Work Text:
It goes like this:
Fundy gets into a fight with Wilbur, his dad, and after a few harsh words thrown back and forth from either side, Wilbur yells for Fundy to get out.
Shocked, Fundy stammers that Wilbur doesn’t really want him to leave, but Wilbur is persistent and angry, and shoves Fundy’s hoodie into his arms before pushing him toward the front door.
The older man opens the front door and with an angry scowl on his face that Fundy can tell has hints of hurt, Fundy is locked outside his own house.
His head is swirling with emotions. Shock, anger, regret, fear are a few of the more prominent ones that he feels. Fundy is outside of his house, with only his phone and a hoodie. No money, no where to go.
“What the fuck.” Fundy mumbles to himself, tears starting to start burning at his eyes. He can’t cry right now, he knows, because Wilbur is probably only going to laugh at him if Fundy doesn’t start walking. Wilbur always lacked sympathy after their fights or arguments.
Still, a whimper pushes past his lips as he starts to walk down the sidewalk. An ugly sob tears his way out of his throat, hiccuping and whimpering. Fundy has no where to go, and he’s probably going to freeze before the night is over.
He pulls the hoodie on, burying himself deep in the soft comforting fabric. Panic nips at him, but Fundy is so tired he can’t physically panic. Feeling his phone in his pocket, Fundy vaguely thinks of who he can call or text. It’s cold, and he’s so tired and upset and Fundy just wants to sleep.
Pulling the phone out of his pocket, Fundy scrolls through his contacts. He has no idea who he could call.
Dream, George, and Sapnap were all no goes, since Fundy was pretty sure they all didn’t like him. And Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Purpled were also definite ‘no’s, considering they all lived with their families, and Fundy definitely didn’t want to explain to Eret, Phil, Niki, or Ponk why he was outside at 11 at night.
Sighing, he scrolls a little further down, eyeing his ‘Ram Dad’ contact. Wilbur had been pissed when he saw that as Schlatt’s contact name, but Fundy hadn’t changed it.
Guilt knaws at him, but he presses on the ‘Call’ button.
He presses it the phone against his ear, glancing around the dark streets. It only rings for a few seconds before Schlatt’s voice, thick with sleep, answers him. “Hello?” He asks.
The older man’s voice is groggy, tired. “Fundy?” He asks after a moment of Fundy’s silence.
A sob breaks through his throat. Tears burn at his eyes, and he cries out a stuttering, “S-Sch-latt,” As Fundy falls to his knees on the sidewalk.
Sounding a lot more awake, Schlatt asks hurriedly into the phone, voice coming out crackly, “Kid? What’s wrong?” He asks. His tone drips with concern and worry that makes Fundy’s heart swell with warmth. At least somebody cares.
“Wil-Wilbur kick-kicked me o-out,” Fundy stammers out, another sob leaving him roughly as he pushes the heels of his palms to his eyes harshly.
Over the phone, Fundy can barely pick up Schlatt sighing, and commotion on his side. “I’m coming to pick you up, kid. Where are ya’?” He asks, still sounding tired but a lot more alert than he had.
“R-Right down b-block, on th-the side- w-walk.” Fundy whimpers, rubbing his eyes.
Schlatt sighs again, “Okay, kid. It’s okay, Fundy, you’re okay. I’ll be there really soon, okay?” He murmurs, voice low and comforting, so deep it grounds Fundy into reality.
He nods, even though Schlatt can’t see him, and whispers back, “Please hurry.”
On the other side of the phone, Schlatt feels his heart seize. He’s gone through this situation multiple times. Wilbur always overreacts and kicks Fundy out. Sometimes he’ll call Phil or Techno to pick the boy up, but most of the time Fundy’ll be out on his own.
“Of course, kid.” Schlatt murmurs gently, praying that Fundy will be okay.
Grabbing his keys and rushing out into his car, Schlatt bites the inside of his cheek, feeling the scars from how many times he’d done it. “You good?” He asks.
