Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tubbo walks into the orphanage with a plan.

He's always got one; in his line of work, it's suicide to do anything without some kind of forethought.

His job is simple, this time, in that it's horribly complicated. He needs to find the smartest kid this shitty orphanage can offer so that they can unknowingly bear the fate of a war in private school politics.

The whole thing makes Tubbo turn his nose up, but he's been given a job and they don't call him the best for nothing. He's Tubbo, and that means he can make even the most impossible odds work.

He'll take the best kid this shithole has and he'll house them and train them as kindly as he can until the job is done and the country is safe.

Afterward, because Tubbo isn't a fucking monster, he'll make sure they go somewhere nice. Nowhere like this dump, the decrepit building barely held up by its frames with rotting wood and mice that chitter and gnaw.

Tubbo sighs. The owner of the orphanage, he imagines, prattles on.

"Which one's the smartest?" he interrupts and the man frowns.

"This place isn't for smart ," the man reminds him, "None of the children here are especially bright. If they were, they'd be somewhere legal, or adopted by now."

Tubbo insists, "Still. Which one is the best?"

The man sighs, guiding Tubbo down a set of corridors. The man pokes his head into a room and then turns to Tubbo, "I don't--"

The man spots something over Tubbo's shoulder, one child in a house of many, and calls, "You! Joseph! Where the fuck is Michael?"

The kid bites, "I don't know! I'm not his babysitter! He's probably at that fucking park again!"

The tiny firecracker shoves his way into the room, throwing himself onto one of the beds dramatically.

"He isn't here?" Tubbo guesses and the man frowns.

"I'm terribly sorry about this, Mr. Forger," the man says, trying on politeness like an ill-fitting coat, "I'm sure there's another bright child here you can meet."

From his body language and the child's snort from where he lies on the bed, the man's full of shit. Tubbo waves him off.

"I can wait," he says, "I have time."

Fortunately for Tubbo's sanity, he doesn't have to wait in the company of the man for too long. Just a few hours after settling into a chair in the room's main hall, a set of tiny footsteps approaches him.

He's spoken to a few of the braver children already, in between waiting for this Michael, and he wonders what this one wants to talk about.

The boy's tiny, small and skinny like a poorly-fed four-year-old. His hair is a bright pink, cut in choppy strokes that frames his face. If it were any longer, he'd make a joke about the kid looking like Technoblade.

One of his eyes is a milky white, and stitching runs down the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbone. The skin there is just a shade off, probably from a graft.

Some kind of accident, Tubbo imagines, and the scars under his own makeup feel twice as obvious as before.

"Michael," the boy says simply, a declaration.

Tubbo raises an eyebrow. "You're Michael?" he asks and the boy nods.

"I'm told you're very smart," Tubbo says, "Is this true?"

Michael considers him, tilting his head. His eyes are the only tell to his excitement. It's a good indication, that the kid's already masking himself. He'll make a good liar, especially with Tubbo training him.

"I'm smart," the boy says definitively, "The smartest."

He's confident too, for an orphan who's clearly seen some shit. Good.

Tubbo asks, "What are you the smartest in? Math? Reading? Writing? Science?"

Michael says, "Best at math. Good at everything."

Everything except for speaking, Tubbo imagines. It's a mark against Michael, unfortunately, but talking can be taught much quicker than other subjects.

Tubbo runs through a few base tests with Michael and, quite surprisingly, Michael passes them all. Tubbo watches Michael answer the questions, reading over the boy's shoulder a bit, and finds himself thoroughly impressed.

The kid's nearly a genius, with his scores. He's certainly smart enough to get into Essempi Academy's first year, even if they do have to lie about his age.

"I'm six," Michael says excitedly, like he can read Tubbo's mind.

"Good," Tubbo agrees, "You'll be starting school in a few months."

"Taking me," Michael says more than asks, and Tubbo nods.

"I am Mr. Forger," he introduces himself, crouching down to get closer to Michael's level, "And you are my son now."

Michael beams and part of Tubbo withers with knowing that this is only temporary. He'll do the best he can, even when it ends.

"Pack your things," Tubbo tells Michael, sending the boy off while he sorts out the remaining paperwork with the owner of the orphanage.

Tubbo walks into the orphanage with a plan, and out of the orphanage with a child who just might save the world.

Chapter Text

"Alright," Tommy says giddily, grinning as he hefts Michael off his feet, "Where to next, big man?"

Michael shrieks as the world swims away from him, laughing hard enough that he throws his head back and bonks the crown of his head on Tommy's collarbone.

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy asks gleefully, "Hmmm. I dunno, big man. I'm not sure if your dads would like if I took you on the tallest roller coaster they have ."

Michael laughs, clapping his hands together.

"Fast!" he demands and Tommy's grin brightens.

"Oh, yeah? You wanna go fast?" he asks, "You wanna fly so fast we go into space?"

"Fast!" Michael cheers, "fast, fast! Space!"

Tommy laughs himself, tossing Michael a bit in the air, much to his raucous delight.

"Onward!" Tommy shouts, making his way to the other side of the amusement park with the totally-six-and-definitely-not-four-year-old clinging to him like a koala.

Michael's a good kid, Tommy's figured. Even if he is a little odd, and has definitely seen some shit. He laughs and plays just like a kid ought to.

He's a bit quiet, but never with Tommy and never with Tubbo.

So what if he's a little strange? So what if he's probably some kind of secret government experiment?

In Tommy's arms, Michael stiffens, half a hand raising to touch the serrated scar running along his cheekbone.

"You good, big man?" Tommy asks and Michael takes a big breath, eyes crinkling as he prepares for something.

Tommy waits, lets Michael meet him where he is, and the kid eventually stops poking his face and says, "Gotta tell you something."

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy asks, keeping the lightly amused tone even as concern creeps in, "About what?"

Michael sniffs. "Secret gove'nment espiraments."

Tommy blinks.

'It's like he's a damn telepath,' Tubbo had complained, 'he always seems to know exactly what I'm doing.'

No.

There's no way.

Philza has looked for the rest those kids for decades . There's no fucking way Michael is actually who Tommy's dad was searching for.

"I--" Michael stutters, sniffing again. "I dunno Pill'a. But I trust you."

Tommy stops walking, his heart stuttering in his chest. As nervous as Michael clearly is, he sounds like he trusts Tommy.

'Should he?' something in Tommy's head sneers, 'Should he trust a monster? You'll drag him down and get him caught and kill him because you can't ever do anyth--'

"You're my dad," Michael says determinedly, "You and Bee and Boo."

Tommy laughs, dragged out of his headspace at the absurdity of it.

"Michael," Tommy says kindly, "Tubbo and Ranboo are your dads. I'm just Tubbo's friend."

"Best f'iend," Michael corrects, "And Bee and Boo only got married 'cause of the secret spy stuff."

Tommy blinks. "The…the what?"

Michael waves his hands. "They're best f'iends. You're best f'iends. You're my dad."

Tommy tries to think of a decent rebuttal, but decides to focus on the more pressing issue at hand.

"You're--" Tommy drops his volume to a near whisper and then, instead, thinks pointedly, 'you're a telepath?'

Michael nods, entirely unhesitant.

"I'm special," he says, "Like you."

Tommy stiffens, the leftover bones growing from below his shoulder blades twitching under the bindings.

"Right," Tommy agrees, trying not to get too sucked up in his head.

He succeeds, but only because Michael demands they still ride the megacoaster. After the surprisingly short wait for midday on a Saturday, it's impossible for Tommy to be caught up in his mind when Michael screams, clinging to him as they descend.