Work Text:
Of course it had to be when they had everyone over.
Curled on the couch, head in his mom’s lap, Schlatt was halfway to dozing off. Because for starters, he was eighteen. For another, his bitch of a girlfriend had just left him. After cheating with someone who also used to treat him like shit. And that was just one of her worst offences. Some of the bruises were still healing. Also, he had a migraine.
At any rate, he was on the couch. His mom was petting his hair, they were hanging out with the others. Because said ex-girlfriend was coming by. Why, he wasn’t sure. She’d just messaged him— from someone else’s phone, to the number that he had switched over to and hadn’t told her about —that she was coming over. So, he was sort of stressed, and that brought on a migraine. And now he was lying on the couch freaking out instead of having fun on New Year’s Eve with his family and his friend Phil and Phil’s family.
Walking over, Phil settled down by the couch where his mom wasn’t blocking the way. “You alright, mate?” He asked softly. Nodding, Schlatt pulled his arms closer. Watched the door. His dad was there, talking to Phil’s dad. With the family gun next to him. Waiting in case she tried to do something reckless. “You sure?”
“I’ll be fine.” Schlatt replied. Looking at him, Phil smiled weakly. Then, there was a knock at the door. Taking a breath, Schlatt pushed himself up. Then, slowly, he made his way over to the door. His dad and Phil’s looked at him for a moment. Worried expressions crossed their faces. “I’ll be alright. I promise.”
He opened the door.
She was standing at the edge of the sidewalk, back facing the door and arms crossed. Or maybe she was holding something. As far as Schlatt knew, it couldn’t be his hoodies. She’d set them on fire and sent him a video of it (accompanied with videos including her tearing apart or burning old photos of them and a ton of swearing and verbal abuse). So…probably not his hoodies.
Swallowing, he walked out. Neither dad closed the door. Crossing his arms, rubbing at them as he stepped out into the cold and tried to ignore the snow piercing into his feet, Schlatt cleared his throat. “Hey. Did you want to talk about something?” He asked, making his way over. He stayed in hearing range. Just…not in punching or slapping range. He’d learnt that lesson the hard way.
Immediately, she turned around and started screaming at him.
Stumbling back, Schlatt raised his hands. She was still holding onto the thing. Whatever she said, he didn’t quite hear. Something about how this was his fault and he was horrible. More verbal abuse. Which he kind of shut down for. And then she screamed, “I didn’t want the brat anyways!” And she chucked something at him.
On instinct, Schlatt lunged forwards. His knees slammed into cold concrete and snowed-over grass. Wincing, he pulled whatever it was closer. Looked up to see her storming away. She hopped into what he guessed was her new boyfriend’s truck. Slamming the door, she flipped him off through the tinted window.
Schlatt looked down.
Instantly, his heart dropped. And he started getting what she’d said. “I didn’t want the brat anyways!” And then there was the one night where he actually had thought she’d loved him, not too long after they both turned nineteen.
This wasn’t some random blue hoodie that she’d stolen from him. This was a kid. Like, an actual, legitimate baby. She had thrown a human child at him.
This is my kid, he realized with a jolt. A snowflake drifted past his shoulder, landed on the kid’s nose. Face wrinkling and scrunching up, they sneezed. And started crying.
“Hey, hey. No, no, it’s alright, it’s okay. Ssh, ssh.” Bouncing them gently, Schlatt glanced back. Swallowed. Then, he pushed himself upright. Held the kid closer and started walking back. Everything sort of…faded out. Swallowing, he held the kid closer. Felt the heating rush over him. His legs were shaking. Everything was swirling.
Across the room, he saw Phil meet his gaze. The blond’s eyes went from Schlatt’s face to the kid in his arms. Widened. And then everything sort of…really heated up? And he felt weirdly sick?
Man, It’s really hot in here, I don’t think that’s—
+++
“Jay…Jay, come on…wake up.”
What happened? There was a weird feeling. Like he was literally being thrown back into his body. And his head. He wasn’t sure how to explain it?
Eyes snapping open, he sucked in a breath. There were hands on either side of his head. Holding him still as he jerked once. Everything had narrowed down. Swallowing, he gasped in a breath. “He’s conscious now. The baby is awake, too and my wife’s currently holding him.” Phil’s dad’s voice said. The door opened. “The paramedics are here, thank you. He’s this way, on the couch.”
The next thing that Schlatt knew, he had an oxygen mask pressed to his face and he was on…something? Someone was talking to him. Swallowing, he blinked. Looked around and swallowed again. His throat was dry. “Where’s the kid?” He asked. His mom smiled at him. Something was settled in his arms, and he glanced down to see the kid there. “Mom. Mom, don’t let them take the kid. It’s mine, it’s mine and hers I’m sorry I’m sorry—“
“Ssh, ssh. It’s alright. It’s okay.” Stroking his hair back, she smiled. “You passed out. We’re going to take care of you. The kid, too. I promise.” She whispered, leant down and kissed his forehead.
