Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilbur was ten years old when his father sat him down to have the talk. 

Not the talk, mind you. But a talk. An important one. Phil stressed how important it is, actually, and how Wilbur needed to take this conversation seriously, as it would affect both of them.

“This is about fostering, isn’t it?” Wilbur asked. He sat across the too-large kitchen table, looking up at his father, who looked right back at him. For once, his dad’s blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, away from his face. A usual sign that he was thinking.

“Yeah, Will. It is.” Phil sighed back at him.

“Did you not get approved?” He couldn’t help the concern that crept into his voice.

Phil had applied to be a foster parent six months ago, and as far as Wilbur knew, he hadn’t gotten much of a response since then. Wilbur knew vaguely that the system was hard to get into, but Phil had so desperately wanted another kid (and Wilbur wanted a sibling), so they tried anyway.

“No, no.” Phil seemed to consider his words for a moment. “Gosh, no. I was approved.”

A grin spread across his face. “That’s great! So I’m going to get a new sibling, then?”

“It’s not that easy, Will. We’ve been over this, haven’t we? Fostering is temporary a lot of the time. But that brings me to my next point, actually.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. 

“They want me to become an emergency foster parent.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s… Basically, I take in the kids who need immediate placement. It means that we can get a call at any time to take someone in, and usually won’t have much time to prepare, or information to prepare with.”

Wilbur thought about it for a minute. “So… Did you say yes?”

“That’s why we’re talking. I want to make sure you’re alright with it.”

“I am.” He nodded. 

“You won’t have a lot of warning, if any. You could come home from school one day and a kid will be here because I won’t have time to tell you.”

“That’s okay.”

“The kids might be scared. They probably will, actually.”

“That’s fine.”

“They won’t stay very long. It can be anywhere from a few hours to maybe a month.”

That surprised Wilbur, actually. He thought that fostering always led to adoption. But… It would be helping kids. Kids who needed help. That’s what his dad always said, anyway, and he trusted him.

“That’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell them you want to be an… Emergency… Guy.” 

Phil grinned. “I’m glad you’re okay with this, Wilbur.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

They got their first call barely a month later. At two in the morning, Phil shook Wilbur awake to tell him the news. They had a new foster child showing up.

According to Phil, it’s a five year-old boy who had allegedly entered foster care an hour prior. They didn’t get a name, interests, anything.

His name was Ranboo and he was almost eight years old. He fell asleep mere minutes after arriving at the house, almost as soon as Phil showed him a bed.

Wilbur didn’t know what to think about Ranboo, and really didn’t get the time to form an opinion. They ate breakfast together as a ‘family’, and Ranboo awkwardly rambled on as Wilbur ate his cereal.

Ranboo liked rabbits and video games. He had memory issues, and was so sure that his parents would come and pick him up soon, he just needed to wait a little longer.

A social worker came and picked him up shortly after that, and Wilbur never actually learned if what Ranboo said about his parents was true, or if he was just whisked off to another foster home.

-----0-----0-----0-----

The next foster child showed up while Wilbur was at school. He was six years old, his blonde hair was matted and covered in mud and dirt, and he scrunched his nose up when Wilbur mentioned it. He sat in Wilbur's chair at the kitchen table. 

“Your hair looks like a rat nest.” Wilbur had said, and maybe that wasn’t the best first introduction, but he was ten years old. 

“Your hair looks like a mole den.” The kid spit back. He looked up at Wilbur, and that’s when Wilbur noticed it.

This kid looked ridiculously similar to Phil. He looked more like Phil than Wilbur did, and Wilbur was his biological son. The kid had blonde hair, closely cropped to his scalp. His eyes were blue and shining, and even some of the patterns of freckles on his face seemed to match his (emergency) foster father’s.

“I’m Wilbur.”

“Tommy.”

“When did you get here?”

Tommy glanced at the clock. “An hour ago.”

“Where’s Phil?”

“Dunno.”

Tommy was the most talkative child Wilbur had ever gotten the displeasure of knowing. The child was loud and talked what had to be all the time.

“Have you seen Moana?” Tommy asked after barely two seconds of silence. 

“I… Of course I’ve seen Moana. I’m a cultured man, Tommy.”

“I’m a big man.”

“You’re… What?”

“You’re a cultured man, I’m a big man. The biggest, actually.”

He looked Tommy up and down, unimpressed. “No offense, kid, but you’re like thirty pounds.”

“Still could take you in a fight.”

The next day, he followed Wilbur around like a lost puppy, asking him ‘what are you doing’ and ‘can I try out your guitar’ and ‘where’d you get your beanie from’ and a hundred other things, before Wilbur finally snapped.

“Do you ever shut up?”

Tommy’s eyes went wide, before narrowing into an angry expression. “Never.”

By all accounts, it didn’t make sense. Wilbur should have yelled at him, told him to get out of his room, but instead he found himself endeared. He found himself laughing. “Want me to play you a song?”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment before nodding. Apparently he did shut up sometimes.

Tommy stayed for two whole days before his social worker came back to take him somewhere else.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Emergency homes were almost exclusively for children who had just barely been placed into foster care. Kids who couldn’t afford to wait until they could get a (slightly) more permanent house could stay for a little while, just until they could find a more long-term replacement.

Emergency homes were for… Well, emergencies.

Eight months and two more placements after Tommy left, Phil shook Wilbur awake once again, this time at the much more reasonable hour of… Midnight. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t more reasonable.

Phil was told they had ten minutes until the kid arrived, and that they had no information about them. No age, no gender, not even a name. Wilbur straightened up the guest room- which wasn’t really a guest room anymore, it was a room for foster children- as Phil dealt with the mess that was the living room.

Wilbur answered the door when it was knocked on, and it was a true surprise to see Tommy again. Tommy, who…

Wow, okay, he looked worse for wear.

His hand was in a neon green cast, going from halfway down his forearm all the way up to the tip of his hand, part of it wrapping around his pinky and ring finger, too. He had a black eye and was missing a few more teeth than Wilbur remembered, but he was a kid, so Wilbur didn’t question it.

He was questioning the blooming bruises across Tommy’s arms, though, as well as the large bandages covering his knees.

“Uh… Come in. Phil’s-”

“Right here, mate. Hi, Miss Puffy. Hi again, Tommy.”

Wilbur brought Tommy to his room while Phil and Puffy talk ‘grown up stuff’.

“You’re back.” Wilbur noted.

“Thanks, I didn’t know that.” Tommy bit back (though it didn’t have any real sting), tossing the trash bag filled with his belongings onto his bed, before clambering onto it himself. 

Wilbur made a face. “At least take your shoes off first.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“You’ll get mud on the sheets.”

“Good.” 

They stayed like that for a painfully long moment. Tommy lying on the bed, Wilbur standing at the edge of the room.

“What happened to your hand?” Wilbur asked. He knew it was a rude question, but he was curious.

“I broke it.”

“How?”

“Foster brother pushed me down the stairs.”

“Oh.”

The topic changed quickly after that, as Tommy rambled on about some video game he was playing, as well as this weird kid he met at school recently. 

“His name is Tubbo and he likes bees,” Tommy explained, “And he won’t leave me alone in class, so I guess we’re friends now.” He paused, face falling. “Am I going to get to go to school while I'm here?”

Wilbur didn’t know the answer.

The answer was no, apparently, because Tommy was gone the next morning.

-----0-----0-----0-----

The thing about being an emergency foster family is that you don’t really get time to be attached. They come out of nowhere and they leave quickly. Wilbur can’t keep track of all the kids who come in and out of the house.

Well, he can’t keep track except for one.

Because Tommy showed up six more times over the next two years. His shortest stay was three hours, and his longest was almost a full month. 

“We’re like brothers, you know.” Tommy, barely nine years old, said one afternoon. He had a mouthful of pizza and Wilbur had to bite back the urge to remind him about manners. 

“Don’t say that, I’ll cry.” Wilbur deadpanned, and Tommy burst out laughing.

“We basically are, though. Think about it- you’re like my big brother.”

Wilbur snorted. “I am not your big brother, Tommy.”

“Sure you are. Think about it, you do all the things big brothers do.”

“Oh?” He leaned back in his chair, taking a bite of his own food. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“You walk me to school, scare away bullies. Scare away girls, too, thanks for that-”

“You scare them away yourself, Tommy.”

“Shut up, Wilbur, that’s not true!”

“It is! Even when you’re not here, girls are scared of you.”

“They’re not scared of me, I’m the biggest man. Girls love me.”

“Oh, really, name one girl?”

“Clementine.”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s… Uh…”

Wilbur laughed again. “Did you make her up? Oh my- Tommy, you’ve got to be joking with me.”

