Work Text:
Tallulah was tired. It seemed to be a fact of life now, something that didn’t change as the sun rose and fell, casting light on the barren wasteland that they had called home. Now, standing and watching a polar bear with an imprinted smile talk to them with only a few words or phases at a time, she was afraid she was going to crumple from exhaustion.
Even with Chayanne’s constant presence at her side, scared hand in another scared hand, she could barely keep her eyes open. Every moment she made seemed to hurt, only making her want to fall into the void of sleep even more.
She was more tired than when waking up dirty and unloved in an attic, still waiting for whatever parent would find her. She scribbled drawings on the wall with dirt when she built up the strength to do something about her boredom and loneliness, curving shapes of parents that didn’t exist.
She was more tired than hiding in a hole from Wilbur, a test of trust to see if he would leave her behind if she wasn’t there to hear it. He stayed, plucking notes on his guitar as he sat and waited for her. She nearly fell asleep to the sound of his song and that was when she realized she couldn’t let him go.
Never.
She had climbed out and into view of Wilbur, whose face brightened immediately at the sight of her, his fear and distress at her being missing personified by his words. That was when he became her papí.
She was more tired than waking up in an enclosed room, covered in mud and ash, surrounded by her siblings. Chayanne was already awake, relief instantly relaxing his features when Tallulah looked him in the eyes. She heard muffled voices through the floor, frantic and angry.
A hole opened up in the floor and Chayanne almost instantly crawled down it, signing quickly, “I’ll be right back.”
She heard Phil’s overjoyed voice saying Chayanne’s name, her’s following almost immediately after. More holes were dug into the room and there her abuelito was, frazzled and dark bags under his eyes.
He scooped her up in his arms when she couldn’t manage to sign much more than, “I’m hurt.”
She answered his questions when she could, the teleportation to his house making her dizzy. She feel asleep that night with Abuelo rubbing her back, promises of not-leaving whispered in her ears. She rested long and hard that time, sinking deep into her mattress knowing that Phil wouldn’t let anyone take her.
And he didn’t, for awhile.
Until, she found herself separated by her brother, Ramón and Dapper the only ones for company as they tried to survive the terrible, red-skied wasteland. They all were tired, especially Tallulah, most of it because of the asthma attacks that she had at least twice a day.
She took many watches, Ramón and Dapper lightly sleeping next to her, holding each other for warmth. Staying awake was the hardest part of keeping watch. Her eyelids were constantly drifting, holding her head up was an issue in itself.
She couldn’t help but think about her Dad and her brother, wondering where they were and if they remembered her. She hoped, praying to whatever gods she could think of, that her Dad would find her soon.
She missed their protection, always knowing that she would be safe when with either or both of them. They lagged behind groups with her, making sure that she couldn’t get lost or hurt because she was slower than the rest. She missed that too.
Desperately.
At the end of the two weeks of torturous violence and pain, she was locked in a room with her siblings, like they had months before. A man came in and talked to them a lot, his voice grating out Spanish, far different than the man they used to know as their teacher in the little school on Quesadilla Island. Mr. Quackity used the care for them, at least somewhat.
This man didn’t at all.
One of those days, signing to the only siblings she could see, they were taken. Put in more cells, displayed and alone.
But then-
There were their parents, beaten and broken just as much as they were. She could see Phil only briefly, his body worn, ribs showing with an emptiness eyes. Blood streaked his face, and recognition flooded his face when he saw Tallulah, calling out promises through the glass as she signed back at him, her ASL frantic and shaking.
“We’re going to get you out,” he had said, over and over, “it’s okay.”
She only stopped believing him when the world began to shake, the ceiling coming down on her in waves. She ran frantically, dodging bits of ceiling and hearing the frantic shouts of all the parents suffering alongside her, calling out their children’s names.
When the world caved in on her, she didn’t die. At least, she didn’t think she did. Hours upon hours she was stuck in a hole, constantly afraid of sand caving in on her and being crushed alive. She hated inclosed spaces, feeling it grow smaller every minute.
She tried remembering the sound of papí’s guitarra, playing a song for her. Sometimes she could hear the tender notes, plucking softly while she fought to keep her eyes open in the dark small hole.
Finally, after hours of fighting, she gave up fighting it. She feel into dreams, faceless people smiling at her on a nearly forgotten island, where happy memories seemed to only exist. Hugs wrapped around her, hands that bent down for her interlacing with her fingers. Kisses were planted on her forehead, lifting her beanie. Songs filled her ears, written especially for her. Bedsheets being tucked over her at night, safe in a flowered basement.
Clothed in love, enveloped in care.
She woke to pounding footsteps, some little and some bigger, padded and professional. Light spread into her little hole, near blinding her, only seeing the red of the sky.
