Chapter Text
The brambles hurt as Tommy cut through them. Though perhaps he was slightly to blame, having taken the worst possible escape route through the forest. Every twig snapped and fern unearthed painted an all too obvious path in his wake. Sun dried moss -water that previously soaked it with the late torrent of rainfall from early march, now dry and gasping for a drink, was left slightly indented by the blondes' frantic footsteps. The scattered pollen distrubed by his hurried running made it obvious of his path. A painting was made of broken twigs and half snapped tree branches. What was once such an ordinary happenstance, now gave aid to his family's once frantic search.
Wilbur stalked forward through the long grass, no longer hurried in his movements. Like a cat knowing that they had caught the canary. He knew that truly, no matter how far the blonde would run. They would catch him.
True to this theory, Tommy found himself tripping upon the root of a willow tree, warped in its growth. The blonde soon came to a painful halt upon the too dry forest floor. His body scraped against the bark of the root, its rough surface cutting Tommy's forearms where his cotton tunic did not cover, and he found when he looked down the blood covered the shirt’s hem. The boy pushed himself up off the floor and turned his head to peer behind him, being met with no vicious smile and no brother ducking underneath the trailing, dew-laden branches. He ran once more.
Though this too was short lived, his already scraped arms burnt from where they collided with a chest glamorously decorated in silk, though this time it was shed of the ermine fur that usually sat upon his families shoulders.
Harsh hands gripped the boys shoulders. Tommy wretched his body away from the brunette and quickly ripped the fingers off of his shoulders, stumbling onto the floor beneath him in a moment of misguided adrenaline. True to his namesake, Tommy felt caught beneath the feet of his very own minotaur. Though this time there was no golden thread leading him out of the labyrinth, he was trapped by himself in the dark with a great beast.
“Careful baby brother, You know how I feel about you hurting yourself, though that's rather redundant now isn't it, seeing as you already have” The minotaur tutted and crouched above his Theseus, with gentle hands he cradled the boy's forearms within his almost human hands. Though Tommy did not fall for the facade of kindness, all too familiar with the grimace behind the mask to fall for the chagrin grin upon it.
“Fuck you. You rat bastard. Get your vile hands off of me, you don't control me”
Wilbur huffs - it's an irritated noise, the sound before the palm, the clear sign that Tommy would regret his words when blunt nails dug craters into his soft skin. Except this time there were no hands reaching towards him. Only the steady presence of finger tips tracing patterns around the flesh wounds upon his arms.
Chapped lips laid a kiss upon the biggest scrape on his arm. Spit stinging. Tommy found it rather telling of the love he shared with the man before him. Gentle, though painful, no matter the padding that attempted to cover a backhand.
“Don’t speak to me like that Theseus. Don’t dig your grave any deeper” Wilburs tone was cruel, as if his every word was designed purely to eat at Tommy’s guilt ridden heart. To enjoy the iron that would coat his lips with every bite. Blue eyes caught cedar and the crease in his brother's brow brought tears to Tommy’s eyes. So cruel in nature. As if he knew of his position as Minotaur. As if Wilbur -his once cherished brother- was going to enjoy his demise at the bottom of the cliff. He would gaze triumphantly at his mangled corpse, then pose it in furs and silk, all to appease that cruel streak, the one which claimed his family's hearts.
In once fell motion, Wilbur stood, his bruising hold never loosening from the boy, and so he dragged the boy with him. The hands gripping his forearms fell. Though, as soon as the grip fell, it was replaced around his shoulder, smooshing his head to his brother's chest.
A gentle kiss was placed upon golden curls, and as if instinct, Tommy found himself reaching his fingers up to grasp loosely on the silk and linen waistcoat that covered the scars that he knew claimed his brother's chest. Though his motions were gentle, the boy angrily mumbled threats and swears under his breath. A final act of spite.
As if a sick taunt from the gods above, Tommy heard his heartbeat. And it made him feel sick. The very premise that his family could enact such horrors upon him, keep him tightly chained until his flesh was peeled off and left upon soft silk bed sheets for the staff to clean, and they still be human, ached. How could someone so human be so horrible?
Silently, his older brother removed his left arm from his curls and looped his arm under his legs, motioning the boy like a doll, his doll. Tommy's upper lip curled in disgust, in ire for the very notion that he belonged to anyone other than himself.