Wilbur proposed the question to Phil that same night, long after Tommy went to bed. Wilbur was supposed to be asleep, too, but the twelve year-old had more important things to do. Questions to ask.

“Phil?” He stood in the doorway of Phil’s room. Phil, who was hunched over a desk, going through some sort of paperwork for his job. He had been so busy lately…

“Come in, Will.” Phil sighed. He placed the pen down on the desk and looked over. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, no. I had a question, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Can we… We should adopt Tommy.”

Phil smiled a little. “Do you want that?”

“I do. Can we, Phil?”

“Well… I’m not sure, exactly. It’s a lot of paperwork, but I looked into it before, and we might have a chance.”

“Wait, really?”

“Of course. I’ve been trying to get his information since he last visited. He’s practically a part of the family already with how often he’s here already, isn’t he?”

Wilbur couldn't help but grin in response. "I think so. Plus, Tommy Watson is a pretty cool name."

Phil chuckled. "Well, he might want to keep his original last name. It's up to him."

"Why wouldn't he want to be a Watson?"

"We don't know his story, Will. Some kids had great parents."

"Why don't we ask him, then?"

He already at least partially knew the answer. 

Most kids in the foster system have experienced trauma, especially the ones taken to emergency foster homes. Usually they struggle with things like PTSD, and no one wanted to trigger something by bringing up a family they didn’t want talked about.

"Not yet. We'll talk to him about adoption when we're more sure about it, but for now it's best not to get his hopes up, just in case."

"We will adopt him though, won't we?"

"I hope so."

-----0-----0-----0-----

They didn't.  Tommy had several meetings with potential adoptive parents scheduled already, and the system (whoever that was) said it would be enough for him for now. 

So when Tommy left a week later, Wilbur gave him the tightest hug he had ever given. He ruffled the kid's (now overgrown) hair and leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

"Good luck, little brother."

"Don't say that," He mocked, "I'll cry."

"Okay, shut up, that. I'm trying to be nice."

"You're not-"

"Tommy," his social worker, Puffy, cut in, "it's time to go. Come on."

"Tommy?" Wilbur whispered, not letting go quiet yet.

"Wilbur?" He whispered back.

"If you ever need anything… if you're unsafe, or need a place to stay or whatever, you can come back here, okay?"

Tommy smiled, finally managing to get out of the hug. "Okay, big man."

And then they left, just like that. 

It was the last time Wilbur saw Tommy. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Three years and countless emergency foster kids passed by. Sometimes he wondered if the next one would be Tommy, but it never was. 

Wilbur was fifteen years old when he met the enigma that was Technoblade.

Phil led the kid- not a kid, but someone Wilbur's age. Later, he would discover that they shared a birthday, but that was neither here nor there- Phil led him inside. 

Technoblade's hair was longer than any Wilbur had seen, and it was pulled into a messy ponytail, though most of it had fallen out of the hair tie.

Technoblade was also covered in blood. 

"It's not mine," He said with a grin, prompted to speak only by Wilbur's expression. “It’s an orphan’s. You’re not an orphan, are you?”

"Uh… No." Was all Wilbur said in return. Most of the kids were nice, if not standoffish, but this one..? Wilbur was certain that Phil had brought a psychopath into their home. 

“D’you have a shower?” The guy asked in a heavy accent that Wilbur couldn’t quite place. Not southern, but… Something. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, then.” Wilbur led him to the bathroom. “We have a basket all ready for you. Toothbrush, soap, shampoo and conditioner, basically everything you need.” He explained. “The towell on the left is yours, by the way. Oh, and if you want a razor to shave, you have to ask Phil.” 

Technoblade nodded at that, pushing past Wilbur, but pausing once he crossed into the bathroom. “Are… Can I close this?” He asked, unsure.

“Close… What?”

“The door.”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, yeah, of course. Close it, lock it, whatever. Just don’t barricade it- not that there’s anything to barricade with, anyway.” 

Technoblade hummed at that, shutting the door. Wilbur heard the heavy click of the lock, and he stood there outside almost dumbfounded for a moment.

Tommy was the reason they didn’t have any barricade-able furniture in there. During his third visit, he tried to lock himself inside every room possible, hiding from them. Phil had to borrow a ladder from a neighbor and get in through Tommy’s window at one point.

Huh. Wilbur hadn’t thought about Tommy in a while.

-----0-----0-----0-----

“What do you do for fun?”

“Sports.”

“What kind of sports?”

Just because Wilbur didn’t remember every single foster child, it didn’t mean that he didn’t try to get to know them. Even if he forgot, he knew it made the kids feel special, like someone cared. Phil said that was exactly what they needed.

He sat on the couch next to Technoblade, some TV show neither particularly played about playing on a low volume in the background.

“All of them.”

“Even football?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow. 

“American or European?”

“Either or.”

Technoblade smirked just slightly. “Yes. Both of ‘em. Mostly American football, though, that’s really fun. You get to tackle people an’ people cheer you for it.”

Okay, so this kid was… Dangerous, probably. “You… Like to tackle people?”

He shrugged. “I enjoy fighting.”

“Have you tried karate and that stuff?”

“Could never afford it, so no.”

Wilbur thought for a moment. “The school has a fencing team. It’s not exactly the same, but you should try it.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be staying long enough to do that, but… Thanks, Will. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” He paused, thinking through the nickname before he said it, “Techno.”

He didn’t expect Technoblade to beam at the nickname, but he did.

He turned his attention back to the show for a minute, surprised when Technoblade- er, Techno initiated the conversation next. 

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not a big sports guy. Kind of too noodle-armed for that.” He laughed. 

“No, no, what do you do for fun.”

“Uh… Play music. Read.”

“Nerd.” The way Technoblade said the word felt endearing. Safe. As if this kid wasn’t a psychopath after all, but… Just that. A kid. 

“You know, that trash bag you brought doesn’t hide items very well. Don’t act like I didn’t see all the books you brought.” Wilbur replied, making sure to lean heavily into a teasing tone. He didn’t want Technoblade to panic.

“I never said I wasn’t a nerd, I just said you were one, too.”

Wilbur snorted. “So you’re a nerd and a jock? Can’t you just pick one?”

“Shut up, Wilbur.”

“Make me.”

Techno grabbed the pillow next to him and hit Wilbur in the face with it. Softly, definitely, but enough to shock him. At least, until Wilbur got it in his head to grab the other pillow and hit Techno back.

It evolved into a war. Similar to a pillow fight, except they were grown (fifteen year-old) men, and it was taken much more (less) seriously.

Phil howled with laughter when he walked in on the sight.

-----0-----0-----0-----

He didn’t expect to get so attached to Techno so quickly, but somehow, their personalities meshed well. Technoblade’s monotone, deep voice paired well with Wilbur’s ever-expressive one. Where Techno was muscular, Wilbur was lean, where Wilbur was tall, Techno was… Also pretty tall, actually, but Wilbur was still taller.

Techno was also incredibly protective. Wilbur was never one to get bullied, but Techno would still send sharp looks to anyone who made fun of him in the hallways. It was surprisingly nice, like having a guard. Except that guard was your brother.

Not brother, he had to remind himself.

Still, when he and Technoblade went to the old arcade, it was hard to remember they weren’t related.

When they went to get ice cream, and Techno insisted that Wilbur try his, it was hard to remember they weren’t brothers.

When Techno won his first fencing match, and Wilbur shot up from the stands and screamed his praises, it was hard to remember.

Huh. Wilbur really wanted them to be brothers.

-----0-----0-----0-----

A month after Technoblade first entered the house, he and Wilbur sat on the roof. Phil would likely have a heart attack if he knew they were up there, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Willbur and Techno had gone back and forth for a while, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. School, the meaning of life, the song Wilbur was working on, aliens, and a dozen other random topics. He could blame it on Techno’s ADHD, but that would be wrong, because Wilbur was changing the topics just as rapidly as the other.

There was a lull in the conversation when Techno brought it up. 

“I talked to my social worker on the phone the other day. He says that the house I’ve been waiting for finally opened up. He wants me to go.”

Wilbur bit back a complaint. He didn’t want Techno to go. He had gotten attached, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He knew Techno would go, and he hated it. He forced himself to ask his question casually. “Do you want to go?”

Technoblade lay on his back, staring up at the stars above him. He had confessed a week ago that he grew up in a city, and every time he looked at the night sky here, it was like a whole new world. “No.”

“No?”

“No. I don’t want to go to that house.”

“Because you don’t want to be adopted,” Wilbur tried. Technoblade had often mentioned that he didn’t really want a family, and was planning on being emancipated as soon as he hit the legal age to.

“No. Well, yeah, but not really. I… I think I like it here.”

