Chapter Text
Tubbo observed the house before him with dull detachment, much to his social worker’s chagrin. Clearly she was expecting some sort of appreciative response from him, eyes darting between him and the house with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.
Frankly he would have been happy to stay in the hospital while he waited for his aunt to get in contact with child services, slurping lime jello and binging old superhero cartoons.
Miss Dale (a tall, thin woman with prematurely graying brown hair and a disapproving frown to rival his father’s) had insisted he required normalcy. As well as support to get him through this “ desolate time.”
As if any of that would bring Schlatt back to life or undo what she referred to as “the incident.”
It was a pleasant enough place. Gray stone, white shutters, a few neat little flowerbeds thick with tulips and daffodils. There were wind chimes dripping with crystals and colourful bird feeders, a bench with soft cushions and thick ivy interspersed with what looks like grape vines.
“Awfully isolated, isn’t it?” Tubbo commented, ignoring all the pretty details. Lovely as it appeared to be, it was also nestled so deep in the woods he wondered if it was even within the city’s limits.
Clearly this didn’t mean anything to Miss Dale, who gave him a strained smile - a vein in her forehead pulsing. “Well that will make it harder for reporters to sniff you out, won’t it? It’s for your own good.”
All the adults had been saying that. It’s for your own good, it’s what’s best for you, we’re only trying to help. Among other tedious variations on the phrase. He loathed the constant stream of patronizing drivel vehemently.
For all his many, many faults, at least Schlatt had never claimed to do anything that was in Tubbo’s best interests. He was very candid about his true motives for things - so long as they had nothing to do with his professional life.
Stepping forward with a sigh, Miss Dale knocked on the door. Absently, he noted there was an odd amount of locks on it considering they were in the middle nowhere. That was probably a red flag or some shit, but he was too tired to care much.
The man who answered was surprisingly ordinary. Somewhere in the back of his mind Tubbo had pictured some quirky old retiree, the sort of person who would plant all those flowers. Dale had said he was a pillar of the community or something, so he certainly sounded old.
This guy looked like a university student, if university students were far more put together. Tall, with neatly swept blonde hair and sharp, somewhat striking features. There was a note of mischief in his eyes, lending him a perpetually amused look.
When he saw Tubbo he smiled, lips parting to reveal two rows of straight, bleached-white teeth. It was so artificial it made his skin crawl.
“It’s so nice to meet you Tubbo! And Mary, lovely to see you again. Come in, come in. I was just about to order some pizza for lunch.” He stepped to the side and made a sweeping gesture toward the entryway of the house.
Miss Dale fidgeted with her glasses, shifting them further up the bridge of her nose. “I‘m afraid I can’t stay long - I’ve got some business to attend to back at HQ. You know how it is
Mr.WasTaken.” She explained lightly, gaze flicking to her battered sedan.
Wincing a bit in sympathy, the man nodded. “Call me Dream, please. No need to be so formal. But I understand. Well, I think everything should be in order. Shall we get Tubbo settled in?” He prompted, gesturing again to the open door.
They spoke of him like he wasn’t even there. Perhaps he should have been bothered by that, but in all fairness, he didn’t feel like he was there.
“I believe we shall,” She agreed. Turning to Tubbo, she pulled out a business card and held it out to him. When he didn’t take it, she seemed to remember rather suddenly that he couldn’t.
In his right hand, he loosely grasped a suitcase. Most of the burns on the right side of his body had been fairly minor. His left hand however, was wrapped in thick bandages. One of the doctors had said he wouldn’t be able to use it without intensive and regular physical therapy.
Awkwardly, she tucked it into the front pocket of his dress shirt instead, smile miraculously growing even more pinched than it already was.
“Well, that’s my card. If you have any questions or concerns, Tubbo, do feel free to call me.” She explained briskly. “I’ll be around to check in sometime soon.”
Momentarily, he was worried she might attempt to pat him on the shoulder or give him some sort of side-hug as those at the funeral had been prone to doing. But she did no such thing, instead choosing to nod once in his direction before making a hasty retreat.
This left him alone with the mysterious Mr.Wastaken, who seemed slightly relieved that Miss Dale was gone - which Tubbo supposed he couldn’t fault him for.
“Alright, now we can get this show on the road.” The man clapped once, loudly. “Kitchen is right through here, I figure we can order that pizza and then show you around. How does that sound?”
Tubbo took a few steps into the foyer, trying not to tense up too much when all those locks clicked shut behind him. The hallway was narrow and boxy, with stark white walls and a glossy hardwood floor.
As soon as he’d entered the house the scent of citrus hit him full force, lemony and artificial - like strong cleaning products or the air freshener they use in the restrooms of semi-fancy restaurants.
Everything was so very clean. Not a speck of dust or dirt to be found. The rug just inside the doorway was freshly vacuumed. There weren’t even any dead flies in the light fixture hanging above their heads.
It was even more spacious on the inside. High ceilings, open floor plan. That sort of deal. Briefly Tubbo wondered how Dream got his money - but he let go of the question quickly.
