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It'd taken a large portion of their joint weekly earnings to buy Tobias a cot.
Before that, he'd slept any number of odd places. The old parlour bench, the armchair by the fireplace, and more often than not, wrapped up in some blankets on the shoddy rug right next to Mrs. Lovett's bed — Hell, once he'd caught the moron curled up on one of the shop's tables among the crumbs, using a serving tray like a poor excuse for a pillow and apparently unable to retire to the house on his own accord after Mrs. Lovett had spent a late night butchering the less fortunate down in the cellars.
So, it was decided that he needed somewhere a little more sensible to rest his head. The barber had adamantly refused, as he did not even want to begin to insinuate that the lad's stay with them was anywhere close to permanent, but Mrs. Lovett had simply knitted her eyebrows together and let him know that she'd already reached a decision on the matter quite some time ago. "'f course, you old blighter," she'd said, pursing her lips in that way she always did. "Isn't like we're worryin' about feeding it proper. Ain't hurtin' there. He don't have anywhere else to go, remember, on account of what y'did to his ol' master."
Thus, he'd found the occupants of 152 Fleet Street numbered three, against his own will.
And so, his grumbling aside, they'd set aside a portion of the proceeds from the two shops and bought Tobias a modest cot. There wasn't a spare room for it, so they'd pushed it on the wall next to the fireplace — Or, rather, Mrs. Lovett had prodded him in the ribs till he finally moved it for her, but there it was, a cot nice and proper. Tobias had been full of thanks, chipper as could be for the mess of evening customers and as if out of thanks, he'd slept soundly for several nights afterwards, using the same ragged blankets Mrs. Lovett had always covered him up with on cold nights.
So why, Sweeney Todd found himself wondering, struggling to fully open the single door to his own shop, was Tobias asleep on the stairs?
For a moment, he finds himself wishing wistfully that Mrs. Lovett hadn't left for an overnight trip — Some funeral, possibly. He hadn't been listening. As much as he was glad to be free of the woman's incessant harping and flitting, he couldn't help but wish she was here right now. It was her lad, anyway. Not his responsibility.
Briefly, he considers shoving the door as hard as he could, but a small, suspiciously chipper voice in his head briefly reminds him of all the grief he'd receive if he harmed even a hair on Tobias's head.
Fine. Fine, he'd figure this out. At least he hadn't been busy giving a customer the last shave he'd ever receive — No, he'd simply spent the evening polishing his razors and mopping up the floor of any persistent stains from the day prior.
Despite Sweeney's incessant pushing, Tobias remained asleep, his back (presumably) against the doorframe itself.
With a great loss of dignity and a mild twinge of defeat, he finally allowed his head to thunk against the old door. The cool night air had begun to creep in, and the barber found himself wondering what certain type of special stupidity had possessed this idiot to sleep out in the chilly evening air, when he could be curled up right by the fireplace on the new, undeserved cot they'd just purchased for him.
In a final act of desperation, he calls out the boy's name, loud enough to hopefully jar him but not to wake their sleeping neighbors, as he could not afford the Beadle to be summoned to his premises just yet.
"Tobias. Tobias!" The barber called through gritted teeth, seething with frustration, but right as he began to try the door again, the imbecile finally began to rouse from his slumber, mumbling incoherently as he shifts and encouraging Sweeney to give it another sizeable shove. Finally, Toby is startled out of sleep and startled quite well as the boy was on his feet in record timing for someone who was half-lame.
"Mr. T, err, I—! " Tobias stammered quite uselessly, his discomfort clear but sleep still not quite entirely shaken from his drowsy expression.
Sweeney clenched his jaw. "Why aren't you inside? I've told you to never enter this room, yes?" Instinctively, his hand began to search for the blade in his coat pocket, but halfway, he stops. His hand remained on the pocket, still but irritated, his fingers almost twitching with the craving of the weight of his blade. Not on the stairs. His screams would travel too far.
Tobias blinked. "-- I didn't, sir. I wasn't goin' in it."
The barber clenched his fists before finally deciding to close (slam) the shop door behind him lest Tobias feel even more keen, keen enough to notice any persistent red stains in the cracks in the floorboards that he hadn't quite been able to scrub away.
That left them both standing in the evening chill, neither dressed for the weather.
"Then what are you doing out here, exactly, boy?" Sweeney quipped, unable to mask the tension from his voice.