“Mmm.. no,” Fundy mumbles, and Schlatt appreciates the honesty. “That’s okay. What do you wanna watch when you get to my place?” He asks, trying to distract the boy.
There is quiet for a moment, before Fundy mutters, “Can we watch Fox and the Hound?” He asks softly, voice hesitant, as if he expects to be laughed at or told no. Schlatt could never tell the younger boy no, to be completely truthful.
He’s driving now, putting the phone on speaker so he can still talk to Fundy. “Course, kid. Maybe we can get snacks from the dollar store.” He offers, if only to keep the conversation going.
Fundy hums, considering it, “The one near your house?” He asks.
“Yeah. The one near my place.” Schlatt confirms, smiling slightly. For not the first time, he’s glad he lives so close to Wilbur. In recent years, it seems to be extremely useful. Schlatt pulls up next to where Fundy is on the sidewalk, looking shaky and nervous. Schlatt doesn’t blame the boy.
He unlocks his doors, turning up the heat as Fundy gets in his car. The phone call is hung up, and Fundy shoots him an anxious smile, “Hey.” He mutters, fiddling with his fingers.
Sighing, Schlatt gives him a half smile of his own, “Hey, kid.”
“Sorry, ‘bout you having to pick me up.” Fundy stammers, glancing at him. There is a soft hum of music, too low for either of them to pick up the words, but it fills the quiet none the less.
Schlatt shakes his head, starting to drive, turning left. “It’s no problem, Fundy. Your dad is just a dick.” He says, glancing at the teen with humor in his grin and amusement in his eyes. Fundy huffs out a small laugh, nodding.
Pulling into the dollar store parking lot, Schlatt puts the car in park. “Okay, kid, lets get some snacks for this awesome ass movie night we’re about to have.” He says lightly.
They get out of the car and go inside in comfortable silence. Schlatt immediately gravitates toward the Honey Barbecue Fritos and twizzlers, getting two packs of twizzlers as Fundy grabs a bag of cherry sours and a bag of Trolli’s sour gummy worms.
“Want drinks?” Schlatt offers, motioning toward the freezers, filled with pops and iced coffees, energy drinks and juices. Fundy shrugs, grabbing a Dr. Pepper and looking back at Schlatt, silently asking if he wants anything.
Schlatt motions toward the Fanta, “Purple.” He says. Fundy rolls his eyes good naturedly, “Why don’t you just call it grape?”
They’ve had this conversation probably a hundred times, but still, Schlatt laughs. “What color is it, kid? Purple, or grape?” The familiar question makes Fundy just roll his eyes again, but Schlatt can see a small smile on the boy’s lips.
“Okay, kid. Let’s pay real quick. I don’t want to be in public with my pajamas on for any longer than I have to.” He says, only half joking.
They quickly pay for the drinks and snacks, and Schlatt grabs a teriyaki beef jerky bag last minute before the two leave the store. “Thanks, Schlatt.” Fundy murmurs, snacking quietly on his gummy worms in the passenger's seat.
“‘S fine. You got pj pants, or do you need to borrow some of mine?” Schlatt asks, glancing down at Fundy’s jeans. The boy obviously didn’t have pajama pants, but Schlatt didn’t want to embarrass him by straight up offering. Fundy flushes a little, but mutters, so quiet Schlatt almost doesn’t catch it, “I need to borrow yours. Again.” He says, the last word said with obvious self loathing.
Shrugging nonchalantly, Schlatt stares straight at the road, “It’s all good, Fundy. I have a lot of them, anyway.” He says.
Relaxing a little, Fundy nods, eating another gummy worm. “Okay.” He says, sounding only half convinced by Schlatt’s words.
After a few moments of silence, Schlatt pulls into his apartment’s parking lot, and parks in his spot. “C’mon, kid. We got movies to watch.” Schlatt says, grabbing the bag of snacks and drinks. He puts his arm around Fundy’s shoulders when they start toward his apartment, and feels Fundy melt against him.