Chapter Text
Tubbo wasn’t sure how he ended up with two children under his care. He knew the events that led up to it, but whenever he thought back on it he was just baffled by the turn of events.
Food was sort of hard to come by these days, with the whole ‘end of the world’ thing that had plagued humanity for a little while. Those who had survived the initial natural disasters were all left with a shared emptiness. Everyone had lost someone. No one wanted to be alone. Waves of migration, combined with limited access to resources, made people cruel. Which made it hard to find people to trust.
People were, in general, difficult to deal with. Tubbo couldn’t be bothered with trying anymore. He had lost the two people who hadn't been terrible to a smokey hot mess of a disaster. That was a while ago. He didn’t really think about it. It was fine.
Food was hard to come by.
Which led him to his current predicament.
It dated back a week. He had been scurrying for food in a city that had been completely devastated by dozens of earthquakes by then. It was a settlement that Tubbo had very hesitantly entered. He wasn’t interested in fighting for resources. Stealing, however, seemed really truly perfect when he couldn’t even feel his hunger anymore. He was shorter than average, which meant he could pass by relatively unseen with a bit of effort. He had pretty good instincts. He managed to fill his bag with dried meat, nuts, and some canned food.
He had walked out, satisfied beyond simple relief that he had managed to stave off starvation for a long while—even though there came a point where you consider the worth of survival, Tubbo was acting on instinct, and because he was a stupid human, his brain was wired to survive despite all the craziness. Oh, and he kind of hoped that he’d die with an answer. He just wanted an answer! Why did the world have to fall apart —and immediately collided with two kids around the corner, spilling all his stuff on the ground.
“Ow, fuck.” He sat up, rubbed the back of his head and glared at the little perpetrators. That was when he realised they were children.
The one his eyes landed on first had a sword pointed directly at him. His hair was pale and blonde, and messily cut over his shoulders. He was dressed in a ragged blue and purple hoodie, dirty jean shorts, and a pair of boots. There was the duck floatie around his waist. Oh, and he was wearing a skull mask.
Yeah, Tubbo was bound to notice that kid first, because the other kid was standing behind him, holding a small knife with much less comfort than Sword Kid.
Her hair was in desperate need of some proper care. It reached her waist, which was impressive, but it was clear that managing her curls wasn’t her number one priority in the actual apocalypse. Fair enough. She had put on a beanie to make up for it. Other than that she was wearing a yellow jumper under an oversized rugged brown coat, and a red skirt.
He was pretty sure he was getting robbed. It hadn’t been their intention, but the girl’s eyes were travelling over the loot with understanding, and worse, hunger.
The sword didn't move. The kid glared down at him—and wow his eyes sure were blue and piercing. Tubbo didn’t speak. Let the kiddos talk first, that would probably be for the best. Worst case scenario: they snitched and told whoever led this ruin of a city about his crimes. He would be boxed in as a ‘barbarian with no place left in this world’ and maybe, probably, definitely, killed.
The girl tugged at the other kid's hoodie. “Let’s just take half.”
Tubbo bit back an audible sigh of relief and was about to make some quip that would lighten the tension—and maybe get the sword pulled back—when he locked eyes with the girl.
“Take all of it,” he said without thought—what the fuck was he doing now? What happened to survival of the fittest? “But don’t eat it in the city. They’ll recognize stolen food.”
The girl blinked in surprise and Tubbo was halfway through a reassuring smile when the sword pressed against his chest with more force. Not enough to pierce the fabric of his shirt, but enough to send the message.
“What are you playing at?” the kid asked.
“Hell if I know,” Tubbo responds, voice coming across just as confused as he was about this. “I’m pretty delirious from travel and hunger, but you kids shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. That there is enough food for weeks and I am a neutralised threat—except I was never actually a threat, but you two definitely got out of this with the best-case scenario because I would not have given you this if my life wasn’t on the line… I think.”
At this point, he wasn’t sure how he would’ve reacted under other circumstances, but these two weren’t the first kids he’d met since everything went to shit. They just happened to be the ones with a weapon. He didn’t doubt Sword Kid knew how to use that sword, but Tubbo had been in scuffles before, and he wasn’t unarmed either. No one was.
His ramble ended with the two of them sharing a quick look, one of utter confusion. Tubbo had that effect on people.
He cleared his throat. “So, what’s the verdict when it comes to me getting stabbed to death?”
The girl recovered first, stepping out of the boy's safety and yanking his arm back. She turned to Tubbo and bowed her head in a nod. “Thank you so much, sir.”
“I’m not even twenty yet!” Tubbo complained loudly, which really only made the Sword Kid want to re-establish the ‘Tubbo about to get stabbed’ dynamic. “Sorry. No problem. Try not to die next time there’s a tornado or something.”
