Nursery Rhymes

00

A young brunette called Tobias Smith, otherwise known as Tubbo — was placed in the foster system at a young age, he didn't even have a memory remaining of his biological family — if they even existed out there somewhere. He had pondered for long on which of the many answers he had received to the query of "who" brought him here or "where" had he come from, even as far as "why" it had to be Tubbo of all people, if he was upset enough to phrase it in such a way.

No matter what, he knew the every person he asked was lying. The first time he asked someone, he was given the response of just box. Maybe he had put that poor worker on the spot that day — maybe, not even the people caring for him knew. Do kids around here REALLY just turn up in boxes? At least, that's what he made out of the reply.

Next, people started to make up proper replies to the questions he had prompted. All of it was clearly planned, but not thoroughly calculated enough for him to realise that even at the age of five-years-old, the only people Tubbo knew and trusted were so comfortable lying right to his face. There was always a little detail about his alleged single father which they mistook; one time, a person had skipped out on the detail of "mutton chops" which the others had nailed into his head. Then it was the reasons this "father" was a single father in the first place — this was the one that finally lead Tubbo to ask. "Do you think I'm STUPID?"

To be fair, that was a more recent worker that he had asked and then gone on to berate that day, but if you can't handle being told off by someone barely nearing six-years of age, maybe you picked the wrong career? Changing nappies, putting food and drinks on a kids table and tending to wounds is all fine — but as soon as one of them catches on to the sheer deception in that place Tubbo had made an adult cry. For the first time ever. It was thrilling. He could finally take his power back.

Tubbo had grown up too fast, if he had taken the time to honestly look back at himself instead of just seeing his childhood through a lens of hatefully red tainted sclera which burned in the bottom of his eyelids, now ten-year-old Tubbo having tears of anger threatening to spill down his newly flushing, warm cheeks. It would have been embarrassing, if anyone happened to step in.

And guess what? Someone happened to step in. They hadn't learnt the first, second, nor the numbered list of other times in which Tubbo had bullied, intimidated and even manipulated the other children out of his room — this was undoubtedly another roommate to be tormented, he strained a shout from raging out of his lips for the single reason of not wanting to be heard with a tearful squeak in his tone. "Tubbo? Are you awake," The door creaked further open.

He sniffled. "You should've knocked. Asshole." He cursed in a whisper, luckily the word was either ignored or hadn't been picked up by the dumb ass ladies old age hearing. "You're right, I apologise. You must be tired, and it was quite inconsiderate of me."

Those words had eased his tears back down to be bottled deep and deeper, to be released on whoever they were assigning as his new victim. "Can I have a word? It is important," She told Tubbo with this off-putting smugness on her wrinkled mug. "I promise." Tubbo groaned, then sat up to reach for the light switch on his bedside table, flicking the light on to illuminate some blonde kid hidden behind the old lady like a scared dog. He shifted to seat himself up more straight, back against the squeaking metal bed frame which Tubbo had hit his head on many a-times before.

"This; is Thomas. You can call him Tommy." The old hag gestured toward the blonde, trying to urge him forward and further into the yellowy-orange tinged light. A set of blue eyes locked on Tubbos, watching. Waiting, for something. "And?" Tubbo spat, awaiting the typical lines they always spun up to raise his sympathies for the up and coming victims to his wrath.