There they were- her siblings and white fluffy bears looking down at her. It took all the strength in her body to climb out, doing her best to not fall back down. Once near the surface, she reached out and hands reached back, just as scared and beaten. They pulled her out, gently and firmly as the bears watched- two with cameras and neon vests, one with an curious interest in their eyes, but concern in their form. She recognized them immediately as Cucurucho.
“Good morning,” they had said, stark and inhuman, “how are you?”
She had signed back, hands shaking asking what happened, why were there months and months of being away from her Dad and Papí. Stuck on that torturous island.
“I think we are okay,” she continued, “it hurts. I felt like a turtle.”
The bear nodded, continuously smiling as Chayanne grabbed her hand. It hurt when he did, pressing into her bruises and cuts, surrounded by dried blood, but she didn’t let go. She never wanted to again.
Running from the island was probably the most terrifying thing she had ever done. Chayanne’s hand moved to her wrist in order to ensure they wouldn’t let go, explosions behind them tripping their siblings as Cucurucho ran ahead of them, yelling at them to follow.
Her lungs started to seize up and she could see the fear in her brother’s eyes when he looked back at her, seeing the danger behind them, and the danger in her lungs.
He stopped, signing quickly, “Get on,” offering his back to her. She climbed on, ignoring the pain as more bruises were pressed down when his arms wrapped under her knees, guiding her hands to his front so they could hold on. She ducked down as she wheezed, Chayanne starting to run again, faster than before.
Dark spots danced in her vision as her lungs fought for air, the ground moving quickly beneath her. She shut her eyes as the explosions came closer and closer, a gun going off twice near them.
She coughed violently when she was put down, a cold board surface startling her eyes open. Chayanne was in front of her, hands on paddles, readying to go. Other boats surrounded them, filled with her siblings and new friends.
“Follow,” Cucurucho said again, and the boats jerked forward, causing her to lean against Chayanne as he began rowing quickly, the water pushing them away from the danger.
She looked back, making eye contact with the worker with an eye plastered to its head. It stood on the shore, watching them go, head tilted slightly with…
She didn’t know.
She sat up, taking long slow deep breaths like Phil had taught her when she couldn’t breathe, grounding herself in the boat with her hands on Chayanne’s shoulders.
Throughout the ride, she could feel the exhaustion come back, no longer tucked away by adrenaline, moving into her shoulders and stiff legs. Chayanne must have felt her sagging at one point because he stopped his rowing and turned around to sign at her, saying, “Stay awake, it’s dangerous to sleep with your asthma as it is right now.”
She had nodded in agreement, despite wanting to curl up and let the world fade away. She would try, for Chayanne’s sake.
She blinked, and then she was standing on a dock, empty boats in the water, a polar bear watching the dirty, broken children sign at them desperately. Tallulah told them she was unbelievably tired, and even holding her brother’s hand hurt, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was readable. Chayanne signed for her, knowing her abbreviations and translated for her tired LSM when she confused it with her typical ASL.
She was lead across her old home, seeing places she’d never thought she’d see again, unable to take it all in. She watched the scattered conversations of her siblings, memories flooding back in all their minds. She didn’t have enough energy to join in.
They were guided past the place where their parents found them, seeing the beaten down glass and wood, dusty floors with scattered assorted footsteps uncovering the white tile. For a brief moment, she saw the hole that lead to her attic, where her Papí found her and began to love her.
They turned the corner to see a purple room, lights bright but warm, beds lining the wall in capsules, a breathing tube in one of them that Tallulah assumed was meant for her.
“Please,” Cucurucho said, tilting their head towards the room and she followed their guidance, not wanting to be hurt anymore. It looked safe enough.
Chayanne stood next to her as Cucurucho gestured to the capsules, saying, “Good,” before turning their attention to the three new children, stretching out their hand in greeting.
“I guess we get in them,” Richas signed and the rest of them nodded.
Chayanne went first, checking for anything out of the ordinary, pushing against the mattress. “It looks safe, I think,” he signed back.
Tallulah turned, going to the capsule with the breathing tube. Chayanne followed her and helped her put the cannula in her nose, gently wrapping it around her ears and inserting it into her nose. In a moment, it was easier to breathe, feeling the air flow into her lungs freely, clearing her vision after living with it foggy for nearly an hour.
She hugged Chayanne tightly, tears finally leaking out of her eyes and he hugged her back, squeezing her bruised ribs. For once, the pain faded to the background, numb and unfeeling.
“Thank you for protecting me,” she signed when they finally let go, seeing his eyes were also filled with tears. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too. I love you, Lulah,” he signed in reply, giving her a weak smile as best he could. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“I love you too,” she smiled back, giving him a small wave.
He stepped down from her capsule, walking over to his. “Good night.”
