Chapter Text
A low angle shot of Wilbur was framed by the stars that shimmered in the deep blue behind him as he walked. “So. I know everybody’s asking me what new things I’ve learnt from being here- oh, sorry.” He muttered, ducking around someone before continuing, “And I’ve gotta say, there is one huge thing, and that is that Tommy has a very low tolerance for the cold.
“But,” he emphasised, “he does this really random little shiver thing and I’m gonna try to show you.” The camera shook violently as Wilbur’s feet were shown springing up the stairs towards a house, and he rang the doorbell.
Then again and again and again, because dirty crime boi, but that’s not important right now.
Tommy eventually came to answer, a small (albeit confused) grin on his face as he saw the camera. “What are you doing, you dolt?”
“Just come out here. Don’t bother grabbing a coat, it’ll only take a minute.”
“Okay,” Tommy frowned. “You know I’m shit with the cold.”
“Don’t worry about it, Tom.” Wilbur insisted.
Tommy rolled his eyes, stepping through the door and shutting it behind him. “You’re a wanker, you know that?”
“Very aware.”
The video fast-forwarded through conversation, slowing down as Tommy shivered. His whole body shuddered with the action, and he made a small sound almost subconsciously. It was almost like a bird’s trill, singing a descending note underneath rolled ‘r’s.
Wilbur clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes grinning at the camera. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Alright, we can go inside now.”
“What - what was the point of this?” Tommy questioned, wrapping his arms around himself.
“You’ll see when it’s posted,” Wilbur dismissed, an evil gleam in his eye.
Tommy groaned. “I don’t like the sound of that.” The screen went to black.
The pinned comment on the video was:
TommyInnit two hours ago
WHAT THE FUKC WILBUR YOU BITCH I AM NOT CUTE
Les Crimeboys Stream (pardon my Italian)
(CW: idk but please correct me)
Tommy grinned upon hearing his Discord chime. “Wimblur, my friend! How’s your inferiority complex coming along?”
Wilbur sighed into the microphone. “Not too wonderful, to be honest. I hardly notice that it’s there sometimes. How’s your superiority complex?”
“It is fucking thriving.” Tommy crowed triumphantly. “Sounds like it’s much more efficient than whatever the fuck you have going on in there.”
There was a quiet, the two glanced at their streams, and then they burst out laughing.
MotherInnit’s regret
(CW: Tommy gets light-heartedly told off on stream, tell me if there’s anything)
Tommy cackled madly as he pulled up the swear counter for the most recent MCC. “I got past two-hundred swears, chat!” he beamed, looking far too happy for the subject matter at hand. “More than double Wilbur too, holy shit.”
He glanced down in surprise as his phone lit up. “What the-” he cut himself off. “MotherInnit is calling.” he spoke, as though in a trance. “I must answer the call.”
There was a quiet click as he pressed down, holding the phone up to the microphone and shouting, “I’m streaming, the chat can hear you, I’m streaming, the chat can hear you, I’m-”
“I get it, child.” MotherInnit responded gruffly.
Tommy groaned. “Not you, too. I’m not a fuckin’ child, man!”
“See, that’s what I wanted to say. You shouldn’t be proud of swearing that much, Tom, it’s a problem.”
Tommy squawked in offense, spluttered as only he could do, and then shouted, “You’re the one who I got the fookin’ problem from! I didn’t know half the swears I use before I met you-” he paused, reconsidering his words. “Shit.”
MotherInnit drawled, “Oh wow, you wouldn’t know many swear words if I hadn’t birthed you. Shock horror.”
“Okay - the emphasis was meant to be on you being the one birthing me, not that I was birthed.”
There was a pause, then MotherInnit muttered, “What did I fucking expect?” and ended the call.
Tommy stared at his phone, mouth agape, obviously trying not to burst out in laughter. When he joined Karl and Quackity’s VC for the stream, he instantly started to be bullied about it.
