Chapter Text
Schlatt’s intoxicated mindset was not one to be reckoned with. Anything he thought was borderline irredeemable- mostly the stuff he thought about his son. His son that he… hadn’t meant to have at this time in his life.
Growing up, actually, Schlatt never even planned on ever having children. Especially when he started meeting people he wanted to keep around; kids make things complicated between friends, thoughts and feelings change when you become a parent. Schlatt heard stories of his own family members-- one way at a family event, then during the next one a year or so later, they’re someone completely different because they suddenly have a child with or without a person they love. He heard stories about how their friends abandoned them, what they now thought about them, and usually the thoughts weren’t preferred if they were considered young.
Obviously Schlatt knew that some friends weren’t forever, but he still always anticipated it hurting like a bitch if he were to lose them somehow. Those people he got close with growing up… it was never a coincidence. Schlatt never allowed himself to trust many people. The people he kept were people he wanted to keep around for the long run.
He was a stupid teenager. Young, leaving high school, planning to take a gap year with his best friends and then take up business school. He was running around with people, fumbling around in the dark with those he had just met. Illegally drinking in the most irresponsible ways. No, he wasn’t addicted, but he was known to go off the hook at parties. He was a stupid teenager, and he knew all this dumb shit would come back and bite him in the ass eventually.
All the time, he made sure not to be too stupid. He was safe with girls, he was safe when it came to getting a ride home after drinking. He wanted to live his life, not end it.
“All the time,” … There was that one exception.
And now here Schlatt was, sitting in his kitchen, grasping onto the pen in his hand as if it was a lifeline. He didn’t dare look at the phone- he couldn’t talk to anyone. It would only sway his thoughts and make everything even more confusing. Or worse- they would think he was absolutely insane and take his son away from him off his own terms. Schlatt did not want that.
The back of his teeth tasted like the alcohol he was now legally allowed to drink. Anytime he would flick his tongue around them, he almost gagged, regretting how much of the bottle was gone and down his throat. The paper in front of him was blank- he genuinely couldn’t cover it in ink just yet. Glancing at the clock, he concluded that it was 2:48 in the morning; good god, when had he started staying up so goddamn late? The walls chanted as his eyes burnt a hole through the paper and the table top, as they didn’t move, didn’t blink, only filled with numbing tears. The walls were laughing… laughing at him. At his failures. His failures.
Tubbo. His three-year-old son was sleeping soundly in the small back room he had thrown together when he got the house. The only bedroom in the house. Small enough to sleep soundly in the large crib Schlatt was able to find in a thrift shop a year or so back, Tubbo rarely ever woke up during the nights anymore. It used to be horrible; Schlatt would finally lay down to rest at obscene hours of the night, only to shoot back up at the shrill sound of his baby’s cries. The nights where he was lucky enough to have Quackity there were always better, though, and those nights were rather plentiful, much to Schlatt’s relief.
Quackity. His best friend since the beginning of high school, just a year younger than Schlatt. His anchor, his lifeline, the one person in his life that kept him afloat during the years Tubbo was a baby. He was always there for Schlatt, despite attending business school and living a bit of a drive away. Schlatt appreciated the duck more than anyone knew, maybe even more than he, himself, knew. Never telling him, never giving himself time to think about it.
Q always insisted that they could pull through this. That eventually, Schlatt could sit through rehab, that he could get help, that he could raise his boy without implications.
This was proving to be so much more difficult than it maybe should have been.
Schlatt was not getting better, and he was sure that Q knew this, but it’s not like Schlatt would listen to the duck if he tried saying anything. The alcohol kept taking most of his paycheck, most of his nights, his thoughts. He had truly become the bitch of an inanimate object, something that is disguised as a comfort but is really a killer. He couldn’t let his precious son grow up in these conditions any longer. He deserved so much better.
Dear whoever it may concern,
Schlatt’s shaky hand was finally placed on the paper with the pen. The surface of the table was so cold- the house was so cold. He panicked for a second, wondering if Tubbo was warm enough, but then he remembered that he literally piled all the blankets in the house on top of the boy, keeping both him and his plush bee safe and warm in the cold, musty house.
You don’t know me, and I probably do not know you. But this [...]
He blinked, allowing the tears that were building up into a headache fall down onto the parchment.
[...] is my son, Tubbo. He is three years old. He likes Cheerios, but he probably also likes other cereals, too. He prefers his cereal dry, not only because he gets messy with wet cereal, but also because he likes the sound of the crunch.
The ram smiled a bit, hiccuping.
He has a bee plush. Please never leave him without it, he loves that thing. His horns are starting to come in, and it hurts like a bitch, so please be patient when he cries. He likes soft things; I left him with a couple of his favorite blankets and sweaters of mine. He would [...]
Schlatt couldn’t catch his breath as the sobs that racked his body came bouncing off the walls of the room that he was sitting in. His vision was beginning to blur, and he was feeling rather lightheaded.