“Then stay.”

“Huh?”

“Stay. Phi would adopt you.”

“I don’t want to be-”

“Phil would foster you permanently, too. Whatever you wanted.”

Techno turned over to face Wilbur. “Really?”

“Really.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

Through some miracle sent by the gods, Phil managed to switch from being Technoblade’s emergency foster parent to his long-term foster parent. 

Techno tried to hide his smile, but it didn't work.

They went on a family road-trip (which Techno insisted wasn’t a family road-trip, just a regular one) the Summer after, and it was the best time of Wilbur’s life. Even if they did get lost more than once. Even if Phil did almost leave Wilbur at a gas station two separate times. Even if they had to backtrack three miles because Techno left a book at a rest stop.

It’s great, and it’s wonderful, and Wilbur can’t be happier.

Sometimes, he felt like the family wasn’t complete, but he did his best to brush it off. They were happy, they were a family. They were whole.

The years went by like seconds, and before Wilbur knew it, Technoblade was off to university. At seventeen instead of eighteen because the kid was nothing if not a try-hard. But no matter Techno’s insistence, he’ll always be family, and that’s proven by the fact that he came back home each Summer. 

Phil had stopped doing emergency foster care after Technoblade. It wasn’t that he didn’t love it, he simply didn’t have enough room for another kid. Besides, he wanted to take care of the two that he had at home first, and Techno needed a stable environment, anyway. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur took a gap year between college and university, starting school at nineteen instead of the typical eighteen. It was fine, though, and he honestly appreciated having the extra time to mentally prepare for it. 

His university was far away, and he ended up living with a bunch of friends in an apartment near campus. He still called home every week, of course, giving Phil updates and gossip and all the drama.

And of course, the boys visited every Summer break. Which was why Wilbur found himself sitting in his childhood bedroom one warm evening (if one could call it that, considering how late it was), reading one of Technoblade’s old books. The sound of rain was calming, and he had even opened his window just a little so he could smell it, too.

A glance at the clock would confirm that it was a little past one in the morning. He wondered vaguely if Technoblade was awake- no, of course he was, because he was Technoblade and the man didn’t believe in sleep schedules.

Wilbur, however, did. Which was why his book had fallen onto his lap and he was barely drifting off into sleep.

He heard the quiet sound of something… Scraping? He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to sleep. Sure, his window was open slightly, but his room was on the second floor. No one would-

There was a loud thump followed by whispered words that would make a sailor jealous. Wilbur’s eyes snapped open.

Underneath his window sat a gangly kid. He wore a sweater and ripped jeans despite the weather outside, and looked soaked to the bone. His overgrown dirty blonde hair was matted and stuck to his face, obscuring his facial features.

Wilbur looked down at him, and he looked back up at Wilbur.

It would be difficult to list injuries, as they all seem to blend in with each other. Wilbur couldn’t count the bruises because of how close they are, as if his face was one whole bruise that stretched down to his neck and into the line of his shirt. Blood dripped from his nose onto the (now wet) carpet. It trailed from his mouth, his ear, and somewhere on his forehead. His arms are covered by the sweater sleeves, and Wilbur would expect them to be just as bad as his face. But even if he could see them, Wilbur couldn’t take his eyes off of the teen’s face.

Because this kid looked more like Phil than Wilbur, his biological son, ever did. His eyes were more dull, now, and his freckles were all but gone (maybe just hidden in bruises, though), but it was unmistakably him.

“Tommy?” Wilbur all but whispered at the child- teenager- in front of him.

Tommy flashed him a smile. “Sorry, big man. I thought this was my window, guess I went through the wrong one, huh.”

Chapter Text

Wilbur stared at the teenager sitting in front of him, his mouth open in shock. After confirming that, yes, this was Tommy, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Look, Will,” Tommy scowled, “I don’t want to be here, either. I was just hoping for some bandaids and maybe a shower, and I’ll be on my merry way.”

Wilbur didn’t say anything, mouth still gaping.

“You look like a fish with your mouth open like that.”

That was enough to get Wilbur’s expression to change into annoyance instead. “Why are you here, Tommy?”

There was that scowl again. “You said I could be. ‘In case of emergency’ I could stay here, or whatever. Again, I don’t want to stay, I just want a bandaid.”

“That was six years ago. I-” He paused, thinking. Was he really going to kick this kid out? No. “I’ll get Phil.” He pushed himself out of bed, but Tommy was faster. He-

The look of panic was almost unbearable. “Don’t tell Phil I’m here. Please.”

“He needs to know.”

“I don’t want his pity.” And there’s this look in Tommy’s eyes that Wilbur just couldn’t ignore. “Please, Wilbur. I’ll be gone by morning, I promise. Just don’t get Phil.”

Wilbur bit his lip. “Stay here, stay quiet. I’ll get bandages.”

He left his room, barely shutting the door when he was met with Technoblade.

His hair, bubblegum pink as it had been for the last few years, was an absolute mess. Wilbur would have to start braiding it before bed, but that wasn’t important right now. Techno stood there in pajamas, reading glasses perched against his nose. He looked half asleep. 

“Everythin’ okay in there?” Techno asked.

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” Everything’s fine, except for the child bleeding out in Wilbur’s room.

“I heard a thump. An’ you closed the door awful quickly.”

“You must be hearing things. I just need to use the restroom is all.”

Technoblade looked unimpressed. “Is Sally in there? I thought dad told you-”

“No, no, no,” He quickly interrupted, “Sally’s not here. No one’s here. Just me. Bye, Techno.” He pushed past his brother and into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

There still wasn’t any furniture to make a barricade with, but that didn’t matter. Techno respected his privacy, so it was easy to grab the first aid kid, as well as two washrags and a few extra bandages in peace.

What else would Tommy need? Pain meds? Maybe, but those were downstairs, and Wilbur doubted he could sneak that past Techno. Though he should get ice packs anyway… He would ask Tommy how he was feeling before deciding what to do next.

He opened the bathroom door, and there was Techno, leaning against the wall outside of Wilbur’s door. Immediately, he put the first aid kit behind his back in an attempt to hide it.

“You’re not sneaky, you know. Also, you could’ve asked me if you needed somethin’ bandaged.”

Wilbur frowned, thinking for a minute. He had told Tommy he wouldn’t tell Phil, but he hadn’t said anything about Techno… But still. “I can’t tell you.”

“Wilbur, please tell me you don’t have a wild animal in your room right now.”

He couldn’t help but let out a laugh at that. Tommy acted like a wild animal sometimes, but he wasn’t actually one. “I don’t, I promise.”

“You’re not… You haven’t been getting into fights again, have you? I told you I could help bandage-”

“Look, I’m on a time crunch. I’ll tell you later, I promise.” He pushed past Technoblade and into his room, closing the door before Techno could see inside.

Tommy sat in the same spot he was left in, the puddle of water and blood was steadily seeping further into the carpet. He picked at the ends of his sleeves, and Wilbur noted how he flinched back when he entered.

“Who was that?” Tommy asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Technoblade. He lived here for the last few years.”

 “You replaced me?”

“Replaced you? No, no. Tommy, you had to leave, remember?”

Tommy shrugged. “I guess, but I didn’t know Phil adopted someone after.”

“He didn’t,” Wilbur corrected, “Phil fostered him until he hit adulthood.”

“Puffy said Phil stopped fostering years ago.”

“Long-term foster, it was a one time thing. We can talk about it when you don’t look like death warmed over. Can you stand?”

Tommy made a face. “Of course I can stand.”

“Do it, then.”

Tommy stared up at Wilbur for a painfully long moment. Silence stretched through the room, the only sound was the patter of the rain against (and a little bit through) the wide open window.

“I don’t want to.” Tommy finally said.

Wilbur let out a sigh before moving over and-

He was going to pick Tommy up. He had reached his arms out to grab him, but Tommy flinched back so violently that he stopped. Pure panic was written clearly across Tommy’s face, before it was quickly wiped and replaced once again with anger.

“Don’t touch me.” He spat, pushing himself away from Wilbur and closer to the window. It was high enough that there was no way he could fall out from his position, but Wilbur’s heart still dropped for a second as he did so.

Wilbur quickly took several steps backwards. He took a deep breath before taking a tiny step forward again. “Can I touch you, Tommy?”

“No. I just said-”

“I know what you said, but you need help.”

“I don’t need help-”

“You can’t stand.”

“I can stand, I just don’t want to.” He was raising his voice slightly, exasperated. 

“Tommy.” It was meant to be stern yet endearing, but he saw the way Tommy tensed. “Wait, I didn’t-”

Techno cut him off. 

Wait, Techno?