They’d survived this long. That was impressive for two kids—whatever ages they were. And they were deadly clever because they took his offer made with kindness with their survival in mind.
“You too,” the girl responded with an unsure smile.
She started filling up a tote bag slung over her shoulder with all of Tubbo’s wonderful, stolen food. Oh, the fucking misery. Sword Kid still stood guard, but he seemed more lenient (read: his sword was no longer that close to Tubbo’s body).
They scampered. But seemed almost hesitant to do so, and Tubbo spent the rest of that day contemplating where his next meal would come from and when it would be. He was used to that. It was fine.
What he couldn’t for the life of him figure out was how the kids found him again?
The wind picked up a few days later, making a siren ring throughout the city that was only a distant wail in Tubbo’s ears. He was on the cracked road away from the city, dragging his feet over the rubble with trembling hands. He had managed to get his hands on food—if there was one thing he prided himself on it was resourcefulness—but not nearly enough. But he wasn’t going to stay in the city during the storm. People turned nasty in the aftermath of these events.
He was far away from the sirens and the city and the annoying people. In front of him was a forest. A forest wasn’t a very good place to wait out a storm. A basement would be ideal, but they had people guarding the damned place and Tubbo had bypassed them many times but not while at this level of energy. He could forage for berries, and fish, and find dry firewood before the storm.
He tripped over a root as soon as he diverged off the road and into the forest. It was one of those situations where he would, if the world was as it was before, quickly get up and glance over his shoulder to see if anyone saw, and then he’d laugh if off.
Now, he lay with his cheek against the dry forest floor and was once again forced to evaluate how much he was willing to fight to survive. If he died here, his body would decompose and become one with the forest. And if he was found, no one would even know who he was. That wasn’t a worthy existence. Was it even an existence? How real were you if no one knew your name and your face?
If Fit and Pac were here, they would laugh at him, but Pac would offer him his hand and Fit would clap him on the shoulder and say something condescending and comforting. Too bad they most likely burned alive in a pit of lava!
Yeah, Tubbo would die doing what he did best; sulking.
“He’s kinda pathetic,” a voice interrupted Tubbo’s demise. He knew that voice… why did he know that voice?
“He’s been alone all this time,” a softer voice chided. “And we took all his food…”
There was a pause, followed by a sigh. The first voice spoke again. “He’s an idiot for giving away his food so readily.”
Tubbo groaned and forced his eyes open. “That really hurts my feelings. My feelings are hurt now.”
All energy that had fueled Tubbo till now was just gone. He didn’t have the energy to sit up and greet those kids again. He just felt cold. And sad. Sad and cold. The kids didn’t have anything to say to that, so Tubbo closed his eyes again and pretended that they weren’t there.
They kept talking.
“He’s dying,” the girl fretted.
“Are we sure he’s not just taking a pause?” the other kid offered. “I mean… he did seem a little bit capable of survival.”
“Chayanne.”
“Fine, okay.” The kid sighed, deeply, right above Tubbo, followed by a not so gentle tap on his head. “You want shelter from the storm?”
“I want this to end.” Tubbo meant those words a bit too much.
A pause. The boy let out a snort. “He reminds me of Wilbur.”
The girl sighed as well. She took a gentler approach to stirring Tubbo out of his funk, using her hand to remove some hair that had fallen into his face. “Excuse me,” she said. “My name is Tallulah, and that is my brother; Chayanne. We’re sorry we took all your food. Is it possible we could share it with you?”
So it was pretty clear these kids wouldn’t leave him to die a slow and painful death. He supposed it made sense in a ‘return the kindness you were granted’ kind of way. Even though Tubbo had thought he was never going to see them again. And at the mention of food, Tubbo felt a little spark—a small urge to live another day.
He sat up and used the palm of his hand to wipe dirt off his face. “You know your survival rates increase if you don’t offer strangers your rations, right? You’ve survived this long so you clearly know the basics.”
“Says you,” the boy, Chayanne, said.
His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes slim, and his feet in a position that could have him strike or flee at a moment’s notice. Like a soldier, a warrior. It reminded Tubbo of Fit. Fit was made for the apocalypse. But even he couldn’t do much against the ground splitting in two.
Tears sprung to Tubbo’s eyes.
“What?” Chayanne said, and he was very blurry but Tubbo could see a wince on his face. It was the last thing he saw before he buried his head in his hands and let out a sob.
“You made him cry!” Tallulah accused.
“How is it my fault that he’s emotionally unstable?” A hand landed on his shoulder, patting it. “There, there. You aren’t that much of an idiot. You’re better than ninety-nine per cent of people we’ve met.”
