Chapter Text
This is bad.
Tubbo had expected Wilbur to lose to someone else- either SWAG or COCONUT- but not to Schlatt. And certainly not exiled, on the run as L’manburg’s own soldiers force their former general out like a rat problem.
This is very, very bad.
Especially if Wilbur gets caught.
Especially if Wilbur gets caught in the bunkers that Tubbo made for him.
So this is very, very, very bad, because if Wilbur gets caught, then Tubbo’s caught. And if Tubbo’s caught- well, he’s just fucked, isn’t he?
Because everyone knows him and Tommy are basically best friends, and everyone also knows that Tommy is Wilbur’s ride-or-die right hand man. Tubbo’s one point of association away from the new Public Enemy #1, and then he’ll probably get questioned, and-
-oh god, what’s he gonna tell his friends? What’s he gonna tell Phil?
Tubbo sneakily brings his communicator into his hands, fingers hovered over his contacts, when Mr. Schlatt’s unnaturally sharp eyes spot him in the halls.
“Tubbo?” the president says. “Come here.”
“Ah-” Tubbo’s ears roll back. “Should I?”
“You’re the Secretary of Defense, aren’t you?”
“Oh.” Tubbo hadn’t been expecting that. “I’m still…?”
The president- Schlatt, he was only ever Schlatt- laughs. “Why would I fire you? You’re Tubbo!” As Tubbo edges closer, the older ramlin’s face shifts with an amiable smile. “My very own Tubbo.”
Ah. That’s right. Tubbo had been so caught up in the chaos of it all that he forgot Schlatt actually rather liked him. The demon touched ramlin had been Tubbo’s first employer back before the war, but he’d always liked Tubbo for some reason. Maybe it’s because Schlatt never had any kids. Maybe it’s because they’re both ramlin hybrids.
Tubbo never asked, and he’s not going to ask as long as it keeps him fucking alive.
“Tubbo, I need you to do something for me.” Schlatt leans close, and Tubbo idly notes that they’re around the same height now. Odd. “I need you to find Tommy. And I need you to show him the door.”
Tubbo stills.
“Rumor has it he’s still somewhere in the walls.” Schlatt’s eyes glance at an oddly specific point out the windows. “On the top of a building, perhaps.”
“I- is that so, sir?” Tubbo haltingly asks.
“We both know Tommy can be a stubborn son of a bitch,” Schlatt casually says. “He’ll need the extra push.”
Tubbo hums nervously. Schlatt’s ear flicks at the noise, and he frowns.
“You understand why I did it, right?” Schlatt stresses. “You’re not like the fuckin’ L’man-bootlickers high on the fucking spice of the flag, you can get it.”
“I- uh…” Tubbo stutters over his words for a bit. “...you thought they’d cause a fuss after you won.” At Schlatt’s light nod, he continues. “And- and you wanted to make sure they had… as little power as possible.”
“Good,” Schlatt sharply barks. “You do get it.”
Tubbo wonders if it’s bad to feel warmed by the praise. Schlatt catches the conflicted look on his face and sighs.
“Kid, I didn’t do it to be a dick. You get that.” Schlatt takes out a cigar from his inventory and stuffs it in his mouth. “Wilbur wasn’t good for office, and office wasn’t good for him, either. Poor bastard needs some cold turkey time away from L’manburg so nobody else gets caught in the crossfire.”
“But what about Tommy?” Tubbo dares to ask. “Why’s he gotta go, too?”
Schlatt’s frown warps with a sad angle. “You know he’d do anything for Wilbur. If he stayed here, with Wilbur out there, Wilbur wasn’t ever gonna leave him alone.”
Tubbo frowns, his thoughts darkening. “Tommy would do anything for Wilbur.”
For Wilbur. Only Wilbur. If Tommy had stayed, would he have done the same for Tubbo? (Would he have even tried?)
Tubbo realizes he doesn’t know.
Schlatt bites down on his cigar, blunt fangs tearing at the rolled material. He always bites cigars- Tubbo’s never actually seen him smoke the stuff properly.
“It’s not, like- permanent or anything,” Schlatt belatedly adds. “Like I said, until further notice. If they don’t cause any problems, no reason to not let ‘em back in.” He lets out a brash laugh. “It’ll be easy! All they gotta do is wait it out! What are they gonna do to anybody all by themselves?”
Tubbo chuckles, but only a bit. “Right.”
“Right.” Schlatt leans in and harshly knocks their heads together. The movement echoes down their horns in a satisfying way. “Let’s pack up this Shrinesday social and get to work.”