“Look, kid. Tommy. We’re gonna clean you up an’ stuff, but we can’t do that if you’re sittin’ on the floor. You can sit on the desk chair, or Will’s bed for all I care, but you have to be off the floor.” He stood in the doorway, somehow having crept in without Wilbur or Tommy noticing.

Tommy flinched back further when Techno spoke. “I quite like the floor.”

“You need to either get up yourself, or let Wilbur carry you.”

Tommy glared up at Techno. “You’re the worst and I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual. Will, pick him up, be careful with his legs.”

It shouldn’t have been so easy to pick up a sixteen year old boy and set him on the bed, and it especially shouldn’t have been so easy for Wilbur to do so.

“Get him into dry clothes and wash off the blood. I’m gonna get some ice packs.” Technoblade instructed, already halfway out the door.

“Pain meds, too?”

“Of course. And Will?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re explaining all of this once he’s alright.”

And then Technoblade was gone.

-----0-----0-----0-----

“I’m going to wash your face off. Sit still.” He said, kneeling on the floor in front of Tommy. He made sure his movements were slow and gentle, like one would for an animal.

To be fair, Tommy sort of looked like a wild animal. Covered in dirt with his hair skewed in every direction. 

It took four long minutes to wash all of the dirt and blood off, and Wilbur had only focused on his face and neck. There were still arms, legs, and probably his torso, too.

Without all the dirt obscuring it, Wilbur could see Tommy’s face better now. His nose was crooked, his eye was nearly swollen shut, and the bruises centered mostly around the left side of his face.

There was a large cut on his cheek, and one on his forehead as well. Both were bleeding rather sluggishly, but they didn’t look infected (of course not, they were so fresh), so he wasn’t as concerned as he probably should have been. After a quick check, Wilbur was pretty sure he didn’t have a concussion, either.

“So…” Wilbur tried, moving on to wash Tommy’s arms now. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“You came into my house, Tommy. Asking me to help you.”

“I never asked that.” There he was, raising his voice again. “I just wanted a bandaid, I don’t owe you-”

Technoblade knocked lightly on the door frame before walking in. 

“Phil’s awake, you need to keep it down.” He said. He handed an ice pack to Tommy, “Put this on your eye.” Then gave the bottle of pills to Wilbur, along with a mug of warm milk. 

Techno was too good at this. He shouldn’t have known how to deal with bruises and cuts the way he did, even if he did do so many sports. He shouldn’t have been the one putting a butterfly band aid on Tommy’s cheek. He also shouldn’t have been reacting so calmly to a strange teenager being in their house.

They worked in silence. Wilbur cleaning off dirt and blood, Techno bandaging, and Tommy holding an ice pack to his face.

“Lift up your shirt.” Techno instructed.

Tommy’s eyes went wide. “What? No- no, Wilbur, I knew he was a wrongun. I’m a minor, you creep.”

“I’m not stupid, Tommy. Whoever beat you-”

“Nobody beat me-”

“-Didn’t just stop at your face and arms. Look, kid-”

“I’m an adult.” Tommy said, trying to switch the narrative faster than Wilbur could keep up with. “You’re barely even older than me.”

“I’m nineteen, and you’re… What, twelve?”

“Eighteen.” Tommy said, matter-of-factly.

Wilbur frowned, practically having to count on his fingers to make sure he got the math correct.

“Hang on, Tommy, are you sixteen?”

“No. No, I’m an adult. Big man.”

“You’re three years younger than me, that makes you sixteen. Oh my...” He dropped his head into his hands.

Wilbur had a teenager bleeding out in his room. Not bleeding out, he reminded himself. Just… Hurt. Hurt very, very badly. And he refused to tell Wilbur why.

“So… You two know each other, then?” Techno prompted.

“Phil fostered Tommy a couple times, yeah.” Wilbur nodded, head still in hands.

“I thought you only did emergencies.”

“We did, yeah. Tommy has a knack for getting into trouble.”

“Hey!” Tommy shouted, but Techno ignored him.

“How many times did you stay here, Tommy?” He asked, turning to the teenager instead. And oh, this was really happening. Tommy was really here and he looked awful and Wilbur still couldn’t help but be happy he was just alive. 

Tommy had to think about it, eventually using his bandaged fingers to count. “Seven. No, eight. This one time my foster parents even dropped me off here instead of my social worker.”

“Oh.” Techno hummed. “So you two must have been pretty close then, yeah?”

Tommy looked to Wilbur, and there was a slight glint in his eye. “We were like brothers.”

“Don’t say that, I’ll cry.” Wilbur replied without missing a beat.

Technoblade and Tommy kept talking to each other, going over information that Wilbur found useless. It was little things- what hobbies Tommy had, what tv shows he liked, and whatever else Tommy was up to. It took Wilbur far too long to realize what Technoblade was doing.

Distracting him. Getting him to focus on something else, so Technoblade could complete his ‘check up’. 

Wilbur tried not to think about where Techno had learned that skill from, because he certainly hadn’t learned it at the Watson house.

How many times had Techno done this before? How many kids did he have to bandage up? How-

Tommy was in the middle of explaining the plot of Up, which Techno had claimed to have never seen (which was a blatant lie, they watched it together last week), when Techno tapped the hem of Tommy’s shirt lightly, mumbling a question about if Tommy could take it off for a minute.

“Yeah, I guess.” Tommy grumbled, “But you don’t get it, cause this kid’s a boy scout, right? And he needs this badge to graduate. It’s uh… Old People badge or something.”

“Assisting the Elderly badge.” Wilbur supplied.

“Yeah, yeah. So he wanted the badge, and he panicked when the house started moving, so he grabbed onto, like, a pipe or something.”

Techno started pulling off the shirt slowly, careful not to startle Tommy, who seemed much too focused on his ramble. 

“And once they’re up in the sky, he gets onto the porch by… A miracle, I guess. I dunno. He’s on the porch, and he knocks on the door, and then Carl answers.”

Wilbur and Techno exchanged a look.

Tommy was admittedly skinny, but he was that way when Wilbur first met him, too. Besides, he was a tall teenage boy now, so it wasn’t surprising that he was underweight. Wilbur had been the same way at that age. The problem wasn’t his weight, anyway.

They were expecting heavy bruising, maybe a broken rib. They were met with old burn scars, and a deep gash near his stomach. It was bleeding heavily enough that Wilbur blanched at the sight. Admittedly, there was bruising, too, but that was easily overlooked at the moment.

“And since they’re way up in the air, Carl lets him in, and then… Then I don’t remember.”

Techno set the shirt on the bed next to Tommy. He gave Wilbur a look of ‘this is serious’ and ‘are you sure we can’t ask Phil?’. Wilbur shook his head in return.

“I haven’t seen it in a few years, so I don’t really know. But then they end up in Paradise Falls.”

“Mhm. Tommy, does your stomach hurt at all?”

“No.”

Wilbur saw him frown even more. “Okay, that’s good. What happens once they’re in Paradise Falls?”

As Tommy answered, Technoblade stood and moved to Wilbur.

“You need to get Phil.” He whispered sharply into Wilbur’s ear.

“He doesn’t-” He started to whisper in reply, but Techno cut him off. 

“He can’t feel the huge cut in his stomach. That’s not good.”

“It could be adrenaline.” He tried.

“Adrenaline only lasts an hour, it’s something worse. You have to get Phil.”

“Are you-”

“I’m sure. Wilbur, you need to get Phil.”

“I promised we wouldn’t tell dad. Please, Tech, can’t you deal with it?”

“We need-” Techno started to say, but was cut off by Tommy.

"You said you wouldn't tell him!" Tommy shouted, but Wilbur was focusing on the blood on the bedspread. There was way too much blood loss for a kid that size. He shouldn't have still been awake at that point. 

"You're bleeding out, Tommy. You need to go to the hospital."

Tommy took a sharp breath before pushing himself further backwards onto the bed. "No. No, no, no, I'm not going- I can't- I wont- please don't make- Wilbur, I'm sorry-"

"Tommy, take a deep breath." Wilbur said. He took a tentative step towards the bed. "Phil will only want to help you. He can take you to the hospital."

"I'm not going to the hospital- please- they'll call them and I- I- I can't." He stuttered out. 

Wilbur glanced at Phil. "No hospital, then. But we need to stop the bleeding, and Phil knows how to treat wounds."

-----0-----0-----0-----

They didn’t get Phil, on the promise that Tommy wouldn’t argue with any of their medical help. Wilbur was pretty sure Phil had heard Tommy’s shouts by now, anyway, and would be there soon to help. He hoped that, anyway.

Techno still had to practically force Tommy to lay down on the bed. Once he did, he handed Wilbur gauze to put pressure on the wound with. In the meantime, Techno had put one of his old braces over Tommy’s knee, which he had apparently sprained. That explained the issue of not being able to stand earlier, he guessed.

