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"Tubbo Underscore."
Tubbo freezes in his tracks like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Yes, you. Come along to my office, kid, I wanna have a talk."
The words hang in the air for only a second before the clicking of shoes disappears around the corner. Tubbo turns, stares down the empty hallway for a moment, then follows.
It's dark outside, the golden flames of the lanterns flickering from their glass cases and casting shadows across the white walls wherever Tubbo walks. There is one single door at the end of the hallway that the voice had come from. He goes to it. His uniform black boots make a different sound than the other's - he walks lighter, but squeaks slightly with every step. The sound bothers him. "Shall I just come in?" he says, too loud in the empty hallway. He winces at his own voice.
"Yeah, yeah - come in, hurry up," comes an impatient tone from inside, and Tubbo obliges. "Shut the door behind you, too, then take a seat at my desk."
The White House office is a lot more brightly lit than the hallways. Cream walls and corner pillars, a small fish tank placed on top of a messy table, an enchanting table glowing and humming from an alcove in the bookshelves. In front of the large, covered window is a dark wood desk where a man is sat, feet kicked up, grinning crookedly. The man has slicked black hair and curled rams horns, bright yellow eyes with slit pupils and mutton chops down the side of his face. His suit is rumpled, red tie tossed over his shoulder. His teeth are yellowing and his chin is wispy with the promise of a beard.
"Tubbo Underscore," Jschlatt repeats with a grin. There's no warmth on his face, not that Tubbo would expect any. The man looks him up and down for just long enough that he starts to feel uncomfortable. "Ender, those uniforms are just the worst. Is that really all Wilbur could do?"
Tubbo glances down at his scrappy L'manberg uniform self consciously. "They don't all look this bad," he mumbles, straightening his shirt. "Mine is a mess cause I fell down a hill the other day. And I lost my cravat."
Schlatt snorts. "Course you did. Clumsy kid, eh, Tubbo?" He nods stiffly at the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."
He does so. He notes, with surprise, that the chair is wing accessible, with oval holes carved into the back for his wings to rest in comfortably. "For you and Quackity," Schlatt says casually, leaning forward to rummage in his desk drawers. "Got it specifically for you two."
Tubbo swallows, throat dry. "Thank you, Mr Schlatt," he says hoarsely.
Schlatt looks up sharply, raising an eyebrow. "Call me sir," he says simply. "Sounds better."
The boy nods. "Yes, sir."
"Better." Schlatt pulls something from inside his jacket - a small, gold circle - and flicks it into the air. "So, Tubbo. How do you like New Manberg so far?"
Tubbo can't help but flinch at the name. Funnily enough, Manberg had been one of the names Tommy had originally suggested when coming up with a name for the country they were creating, before they had added the L for effect. But something about the name being shortened makes it seem so much more empty. "It's good," he says uncertainly, trying to organize his thoughts. "I like what you've done with the place, sir."
The lie slips off his tongue like thick honey. His thoughts flash back to his old apiary in L'manberg that Dream had burned down, back when war was a word casually thrown around in banter and jokes. Thinking about this makes Tubbo's head spin. He stares down at his folded hands in his lap, twisting his fingers together.
There's a thunk and a clinking of glasses, and Tubbo looks up to see Schlatt pouring alcohol and passing one glass over to the younger boy. "Drink up," he says, sinking into his seat again and lifting the rim to his lips.
Tubbo blinks at the clear liquid in his glass. It looks like water. Doesn't smell like it. "I'm sixteen," he says awkwardly. "I'm too young."
Schlatt positively cackles at that. "Too young to have been used as a weapon in wars that weren't yours to fight too, Underscore, wouldn't you agree?" he grins, cocking his head. "You're too young to have done a lot of the things you've done in your life."
Schlatt… has a point.
The whiskey burns his throat as it goes down. It tastes awful. Tubbo coughs into his sleeve and he understands why Wilbur doesn't drink it, now.
