Chapter Text
The trainway rattles, and TommyInnit is sat on the left side of the tube.
He’d agreed to meet Wilbur here in London, to spend the weekend together. He hadn’t been here in a while, and he’d been missing the tall buildings and the low murmur and just the atmosphere of this place.
He’s watching the MCC on his phone, the one he won with Wilbur, headphones on. One ear on the headphones doesn’t work, and it’s a tactical choice so he can hear the train station alerts on each stop.
“This train terminates at Stanmore.” Yes, thank you train lady.
He watches Wilbur fall off of the Skyblockle Island, and stands up.
“The next station is Westminster. Doors will open on the left hand side. Change for circle and district lines.”
Perfect.
The train stops, the doors open, and Tommy steps out into the platform, looking down for a moment to text Wilbur, and put his phone in his pocket, then looking up to darkness, and a man in a brown coat.
“Hello?”
No response.
“Hello?”
Still, silence.
“Hey, dickhead.”
The figure turns to him, and he doesn’t have a face. Somehow, Tommy isn’t scared.
Wind blows through him, and he stumbles, watching as a familiar person crashes into the arms of this ghost, sobbing. Blood matts his hair, and when Tommy goes to feel his own, his fingers come back stained in red. He feels it drip down his face, watches a spot hit the ground. His leg falters, then the other, and he drops to the ground. He falls backwards, and suddenly every shadow around him is staring at him. They don’t have faces either, no eyes to look with, and yet they stare all the same.
Both men in front of him are crying, sobbing, and they fall to the floor just like he does. Pain rips through him, and he lurches backwards, flying towards the railway tracks behind him. He catches himself just before the ledge, and looks up at these shadows, these nameless people. He’s not sure if what’s running down his face is tears or blood. Some of the shadows, the ones in the back, they’re moving, and he tries to lock vision with every single one of them.
The ghosts look at him, and he briefly hears a mutter.
“Not your time yet. Not your time to die. Never was and never will be.”
One shadow turns its head to him, and it spooks him badly enough that his hand slips, and he falls onto the railway track. He drags his eyes away from the shadow, and back to the faceless ghosts, who are stood to face him now. A third, a man in a suit, joins them, flipping a coin between his fingers. It starts getting lighter. Lighter and lighter, and he turns his eyes to the tunnel beside him, watching lights draw closer and closer. His brain doesn’t register it’s a train until it’s too late. The shadows draw closer, one moving at him at an insane speed, and then-
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Light floods Tommy’s vision, and he’s on the platform. A train rushes past him, barely a foot away, and Wilbur is clutching at his coat, holding him so, so close. Wilbur is right there and Tommy’s hair is in his hands and the blood is running down his face and he’s sure it’s a combination of both his blood and tears, and probably Wilbur’s too. He’s barely breathing, he can’t breathe, but Wilbur is there and Wilbur is holding him and he must be okay because Wilbur is with him.
He’s barely aware of everyone else murmuring and talking around them, and only slightly aware of Wilbur picking him up, carrying him to the bench, cooing at him and muttering things he can’t hear. He’s also mildly aware that being a lanky 16 year old and crying in some man’s arms in the middle of a London platform is probably embarrassing, but that thought is knocked away by a shudder that runs through him, and pain shooting to his head.
So he does the only thing he can.
He holds onto Wilbur and cries.