The Childrens Rebellion

no, tubbo, he was my father

"I'm the Chief Operations Officer of the L'manburg," Tubbo explained later when they'd been forced back into their cells.

"They'll hear you," Tommy hissed, afraid their cover had already been blown. A cold sweat began to leak from his skin—what if he was still alive? What if he was here, anticipating the tinniest slip-up, and the opportunity had just manifested itself—

"I carry a jammer with me at all times," Tubbo said breezily, interrupting Tommy's languid stream of thoughts—thankfully, as they'd been getting out of hand. When had he fallen so far as to slip up to that degree? "We're free to talk without a chance of someone overhearing us." He smiled kindly. "You said your parents were part of the Galactic Rebellion, yeah?"

"Parent," Tommy admonished absentmindedly. "I never knew my mother." Much. "My dad taught me a bit about hacking—hence the door—and we traveled with my aunt."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tubbo said. "Do you know who they were to us?"

"They never told me they were a part of the rebellion," Tommy explained. "But—I knew. Later on, once I had some time to think about it." He snorted. "And I had a long time to think about it."

"You've been here since you were ten."

Tommy glanced up at him, mouth opening in a question—and then snapped it shut when he recognized that Tubbo had the datapad back out. "Yes. I'm sixteen now." He flushed at Tubbo's raised eyebrow. "Nearly seventeen." Tubbo didn't have to know that he had been—elsewhere. For good portions of his time captured. Tubbo saw his first entry date—Stardate 92340.81—to the current date—Stardate 98859.56. And that was what was necessary and all Tubbo needed to know.

He was suddenly glad of the thoroughness he had gone through to make sure Tommy would not be missed. Tubbo would not know what he had been part of. What he had survived, and how far he had fallen.

"That matches up to—" Tubbo cut himself off. "Classified information."

"Wow, and your mission isn't one of them?" he remarked sarcastically, pushing his dark thoughts out of his head and back into convening with his fellow teenager. It made things more manageable.

"Not like...that," Tubbo said. He sighed. "It's complicated."

"What are you even here for, Tubbo?" Tommy asked.

"Knowledge," the boy said. "As I said, we're trying to find information on the Artifact." He seemed slightly uncomfortable, as if he'd already revealed too much. Which he had. Even Tommy knew that much.

"You mean the Artifact the Rebellion stole?" Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow and thinking of individual conversations that had taken place throughout the course of his life—some of which remained ingrained in his head in his nightmares.

"We didn't steal anything," Tubbo snapped. "They're accusing us of stealing the Artifact, but we didn't and—" he sighed. "Sorry. I forgot you've been here for a while and only know the word of the Arachnids." Tommy clamped his lips shut and tried not to breathe too hard.

"So...why are you trying to find it?" he asked hesitantly, after a second of regaining himself, and clasping his hands behind his bed on the cot, staring at the tiled ceiling.

"So we can end this galactic war," Tubbo said. "Most of us are sick and tired of it. We've lost too many family members, too many friends." His mouth scrunched into a thin line. "I lost my parents two years ago."

"I'm...sorry," Tommy said. And...he is. He surprised himself when he said that—well, not when he said it, but when he realized he meant it.

"It's fine," Tubbo said with a sad smile. "They weren't excellent parents anyway. I—miss them anyway. I miss them for my sister." He smiled again, more to himself than any occupants of the room. "They loved her, even if they didn't love me. She's training to be a medical officer," he added, almost in afterthought.