[...] grab onto my horns when he was anxious, or scared. It wasn’t a lot though, because he is very brave. He’s such a brave kid. He’s got me through some of the toughest times in my life. He’s incredibly sweet, it’s almost sickening. Please don’t let him lose that. I don’t even know where it came from, damn.
He smiled, thinking of all the small, stupid things Tubbo had done for him, even if they were executed poorly- then again, that was all expected for a toddler. It was always the thought that counted.
If he happens to ask about me, if he wants to know about me,
The ram hesitated. Did he want to see Tubbo again? Would he ever see Tubbo again? His heart ached at the possibility that… maybe he wouldn’t.
you don’t have to say anything about me. I don’t deserve to be known as the father of this sweet boy. He deserves [...]
His heart was thumping violently in his chest as he tasted blood inside his mouth where he had bit down on his cheek too hard.
[...] so much better. This wasn’t the initial plan, stranger. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I’ll be honest with you. I wanted to raise him, I truly did. But I couldn’t let him live in such a sad predicament. It’s my fault, he shouldn’t have to worry about food or clothes or warmth. Maybe it’s better if you tell him that I was some terrible guy, maybe it’s better if he hates me. Better yet, maybe it’s better if he doesn’t even know I exist.
Schlatt tugged the bottle to his lips and took a swig, letting the alcohol rush down into his body. It was fucking disgusting. He felt fucking disgusting.
Please, do better than me. I know you can. He deserves it.
Folding the paper neatly, he placed it in a plastic bag, in case the weather got worse in the time they were walking. He placed it in his jacket’s pocket, wiped his eyes, and stumbled up from the table.
The ram made his way to his toddler’s room, where the boy was in fact sleeping warm and sound. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe through his sobs… was he really about to do this? Fuck, maybe he should just go to bed. Maybe he should call Quackity, maybe he should go run laps, anything, anything else.
No. This was what had to be done. For Tubbo. For his greater good.
Tubbo stirred a bit as the man that was broken into bits picked him up from the crib. Schlatt wrapped the boy up in the blankets he mentioned in the letter, and was careful to include the bee. He walked to the closet, grabbing the sweaters he also mentioned, along with the few outfits that Tubbo had.
The air was freezing outside; the wind was a bit harsher than usual for the time of year and the clouds, barely visible in the night sky, looked menacing. He held onto Tubbo tightly as he trekked through the few inches of snow.
“Papa?”
Schlatt’s heart plummeted in his chest as he heard his son squeak. It caused him to nearly trip to the ground.
“‘M cold…” Tubbo shoved his face in the crook of Schlatt’s neck.
“I know buddy… I know. You’ll be warm soon, though.”
Schlatt sniffed and tried to stop crying. Tubbo was probably going back to sleep, but not if he was cold enough. The wind was absolutely relentless.
After awhile, a beautifully lit house started to appear in view. It started to snow just a little bit, and flakes were beginning to stick to his hair and clothes. He pulled the blanket over Tubbo’s head and held him tight, trying to keep him warm and steady as he jogged over to the house.
His tears were the only thing warm at the moment as he came up to the door.
“Home?”
Schlatt looked to Tubbo, who was gripping onto the man’s sweater. Schlatt let out a breathy, shaky sigh as he placed the box he had been carrying down.
“Sorta.”
Schlatt placed the boy down in the box, letting him sit comfortably. Tubbo shook his head and tried to get out, but Schlatt just wrapped the blankets around him, trying to still the boy through his blurred vision.
“Hey buddy, could you…” Schlatt sobbed. “Could you p-please sit for me? Just for a moment.”
Tubbo nodded, and sat down, pulling the blankets with his cold hands. Schlatt looked down at the bee still in his hands, and squeezed his eyes shut. He brought it to his face to plant a kiss on it’s plush fuzz, and handed it to Tubbo with a shaking grasp.
Next was the note, he shoved it in the side of the box next to Tubbo, but hidden under the blankets so the boy wouldn’t seek it out.
“Papa?” Tubbo quirked his head in terrible confusion, and put out his arms.
Schlatt knelt down, scraping the toes of his boots on the concrete. He had to be quiet- he couldn’t alert anyone until he knocked.
The boy was still shivering, so Schlatt shrugged off his jacket, and pulled off his sweater that was over his t-shirt. Yes, he already gave the kid a couple sweaters of his, but this one would be warm with his body heat, it would bring the boy a sense of peace. He handed it to Tubbo, who took it in his hands.
There wasn’t anything he could think to say. This was almost malicious of him, to just leave his son in the snow and hope that this family provides him a good home. But it was what he had to do, and he hated himself for it.
So instead, the man leaned over, looking into Tubbo’s confused eyes with his own teary ones, and wrapped his arms around the small boy, hugging him tightly.
“I love you, Tubbo.”
“Love you, Papa.”
After a moment, Schlatt stood up, almost fell over again, and knocked harshly on the door, making it so that anyone, everyone, in the house would hear it. He gave Tubbo one last kiss on the forehead before he darted into the woods, trying not to think about how the boy called for him as he left. He hid behind a tree, but stopped to think for a moment. Did he really want to see whoever picked his son up? Then again, what if no one was home? He didn’t want to risk Tubbo being left out in the snow all night.