Everything sort of sped up and glossed over. One second, he was in the ambulance and he knew that had to be expensive. Then there were doctors asking him questions. If he was on drugs (no), if he smoked (also no), if he drank (he wasn’t legal age and his parents were teetotalers, so no). If he was active, physically and…otherwise. Which he said no to both. He’d had to change into some weird hospital gown thing And then the kid was taken away and his mom and dad had to pin him to the bed for a hot second even with the hospital gown and sheets.
They did bring the kid back eventually in some weird crib thing. They determined it was a boy. So, Schlatt shared a room with his son. Who was a newborn. His ex-girlfriend had thrown a newborn baby at him. And now said baby was dehydrated and frostbitten even with the blanket, and Schlatt had passed out for some reason. According to the doctors, it was stress.
Eventually, he was allowed to have visitors. So first was his family, and they dragged Phil in, too. “They won’t let me hold him. Mom, tell them to let me hold him.” Schlatt said, arms crossed. Looking at her, he waited for a moment. She smiled softly. Then, she pet his hair back. “Don’t patronize me. Let them let me hold my child. I want my son.”
There wasn’t any point in hiding it. He had told his mom when they were loading him into the ambulance. So, what was the point of hiding it? If he got kicked out, then so be it. He’d figure things out.
His mom set a hand on his knee. “I know, I know. I was like this, too. But you need to wait, there’ll be plenty of time to hold him when we’re home. Okay?” She smiled. Looking over, Schlatt sighed. Then, he dropped down onto his side, reached out with his non-IV’d hand and placed his knuckles against the glass of the crib-incubator thing.
Eventually, he drifted off to his parents and Phil talking softly.
+++
They didn’t kick him out.
Actually, they were…a whole lot better than he expected. Instead of just kicking him out or acting like… her , they just…nice. His dad actually carried him back into the house while he held Tubbo (it was a nickname, his real name was Tobias but Schlatt had called him Tubbo one time and Phil hadn’t let it go) in his arms. They got him back in his room. Pulled his old baby clothes down and gave them to Tubbo. He was so tiny.
And also a total grubworm. Which did change. A lot. Over a couple of months. Which—passed? So quickly? And Schlatt didn’t get it, he swore one moment it was New Year’s and he’d just had a baby chucked at him but now it wasn’t.
Nope, he was sitting on the bathroom floor with crossed legs. Watching his fat little chunky chicken nugget of a baby stare at him with the dopiest little smile on his face. “Hi.” Schlatt said. Leaning forwards, he poked Tubbo’s nose, snorted when Tubbo made a sound vaguely like a baby goat. “Alright, let’s get you upright.” Scooping his son up, he reached over and used the counter to steady himself.
As he moved downstairs, he saw Mrs Samuels standing there chatting with his mother. Her eyes flashed up to him. And then immediately they narrowed. “Jason.” She said, crossing her arms. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, holding Tubbo carefully, Schlatt glanced over to his mother. His dad was walking up, too. “I can’t believe you. First you ruin that poor girl’s life, and then you ruin your parents’ too?”
Schlatt glanced at his mom. Got to watch in first person as her eyes narrowed and went cold. So did her smile, thinning out slightly. Taking a breath, she turned to Schlatt. The look dropped away, warmed up as she delicately took her grandson from him. “Jay, why don’t you come with me? We’ll get Tubbo something to eat.” There was a soft hum and Tubbo reached up to grab onto her hair with thick fingers. Schlatt followed her after a moment, glanced back. “Karen, I’ll see you at next Tuesday’s brunch. Maybe.” As she set Tubbo on the counter, she looked at Schlatt and shook her head immediately.
In the front, his dad hurried Mrs Samuel out with a yell of “1 Timothy 5:8! I won’t be the fool who ignores it!”
“That boy should be out of your house! Or worse! If he were my kid, I would have his father beat—“ The door slammed before she finished her sentence. Suddenly woozy, Schlatt moved back against the counter. His mother touched his shoulder, gave him a bottle of formula. Which he carefully gave to Tubbo after checking that it wasn’t too hot.
Coming back in, Schlatt’s dad crossed his arms. Rested his hip on the counter. Looking over, he met Schlatt’s gaze. Smiled. “You’re my kid, that’s my grandkid. We’re keeping you.”
Schlatt smiled, turned to look down at Tubbo.
The little grubworm smiled back at him with his mouth filled with no teeth.