Wilbur stepped out of the forest, leaving an imprint in the rug of clover below him and a rustle in the petal of the wildflowers that ruled over the grassy floor of the forest,
Silence was sovereign over the forest floor. Devouring the drip of water until it made no sound, and halting the hares in their steps upon the moss hampered dirt. Wilbur made no move to speak, and instead gently cradled his little brother's neck within his hand, playing with the baby hairs on his nape. Soothing the ugly sobs that convulsed through the blonde's body. No false whispers of calm left the brunette's mouth. He wasn't going to lie to Tommy. That would do no good. Afterall his brother wasn't an idiot. He knew that Tommy was expecting the anger that would follow suit.
Wilbur set his brother down when he had crossed the threshold into the ramshackle house his brother had called home for the past four years. It was foul to think of his little freshly 13 year old baby brother spending his first birthday alone without his family within the peeling oak walls of the cabin. The boy had been 12 when he first left. Mere days before his 13th birthday.
He looked at his younger brother's hands that were still tightly clutched upon his chest. And as if removing a dying man from a medicine bottle, He peeled the fingers away. Paying no mind to the sob that responded to the action. He gazed upon his now 17 year old brother, and still felt the need to baby him. To keep him tucked away and out of harm's way. Wilbur opened his mouth to speak and the blonde's breath hitched. The brunette smiled - a cruel thing.
“Well? I’m waiting?” The elder asked in mock interest, not quite playful and but yet not full of hate.The boy responded with a scrunchy of the nose and an affronted move of his head. Clearly confused about the action but still too prideful to ask.
“Did you have fun?” The boy loudly scoffed and fixed him with a glare.
“Shut up Wilbur.” A loud cacophonous cackle left Wilburs mouth at this, and he squeezed his arm from where laid lazily around the blonde's shoulders. A clear show of leverage, of power over his future. After all, he was the cat, and he was bringing home the canary.
“Not to worry little brother. I understand” this caused Tommys brow to furrow further, if that was even possible. “Afterall, you can never have too much fun without your big brother Wilbur anyway, can you?” the brunette taunted, as if speaking to a young child. Tommy showed clear distaste with this notion. Bringing another laugh from the brunette, as he swaggered out the kitchen door and towards the wide open storm door, eggshell white chipping off with old age.
It was here that Tommy truly saw the fate that awaited him, in the form of an ornate black carriage. Golden accents shining obviously in the summer sun. The boy began to struggle in the hold, but it was firmly cowed by a harsh yank on his hair.
There, before the carriage, in all of his quiet threats, stood Technoblade. Who, unlike Wilbur, looked every bit of the man he remembered. Hair slightly longer now and pulled into a delicate braid that nestled gently over his shoulder. His beard groomed and neat. It pained the boy to see him so familiar, so like the brother he violently cherished and adored. Idolised him in his very being. Very essence. He bore no victorious smile. And at the sight of his younger brother, trapped within his twin's hold, he gave it but an eyebrow raise, as if inquiring into the boy’s stupidity, and turned to open the door of the carriage.
Opting to ride with them instead of outside along with the half a dozen soldiers that gathered lazily around the carriage, Technoblade hoisted himself into the cushioned carriage. And suddenly Tommy felt ashamed of the obvious tear tracks upon his cheeks, and his red rimmed eyes. He felt illegitimate under their scrutinous gazes. In response he raised his eyes and fixed them with a look of fury, tilting his head forward slightly, as if to dare the foot soldiers to pass judgement. Their returning gazes were tired and quite frankly bored of this quest.
Wilbur fiercely gripped his shoulder now, as if the outside was a threat. He cupped his upper arm and pushed forward up the carriage steps and into the cushioned inside.
It was dark inside, curtains pulled taut blacked out the sun, clearly meant for the winter months to conserve heat. Now they only stood to make the room all the more uncomfortable. The door slammed shut behind him as Wilbur stepped inside and took a seat upon the leather buttoned upholstery.
Tommy stood staring at the pink haired man who sat rather regally in front of him. An air of aggression and a promise of violence was clear in his posture. Though as gentle as the night he left, Technoblade reaches his callous hands up towards Tommy’s and envelopes the blondes' palms in his own. The touch hurts, not in the same way Wilburs nails did, not physically at least. But when Tommy feels the gentle caress of sword worn hands draw circles unto his own, he cannot help blubber with tears. His previous drying of his tears is useless now in the mouth of the bear.
Gentle shushes leave the man as he moves the blonde down to meet him upon the leather seats. A kind hand brushes through Tommy’s curls, still holding his tanned skin as a comfort, but indulging itself in the sun-kissed hair. For Technoblade was always somewhat of a Midas.