This makes Schlatt giggle, almost childish sounding. "You'll get used to the taste. Oh! Almost forgot." He reaches under his desk and pulls out a pile of what looks to be clothing before passing it to Tubbo. "A new suit. I've got one specially tailored for Quackity as well. We all have coloured ties, ain't that neat?" He bares his teeth in a grin. "Mine's red, Quackity's is blue and yours -" He points. "Yours is green. We're like a lovely matching set, I think."
The tie is on top of the pile and it's silky and feels nice in his hands, a lovely shade of grass green. "Thank you, sir," Tubbo says quietly, then dares to speak his mind. "Did you… did you not get one for George?"
Schlatt wrinkles his brow. "Who?"
Tubbo blinks. He's got to be kidding. "Your - sir, your vice?"
There's a moment of silence before realization dawns in Schlatt's eyes and he slaps his knee, laughing and nearly falling from his chair. "Oh, that bastard - Tubbo, between you and me, he's useless. Man didn't even show up for his own fucking election. What a waste of time. Personally, I'd rather have Quackity as my VP. More mature, better looking, better a-" He catches himself. "Yeah. Anyway."
"And Fundy?" Tubbo asks.
Schlatt snorts. "Wilbur's kid," he says scathingly. "There's potential there, but I don't care enough to exploit it."
There's a moment of silence during which the president clicks a pen and his secretary of state flutters his wings anxiously, his feathers lifting as his anxiety soars. Eventually, he can't stand it any longer. "What is it that you've called me here for, sir?" he blurts out, gripping the bottom of his seat. "You don't seem the chit-chatty type, to be frank."
He's startled by his own boldness, blinking like coming out of a haze. Schlatt only gives that same wheezing, raspy laugh that makes him sound like he's choking and knocks back another gulp of drink. "Why, I just wanted to know your opinion on how my presidential reign is going so far," he says smoothly when he's done coughing again. "It matters to me what my cabinet think. So? D'you like me better than that Wilbur Soot?"
Tubbo doesn't think before speaking. "As a president or as a person, sir?"
It's starting to get slightly tiresome how much amusement Schlatt gets from the kid's every word. "Actually," the president giggles. "That leads me to another question I wanted to ask." He pours himself another glass, whistling through his teeth. "What do you think of the exile of Wilbur Soot and Tommyinnit, Tubbo?"
Panic shoots through his heart, but before he can even think of a way out, Schlatt leans forward and taps the table directly in front of the boy's drink. "Don't lie," he whispers, yellow eyes flashing with malice. "I know more than you could ever understand. And I will know if you are lying."
His breath is warm and reeks of whiskey and Tubbo could count ever wispy hair on his chin and on the sides of his face with how uncomfortably close he is. "Yes sir," Tubbo croaks, just to get him away, and gasps in relief when Schlatt sits back, satisfied. What is he even supposed to say now, with all these expectations piled on his shoulders? Is there a wrong answer? A test? Gods, he shouldn't be so scared of something so ridiculous. "I think," he says carefully, voice very small with fear. "I don't believe exiling them was… necessary."
His heart is fucking hammering. President Jschlatt is nowhere near one of the most powerful people Tubbo's ever known, nor one of the most intimidating - but he's dangerous and he's scary, an awful combination of traits for a politician to have. He reminds himself to breathe as the man studies him further, something that the boy can't understand written in his eyes. Oh, Gods, I fucked up. How badly can one person fuck up?
"You know what?" Schlatt starts, and Tubbo holds his breath. The older man's voice reveals nothing as he continues. "That's a perfectly fair opinion."
Tubbo sighs and relaxes, relieved. "You think so, sir?"
Schlatt cackles. "Oh god, don't get the idea that I agree with you. I did what was best for everyone. Nah, I just don't want you to feel like you have to lie to me, you know? I'd like my staff to be comfortable around me." He swirls his drink around in his glass, not breaking eye contact. "Once again, tell me honestly. Why don't you think it was necessary?"
The room feels way too warm. Tubbo tugs on his collar and gulps. "Uh. They… well. I don't feel they really did anything to deserve it."