"This sucks." Tommy muttered. 

"Ten more minutes, then we can close and wrap it, but we have to wait for the bleeding to slow first," Techno explained. 

Tommy looked agitated. He kept squirming, probably trying to get comfortable. Eventually, Wilbur sat on the bed next to him. 

“So… Meet any hot girls lately?” Tommy blurted out, as if he hadn’t been on the edge of a panic attack mere minutes ago.

“No.” Wilbur replied.

“Well, I have. I have a girlfriend, you know.”

“Oh, do you, now?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Mhm. She’s the hottest girl. I quite like women, you know.”

“Oh, no.” Wilbur turned to Technoblade jokingly, “He’s delirious.”

“Shut up.” Tommy smacked his arm lightly, cringing as it jostled the gauze against his wound.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Once Techno had wrapped the wound, he left, claiming he was tired and had classes the next day, but he shot Wilbur a ‘we need to talk’ look before walking out of the room that Wilbur immediately decided could wait until tomorrow. 

Tommy ended up in one of Wilbur’s old high school T-shirts. The logo had long since faded, and the sweatpants he wore with it was too big for him, but it would work for now. 

He would have to change again later, Wilbur realized, considering Tommy was still getting bits of blood and dirt on the new clothes. Again, it was a temporary solution. Maybe Techno had some clothes that would fit him better. Well, no, actually. Techno was more muscular than Wilbur, if anything his clothes would be bigger, even if he was shorter. 

Wilbur had managed to sneak to the hall closet quietly enough to steal new blankets and sheets and replace the ones covered in blood. He knew that he should wash the old ones as soon as possible to prevent staining, but he really couldn’t care. Tommy was there. He was there. 

‘There’ was in the middle of Wilbur’s bed, curled up in blankets, ice packs scattered across his body. He looked half-dead, and Wilbur probably would have thought he was dead, if not for the shaky rise and fall of his chest.

That wasn’t supposed to be shaky, was it? Definitely not.

He ended up sleeping on the floor next to the bed, having stolen a spare pillow and quilt. It was uncomfortable, half sitting up and leaning back against his bed, but he didn’t know what else to do. Besides, if something happened with Tommy, he wanted to be close enough to do something about it as soon as possible.

He found himself drifting off to a fitful sleep.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Tommy sleepwalked. He had even all those years ago when he first stayed at the Watson household. Wilbur had found him standing in the hallway, eyes barely open and completely unfocused. He had lightly put a hand on Tommy’s back and led him back to his room, careful to close the door behind him.

So it wasn’t a surprise that Tommy moved around a lot in his sleep. Wilbur was just glad that the kid hadn’t gotten out of bed yet, as he was worried it would injure him more.

The sleep talking was new, though.

Words were mumbled at a frantic pace, slurred together and almost impossible to make out. The few words Wilbur could understand, he really wished he couldn’t.

“No” was repeated over and over again, usually followed by “stop”, “please”, and “I’m sorry”. 

Wilbur almost responded the first time, before he realized it was sleep talking and not actually talking. 

It didn't make it any less disturbing to hear. 

"Get off me." Was a common mumble, usually more clear than the others, too. "I didn't… Not my fault. Stop it"

He wasn't sleeping fitfully. At least, for Tommy, it wasn't fitfully. He moved a little, sure, but not enough to make Wilbur worry, so he let him sleep. 

After the words "you're hurting me", Wilbur put a pillow over his ears to block out the sounds. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur went downstairs long before Tommy was awake. His plan was to make breakfast for the kid and bring it back upstairs. 

He was stopped by Techno, who was sitting at the kitchen table. Funny enough, it was right where Wilbur had sat when Phil suggested emergency fostering all those years ago. 

"So… You wanna explain, or?"

"Explain what?" He feigned innocence. 

"Why there's a kid bleeding out in your room."

"Oh, right. That." He took a deep breath, stirring eggs in the frying pan to busy himself. "That's Tommy."

"I gathered that. Why is he here?"

Wilbur took a breath. "He was one of our first fosters. And one of our longest- before you, anyway. I think I met him when I was ten or so."

He glanced back at Techno before continuing. 

"He kept coming back, which is… Unusual, you know? Kids shouldn't be in emergencies that often."

Techno simply hummed, wordlessly urging Wilbur to continue. 

"We were going to adopt him."

"What?" There was the reaction Wilbur expected. 

"We were. But he had too many potential parents, so they didn't even bother putting us on the list." He sighed. "That was six years ago, though. Honestly I kind of forgot about it."

"You forgot… Doesn't matter. So he's here because Phil almost adopted him?"

Wilbur shook his head. "I don't think so. We never even told him we were considering- didn't have time, and didn't want to get his hopes up."

"Then why did he-"

"I told him to. I think, anyway. The last time he left. I don't remember what I said, exactly, but it was something about coming here if there was an emergency."

Techno gave him a blank stare. "That makes sense, I guess."

"I don't know why he's here now, though, if that's what you're asking."

"What? He didn't tell you?" Sarcasm dripped from his brother's voice.

"You're one to talk. How many years did it take before I learned why you came here?"

"The difference is that juvie was my fault-"

"You know that's not true," Wilbur cut in quickly. 

"-and whatever happened here wasn't his. You need to talk to him. Convince him to make a police report, probably."

"I really doubt he's going to talk."

"Make him. If he had fosters or something who did it, they need to get in trouble before they do it to some other unlucky kid."

That's the thing about having a foster sibling. Wilbur wouldn't have thought about it being a foster parent in a hundred years, and he certainly wouldn’t have considered said foster parent doing it to their next child. Techno had thought about it in minutes. 

No matter how much he claimed, it was clear that his life in the system affected him. Technoblade was still unlearning habits from back when he was a kid. 

"Talk to him. Ask." Techno commanded. 

"Can't you?"

"I'm too scary."

"He liked you last night."

"I'm not dealing with orphans today, thanks."

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur brought the plate up on a tray they had bought Phil for Father's Day a few years back. It was pretty useful, actually, considering how badly Tommy's hands were shaking that morning. 

The tray sat over Tommy's lap, the legs balancing on each side of him so it wouldn't fall over. 

Tommy looked at the food like he didn't know what to do with it, despite Wilbur having given it directly to him. 

"Eat." Wilbur said. 

"I… This is all for me, big man?"

"Of course." As if it wasn't obvious. Wilbur had his own plate set on his own lap, as he sat in a desk chair pulled up next to the bed. 

Tommy took a tentative bite of his food. "Forgot, you put hot sauce in everything." He said, making a face. 

"I put hot sauce in my food. You're tasting pepper, Tommy." He laughed. 

Tommy shot him a glare, but didn't complain again. 

Tommy ate maybe a quarter of the food given to him, and Wilbur assured himself that it was fine. That Tommy wasn't feeling well and would eat more later. 

"Hey, Tommy?"

"Hm?"

He needed to make it very clear that he needed an answer. To say it firmly enough to not scare him. Techno was right- whoever did this to Tommy needed to be held accountable, and the first step to that was finding out who did it.

"We need to talk about why you're here."

Chapter Text

Tommy’s eyes flicked from Wilbur, to the door, to the window.

“Can I at least get a box for my breakfast before I go?”

Wilbur glanced down at the plate before centering his focus back on Tommy. “Before you go where?”

“Last night I said I would leave, yeah? I didn't say when, but I get if you want me to go now."

"What? No!" Seeing Tommy shrink back slightly, he lowered his voice. "No, I'm not kicking you out. I just need- I want to know what happened."

"What happened was I climbed through your window, that's what happened." Tommy rolled his eyes, as if it was obvious. 

He considered chiding Tommy on climbing to a second story window, but that could wait. "But why did you come in the first place?"

"You told me I could."

They were talking in circles, weren’t they? Looping around each other, just barely missing the point they needed to hit. 

"Why were you hurt?"

"I wasn't hurt, I'm a very big man. I don't even feel pain," Tommy huffed. 

"Technoblade said it looked like a knife wound."

"Technoblade's a bi-"

Wilbur cut him off. "Just tell me what happened."

Tommy took a deep breath before speaking, his voice quieter than it had been since he had shown up last night. 

“I got adopted," His voice was solemn, near a whisper. 

“Oh. That’s…?” He paused, not sure whether to say ‘good’ or not, because if it was good, then why was Tommy here?

“They wanted kids, I guess. Or, a kid, and since they couldn’t have one biologically, they adopted me. It was, like, four years ago, after I left your house.”

Wilbur nodded slightly, prompting him to continue. 