Tommy buries his face in the crook of his brother's neck, and basks in the gentle caresses.
“I know, you must be tired, hmm?” A scoff left the brunette adjacent from them, Tommy merely let out a whine at the sound of his brother's voice, so deep and gruff, it enclosed around his entire world and drowned him in the blood of the covenant. “Shh, I know Runt, We should have thought ahead. You’re only small, we can’t expect you to be smart. But that’s okay, it's all going to change now” Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed against his eldest brother’s neck
“We’re going to keep you all tucked away, chained up and comfy, perhaps we’ll cut off your legs and keep you in bed so you can’t run, or rip out your eyes, make you blind, needy. Is that what you want? Hmm?” Sanguine ire soaked the piglins voice.
Tommy shook with fear and a strange set of relief, as if in the mouth of a beast, waiting for its jaws to snap, yet safe from the predators outside.
“M’sorry…Please” A feeble beg, Tommy knew this, though he found he couldn’t find it in himself to care if it meant he could gain freedom, or if God was kind, forgiveness.
“But! You ran Little one, Didn't you? Silly Boy we would have given you anything had you stayed, this is the consequence of your stupidity” Wilbur singsonged, and though Tommy couldn’t see his face, he could clearly hear the false smile in his voice.
Technoblade’s hand moved from its home within his curls and wrapped itself around Tommy’s chin, squeezing harshly as it wretched it away from his shoulder and into Technoblades line of sight. Despite the harsh grip on his chin, a gentle thumb dried furious tears from the boy's eyelashes, and moved to smooth out the scrunch of his brow, painfully paternal, despite him being his brother.
Black sclera peered into Tommy’s soul from where he perched upon his brother's lap. The blonde opened his mouth to argue but was met with a harsher hold.
“Hush, my Theseus, this is not for you to cry about. Do not waste your tears, your eyes are far too precious for that” A heaving breath left the blonde, his entire skeleton relaxing from its rigid form.
Tommy only hoped that relaxation would last.
————————————————————
The Antarctic was cold, that enough was obvious, but for Tommy, who had spent the last 4 years lounging in the sun, like a cat greedy from the heat, it scalded. Its teeth ripped at tanned skin- poorly dressed for the weather in his billowing cotton shirt- and ate at the organs beneath. The cold crawled on its belly into the boy's flesh, and Tommy thought if it were to get any colder, he would soon be brought to tears.
The cold brought with the recent reveal of winter taking its toll on the land. The carriage stuttered upon a rock as it halted its move within a once evergreen threshold, painted in the frozen leaves that stand vacant upon the ground in a mockery of laurels; the apparent autumnal leaves an ode to the grievances of passing time.
Technoblades firm hold hadn’t let up within the hours of travel, Tommys joints had frozen in a painful semblance of bedsores formed from days spent within blankets and pillows. Though no matter how much he wriggled, or whined, the hands that clamped upon his thigh and back never waivered.
And now that he was seeing the high peaks of the palace, that far more deserved the title stronghold, Tommy felt as if he was grieving.
The door to the bespoke carriage opened, and Technoblade stood, his grip growing impossibly harsher, Tommy felt dread at the thought of tending to the bruises that formed upon his skin. Wilbur followed suit as they stepped out onto the stone courtyard, numerous fountains decorated the pebbled driveway, the sturdy boughs of elder spruces so too lined the paths that entwined the inner circle of the palace’s courtyards.
Wilbur cooed as Tommy brought his hand up to his chest, cradling them in the cold. The brunette attempted to reach towards his baby brother but was scolded by a warning chuff from the piglin brute before him. Wilbur fixed his elder brother with a scathing glare and instead whispered several mocking praises towards his smaller brother, cruel, and ever so revealing of his anger.
Dominating spruce doors held president over the snow, perhaps it was in their character to be away from the cold, after all the gates of hell are always said to be burning, blistering and perhaps in a way comforting to Tommy. Like the kiss of death would be to a tortured soul. That was what those doors truly were. The hands of Thanatos, pale and sickly, yet familiar all the same.
The polished stone floors echoed from where Technoblade trudged off of the trailing impressionist carpet, embroidered with the myths and escapes of the Gods. If Tommy had turned his head slightly to the left he would have seen Wilbur shake off snow on the depiction of the Trojan war, Paris’ face stained with ice. Thought that was quickly fixed at the hands of a too-attentive servant.