Thus is the life of the Innit.
*old spiderman theme* anxiety, anxiety, does whatever an anxiety does
(CW: They’re talking about getting an anxiety diagnosis and Phil mentions his urges to pull out his hair, but it’s all being mentioned rather than going into depth. Again, completely light-hearted.)
The camera filmed someone’s hand fiddling with keys, finally inserting them into the lock and twisting. They let themselves into the house, and Tommy’s voice shouted from behind the camera, “I’m back, bitches!”
Wilbur groaned dramatically enough that it could be heard and recognised, and Techno grumbled in the background, “Not my problem.”
“We’re in the living room,” Phil’s voice called as a greeting, amused.
The shot shook violently as Tommy ran, tilting it up to show a door before he burst through it. His housemates were sitting around the living room, looking at him expectantly.
“How’d it go?” Techno asked, somewhat sarcastically. He’d probably seen the camera and decided to be an arse.
“Good news,” Tommy declared. “I’m undergoing further testing for clinic anxiety and depression.”
Techno and Wilbur’s faces lit up as they cheered for him. “Welcome to the club,” Wilbur grinned, looking far too happy for the circumstances.
“Wait, actual question.” Techno sat up straighter, giving him a serious look. “Is it because of brain chemicals or is it circumstantial?”
Tommy hesitated for a moment before responding, “Pretty sure I’m genetically susceptible thanks to Mum, but it’s only serious enough to need treatment because of circumstance, my man.”
Techno grinned, sticking his tongue out to the (other) brunet. “Yeah, suck it, Wilbur.”
Sitting next to him on the big couch, Wilbur smacked his arm. “Anxiety is still anxiety,” he protested. “Don’t leave me out of this because I had shit from birth. Also, if I didn’t have it from birth, I’d probably have developed it by now.” he pointed out.
Techno nodded, looking like he was genuinely considering it before responding simply, “Fair.” Moving on, he turned back to Tommy. “Are you getting drugs?”
“Nah, not until I go to a couple more thingos-” he suddenly burst off into cackles, turning the camera to see Phil’s horrified face.
“Wha-” the man spluttered, throwing his hands in the air. “You little shits, that is in no way a good thing!” He laughed in disbelief. Classic Philza Minecraft, creator of minecraft.
“Aww, Phil,” Wilbur drew his words out with fake sympathy, the other two incapacitated due to their giggles. “Are you feeling left out because you don’t have clinic anxiety?”
“No!” Phil shouted (jokingly), standing up so as to wave his hands around more effectively. “I’m worried about you chaotic fuckers, that’s not something to be happy about.”
“Phil,” Tommy managed to choke out, “It’s okay to feel isolated, man, I get that-”
“Oh my fucking goodness-” Phil collapsed back into the armchair, head buried in his hands and shoulders shaking.
“Is he- crying?” Wilbur stage-whispered to Techno.
“Maybe he needs testing, too.” Techno considered at the same tone.
Tommy snorted. “Phil, you right?”
Phil looked up at him, finally releasing his laughter in full. The other three whooped.
As the noise died down, Tommy turned to his Anxious Buddies™ and asked cheekily, “So. Care to have a club with me, gents?”
The other two agreed quickly.
Phil spoke up, “Am I banned from the club?”
Wilbur shot him a look. “Do you have clinic anxiety?”
“Well, no.” he admitted, “But I might after all this shit.”
The looks they gave him were unimpressed.
He sighed. “Also, I had a bad case of tri- uhh, pulling out my hair, in high school. That’s caused by anxiety.”
They exchanged glances before Techno shrugged. “He could be an honorary member?” he suggested.
Wilbur and Tommy mumbled their agreement, Phil rolled his eyes once more, and the video cut out.
Matpat, amiright?
(CW: I don’t think there’s any, please correct me if I’m wrong)
Tommy was streaming in Minecraft (as was his profession) with nearly a hundred thousand viewers when the chat started freaking out.