“Later, like a year ago, it turned out they could have biological kids. She got pregnant, had the baby, and it was all great until I screwed everything up.”

"'Screwed everything up' how?"

"I… The kid was, like, six months at that point, and she cried all the time. It was late at night and I- I thought maybe if I picked her up and rocked her, she'd go back to sleep, right?"

Wilbur nodded again. 

"And- well, she did, but then her parents came in and threw a fit about it." 'Her parents', Wilbur noted, not 'our parents'. "They said I wasn't allowed to touch her, that I could've hurt her, all that stuff. 

"I tried to tell them that I'd never hurt her, that I was being very gentle, but they wouldn't listen. All they'd say was that they read my files and 'knew what I'd done'. And then… Uh…" He trailed off. 

Wilbur stared at him for a long moment, waiting for Tommy to continue. When he didn't, Wilbur stepped in. 

"Then they beat you."

Tommy's eyes went wide. "What? No!"

"But you-"

"They're very nice people, Wilbur. They would never hit me."

"Then why are you covered in bruises and cuts?" He refrained from adding 'and burns and sprains' from the question. 

"They called my social worker, and said they wanted to reverse my adoption. I'd go back in the system."

The foster system was awful. Anyone who had any knowledge about it knew that as fact.

Tommy knew it better than most. 

"I've been in sixty homes in ten years, Wilbur.” As he spoke, Tommy stared down at the floor. “That family… They were my one chance. I blew it, and so I left. I packed my stuff and-" He glanced at Wilbur, gauging his expression before looking back to the floor, "I ran away."

Wilbur could barely calm his breathing. This kid- this child ran away from- he was getting ahead of himself. "When?" He asked, having to force the word out. 

"Almost a year ago."

"Where…?" He wanted to ask where he lived, but couldn't get the words out. 

Tommy got the hint. "Here and there. Couch-surfed with some classmates for almost a month, then stayed at the youth center 'till they threatened to call social services."

There was something eerie about the way Tommy spoke of it all. He seemed somewhat disconnected from it, as if what he was saying wasn't wasn't as disturbing as it actually was. That, or Wilbur was more concerned than he should be. He was pretty sure it was the first option, though.

Wilbur frowned deeply. "And then where?"

Tommy simply shrugged. "Streets. Park benches. Sometimes a friend's house, but Tubbo- I don't know if you remember him- Tubbo's parents started to catch on and I had to go."

"You could have come here."

"No. Phil would have to call social services- since he's a mandatory reporter and all that- and I would've left."

It… was true, probably. But the thought of his dad trying to help being the thing that scared Tommy away really hurt. 

"But you still came here."

"In my defense, I was kind of delirious."

That was an awful defense. "You don't need to defend yourself, Tommy. Just tell me what happened? How'd you get hurt?"

Tommy glanced around the several posters on the wall before his gaze settled on the floor. 

"About two months after I left, I met this guy. He was nice; nicer than most people, anyway. He gave me food on Wednesdays. Then on Mondays and Fridays, too. And- and the way he did it, I could tell it wasn’t a pity thing. At least, I don’t think so.”

Wilbur had to push his anxiety down and try to act calm with the somewhat worrying information he was receiving. “So this guy gave you food, then?”

“Mhm. And then a few weeks later, we had a real conversation. He was a foster kid who got emancipated at sixteen, and told me he recognized a foster kid when he saw one. He said I could stay at his apartment if I needed a warm place to stay.”

“Did you never get the stranger danger talk as a kid?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “He wasn’t a wrongun’, Will. He’s nice, I…” His expression fell, just for a moment, to one of confusion and pain, before he quickly slapped a smile back on. “He’s nice. He was my friend.”

“Right, so this fully grown man-”

“He’s like your age, Wilbur.”

“This adult man offered you, barely a teenager-”

“I’m practically an adult myself.”

His patience was wearing thin. “A young teenager,” He repeated, “A place to stay at his house. Look, I-” He paused, addressing Tommy’s facial expression. Tommy looked like he was about to go into defense mode, which wasn’t good if Wilbur wanted any useful information. “Go on with your story, then.”

“Well… I took his offer, obviously. In my defense, it was snowing at the time, I was ‘omeless and didn’t even have a jacket.”

So it was moving in with a stranger or risk (and almost definitely get) hypothermia. Wilbur shuddered at the thought that a child was forced to make a choice as severe as that.

“So I stayed with him for a bit. He had all these rules and stuff, but all foster parents do, so it wasn't a big deal. And… And-" He sharply inhaled. "And then it was fine, the end." He shoved the food tray to the side and made to get up. 

"Tommy-"

"I should get going now. He's probably wondering where I went." 

Tommy stood up, and if Wilbur hadn't been two feet away from him, he most certainly would have collapsed to the ground. Instead, Wilbur, sensing what would happen, stood and caught the kid, helping him upright.

He was so tall. Barely a few inches shorter than Wilbur now, and Wilbur was tall. 

Wilbur shook that thought away. This is temporary, he reminded himself. Tommy would-

Tommy wasn't an emergency foster anymore. He was just a kid. A kid Wilbur needed to help. 

“Tommy-” He repeated, but Tommy just kept going.

“I’ve been missing for two days- he’s gonna think I’m dead. He’s gonna be so worried, he might think I’m dead-”

“Tommy, listen,” He tried. Tommy was having none of it.

“He’ll be so mad. Holy- he’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna- he could- I have to go home. Wilbur, I need to go home.” Tommy’s breaths were coming in far too quickly, just south of hyperventilation. Wilbur could feel how the kid shook just slightly, though that might have been an issue even before ‘he’ - whoever ‘he’ was - was brought up. 

“Tommy, please.”

“I have to go. I need to- he’ll be angry, he’ll be less angry the sooner I’m back- Wilbur I have to go.” At that point, Tommy ran out of air to talk, so Wilbur finally took his chance to speak up.

"Tommy Innet, sit back down, “Wilbur said, trying to lightly push him back onto the bed, although Tommy was heavily resisting.

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re just going to hurt yourself more-”

“It’s good to walk on sprains, actually. Helps ‘em heal faster.”

“Sit.”

Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed with a huff. He crossed his arms and looked up at Wilbur, eyes narrowed in a glare. At least, Wilbur was pretty sure it was a glare, but there was something else in the expression that made Wilbur pause. 

“You’re going to try and run as soon as I sit back down, aren’t you?” Wilbur asked.

Tommy shook his head all too quickly. “Of course not, big man. I would never do that.”

Every older sibling instinct in Wilbur was screaming at him that that was exactly what Tommy would do, so he stayed, stood just to the right of Tommy. He took a hesitant step back, though, giving the kid a little more breathing room. 

And that’s where they stayed; for a little while, at least. Neither would admit defeat, so they were stuck in an awkward glare-off. It reminded Wilbur a lot of when Technoblade had first moved in, when he and Wilbur would fight. Techno and Wilbur would glare across the table at each other during every meal, and sometimes the glaring wouldn’t stop for days, until his dad forced (politely urged them, really) to talk to each other and make amends. 

There was a quiet knock on Wilbur’s door. He turned his head to look, but in his peripheral vision, he could see Tommy’s eyes go wide, and he scrambled off of the bed and… Into the closet?

“Hey, Will, are you in there?” His dad’s voice carried through clearly, despite the door being well-made and closed tightly.

“Yeah, dad. Uh-” He glanced at the closet, where Tommy was currently shuffling further behind clothes, stepping on who-knows-what. Wilbur really needed to clean that up, apparently… “What’s up?”

“You weren’t here for breakfast. I thought you might still be asleep.”

“Uh, no, no. Just… I was feeling sick. Yeah, yeah. Real nauseous.” He closed the closet door as quietly as possible, wincing as the lock clicked.

Phil’s voice suddenly was full of concern. “You didn’t catch something, did you? It could be a cold. Can I come in?” Ever since he started fostering, his dad had worked incredibly hard on giving everyone privacy, which meant he really wouldn’t come in unless Wilbur said yes.

He looked at the rest of his room, before making his decision. He kicked his chair back towards the desk and shoved his empty plate underneath his bed before crawling on top of it and underneath the blankets. The tray of food he had brought Tommy was still there, but it was too late to do anything about that. He had already taken far too long to answer.

Wilbur forced out a cough. “Yeah, dad, you can come in.”

Phil was inside within seconds, walking quickly over, almost immediately putting a hand to Wilbur’s forehead. “Hm, you don’t feel warm. You said you’re nauseous, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got a killer headache… It might be a migraine, actually.” He leaned back further in bed, as if that would help his case.