Technoblade walked through an archway and continued down towards another set of spruce doors, and though at that moment Tommy knew where he was, he had never felt more alienated in his life. The cold of the palace wrought by the forming blizzard outside the stone brick walls ate at his vocal cords. No sound left his mouth, as if a canary halting its song in the presence of carbon monoxide. Before the spruce Tommy is set down, and though his legs ache the blonde stands.
For the doors to hell have opened, and from within there was silence. Courtiers hushed in their chatterings at the sight of the third imperial prince. Long gone. Tiny hitches of breath could be heard from all corners of the chamber, at the sight of the once regal prince, now dishevelled and bruised. A mark of love for his family, but a clear forfeit of the prince’s freedom for all else who looked upon him.
And if the throneroom was the gates of hell, then upon a throne of cobalt and spruce sat the devil. His too perfect blonde hair, a few shades closer to silver than Tommys was usurped by his crown, silver gold and embellished with emeralds. And though his brothers wore clothing to travel in, his father sat in an entire outfit of ermine fur and silk, a heavy cloak draped upon his shoulders. The same shade of azure as the drapery that cast the cold from the glass windows that lined the room.
His father sat forward in his seat. Spine straight, for he knows of the power that is embedded within his flesh. Emperor Philza Watson, a man of rhetoric, and fierce execution. In fact they had a very square set up for the occasion. A popular event that the locals of the continent found joy within. In a night spent under his fathers covers, when it was too cold to bear his own room, his father had remarked that it was this ruling over the nature of death that granted him power. And Tommy held little doubt that his father would have any regret over seeing his friends heads on the chopping block. Infact, the blonde would argue that he would enjoy it.
A cruel smile played upon the elder blondes lips. Phil’s hands had clasped together over his lap, and from where his elbows rested upon the bespoke arms of his throne it casted shadow over the floor beneath him. If Tommy squinted it would be as if he had wings.
“Hello Starlight, you look a little worse for wear, huh mate?” Although his fathers face tells stories of aged earl grey tea and hand woven blankets, Tommy cannot turn his face from the honey-suckle bruises that would cover his face should he speak back to the man.
Upon the boy's silence Phil tutted his tongue and shook his head slightly, as if disbelieving of his son's impudence. “Not speaking to me? That's alright little one we’ll catch up on your lovely holiday later. Prince Wilbur, if you could be so kind to take your brother back to his room. I don't suppose he still remembers his way after so long away from home” A forced chuckle swarmed the room as courtiers sprinted to be loved by their emperor.
Wilbur stalked forwards and yanked the boy's shoulder from the pinked haired man's grip, smiling coyly at him before tucking him into his side and strutting off. Clearly affronted by the lack of contact that they had shared within the time in the carriage. Like a petulant child Wilbur clutched the blonde close, as if a toy in a courtyard.
And though his brother chattered on their return to his room, Tommy stayed silent, simply gazing out upon the gardens. It appeared his father had kept them tidy despite his disappearance. Almost as if he was sure his son would return. As if this escape was but a game to him. A rebellious stage.
“Theseus? Are you listening to me? You know I do ever so hate it when you ignore me” This time his brother sounded coy, a tone the blonde knew all too well upon his brother. The older boy was all too easily affronted.
“I am….i swear it...” Tommy’s voice trailed as he met the gaze of his older brother, instead of the offended gaze he thought he would meet; it was instead that of a hurt child. A look so unbecoming for a prince of the Antarctic Empire, yet so familiar upon his face.
“I’m just…..mourning.” the death of his freedom went unsaid.
Once perhaps Tommy would have whined about his plight to his brother. Yet time waited for none. And as it passed so did it drag change along with it.
And so Tommy kept silent, the tears that pricked at his eyes served as enough response to the once comforting touch of a hand upon his nape.
The doors to his chambers came into view, grand carvings painted vines and hyacinths upon the wood, a semblance of the outdoors he admired so, they wound themselves around the frame and towards the handle, the ornate gold strikingly cold to the touch. Though, the blonde pressed forwards.
A scent of holly and dried oranges hit his nose, his father had continually imported it after Tommy exclamining that it smelt like christmas on a night in July. The rooms’ walls were covered in painting, its dark floral designs depicted song birds perched upon branches, the stone floors were draped in carefully woven carpet, reminiscent in the design of the door, mis-matched carpet covered the floor, stopping the cold from seeping up through the floorboards. Everything felt eerily similar and Tommy was sure that if he didn’t have his memories of the days of warm sunlight then it would be as if he never left at all.