MATPATTTT
NEW GAME THEORY
holy fuck how did we miss that, arg doco do the walk of shame
what are yall talkin about
MATPAT SOLVED THE ARG
And so on, and so forth. Tommy read out a few messages with a frown, tabbing out of his game. Then his face lit up.
“Holy shit - Holy fuck, chat, holy fucking-” he looked into the camera with a huge grin. “MatPat tried to solve the Editor Wilbur ARG.” he gave a surprised laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Dude, I was straight-up a part of the fandom back then, that’s so fucking weird - okay, I’m calling Wil.”
It took only a few rings for him to pick up.
“Tommy, aren’t you streaming? What the fuck do you want?” Wilbur groaned, sounding exasperated already.
Tommy’s smile widened. “Game Theory tried to solve the Editor Wilbur ARG.”
There was a moment of silence before Wilbur spoke up, sounding a thousand times more interested. “He finally released it?”
Tommy’s jaw dropped. He stared at the phone in betrayal. “You bitch, you knew he was making an ARG video?”
“I- yeah, he called me about it-”
“You didn’t think to tell me? Motherfucker, I have read that document four separate times, and you’re just casually joining a call with MatPat? I hate you. Come join my stream, we can react to it.”
“I’m not gonna tell you the answer, Tom-”
“Fuck you, by-ye,” Tommy ended the call and slipped his phone back in his pocket. “What a wanker, aye? Aye chat?”
Five minutes later, there was a knock at Tommy’s door and Wilbur entered the frame, looking vaguely dishevelled. Also a bit confused, like a dog barking at a squirrel that’s twenty metres in the air up your neighbour’s tree that is questioning it’s sexuality.
Tommy waved him over, still grinning uncontrollably. “C’mon, Wil, we need to watch it.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes but still took the gestured seat. “I can’t believe you dragged me all the way here just to make me watch something that I already know about.”
“I’m still so upset about that, Will-”
“Why?” Wilbur asked, seemingly perplexed.
Tommy stared at him, aghast. “Because you didn’t tell me! I have been a super fan of yours for seventeen years-”
“What the fuck?”
“-and you still don’t trust me with shit like this? Unbelievable.” Tommy crossed his arms, shaking his head.
Wilbur sighed. “Let’s just watch it.”
“Let’s fucking go!”
Twenty-five minutes later, Tommy was gaping at the screen. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “That was so fucking dark, holy shit, Wil, did he get it right?”
Wilbur fought back a smile and shrugged. “You know I’m not gonna tell you. We’re streaming.”
Tommy whacked his arm, then faltered. “Wait - does that mean you’ll tell me after the stream?” Pause. “Don’t smirk at me, you dramatic bastard egotistical wankstain fuck-”
Yep, this just happened I guess
(CW: Tommy aggressively compliments people and you can fucking fight me on this.)
Jack was almost an hour into streaming when he received a call. He glanced over to his second monitor, eyebrows raising as he accepted. “Hey, Tommy-”
“You fucker. You stupid, asshole, bald shit prick.”
Jack groaned. “What do you want, child?”
“I’m so mad at you. I’m genuinely so upset.” Tommy fumed.
“Why? What the fuck did I do, man?”
“I just saw that clip - you are so good at singing. I hate you so much. You’re the fucking worst person I know.”
Jack gaped at the screen. “I… thank you?”
“Don’t take that as a compliment, you talented bitch. I’m actually gonna kill you, you have all the talent that I spent two years being tutored in, you dumb dickhead bald motherfucker shitbag-” He ended the call.
Jack was left in absolute shock, unable to form words.
That’s what the point of the mask is
(CW: talk about stimming, pure fluff tho, and Tommy nearly choking and dying because he’s laughing so fucking hard.)