Phil pursed his lips, nodding slightly. “I’ll get you some tylenol and an ice pack.” He stepped to the side and closed the curtains. “You’ve got some food left on your bed, though. Did Techno bring it up? He didn’t mention anything to me about you being sick…”

“Mhm.” At this point, he was just agreeing with everything his dad said. “I told Tech that I didn’t want to worry you, since you have work and stuff.”

“Nonsense. My boss will always let me take off for a sick child.”

A muted, somewhat startled noise came from the closet. Tommy… Wilbur forced out another cough, grabbing on to Phil’s arm before the man could investigate the origin of the sound.

“Actually, maybe a bowl or something, too? I don’t know if I can make it to the restroom if I have to…” He trailed off, trying to send the message.

Phil nodded quickly. “Of course, of course. I’ll grab stuff. Are you going to be okay if I leave you here for a minute?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks, dad.”

As soon as Phil walked out, closing the door behind him, the closet door was thrust open, and Tommy stumbled out, nearly falling over. His gaze flicked between the closed bedroom door and Wilbur.

“You covered for me.” He said, voice near a whisper.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell Phil, you didn’t say you’d lie for me.”

“That’s… Pretty normal, Tommy. How was I supposed to tell the truth if I couldn’t tell him about it?” He frowned.

Tommy just shrugged at that. “I don’t know. Thought you’d give me up to him immediately or something.”

“No, no,” Wilbur paused, glancing at the door himself now. “But he’ll come back soon, and he’ll be hard to get rid of if he thinks I’m sick. I… I hate to do this, but how about you go in Techno’s room for a bit?”

Tommy’s expression fell a miniscule amount, but not enough for Wilbur to worry too much about. “Which room is that?”

“Right next to mine.”

His expression fell further. “That was my room.”

“I know, Toms. But he lives here now.” Wilbur grimaced. When Tommy didn’t respond to that, Wilbur just sighed. “You need to get going, my dad’s going to be back soon.”

Without another word, Tommy walked (or limped, really) off to Technoblade’s room.

A few minutes later, his dad returned, tylenol, water, and an ice pack in hands.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Technoblade stomped into Wilbur’s room around four hours later. His hair was a tangled mess and he had yet to change out of his work uniform. How Techno balanced work, school, and all his extracurriculars, Wilbur would never know, but he somehow managed it.

Although, now, Techno looked nothing but angry.

“I heard you’re sick.” Techno said, voice gruff. He stood in the doorway almost menacingly, though that might have just been due to his size.

Wilbur nodded slightly. “Yeah, real sick. I couldn’t even get out of bed this morning, if dad asks.”

“Phil said I made you breakfast in bed. That’s awfully nice of me, Wilbur.”

He forced a smile. “It is. Thank you for that, Technoblade.”

“Why is the gremlin in my room?”

His smile fell. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Technoblade walked further inside, closing the door behind him so loudly it was practically slammed. In the back of his head, Wilbur could almost hear Phil reminding him ‘we don’t slam doors in this house, thank you’. 

“The kid. You’re still hidin’ him from Phil.”

He let out another sigh before nodding. “A bit, yeah. He’s terrified, Techno, I’m not just going to sell him out.”

“He’s not our problem, Wilbur,” Techno said as if it was a blatant fact. 

Wilbur disagreed. “He is our problem.”

“He’s not your brother, he’s not Phil’s son. Tommy is just some random kid off of the street. Tell him to leave.”

“He was almost my brother, Techno-”

“But he isn’t,” He insisted. “He’s not your brother, he’s just some scrawny foster kid who doesn’t know that he isn’t welcome.”

“Technoblade! Tommy is welcome here. Tell me that you didn’t tell him otherwise.”

“I only told him the truth. Look, Wilbur, I get that you and your dad have this whole saviour complex thing, but-”

Wilbur cut him off. “Excuse me?”

“You fostered troubled kids, tryin’ to ‘make a difference’ or whatever. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“Dad wanted a family, man. He’s not like that, you know that.”

“Do I?”

Where had this come from? Technoblade was okay with Tommy being there last night. Even in the morning, he seemed okay. What had switched?

“Because it looks to me like you’re trying to adopt another kid,” Technoblade finished looking down at Wilbur, who was still sitting in bed, Phil having come in only a few minutes ago.

Oh. Wilbur had an idea of what this could be about. He just… Wasn’t sure how to solve the issue, not at the moment, anyway.

His expression softened. “Techno… I’m not replacing you. You know that, right?”

Anger flashed in his brother’s face. “Of course I know that. I just don’t want some snot-nosed kid in my room.”

“He’s hiding from dad.”

“You shouldn’t be hiding people from Phil!” His voice verged on exasperated. Wilbur didn’t care. 

“So what? Do you want me to send him back out to the streets? Or back to whoever hurt him so badly that he’s scared to speak bad about them?”

Technoblade wasn’t backing down. “Send him back to foster care. It’s where he belongs.”

“Techno… You should know more than ever that what you’re saying is-”

“Get him out of my room. Or I’m telling Phil.”

“You’re-”

“You have one minute, starting now.”

Wilbur stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was being serious about this right now.

“Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven.” Technoblade muttered.

Wilbur scrambled to his feet and pushed past Technoblade and into the other’s room. As he opened the door, he saw a flash of movement as Tommy ducked under the bed. Er, tried to duck under the bed, because he definitely flexed his leg wrong and let out a quiet yell of pain, stopping halfway underneath, feet sticking out.

“Just me.” Wilbur let out yet another sigh. “You can come out.”

It took a moment for Tommy to wriggle back out, and another to push himself to a seated position. “Your brother sucks.”

“He… He’s just upset right now. Doesn’t like change, I think. Or visitors. Or… Children. Come on, we’re going back to my room.” He offered Tommy a hand to get back up, but Tommy just stared at it blankly, as if he didn’t understand the gesture.

“What about Phil?” Tommy asked.

“We’ll figure something out. Come on.” He grabbed Tommy’s hand, who yelped again and tried to move back, but Wilbur was faster, pulling him to his feet. He knew he shouldn’t have Tommy walking this much, but there were more important things to worry about at the moment than a hurt leg.

He did his best to walk behind Tommy, shielding his dad’s view in case he walked by, but they got back to his room with no incident. 

“Twenty-two. Twenty- there you are. Bye.” 

Wilbur would have called after Techno, but the door was already shut.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur and Tommy both sat, now. Tommy on the floor (at his own insistence) and Wilbur on his desk chair. They weren’t at odds, per say, it was just that neither boy knew where to go from there.

Wilbur wanted answers. He wanted to know who the man who pseudo-adopted Tommy was. He wanted to know why Tommy showed up at their house after all these years. He wanted to know everything that happened. Weirdly enough, he wanted to get to know Tommy, too. Like, as an actual person.

Tommy, on the other hand, very clearly wanted to leave. He continuously glanced from the door to the window, and his hands never stopped fidgeting once in the twenty minutes or so they sat in relative silence. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

All (somewhat good) things come to an end, Wilbur supposed. He had finally convinced Tommy to lay on the bed again, telling him that the sooner that his leg healed, the sooner he could leave. So, Tommy was on the bed, knee under a barely cool ice pack and propped up on top of several pillows. He was flipping through some graphic novel Wilbur had brought back in middle school and had never gotten rid of.

Wilbur had gone to his phone, scrolling through social media, looking half-heartedly at photos of his friends, who were all off at college. He knew that he had made the choice to take a gap year, but still, it hurt to see all his friends enjoying a life that he wasn’t anywhere near.

There was a knock at the door again. It must have been Techno, coming to apologize about his blow-up earlier.

“Come in,” Wilbur called, not bothering to look up at his phone. At least, he didn’t bother to look up from his phone until he heard the ‘thump’ of Tommy, who had rolled off of the bed and onto the floor, probably trying to hide again.

“Tom-” Wilbur started to say, but the boy’s frantic finger to his mouth, signalling ‘quiet’, stopped him. He looked over to the door instead.

There stood Phil, who was currently holding a bowl of chicken soup. His eyes were wide, and he stared down at the kid on Wilbur’s floor, not saying a word, probably out of shock more than anything else.

Chapter Text

The three men (well, two men and a barely-teenager) stayed like that for what felt like ages, but was probably only a few seconds.

"Wilbur," Phil finally said. "Who… Why?"

Tommy looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and never be seen again. Wilbur didn't feel much different. 

"Uh, Dad… You remember Tommy, right?" Wilbur asked, discomfort creeping through his voice. 

"I do, yes," Phil replied slowly. "But why is he here?"

"He," Tommy cut in, using the bed to help himself into a standing position, "Was just leaving." With that, he rushed out the door.

At least, he tried to. That didn't happen. 

Phil was still standing next to the door frame, stillholding the bowl of soup, though now in one hand, almost as if he expected it. Without hesitation, he stuck his free arm out, effectively stopping Tommy from leaving. 