Schlatt opens his mouth, but Tubbo, spurred on by the lack of rejection thus far, interrupts. "I know something happened with you and Wilbur, and while I don't know what, I do think it's a bit unfair. Tommy… Tommy wasn't even involved. He's even younger than me, you know? Just a kid." He swallows hard, and he's dimly aware that he's shivering, clinging to the bottom of his seat. "I don't think they deserve it, sir."
The president's nostrils flare, but he gives no other obvious sign of being upset. He just sighs and sinks further into his seat, looking more relaxed than ever, calmer and cooler. Tubbo only feels more on edge. He feels as though he's being lulled into a false sense of security, and it looks as though Schlatt knows it. The man snorts and pours himself another drink.
"You think you know them so well," Schlatt drawls. His dangerous yellow eyes don't leave Tubbo's bright aqua ones. "I know Wilbur far better than you do."
"Not true," Tubbo snaps before he can stop himself. "He's my brother."
A cackle bursts from Schlatt's throat. "Well, that's just bullshit. He barely ever mentioned you in all the time I knew him."
Tubbo knows he must be lying, but it still feels like a stab to the stomach.
"You see," Schlatt continues, seemingly revelling in the way he'd made Tubbo flinch, eyes sparkling. "You knew a different side to the Wilbur I knew. He tells you with sweet, honey covered lies and sugarcoats the bullshit he spews with every word, but behind closed doors, away from his stupid fucking music and dumb poems, Wilbur is ruthless. He's clever, and he's merciless, and he knows too much, and he cares little for consequences. He's a madman, Tubbo. But you - you've never seen that side of him, have you?" He smoothly sets down his glass and folds his hands on the desk triumphantly. "You're a dumb fuckin' child and you don't know shit cause you're all innocent and pure and I bet you're thinking oh, Schlatt, you're a liar, Wilbur isn't like that." He grins sharply, wolf like more than goat like. "You're free to think what you like. He'll show his true colours eventually."
Tubbo's leg is bouncing, up and down, up and down, and his fists are curled around the bottom of his dark blue L'manberg coat. He doesn't respond. Schlatt has won, and he knows it. His grin grows ever wider.
"He invited you to L'manberg," Tubbo mumbles.
Schlatt shrugs. "Bet he regrets it now."
"Why'd he invite you here?" Tubbo asks bravely. "If you two weren't on good terms?"
"Because he's a fool, and thought things would have changed," Schlatt says, eyebrow raised. "That I would have changed. Wilbur is clever, quick, sly, but he's also a naive fucking moron!" He shouts this last part, banging the desk hard and making Tubbo jump. "You're better off without him, Tubbo. I'll take good care of you here."
Tubbo shudders, trying to stay calm. "But what about Tommy?" he asks, and he sounds so childish and pathetic that he winces at his own voice.
There's a long, painful pause.
"What about Tommy, indeed," Schlatt whispers, low and dangerous. He's no longer smiling. Tubbo has to force himself not to summon his sword and get into a fighting stance on pure reflex, and instead focuses on calming his wings. They're fluttering rapidly like they always do when he's agitated, and it seems Schlatt notices, because he takes one look behind the younger boy and starts to laugh, alcohol dripping down his chin as he takes another gulp of it.
"You're gonna need someone to preen those wings," he says loudly. His voice has become considerably more slurred, words blending together. "Quackity, or maybe I'll learn. We can have chats, can't we, Tubbo? Or -" he smirks. "I mean, I don't know how shapeshifting works. Maybe you can grow your arms and do it yourself."
A bolt of fear strikes through Tubbo's heart, and he feels as though ice water has just been tossed down his back. He knows I'm a shifter. He knows I'm a shifter.
"Don't look so shocked," Schlatt giggles at Tubbo's badly disguised horrified expression. "I told you, I know everything."
"How?" Tubbo asks hoarsely.
Schlatt nudges his bottle towards Tubbo, miming for him to take another drink. He does. "Dunno," Schlatt says. "But I know I looked at you and your weird fuckin' family all those years ago at the Life Games and I thought, "not a one of those bastards is human." Not one."