Tubbo kept sobbing. He couldn’t stop. He wasn’t even sure where it was coming from. It was like a dam finally opened—or exploded—or whatever happened to dams; a previously blocked river finally flowing freely. Crying was supposed to be soothing, wasn’t it? Pac always said things like that, pretending to have a smidge of emotional intelligence even though he just looked really smart in comparison to Tubbo and Fit. It wasn’t healing. It felt pathetic and wet.
And it hurt. A lot.
Why couldn’t he just have fallen off a cliff and died? Then these kids wouldn’t have found him and forced him to confront his feelings. He never cried. Not at the start, when everyone realised that if you were alive, most of your friends and family weren’t. But that was fine because people stuck together like glue and Tubbo made the mistake of making friends. But now, at the mere thought of said friends?
Nothing fucking mattered anyway. If it wasn’t a big hole in the ground, it would be lightning, or getting hit by debris, or drowning, or burning alive, or getting sucked into a tornado and impaled on a broken tree—that had been the day Tubbo realised he either learned to stomach these things or broke with the world. Fit had put his hand on his shoulder and tried to get him to turn around, but both Tubbo and Pac had just stared emptily at the mutilated body in front of them.
Gentle fingers moved Tubbo’s hands away from his face, and he was met with a sad smile. Tallulah was crouched in front of him, getting her knees dirty on the forest floor.
“I know you must’ve lost someone,” she said. “And it isn’t up to us whether you give up now. But… we could help each other. Chay and I thought it was very kind of you to help us even though you didn’t have to.”
“Yeah,” Chayanne added. This time he was the one standing behind his sister as she brought a piece of cloth out of her pocket and held it in front of Tubbo. “If you’ve lived this long and still gave up all your stuff for two strangers, you’re worth keeping around. I’m sure our dads would agree.”
Tubbo used the cloth to wipe his eyes—his whole face, really—and looked as the kids shared a look. A look in which Tallulah nodded, still wearing that sad smile. Their dads would agree. So where were they? Or were the kids living on through the lessons their deceased parents taught?
“What are two kids doing on their own anyway?” Tubbo asked, voice wet and still kinda pathetic. There was no way they’d survived all this time on their own. Either it was a recent development, or their fathers were close.
Tallulah stood back up and shared a look with Chayanne, whose arms were crossed over his chest—he looked uncomfortable and vigilant.
“We got separated from the rest of our family,” she spoke slowly, words crafted together with care. “There were seven of us. We were at a port trying to cross the sea when the fissures happened. It split right beneath my feet and Chayanne dragged me back before I could fall in.”
Based on Chayanne’s refusal to look at anything but a branch by his feet, that memory wasn’t particularly fond.
Tallulah kept talking. “We don’t know what happened after that, but my abuelito is very survival-oriented. We’re sure they’re alive.”
“But on the other side of the sea?” Tubbo asked without it being a real question. He felt a little bit of solidarity with them now. It seemed the earth splitting tore up more than just the ground. “Why not come back for you? That was—” How long had it been? He hadn’t kept track of the days because that had been Fit’s thing. “Like, a few months ago. That’s without mentioning how far that is by ship. And with all those storms. They’re so dead.”
A sharp stab of pain shot through his shoulder, and Tubbo, in all his starved glory, fell back over. He turned around and met Chayanne’s murderous glare. The kid had a mean kick.
“Chay, stop.” Tallulah put a hand on her brother’s shoulder.
Tubbo just shook his head—which seemed to surprise the kids. “Nah, it was a fair blow. I was being insensitive. My friends died in the same event, so, I guess you could say I know how hopeless it is when the ground decides to split in two.” Just saying the words ‘friends’ and ‘died’ in the same sentence was enough to bring tears to his eyes again. This time he wiped them away quickly.
Chayanne plopped down next to him with a sigh. “Sorry, I kicked you while you were down.”
“I like being on the ground,” Tubbo said, internally thinking: what? What am I saying now?
“Right.” The kid looked at him with an incredulous expression which was so fair because Tubbo really hadn’t given him much to work with. His sister sat down too, forming a little triangle like that. “Look. We’re pretty sure that they’re still alive, but we haven't been able to get on a boat. I’m sure you know why.”
Tubbo did know why. Sailing was a huge gamble, but a huge reward. Communication with the other side was pretty much non-existent, but the rumours spoke largely of a haven. From what Tubbo was aware, the west coast had three large ports that still sailed people forth—not back. Two-way trips didn’t happen. That would also explain why no one had come back for these kids. Oh, and the ports didn’t let anyone in. They were controlled by greed; pure and nasty. If you had something to offer, you could go. Two potential orphans wouldn’t be let on no matter how cute they were. They’d be written off as lost causes.
