until Tubbo fell asleep. Then he would get up and get back to work. Because there was no time. There was never enough time.
As his eyes started to close, the most recent cup of coffee wearing off, just leaving the warm comforting feeling of milk and Tubbo close by him, Schlatt turned into the quiet breathing of his son. The one person that he would do anything for. Could this have just been an elaborate scheme to get him to sleep? Possibly. But, at this very moment, Schlatt could care less as the concept of time slipped away into a peaceful sea of darkness and warmth, pulling his boy a little closer, and letting himself rest, for the first time in a very long time.
There would be time later.