The young man's fright was palpable. He began to stammer and tug at the ends of his own shirt — A shirt that had been a gift from Mrs. Lovett to get him out of his pitiful rags, and now that Sweeney was looking a little closer, the shirt he wore used to be his own. "Th.. The house gets awful quiet when it's all empty, sir."
He'd liked it that way, when it was quiet and there was no one to bother him.
Wordlessly, he sighs, dropping his hand. There was no reason to make another mess to clean, especially without Mrs. Lovett's assistance, and the knowledge that she wouldn't be happy to find Tobias among the cuts of meat in the cellar remains.
Begrudgingly, he begins to usher the young man down the stairs of his shop instead, his expression still hard. "Come on. It's getting late. Growing boys need their sleep, don't they?"
Not that Tobias was still growing.
Sweeney was still uncertain exactly how old he was, but it was clear to him that, at the very least, he was a young adult like the stupid sailor. Perhaps even close to the age when he himself had hurried to get married to the love of his life, his everything, his Lucy and they began to excitedly prepare for a child.
He could never picture Tobias doing such a thing.
Many things about Tobias were boyish, anyway. Mrs. Lovett had once described him as a child in the head, but Sweeney got the sense that it was a bit more complicated than that.
Or maybe it wasn't.
It didn't matter. Tobias responded well to the term.
It had taken some effort on Tobias's part to get down the stairs and into the empty house. After they lit the fireplace in silence, he finally took a seat on his cot. Sweeney could only feel relief, as he could finally have an evening to himself.
However, as he'd gotten up to leave, perhaps to pour himself a generous tot of gin and wallow about in his sorrows like he really wanted to, he'd felt Tobias's eyes lock onto him wordlessly.
Stupid brat, really.
If Tobias was going to cling to him like some sort of lost mutt, he'd end up having to share his gin, and the boy could drink like the world was coming to an end, despite his size.
So, instead, he turns around, the dim light masking his irritation, and he takes a seat in the old armchair by the fire — Mrs. Lovett's late husband's, she'd mentioned. It was quite large, and if anything, he could spend his time imagining the catharsis he would feel when he finally got his blade inches deep into the Judge's jugular while he waits for Tobias to fall asleep. He allows his eyes to close.
Seemingly contented with the situation, Tobias grabbed one of his worn blankets and finally curled up on the bed, still. Sweeney had just begun to daydream of red rubies and pleasing, hoarse screams, when suddenly, he is ripped straight out of his fantasy by a small voice he was truly beginning to tire of.
".. Mr. Todd?"
Gah.
"What."
He could hear the rustling of sheets, and he only hoped that Tobias would stay in bed.
"I really wasn't thinkin' about goin' into the shop, you know. Your shop."
He keeps his eyes closed and instead focuses on the quiet crackling flames. Absentmindedly, be reaches up to rub his temple.
"You shall never step foot in that room, and if you do, you are to tell Mrs. Lovett immediately."
It feels like he's repeated that a hundred times, so he decides to elaborate a bit, smirking just slightly to himself. "Or else we'll send you back to Signor Pirelli."
Unfortunately, his threat had the side effect of Tobias sitting up quite suddenly in bed, but the barber doesn't think much of it beyond yet another annoyance.
"I know Signor Pirelli won't be comin' back for me."
Sweeney Todd's blood went cold.
Now he's the one sitting up, fumbling to at least locate his blade through his pocket, attempting to remain as level-headed as possible as he stares across the parlour at Tobias. He shakes his head.
"No, no. I just spoke with him the other day, you know. He regrets leaving you here, wants me to return you to him — But I told him, Tobias has been doing so well as Mrs. Lovett's apprentice, he'll be quite expensive to buy back."
For a moment, the boy didn't say anything, and Sweeney is sure that he's once again fobbed him off with a story. A sigh escapes him, in mild relief.
Tobias begins to fiddle with the blankets again, staring down at his calloused fingers in the warm light. He wiggles a loose stitch with his thumb. "Mum, she — she told me what 'appened to him, up there."
Sweeney did not say anything. His breath was caught in his throat.
Tobias suddenly got up in a way that made Sweeney immediately locate his razor and pull it out, keeping it open but by his side in the chair, but evidently, Tobias couldn't see it in the dim light, because he crept closer, not at all subtle with that sorry gait of his.