Blankets in different shades of blue were piled atop his bed, their soft cotton providing cover from the harsh cold piling in from the bay windows lining the wall in front of the door, It’s shutters a deep brown, covered in intricate paintings of lilies and violets, the blonde recalled the night he spent with Wilbur painting the petals to match the ones in the book he was studying.
He was guided to the mattress and rather un-becomingly thrown upon the blankets. Wilbur followed suit and sat upon the bed, a halo upon his head, painted by the morning sun, lacking warmth despite its appearance. there was something in his eyes. painful and mourning. as though he believed that Tommy wasn’t truly there, as if the boy in front of him was merely a ghost of his once loved little brother. As if the boy of pallid blue eyes and golden curls that lived only within his dreams was reduced to memories of an oppressive youth, one which once ruled his face, and the smiles that adorned it.
Wilbur searched his features and found himself grasping for any hint of the young boy he had wept over, for a sign that the little boy in front of him was the very same who invited him to cuddle under the sheets, and who sang obnoxiously out of tune whenever the brunette played his guitar. And when meeting the aquamarine eyes before him the weary man of mundane horror wondered:
Could it be possible that this stranger before him had a life even slightly more vivid and more complex than his own?
Could the blonde he grasped onto only in memories have lived in more than just dreams forever fixated upon, danced through more than dazed moments, laced with reality rather than the feeling moments derived in treacle.
“What happened to us dearheart?” The brunette spoke. words encompassed by grief
The blonde's lower lip wobbled “I wanted to live.. really live…..not some shitty excuse of it”
“Why couldn’t you have done that here? Why couldn’t you have done that with me?” he whispered. A quiet little thing. Though scathing nonetheless. A trait so telling of the love they shared
“You forget though, Will. You never would have let me, not really” the boy whispered back, though his words were not gentle. They cut and feasted on the tears that threatened to fall from his brother's eyes. Tommy found himself aching to see the tear tracks ruin his brother's face. To cover it in blotches of red, to see the hallow skin be painted in something other than a sickly olive.
“I missed you '' Wilbur moved his hands from tightly fisting the sleeves of his blouse and rested them upon Tommys cheeks. The boy closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he rested within the palms of his brother. The brunette brushed his fingertips over prominent cheekbones and across freckle kissed cheeks. Dry skin felt cool against the heat that came with tears. Wilbur placed his thumbs over the blondes eyelids, massaging the skin and drying it of any tears. Tommy found it helped. Sorrow was replaced with exhaustion and the blonde found himself tiring in the hands of his brother.
Tommy slipped forward and placed his forehead on Wilburs chest. Breathing slowly before exhaling softly. “I missed you too.” he spoke quietly. It was a statement only meant for the ears of his brother. Only meant to be heard within the vacuum of which they existed. Beings of matter, not existence.
Wilbur's hands had moved now, one coming to rest over the blonde's shoulders, firmly placing him against his chest as he rested his chin against golden curls. and the second cupped the nape of Tommy's neck. holding his head against his own collarbone. a kiss was pressed against the boy's head. and Wilbur turned his head to rest his cheek against soft curls, turned honey by the sun.
“If you truly missed me Toms, you would have come back” Wilbur felt the younger boy shake his head from where it rested against his chest. “No? silly boy, you know better than to lie to me”
Wilbur tucked a curl behind Tommy’s ear and cradled his nape when his hand rested. “No matter darling, you’ll learn soon enough the consequences of actions, we were too lenient before that I know. That will change, don’t you worry..” the man trailed off. Attention caught elsewhere.
Tommy lifted his head slightly, only to wish he hadn’t. Before them stood their father. Regal in his attire, silks and ermine fur coated his chest and atop his head sat an affluent crown, sapphires and emeralds painting an impressionist masterpiece in jewels. And unlike Wilbur, and unlike Technoblade, Phil held his emotions true. There was no sanguine smile painted over anger, and no calmly trained brow. Perhaps that was the scariest thing about his father, was how calm his anger was. There was no attempt to hide it, nor any welcoming facade on his face.
The older blonde stalked towards him, every footstep confident, yet so full of grief. Phil stopped right at the foot of the bed, staring at his sons from where they sat, cradled against each other, as if four years younger.
