Work Text:
Glatt was bored.
He’d been stuck in literal hell for years, with only fucking Wilbur Soot and Mexican Dream, of all people, for company.
The conversation didn’t vary much past the merits of TNT and rapid-fire Spanish about someone named Mamacita.
Glatt had a never-ending headache. Whoever had designed this place had certainly done their research on what would drive him up the wall.
Things rarely changed around here, so when they did, Glatt channeled his former self and held onto it with all the presidential strength he had. Which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot.
Tommy had joined them briefly, looking worse for the wear.
He was as annoying as ever but a welcome change from the mundanity of everyday death in hell. Glatt would take his ramblings about how much Tommy hated Dream over one more badly written pickup line for Mamacita.
Okay, that was a lie. A month into Tommy’s stay and Glatt wanted to kill him as much as Schlatt had when he was alive. At least Wilbur was quiet as he played his competitive solitaire. Even dead, Tommy was just so loud .
But then the boy had left, taking the loud ramblings with him, and Glatt almost missed the constant noise. The keyword here being almost . Mexican Dream usually made enough noise to cover Tommy’s absence.
Sure, there’d been a few other fun outings; he was able to take over Ghostbur for a moment and had a great time scaring the hell out of everyone there. He’d haunted Quackity for a bit, but that had gotten old when he realized his ex-fiance couldn’t even hear him.
So when someone visited his grave for the first time since the funeral, Glatt was intrigued.
To be clear, others had visited the grave of one J Schlatt. They had just taken the time to curse his name, spit on his grave, the usual degrading. Glatt was used to it by now; he mainly ignored it, choosing instead to play solitaire with Wilbur on the odd occasion or try and kill Mexican Dream, even though all three men were already dead.
But this time was different. Rather than the raging screams, the gloats that he was dead, and the obnoxious song that Quackity still came around to sing, this visit was quiet. Instead, Glatt was met with soft words, flowers gently laid on the ground, and the voices of multiple people. Of course, he had to check it out.
Sue him, he was bored.
The grave was the same as Glatt remembered; his picture was shredded, bones and organs still missing...or eaten, in the case of his heart, graffiti marred the surrounding walls, and the ground was littered with trash. Nothing new there.
What was new, however, was the person visiting. The last person Glatt had ever expected to see standing at his grave was there, speaking softly, chin raised and hands clenched.
Tubbo looked both the same as Glatt remembered and completely different.
Scars covered one side of Tubo’s body, a remnant from the gruesome death Schlatt had ordered. One of his eyes was slightly milky, mostly unseeing, while the other was bright, shining with hurt and tears.
He was as small as in Schlatt’s memories, but now he stood taller, no longer hunching in on himself as the president walked by, afraid that one wrong move would lead to another drunken beating.
Next to him stood two other boys: Tommy, who looked better than when he had died, now with a streak of white in his hair, and another freakishly tall person Glatt didn’t recognize.
“These are my husbands, Tommy and Ranboo,” Tubbo introduced, gesturing to each of them in turn. “I love them very much. Whatever you have to say about it, I don’t care, and you can’t do anything to hurt us ever again.”
Glatt thought the boy hated him, that he never wanted to see Schlatt or his ghostly form ever again. Schlatt deserved every ounce of hatred Tubbo had toward him.
Yet here Tubbo was, after months of avoiding Schlatt’s grave, standing defiantly and boldly proclaiming his love for the two boys standing beside him.
Love.
Glatt scoffed. Like the kid even knew what love was. He was seventeen, for fuck’s sake! Tubbo would soon find love didn’t exist, that everyone was just looking out for themselves. He’d get his heart broken, and Glatt would laugh in his face...even though Tubbo probably wouldn’t hear it.
As he watched Tubbo begin to cry on Tommy’s shoulder, however, Glatt was thrown for a loop. Rather than being mocked for the burst of emotion, both Tommy and the tall Ender-bitch hugged Tubbo, whispering reassuring words.
This wasn’t what love was. So what were the three?
Then again, Schlatt had been wrong about a lot of things. Who’s to say he wasn’t wrong about love as well?
Glatt only remembered the vague outlines of his life as Schlatt, but he did remember thinking love was just another scam. Love, marriage, and commitment were for cowards, people who decided they couldn’t be self-sufficient and needed to rely on someone else.
Maybe...maybe he was wrong?
Quackity had loved him, Schlatt thought. Even now, Glatt thinks Quackity was the closest he had ever come to loving someone. And watching Tubbo, being comforted by his so-called husbands, laughing and smiling with them, despite the tears still running down his face, Glatt was reminded of the other man.
Quackity would joke with him, had pet names for the now-dead man, and was always there to reassure Schlatt. He had stood by Schlatt’s side, through the election drama, through his early reign, and right up until the abuse had gotten too much.
For Schlatt, while he was alive, love had never worked out. He’d never put in the effort, and it had come back to bite him in the ass. Glatt knew no one was to blame but his former self.
But for Tubbo...love suited him.
Tubbo looked happy. He still had dark circles under his eyes and his smile was a little strained around the edges, but he no longer looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Instead, the burden was shared with the two boys standing by his side.
Tubbo was laughing again, something he hadn’t done at all during his time with Schlatt, and he finally looked alive. The goat-hybrid stood on his own, and it was clear, even to Glatt, that the boy didn’t need anyone by his side. He could easily make his own way in the world, tearing down any enemy in his path and building his own empire as he went.
But he chose to have the two boys by his side. Tubbo chose to keep people close, even when they could hurt him.
None of the boys were cowards for needing each other; instead, they reveled in the little arrangement they had. They helped each other along, boosting their strengths and picking up the others’ weaknesses.
And that was the difference between Tubbo and Schlatt. Tubbo saw the best in people, no matter who they were. He forged his own way, but he brought those he loved with him, helping them the whole way.
Schlatt, on the other hand, only used others for his own gain. He brought out their darkest desires and manipulated them until they were twisted shells of themselves. Just like he had been.
Schlatt pushed people away while Tubbo welcomed them with open arms. Schlatt abused and slandered and lied, while Tubbo withstood it all and had come out on top, all the better for it. Tubbo deserved love. Schlatt did not. Neither did Glatt.
Glatt wished he could be more like Tubbo. He was such a strong kid.
Schlatt had often forgotten that Tubbo was just a kid. More specifically, that Tubbo was his kid. Glatt didn’t have many regrets; he was still Schlatt, after all, even as watered down as this version of him was.
But Glatt regretted Tubbo. Regretted that he never acknowledged everything Tubbo had put up with, never praised him, other than to manipulate, never let the boy know that his father did love him, it was just...complicated.
Maybe Schlatt didn’t love Tubbo. Maybe he didn’t know how to love. Glatt certainly didn’t understand love in any of its forms.
As the three boys walked away, hand in hand, Glatt could only watch them leave. It was those boys against the world.
Glatt may not have had much substance to him, but he did remember feeling that way, once. Like as long as he had someone by his side, everything would be okay. He and Quackity would be okay.
And then he had gone and fucked everything up by walking away.
Schlatt had been a coward in life, and Glatt knew he was even worse.
But maybe, just maybe, it was time to pay Quackity a visit.