But his worries were put to rest as a man came to the door, wearing a puffy robe and slippers. He had shoulder-length blonde hair and his eyes were still ridden with sleep. Tubbo was looking around for Schlatt, searching, waiting for him to come back, but the man got to him first with a bit of shock.
He grabbed the note that Schlatt had placed strategically, opened it from the bag and skimmed along it for a moment, probably too cold to just read the whole thing there. It seems that he understood the gist, and looked around one more time before he picked Tubbo up and brought him inside, along with the box.
Schlatt had placed his hands over his mouth to keep himself from making noise, to keep himself from shrieking, from yelling, from objecting to any part of this situation.
He did what he had to do.
And now he took himself home.
He didn’t let himself go back to the room that Tubbo slept in, the room Tubbo played in. He didn’t let himself keep the weird plush block thing that Quackity’s friend Karl made him in his hands for too long. He didn’t let himself skim over the Barbie movies that he had bought at the thrift store for Tubbo because the boy thought they looked fun. He didn’t let himself search the cupboards for baby food, for the box of Gerber’s that charity had donated.
He didn’t let himself do anything, not even sleep.
The front door was opening.
The man paid no mind to it as he gripped the bottle in his hand, as it dangled limply from the side of the couch he was laying on.
The lights hadn’t been touched in the amount of hours it had been, the fridge hadn’t been opened, the phone hadn’t been touched, no numbers were to be dialed. The fireplace was still out, nothing but some logs where fire was supposed to be. The walls had been silent, mourning. There was nothing to laugh about. Even they thought the situation was melancholy.
He heard someone call out his name, but that was also looked over. Nothing mattered much to Schlatt as he laid almost lifeless on the couch, letting the cold darkness of the house overtake him.
“Schlatt!”
He was forced to pay attention when he was finally shaken, tousled around roughly. His eyes focused to find Quackity, who wore a look of deep concern and had his hands on Schlatt’s shoulders.
Wait, Quackity?
Quackity?
“J, what the fuck is going on? Where’s Tubbo? Where are you? I thought you were dead!”
Schlatt pulled a hand to his head as he looked around the room, not about to attempt to get up.
Quackity grabbed the empty bottle from Schlatt’s cold hand and rushed to place it on the coffee table.
“Hello? Where’s your fucking kid? It’s 3 in the afternoon.”
“He’s gone,” Schlatt muttered.
In an instant, his shoulder was gripped with the strength of a thousand earth deities, and he was whisked up into a sitting position.
“What?”
“He’s gone!” Schlatt cried, throwing his arms up. “Okay? He’s fucking gone! I…”
The ram looked down. He had no excuses. No such excuse existed.
“I just… couldn’t do it anymore.”
“What the fuck are you telling me right now?” Quackity was bent over, furious, his hands on Schlatt’s shoulders, trying to maintain eye contact.
“He deserved better Quackity.” Schlatt curled over himself and placed his head in his hands. “He needed a real dad. A real home.”
“Are you serious? You were that kid’s fucking world, Schlatt. We were his world. And now he doesn’t have that! He’s with some fucking stranger? That’s what you’re telling me? What, did you drop him off at some facility?”
“No! I took him to that house over…” Schlatt waved his hand. “Over there.”
Quackity scoffed. He shook Schlatt again, grabbing his attention.
“You were his dad. You promised… you promised you’d keep him. That we could do it!”
“No, you promised we could do it. I didn’t buy it for a goddamn second.”
“ Fuck Schlatt! He… he-- you just gave him away?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Schlatt stood up, towering over the duck. “It’s not like you could take him, or any of your little friends. You’re fucking twenty!”
“You could’ve talked to me!”
“No! It-- it had to be done. I couldn’t think about it anymore. Please, I-”
“Schlatt, we had shit under control. We were handling it,” Quackity cried.
“Not much! Not by much!” Schlatt shook his head. “Tubbo didn’t deserve… all of this.” The man gestured to the “box” he lived in.
Quackity looked incredulously at his friend, tears brimming his eyes.
“He… he loved you, J. He loved you.”
“And I loved him!” Schlatt raised his voice, before it dropped immediately after, breaking into a sob. “I loved him… so much…”
With that, he collapsed into Quackity’s arms, squeezing his eyes shut as he cried his soul out. Quackity’s frame faltered, and he softened a bit, wrapping his arms around the ram. Schlatt could feel Quackity shaking as he tried not to cry.
“Hey- hey big guy, I didn’t mean… to make you feel less of a dad. You’re not a shitty person for this.” Quackity gripped onto Schlatt’s jacket, that he was still wearing from his time dropping Tubbo off. “I-It just kinda sucks, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
Schlatt shook his head as he sobbed.
“I just hope he has a good life.”
“You know you… you gave him a lot, J. You did really good.”
Schlatt squeezed Quackity tighter, afraid that if he didn’t he would just slip away.
“Thank you for staying.”
“Of course, man. I-I’m here… for the long run.”
“Please… please don’t leave.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”