His father had been a corrupt politician. He knew better than to ask where money came from. He knew better than to ask questions at all.
Straight ahead of them there was a staircase, right up against the back wall. If he craned his neck he could make out a vague silhouette of a person hovering at the top, someone tall.
“Tommy! Get down here.” The man called out, clearly annoyed. He was frowning now, a distinct change from his previous cheerful demeanor. He pinched the bridge of his nose as though he suddenly had a headache.
A boy scurried down the stairs, tripping in his haste to comply. Tubbo wondered with a dark sort of curiosity if he was about to witness another death - falling down the stairs would be a rather boring way to parish.
Tommy was tall and thin as a scarecrow, his hair the same white-blonde shade as Tubbo’s and twice as wild. His eyes - also blue like Tubbo’s but a few shades lighter - were wild as well, with some odd sharp quality he couldn’t put a name to.
For no more than a fraction of a moment they made eye contact, and Tommy was open for a moment - Tubbo could see the lines of tension in his posture and little flashes of frustration and panic sketched across his face. But then his gaze skidded to Dream, and his face was a blank canvas.
“What have I told you about lurking?” Dream said with an irked sigh, the rhetorical question clearly directed at Tommy. “It’s rude. It’s really rude.”
There’s tension wound tight between the two of them, thick enough to chew on. A line drawn taut. It made Tubbo vaguely uncomfortable - the wrongness of it.
Before he could even think about the pros and cons of bringing attention to himself he reached out and yanked on it - half praying it’d snap.
“Nice to meet you Tommy.” Tubbo said, words tripping rather than gliding. “I ah - I hadn’t realized there was another kid here. I mean, Miss Dale didn’t mention it.”
Whatever tension he had perceived evaporated in an instant. Dream smiled wide again, focus swinging back to Tubbo.
“Gosh dang it, I can’t believe we forgot to mention him.” The man tossed an arm over Tommy’s shoulders amiably, who flinched but quickly relaxed into the touch.
“This is Tommy, he’s been staying with me for - geeze, how long has it been?” He looked down at Tommy, only an inch or two shorter than him. Tommy offered no answer. “A couple years, at least. We’re like…”
“Like brothers.” Tommy spoke up. “He’s my best friend - only friend, actually.” There was something weird about the way he said it, but he sounded perfectly genuine.
Stilted, awkward, as he always seemed to be these days, Tubbo nodded. A jerky, spastic motion that tugged painfully at the skin beneath his bandages.
“I’m going to go order that pizza. Tommy, go show Tubbo to his room so he can unpack his stuff.” Dream instructed. “Give him the grand tour.” He retracted his arm and turned to head in what Tubbo assumed was the direction of the kitchen.
“Which -” Tommy hesitated, hand fluttering awkwardly in the air like he wanted to grab something. “- which room?” He asked, aborting the movement and letting his arms go limp at his sides.
Again, there was some odd weight to the question that Tubbo didn’t understand. The words felt heavy. That tension he had tried to snap was still hovering, less tight now but omnipresent.
Dream laughed. Tea-kettle laugh. “Well we only have one spare bedroom.” He answered, as though it was obvious. Given the way Tommy’s shoulder sagged with relief, Tubbo got the sense that it wasn’t.
◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸
Like the rest of the house, his new (temporary) room was perfectly nice and extremely clean. The bottom of the walls were paneled with oak wood.The top half of the walls were painted a plain, terracotta shade. Sort of red-orange-brown or some mixture thereof. The curtains, sheer and billowing in the breeze flowing through the singular open window, were a similar hue.
White bed sheets, orange comforter, too many pillows. He hated his bed. It was too soft. Usually back at home he’d slept in a hammock. The feeling of weightlessness kept nightmares at bay most of the time, and when they didn’t, he could always rock himself back to sleep.
The walls were bare. Every wall in the house was - no paintings or photos to be found. Back home even his family, consisting entirely of two people who weren’t particularly sentimental, had kept a few framed Polaroids scattered about.
Puffy’s house had lots of paintings. Some of which she bought in her travels, most of which were gifted to her by patients and old family friends. Even Foolish’s elementary hand-turkeys had a place in the collection.
Staring at the plain walls, he was hit with a sudden longing for her eclectic home. For anything familiar at all, actually. Aside from looking expansive but lacking decor, there were no similarities to draw between the pricey yet ugly condo he’d shared with his dad and this spacious farmhouse.
He wished he had been allowed to linger in the apartment. Maybe say goodbye, childish as that was. Most of his things had been seized as possible evidence, and there was an armed escort ushering him along the entire time he was packing.
They assured him he would be allowed to return, eventually. He didn’t believe them. He never took anything people said to him at face value - no doubt one of many negative, paranoid habits he’d picked up from dear-old- dad.
Tommy lingered in the doorway, not stepping foot inside the room. He looked out of place in his own home - somehow looking even more ill at ease now that he didn’t have his supposed pseudo-brother by his side.