Tubbo frowns. "Wilbur and Tommy are human."
Schlatt grins. "No. They're not."
"Yes they are," Tubbo argues, heart rate speeding. "Yes they are. Their mum was a human, and Phil is just an avian. Neither of them inherited the wings. They're just human, we'd know if there was something -"
Schlatt slaps Tubbo across the face.
The boy reels back, face burning, a gasp caught in his throat. Tears sting the back of his eyes, and he blinks rapidly, getting his bearings. He's dimly aware of Schlatt's voice. "You wanna fuckin' argue with me?" he roars, and slams his fist into the desk again, causing Tubbo's whole body to tense with a paralytic fear. "I know far better than you do, stupid fucking child, gods - all kids are the goddamn same! You turn sixteen and you think you know everything! I'm tellin' you what I know, and don't you dare try to argue with me! You hear me, Tubbo? You hearing me right now? Answer me!"
"Yes, of course," Tubbo gasps, shaking his head rapidly. To his horror, hot tears well up in his eyes and begin to fall down his face, and he frantically tries to scrub them away before Schlatt can see. "Of course, sir, of course, I understand, I understand."
Schlatt heaves, and for a moment, Tubbo thinks the man's going to throw up then and there. Then he leans back in his seat, pale and trembling at the fingers, but still gripping his glass tightly. "Stop fucking crying," he scowls, but there's less anger in his voice than before. "I'm too tired for that shit, gods. Come on, now. Stop crying. Ender damned, I hate kids. I should throw you out of Manberg, see how long it'll take you to find your precious brothers with Punz on your tail. Think they'd come looking for you? I'd place my bets on no."
Tubbo forces himself to calm, clutching his arms against his stomach hard to even his breathing, sniffling and not speaking. He couldn't respond if he wanted to. He responds to bad situations by clamming up, and that seems to be the best choice of action right now. So he doesn't dare say a word.
The president kicks his feet up on the table and groans, closing his eyes tightly. Tubbo opts to stare at the floor.
"Y'know," Schlatt drawls, voice thick with alcohol. "You did do a good job trying to go after Tommy yesterday when I told you to. That's good. You're a real good kid when you're obedient, Tubbo. And you know what?" He pauses, and Tubbo tenses - "I'm glad I saved Wilbur at the Life Games."
That… wasn't what Tubbo had expected to hear.
"I could have let him die," Schlatt continues. "I could have punted the bastard straight into the lava as it rose around us, and I could have won the lava rising competition easy. But I think if I hadn't saved him, if I had just let him save me during the water rising one and never paid him back - I think this would be a lot less fun."
Tubbo looks up. Schlatt's grin is sharp and chilling and Tubbo feels sick to his stomach.
"You know, Philza was nice to me," Schlatt adds on casually. "Maybe I'll whitelist him and see how himself and Wilbur get on after a while. Hell, maybe I'll whitelist Technoblade. Wouldn't that be fun?"
Techno. Fuck, Tubbo's missed Techno more than anyone, and the thought of them being on the same server again makes his heart leap in his chest - but he has one question. "You don't have Admin blood," he says hoarsely. "And if you did, it wouldn't be connected to this server. This is Dream's domain. You don't have the power to whitelist anyone."
Schlatt suddenly leans in very, very close to Tubbo's face. His breath stinks, hot and disgusting. Tubbo tries to lean away, but Schlatt grips his face with enough force that the younger boy knows it'll bruise.
"Don't fucking underestimate me," Schlatt breathes. "Ever. You hear me? Ever. I hold the power here, and you'd do best just obeying. You got me, hummingbird?"
Tubbo nods. Schlatt lets him go. Satisfaction fills his face.
"Good lad," he says. "Now scurry on home. And be careful. I'm thinking of implementing a curfew."
Tubbo leaves without a second thought. He doesn't dare cry on the way home. He thinks he can still feel the man's eyes on him.