The elder blonde motioned to the brunette and he reluctantly let go of his brother, in favour of scurrying out of the door. Presumably to find Technoblade so that they could scheme ways to enact justice against their baby brother.
Though this now left just Tommy and Phil. A fate the boy had hoped would never come.
“You should be thanking me y’know, after all, I did convince your brothers against blinding you” Phil sat upon the mattress “They wanted to keep your eyes to themselves, something about teaching you that they had complete control over the life that you saw, that you led.” Sharp nails dug into soft skin “I would be thankful, I may yet still change my mind”
Tommy lowered his chest to the blankets and grasped at the material of his fathers trousers. Whispering out pitiful thanks behind blubbering sobs. Hushes left his fathers mouth as his head was raised from where it rested against the elder blondes' knees.
Blue eyes met as they stared at one another. Grief stricken and yearning. “Though, I still demand blood” his father released his face and he stood. “So! I will be executing every single person in the town that you ran off to. It's on the southern border afterall. Lord Dream shouldn’t be too hard to convince.” In response to the sweet threats Tommy shouted his protest with an unintelligible noise. A scolding tut responded in kind.
“No little one? Then what do you suggest? Are you that eager to lose your eyes? Is that it? Or perhaps would you rather we hack your little foot off? Hobble you just for us?” His father paced the mahogany floors, tapping his index finger against his chin is a mockery of thought. Taunting in nature and in matter. He's playing with Tommy, that much he knows. Like Goliath mocking David from where he stood at the heavens above him. Except this time Tommy had no slingshot.
A heavy breath shook Tommy’s chest “I’ll do anything, just..- Please don't hurt them..” Tears infested the bruised skin of the blondes cheeks, and if he tried hard enough he could almost imagine they were tears of relief. Relief over finally seeing his family, and not fearful sobs at the blood that would surely fill the courtyard down the hill from the palace. Wooden stilts soaked in the sanguine fluid as his friends' heads would roll.
A fierce slap battered against the boy’s cheek as he collapsed against the mattress, as if the bite of cerberus, Tommy yielded. Phil’s lithe fingers wrapped roots against Tommy’s face. Greedy and foul in the way it claimed the nausea of Tommy’s being.
“Did you forget what happened to the last friend that helped you? Hmm?” Phil tilted his head “Do not take me for a fool young one. You ran. There are consequences.” a latent sob left tommys mouth, and his upper lip curled in a challenge, gentiled by the raising of his fathers brow. Tommy choked out tears and felt as they painted a pieta with the honeysuckle bruises that condemned his skin, it hurt something harsh, though he knew better than to whine.
His heart yearned for the company of his childhood friend. Rather brother and sister if anything. Perhaps that is what wrought the end of Beau Tibbath, their friendship too close for it to bode well in the hearts of his brothers. If Tommy had to guess he would say that it was Wilbur who would have ordered her execution in the end. He always was a being of greed. Like the cold he claimed everything in view, anything he deemed worthy of his time. And hoarded it within the chasm where a heart should have lived. Tommy found himself regretting her involvement in his escape every waking moment, nothing ever quite culling the quiet master of grief.
A smile broke upon Philza’s face “I have no doubt you would have towed along your newest little playmates just as you did her. I couldn’t have that, there was to be no chance of your escape. Not a second time.” Blue eyes turned harsh as they stared at his son's own glare, as if an umbilicus of anger.
“But don't worry, I thought ahead! Who would have thought that someone so set on breaking up anothers family would care so very much for their own.” a shallow chuckle cursed his fathers lips and Tommy’s entire world lurched at the mention of Tubbo, in a semblance of nights spent over toilet bowl’s after starving himself in rebellion.
“All it took was one threat on their lives should you not be delivered to us when we arrived, and look where we are now” Smug ichor played upon the elder blonde’s lips. Skin pulled taut over his face as it broke into a chuckle.
Tears claimed the boy’s reality, his face stained in an epitaph of dried tears and knotted hair from the fierce grip of his brother- Wilbur’s- hand. Phil stepped forward and lowered himself upon his haunches. Like a father speaking to a child. As if tommy wasn’t every bit of the 17 year old that his age reflected.
Soft hands, a delightful contrast to the harsh slap that had wrapped across his face mere seconds ago, laid themselves on the sides of his face.
and for perhaps the first time in Tommy’s entire life. He was silent. Truly silent. Laid to rest within the palm of the monster he was raised by. He was caught.
The Jaws of the Beast closed, and swallowed Tommy whole.