“Is it alright? Got enough blankets an’ all that shit? We have more in the hall closet. Y’know, if you need them.” The darting, wild gaze was back. Blue eyes darting from the window to his shoes and back again, looking anywhere but Tubbo’s corner of the room.
“It’s good. Really.” He forced himself to sound polite. Pleasant even, though privately he thought he shouldn’t have to pretend to be okay with his situation. He was technically in mourning, he deserved to be allowed to grieve.
His grip on his suitcase went slack as he allowed it to fall out of his grasp. The dull thud it made when it hit the ground sent both of them jumping a bit. It almost made him laugh. He had thought he was too tired to be on edge, but he supposed it could just be the leftover buzz of adrenaline kicking up.
“I can leave you for a minute. If you want.” Tommy offered flatly, carefully studying Tubbo for some sign of a reaction to his suggestion. “Or close the door at least. If you want me to.”
“No. It’s okay I’m - I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really feel like being alone. Right now.” Tubbo picked at his bandages, letting the awkward silence fester for a moment while he collected his thoughts.
“Would you like a tour?” Tommy inquired. He shifted from foot to foot and shoved his hands in his pockets, emanating restless energy. “I give great tours, the best tours. I can highlight the house’s awesome at-tri-butes.” His voice had a slightly rusty quality to it, like the hinge of a door that hadn’t been opened in a while.
Laughter bubbled in Tubbo’s throat, much to his surprise. He hadn’t been sure he could still laugh. He wasn’t sure of much of anything.
“I would love a tour.” He answered, mustering up a not-quite-smile that didn’t tug at the scorched side of his face too much. By comparison Tommy’s grin was absolutely blinding, a spark of life entering him at Tubbo’s mild encouragement.
“Wait, genuinely? Because I’ve never shown anyone around here before, lots of visitors but not many guests - you know how it is.” Tubbo nodded along as if he did. Tommy hopped into the hallway, gesturing enthusiastically for him to follow.
“Well this is your room obviously.” He pointed out. Moving down the hall to the right, he knocked on one of the doors before nudging it open. “This is the bathroom. Right next to your room, which is real fucking cool.”
Aside from the nauseating smell of bleach, the bathroom was pretty typical. Blue tile, white walls. The bathtub is large enough to drown a man in.
The next two doors are left unopened. “That’s Dream’s bedroom, and that’s his office. He’s always in there working on paperwork or some shit.” Tommy made direct eye contact for a moment to issue a warning. “Never go in either of them. They’re usually locked anyway.”
Across the hall was Tommy’s room and the closet he’d mentioned early, well stocked with cleaning supplies and fresh linens.
“You can see my room, but only if you promise not to touch my stuff.” He said solemnly, hand resting on the door knob.
“Of course.” Tubbo replied. Tommy didn’t budge. “I promise.” He added a little more loudly when the boy made no move to open the door. He was slightly curious now, intrigued by Tommy’s protectiveness.
There really wasn’t much to see. In one corner there was a twin bed without a headboard, with white sheets and pillow casings and a single gray blanket. In the other corner sat a small pinewood dresser, side by side with a simple desk.The most interesting detail was a shelf below one of the windows, covered in a messy, peeling layer of blue paint.
Even that was fairly underwhelming. All it contained were a few books, a red stuffed cow, and a battered CD player - though Tubbo couldn’t see any CDs to put in it.
“These are my prized possessions.” Tommy claimed in a reverent whisper as he bounded over to the shelf. “I love them almost as much as I love my many wives. Not that women are at all like possessions of course.”
Little he said made any sense, but Tubbo found he didn’t mind much.
“What discs do you listen to?” He asked, genuinely curious. Maybe they could swap playlists sometime - once he got his phone back. Music was something he’d developed a new interest in as of late.
Tommy’s face went unreadable, just as it had when they’d first met. The change occurred so suddenly Tubbo jolted a bit, blinking slowly. Had he struck a nerve? He couldn’t imagine how. The question seemed innocuous enough.
Emotion returned slowly, becoming something that looked like tired resignation. “I don’t have any anymore. They got taken away.”
Silence. A beat, two beats. Three.
“We should head back downstairs now. Pizza is probably gonna be here soon.” Cheerfulness was in Tommy’s voice again but it sounded forced, his previous energy drained in a flash.
Considering the house was far away from the nearest town let alone the nearest pizza place, Tubbo doubted that. He humored Tommy anyway, not wanting to hurt (?) him more than he seemingly already had.
The beginnings of a migraine blossomed behind his eyes.
Something was wrong here. With this house, with this situation, maybe even with Tommy himself. He wasn’t sure - all he knew was he could feel the wrong-ness crawling under his skin. It was a visceral, instinctive feeling, raising the hair on the back of his neck and sending a cold chill slithering down his spine.
Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be here long anyway. None of his business really. He knew he ought to leave whatever was going on well enough alone. Still…it had all the making of a very intriguing puzzle.
Tubbo had always had a weakness for puzzles.