Sweeney is completely certain he is about to slash something, when Tobias proceeds to stop moving closer and sits down on the floor, his back against the side of the old armchair. He becomes still and wrings the corners of the blanket he'd dragged over through his fingers.
".. Mrs. Lovett told me you're just doin' your good in the world, getting rid of the bad folks."
The blade shines dully in the light, amplified by the trembling of his hand. Tobias had put himself well within reach, all he'd have to do is turn and grab the young man's dull hair, but he cannot do anything except sputter uselessly.
"She told you that, did she?" Sweeney could feel his heart pounding through his ribs. He continued to think about reaching for Tobias, but he was beginning to become anxious with confusion, for the lad showed no fear, no terror at the fate of his former master.
"Yessir. 'n to tell you the truth, I don't miss 'im, not at all."
The threat of having everything he's worked for undone, their thriving business collapsing, and never being able to avenge his Lucy — The thoughts made his stomach turn twice over. Was Mrs. Lovett not thinking straight? The boy was simple.
Tobias cut him off before he was able to form any sort of response. "I think you're a savior of sorts, y'know."
That was a new one.
He relaxes only slightly, still listening to every word Tobias timidly, yet boldly murmured from beside him.
"In the spike, with Signor Pirelli — Nobody's ever helpin' the lil' folks, the ones who need it — They're always turnin' their heads on you. So, if you're gettin' rid of those kinds of men — Well, maybe it ain't the Christian thing to do, but it's right, ain't it?"
Tobias rested his head back against the upholstery of the chair, his legs splayed out in front of him.
"I'd thought of doin' it myself before, y'know — Takin' a pillow, smotherin' him in his sleep. He slept like a rock. Wasn't ever brave enough, though."
Quietly, Sweeney folds the silver blade back into its chased handle.
"I won't tell a soul. The Beadle — He wouldn't get it, would 'e? He'd lock you up, all because you're gettin' rid of bad men. 'Sposed to be his job. You do it better, though, Mr. Todd."
He did not shush Tobias — In fact, he was listening intently, his eyes still trained on the back of the young man's head.
"I bet it's hard work, and — Well, I never liked decievin' folks much, either, but we needed money, 'n Signor wasn't makin' much, shavin' everyone so bad, 'n he'd say it was my fault, and lash me, or kick me, or.."
Tobias paused thoughtfully, bringing the blanket up to his chin.
"I'm glad he ain't comin' back, you know. I'm glad you did it."
Finally, the young man turned to face him, and to Sweeney's surprise, he's got the smallest of smiles on his face.
Quickly, he wipes the shock off his own, and decides to lean back in the chair instead.
"You shall never tell a soul even a word of what you know, or else you will live to regret it for all your days," He grumbled, trying to sound menacing, but somehow not quite being able to find it in him.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Todd."
He could hear in the lad's quick reply that he hadn't quite lost his smile, yet, and the barber finds himself quite turned around.
He hadn't prepared for something like this. In every version of this situation he'd run through his head, Tobias had panicked and cried with the burdening knowledge of what went on in Sweeney Todd's tonsorial parlour, and he'd simply slit the boy's throat and been done with it. Mrs. Lovett would cut their losses, and they'd move on.
This, though, was different.
Perhaps this could work out. Perhaps Tobias could assist as an apprentice, an accomplice, with much coaching, of course. He was simple, but that didn't mean he couldn't learn.
Perhaps when all was said and done, Mrs. Lovett could pick out their seaside retreat, and instead of just the two of them, there would be a third resident.
They'd look like a family, wouldn't they?
Sweeney finds himself breaking the long silence before he's even thought about what to say. "I've heard Mrs. Lovett sing you to sleep, before." he mutters, slightly apprehensive. "These walls are thin."
"Sometimes," Tobias murmurs, interrupted by a yawn — Evidently, his nap outside had not been ample sleep.
Finally somewhat relaxed, Sweeney stretches out, the young man still propped up against the side of his armchair, clutching that sheet. In the quiet crackle of the fire, he can hear Tobias breathing softly.
It's mad, really. He'd paid a good price for that cot, and there it was, sitting empty.
Sighing, the barber closed his eyes once more, and after a brief moment of silence he began to sing a somber, slow melody, one of mourning and grief and love that would end up relaxing the boy next to him into a tranquil, deep slumber.
"There was a barber and his wife..."