She took off her blood and dirt splattered boots, putting them neatly next to the bed. She lifted the cloud-like blanket and tucked herself in it, feeling the warmth of the lights and the covers take over her senses.
And she let herself drift.
—
Phil was tired. It seemed to be interwoven with his veins now, constantly drifting between his bones and his heart. In all honesty, he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to last.
Waking up in an room filled with empty bunks- feathers messy beneath him and white sheets tucked up to his shoulders- he didn’t want to get up. He was in the boat, he realized, the one that had held broken passengers away from a nuclear blast.
They had all been silent on the ride there, mourning those they had left behind, forgotten on an exploding planet. There was no telling if they survived, they had to hope, however. The group on the boat wallowed in their survivor’s guilt, holding it tightly against their chests. Phil had been one of them.
He still had it, lodged in his core, the guilt that he had left and his friends, his family, his children had been left behind.
He hated himself for it.
He didn’t deserve to wallow in his pity that his newly healed wings couldn’t handle flight anymore, broken from flying with the load of an enemy’s leader.
He didn’t blame Tubbo for it, only laughed bitterly at the irony. One final sacrifice wouldn’t amount to anything in the eye of The Watcher, despite his deep fascination with the residents. It wouldn’t stop the bomb from destroying everyone they cared for.
But maybe it made The Watcher laugh too.
Phil sat up, climbing down from his bed, his wing’s bandages rubbing against his back, as one of his wings dangled uselessly over the ground.
Out the window, he could see the dragon statue curling upwards. Home. He was home.
Slowly, he made his way back to his house, a combination of paragliding and walking as his broken wings dragged behind. He practically jumped down his ladder when he made it to the top of the wall, opening the trapdoor with a flourish, letting it slam backwards.
Through two doors, he entered his basement, finding Tallulah and Chayanne’s beds. Still empty.
He didn’t know why he expected anything different.
He didn’t want to look at it anymore. He turned around and left again.
Climbing up the ladder, he was rushed with the feeling of chill wispy air flowing across the island, so much different than the humidity of Purgatory. He smiled a bit, taking in the smell of his avocado trees and their potato farm just past a little wall. Tallulah’s flowers were drooping slightly from not having anyone to take care of them for weeks but they could be recovered with a little water.
He used his paraglider to float down to the road below, getting used to the fact that it was the only black concrete left in sight. Black concrete.
How could Phil forget?
He walked down the path, ignoring the way his legs still ached from their near constant use. Purgatory allowed him to ignore a lot of pain. He was simply used to it.
The nights of watching over his team, as they slept together as best they could as intertwined limbs, brought him the only freedom from pain. He used to like the sound of his team’s soft breathing in the dark, the day’s trials forgotten momentarily. It was best for them, they deserved it.
When he wasn’t on watch duty, pain found him in dreams, brought by friend’s punches and code’s swords. Staying awake was easier- his children were already lost. In dreams, they died over and over again.
Phil turned a corner, noticing another indent in the wall, next to the abandoned adoption centre. Was it a testing room?
That was the only thing the Federation really needed. Curiously, he decided why not see if there is anything to read. He walked in and his breath caught in his throat, the sight of it choking him. The children. There they were.
Lined up in capsules filled with beds, blankets moving up and down as they breathed, the children slept. Their faces showed complete exhaustion, cuts littering their skin as frequent as their freckles, and bruises giving them patches of blue and purple.
Tallulah.
He saw her broken boots on the side of the capsule first, running over to see matted hair and dark eyelids. “No…”
He put his hands on the glass separating them, the sound of it causing no change in Tallulah’s form, noting the breathing tube that was surely there because of her asthma.
His little girl. She didn’t deserve this at all.
He turned and saw his brave little boy in an identical bed, his sword leaning against the frame, duck floatie sitting alongside it.
“Chayanne?” Phil said aloud, “can you hear me?”
He received no response from the usually light sleeper. Chayanne practically slept with one eye open, prepared for any type of danger that might present itself. It surprised Phil how beaten he looked.
“You did good,” Phil said, regardless of if he could hear or not, “you can rest now, you were so brave. I missed you, my little hero.”
He felt tired tears well up in his eyes and then he was sliding down the length of the glass and onto the floor.
“I’m so sorry… this should’ve never happened,” he mumbled wetly. “You both deserved so much more than this. I’m so sorry the world doesn’t just let us exist.”
He sighed, hurt in his voice when he continued, “I’m going to stay right here, until you both are back with me.”
He dragged over a chair, only lifting it when he was within the vicinity of the children, making sure he wasn’t the one to wake them. He set it up in between Chayanne and Tallulah’s beds, before sitting down, leaning his broken wing out of the way of the back of it. He waited.
It was only when hours had past and Phil had fallen asleep, head leaning against the glass did Tallulah’s eyelids start to flutter.