Phil was grinding for resources in a Dream SMP stream when Wilbur burst into his room, face flushed and hair a mess. “Tommy just fucking rick-rolled me!” he shouted before Phil could ask, storming into the room and collapsing on a hardcore heart bean bag.
Not even turning around to acknowledge his bullshit, Phil asked, “Yeah? What happened, mate?” as he right-clicked a bed in his search for netherite.
At that moment, Tommy entered as well, all but doubled over from the waist with sobbing laughter. “Wilbur- he just fucking-” he fell backwards against the wall, wiping tears from his eyes.
Wilbur glared at Phil, fuming. “So. I’m here, talking to Tommy about how I can help him, as friends do-”
“Help with what, mate?” Phil asked, rolling his eyes and exploding another bed. (This may or may not have served as a quick warning to make sure that Wilbur didn’t say anything he wasn’t meant to about their personal struggles.)
Tommy tried to straighten up, pulling his face into neutralness. He gave another giggle against his will before schooling his face to wipe away emotion. After nearly two minutes of this, he was in control enough to say, “So basically, Wil and I-” before bursting out laughing again.
Phil continued his stream as though they weren’t there for ten minutes, after which time Tommy spoke up, “So. I’m sitting on the couch, I’ll admit - scrolling through tiktok - and William Gold comes up to me.”
Wilbur glared at him. “Because I am a kind, concerned friend, and want to see how I can assist him.
Tommy grinned. “Just ended up getting roasted.” (He snickered again at the memory, this time catching the laughter before it became a giggle attack.) “He asks me about my vocal stims, mainly stuttering as that’s the most common one on stream. I told him that they were reasonably normal, almost like a way to stop people from talking over me while I figure out my thoughts-”
“Because I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to suppress his stimming,” Wilbur growled (/lh tho), “Because I am a kind and supportive friend.”
Tommy whacked his arm. “Nobody asked, man. He’s here trying to be all nice an’ shit, because he’s a fucking wrongun or something-” Wilbur buried his face in his hands. Tommy visibly choked back another giggle. “-and he tells me that he hadn’t even noticed that I hide so many stims-”
“And this fuck,” Wilbur spat, pointing at Tommy. He wasn’t legitimately mad, with his lips twitching upwards in a smile, but he continued, “Responds with… you know what? Go on, Tom. Go tell the world the absolute bullshit that you just spouted at me. I say that I didn’t notice his stimming, and he responds-”
“That’s what the point of the mask is!” Tommy howled before completely dissolving into his laughter. He leaned back against the wall and slid to the ground, burying his face in his knees. (Many screenshots were taken. The people on Twitter were concerned about why Tommy was sobbing on Phil’s stream, and, instead of clarification, they received links to The Unspoken Song by Rick Astley.)
Wilbur tried to look annoyed for a second before joining in, collapsing on the carpet next to Tommy and wrapping an arm around him. “You’re the fucking worst.”
Tommy just raised his head and nodded through his emotional turmoil (only to be described as sobbing laughter) before burying his face in Wilbur’s neck to avoid his mental breakdown (positive mental breakdowns are people too <3) from being shown online.
Phil didn’t even make a crack about being brothers. He just looked into the camera and continued as he was.
The world adjusted to them living together. They had streams from the same room, there were many more chill vlogs than before, they always burst in on each other’s streams and recordings.
There were a lot of personal changes, too – Wilbur’s parents and step-parents all managed to notice that he seemed much more content than previously.
Techno had spoken quietly about being able to keep positive, about the consistent support that he received without a pause.
Phil mentioned off-handedly that the others always did small things when they noticed he was down – cooking dinner, clearing the table, sickeningly domestic shit that he had never thought could bring a smile to his face.
Tommy was just fucking – ecstatic. He’d sometimes bounce around with a smile for no reason other than “dunno, I’m just glad to be here”.
Of course it was like a family, with just as many ups and downs, but even without considering those dynamics it was clear that they were just that- happy to be there.
Together.