Dadschlatt But Angstier

Part 1

"Hey kid. I'm Schlatt." The man greets. I study his face for a moment.

He has horns, and wavy hair. The bags under his eyes are evident, and his facial hair is frizzy but well kept.

"You gonna talk?" He asks. I snap out of it, returning my focus to the conversation.

"Sorry... I'm Tubbo!" I say, greeting the man. They told me this guy was going to adopt me if I was good enough, so I should try my best at conversation. I smile at him.

"Tubbo? I thought you were Toby." He says, flatly. I shrink a little bit.

"My real name is Toby, but I prefer Tubbo. I think my brother gave me the nickname, but I don't remember. He got adopted long before me." I say. I had an older brother at one point, employees at the home told me that much, and that he cared for me very much, but I can't remember his name or anything, just his nickname that I gave him, Dream.

Looking back now, at twelve years old, it's an odd nickname.

"I'm not calling you Tubbo." He states, sounding annoyed.

"Ah, okay. That's okay." I say. Maybe this guy's just a little on edge.

"What do you like?" He asks, sounding bored.

"I like bees!" I say, smiling.

He raises an eyebrow, looking back and sighing. "Weird." He mumbles. I can feel embarrassment we'll up in my stomach and red run through my cheeks.

"Alright kid, you're coming home with me."  He says. I fill up with joy. I got a home! This'll be great!

2 years later

It's not great.

It never was.

The house constantly reeks of alcohol, and the only fucking reason he adopted me was to clean up his messes. It's a shithole, all the windows cracked and holes all throughout the walls, and half of the rooms practically becoming weed dens for Schlatt's friends. It's hell.

Worst of all, is how he acts. Even if around other people he acts like the perfect dad, it's quite the opposite. It's almost funny, thinking about how bipolar he can get.

No, when we're alone everything goes to hell. He could torment me, constantly insulting me and commanding me to humiliate myself. Or, more often than not, he throws punches. Or kicks. Or he throws empty bottles that once contained some sort of intoxicating substance at me, breaking it against my head or just chucking it at me.

It takes the biggest, oversized clothing to truly hide the effects of his abuse.

Today though, today was lucky. He found a cheaper school to send me too, or so he told me, so although it's a thirty minute walk, it's a new start, a way to get as far from the house as possible for eight hours of the day.

And as I see the beige concrete building start to grow in size until I know I've arrived, something inside of me seems hopeful.

Students litter the courtyard. Loud students. I find a tree, a large tree with much shade, and take a seat, leaning my back on it, waiting for school to start.

I loose myself in my thoughts, thinking about what could go wrong today. I just hope that maybe today will be good.

"Who are you?"

I look up, seeing a tall, blonde boy in a red and white shirt standing over me.

"T-Tubbo." I say. I give him a weak smile.

"Tubbo. That's a weird name. I'm Tommy." He says, sitting down next to me. "Do you want my granola bar?"

"Uh, sure!" I say, gratefully taking the food, appeasing the hunger in my stomach from neglect.