Tubbo hummed and leaned back on the palm of his hands. “So what are your plans? And how the hell did you survive for so long on your own? You’re what? Five years old?”
They shared a look, and Chayanne turned back to him, expression so very unimpressed. “I’m twelve. Llulah is eleven.”
“Sure,” Tubbo said. “Survival? Plans?”
“Llulah knows like every single plant ever,” Chayanne said.
“And Chay is really good at robbing people,” Tallulah added.
They both sounded equally fond and proud of one another. Tubbo chuckled. Be it out of delirious hunger or the same reason any person would find joy in talking with children. The thought of them having the perfect skillset to keep surviving, but only if they were together, was funny too.
Tallulah wrapped her arms around her knees. “As for plans, we haven’t had the time for anything. Staying alive is more important.”
Tubbo felt a small pang in his heart. “But your end goal’s a ship, right?” They nodded. “And with my share, you should be able to feed those minds of yours and sit back long enough to formulate something. It’s still fifty-fifty whether you survive the trip but it’s not impossible to get two kids on a boat. You could melt a heart somewhere if you had some riches to back it up.”
“Don’t you want to see the other side too?” Chayanne asked.
“There’s nothing waiting for me there.”
His words were met with an uncomfortable silence. Instilling kids with hopelessness hadn’t been his most charming move, but it had been ages since he had real human interactions. He thought that might be it. They had their fun, but the wind was blowing through the trees, louder than their low and tired voices, a familiar howl. Surely, they had a shelter somewhere. Surely, they should leave.
He met Tallulah’s eyes then. They were intense in a way he couldn’t really put his finger on.
“Would you help us?” she asked. “We could help each other.”
She’d said that earlier, hadn’t she? It had an almost profound ring to it. Helping each other wasn’t always on the table, and a scrawny nineteen-year-old and two kids benefitted no one at first glance—Tubbo thought lowly of those who wrote him off just because he didn’t carry himself with that survival bravado of sturdy men walking down the ruined streets. His heart was still beating, wasn’t it?
An ache in his stomach reminded him of his mortality.
He resisted the urge to fall onto his back and become one with the dirty leaves. “To be honest, kids, you’re better off leaving me here.”
“But you’d die,” Tallulah pointed out, sounding about as nonchalant about death as you’d expect.
“Yup,” he agreed. “I had a good run.”
He did lie down then, folding his hands over his stomach and closing his eyes. For now, and in front of the children, he could pretend that his death would be a nice one.
“You’re pathetic,” Chayanne spat. Tubbo cracked his eye open and saw the kid on his feet, looking down at Tubbo as if he were a bug. “You’ve survived this long and you give up now? What’s wrong with you?”
“Lots,” Tubbo answered noncommittally.
Neither of them responded. They started speaking to each other in a language Tubbo thought might be Spanish. It was kind of soothing to hear their voices above him. He could sleep like this.
As if they would let him rest.
A hand landed on his own in a reassuring gesture. Tubbo reopened his eyes to see Tallulah, again, with a smile. How could she get herself to do that?
“What if you stayed with us until the rations ran out?” she offered sensibly. “You either help us get on a ship or traumatise us further by forcing us to have to pass your corpse every time we go into town.”
Tubbo may have misjudged Tallulah’s level of morbidity. She looked so sweet, which she was, but she carried herself and spoke with maturity far beyond an eleven-year-old.
“There are bodies literally everywhere.”
It might have been an exaggeration. People were pretty good at burying each other. But these kids had seen bodies. They were used to them.
“The body of the weird guy who gave us food is personal,” Chayanne pointed out. “We’d be so, so sad.”
Tallulah’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, we didn’t even ask you for your name.”
Tubbo was fighting a losing battle. He was weak like that. A pushover. He did want to see these kids survive. Let them represent hope for the future, or whatever. He was still going to keep fighting, even if his body and mind had already made their decision.
“If you knew my name you’d get attached.”
“We’ll just name you then,” said the little shit; Chayanne. He put his hand on his chin. “What about Goggles? Because of your goggles.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Tubbo deadpanned. “And you only get to call me that if I can call you Duckie.”
Chayanne’s nose scrunched in distaste. “No. Rigby?”
“He looks like a Harry,” Tallulah joined in, just as bad as her brother.
“Max?” Chayanne offered, the corner of his mouth turned slightly upwards.
Tubbo’s eye twitched.
“Juan!” Tallulah exclaimed like she had some big realisation.
Tubbo dragged a hand down his face, forgetting momentarily that it was covered in dirt. “It’s Tubbo!”
Twin faces of vindication turned to him. He was doomed from the start.