Tommy froze for a second, then took a few small steps back towards Wilbur. 

"You told him?" Tommy whispered harshly, though definitely loud enough for Phil to hear him. 

"I didn't. I thought it was Technoblade at the door," Wilbur said back, glancing between Phil and Tommy. 

Phil didn't look angry. He looked more confused than anything else. 

Tommy looked scared. Maybe a bit angry, too, but mostly scared. 

And Wilbur was just conflicted. Because on one hand, he was relieved that there was a responsible adult who could help. On the other hand, Tommy had made it incredibly clear that he didn't want Phil to know. 

"Hey, mate…" Phil said, but the familiar words sounded so uncomfortable and awkward in this situation.

"Phil," Tommy replied, "'Ow do?"

"I'm… I'm good. How- how are you, Tommy?"

"Doing just great. I'd like to leave now, thanks." He tried to push past Phil, but was stopped once again. 

"Tommy," Phil's voice was softer, as if speaking to a wild animal. It was how he spoke to Tommy the second time he fostered him.

"This is technically kidnapping, you know. If you don't let me leave."

"Tommy," Phil repeated.

"That's fifteen to twenty-five years. Maybe more, since it's across state lines. You'd lose your fostering license and probably end up on some list."

Wilbur would wonder why Tommy knew so much about kidnapping charges later, but right now there were more important things to deal with.

"I'm not kidnapping you."

"I'm here against my will," Tommy insisted, "You won't let me leave."

"You're hurt," Phil's expression crumpled, but Tommy's only became angrier. 

"I'm fine. And even if it wasn't, I wouldn't want your pity." He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off as Phil rushed forward. 

Tommy stilled a flinch as Phil wrapped his arms around in a hug. Wilbur couldn't help but feel a little jealous about it; Tommy had been there almost a full day, and Wilbur hadn't gotten one yet. 

The jealousness lessened when he saw how Tommy tensed and immediately tried to push away. 

After a moment, Phil let go and instead held Tommy at arm's length. 

"You're hurt." He said, voice barely over a whisper. 

"Nothing a big man like me can't handle." Tommy said it like he didn't have a black eye, taking a few steps back, out of Phil's grip. He winced slightly when he put weight on his sprained knee. 

Phil didn't respond to that. Not directly, at least, but the face he pulled was enough even without words. 

"Will, can I talk to you for a moment?"

-----0-----0-----0-----

They stood just outside of the bedroom door, leaving it open just a crack on the off-chance that Tommy tried to leave through the window. 

Phil had called the idea of that happening absurd, but the kid had entered the same way the night before, so...

Phil was already pulling his phone out. “How long has he been here?”

“An hour,” Wilbur said firmly. It was a blatant lie, but maybe if he said it with enough confidence…

“This is serious, Will. How long?”

Wilbur grimaced. “Since, like, three this morning. T- I patched him up, let him sleep, and he hung out here until you came in.”

Phil nodded at that. “Did he say who hurt him? Foster parent, kid at school, stranger?”

When Wilbur was ten, right before they started fostering, Phil had sat him down ‘for a chat’. He talked about how a lot of the children they fostered would have been abused or neglected in the past, and how it wasn’t their business what happened to them. If the kid wanted to tell Wilbur, they would. And if they didn’t… That was okay, too.

“No, he didn’t say,” He lied.

Phil let out a long sigh. “Okay, okay, that’s fine,” He muttered, more to himself than Wilbur. He was typing something on his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to see if I still have his social worker’s number.”

Wilbur had to hold himself back from grabbing the phone straight from his father’s hands. “Dont.”

“Will-”

“Dad, please. He- he’s hurt and really scared right now.”

“I can see that, Will, it’s why I’m calling his social worker in the first place.”

“You can’t.”

Phil looked at him, unimpressed.

“Look, we can call them later, I promise, just…. Not now. He doesn’t want us to, and you talk all the time about ‘respecting people’s wishes’, don’t you?” Wilbur tried.

“That’s-” Phil cut himself off with another sigh. “One more night, then I’m calling."

Wilbur could work with that. 

"Can I talk to him alone for a minute?" Phil asked. 

Wilbur nodded. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur didn't hear most of the conversation. Only bits and pieces, especially when Tommy raised his voice defensively. He assumed those were the moments where Phil questioned what had happened to him in the last…

Hours? Days? Years?

Phil's voice got louder as he approached the door. 

"You're free to wander the house, you know. Same rules apply as all the other times, do you remember them?"

Wilbur didn't hear Tommy's response, but he must have said something, because Phil spoke again. 

"If you want to play a game or anything, just ask Wilbur, I'm sure he's happy to help. I have a few things I need to do before I start cooking dinner, but that should be ready in a few hours."

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur and Tomny ended up in the living room, watching some Disney movie that Wilbur frankly didn't care for. 

Wilbur had his feet up on the coffee table, scrolling through his phone again. Tommy was bundled in several blankets, eyes glued to the screen, but the rest of his body constantly fidgeting and readjusting. 

“Can I borrow your phone, Will?” Tommy asked. He had been drumming his fingers on the edge of the couch for the last twenty minutes, and the sound was starting to annoy Wilbur.

“Why?”

“I need to call Tu- I need to call someone.” Tommy spoke quickly, and there was an edge of nervousness to his voice that Wilbur hated.

“Who?” In all honesty, Wilbur was worried that Tommy wanted to call whoever had been taking care of him for the past few months. His- and Wilbur hated to think about it- abuser.

“My friend. I think you met him, once.”

Wilbur had met plenty of foster kid’s friends before, and it was honestly difficult to keep track of them. There was a good chance that he had met Tommy’s friend and was just forgetting.

“I haven’t talked to him in months, he’s probably worried,” Tommy continued, “And I can put it on speaker phone, if it helps.”

“You don’t have to put it on speaker, Tommy. Here.” He handed the phone to Tommy, who took it graciously.

After a brief moment where Tommy had to hand it back so Wilbur could put in the password, Tommy was almost immediately dialling his friend’s number, who answered after barely two rings.

“Tommy?” A slightly muted boy’s voice crackled through the receiver, definitely shouted, considering Wilbur could hear it all the way from the other end of the couch.

“Hey, Tubs.” Tommy replied with a bit of a chuckle. “How are you?”

“How am I? How are you? You’ve been gone a month, man. We were starting to-”

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Tommy cut him off.

There was a moment of silence. “How’s the weather now?”

Tommy glanced at Wilbur before answering. “It was pretty stormy for a few days, but I think it might clear up now. You?”

Tommy shifted, switching the phone to his other hand, muffling Tub’s voice enough that Wilbur couldn’t make out any words. Not that he was eavesdropping to begin with.

"Well, duh, but what about at school?" Tommy asked, voice turning serious. After a pause, "Good. That's good."

Wilbur started to drum his fingers- hypocritical, he knew. What was he supposed to do in that situation? Sit there? Leave?

"I can't tell you- no, he doesn't know. I'm gonna go back- shut up, Tubbo. I dont- I'm not stupid, but-" Tommy's expression morphed to something just shy of anger. 

Something clattered in the kitchen. 

Wilbur took that as his cue to leave. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Technoblade threw a cup of noodles into the microwave, slamming the door closed as Wilbur walked through the doorway. 

"Did you put water in that?" Wilbur called, slightly amused. 

Techno jerked the door back open and pulled the cup out. He muttered some insult to Wilbur, who wasn't particularly bothered.

"Dad'll send you back if you burn the house down," he teased. It was a pretty normal joke for the two of them- not something they did often, mind you, but something that Techno had never really been bothered by. He even used to tell Wilbur that Phil would 'put you up fo adoption' to even out the jokes. 

But now, Techno tensed. 

"I'm kidding," Wilbur said bluntly. 

Techno didn't relax. 

When he didn't get a reply, he spoke again. "I thought dad was going to cook dinner tonight, what's with the Ramen?" 

Technoblade didn't even bother to look at him. "I have a lot of studying I need to do."

"It's Summer."

"School never stops." He deadpanned. 

"You don't take classes in the Summer. Why are you being so standoffish all of a sudden?"

He watched as his brother moved to the sink and filled the cup with water, then put it back into the microwave and turned it on, all the while not answering Wilbur's question. 

They stood in silence until the microwave went off. Techno grabbed his food and left. 

When Wilbur returned to the living room, Tommy was back to watching the movie, the phone set on Wilbur's seat. 

He put it into his pocket before sitting down. 

"What'd I miss?" He asked, referring to the movie. 

Tommy must have understood the question differently. "Tubbo says hi." 

"Who?"

"Tubbo. My friend."

"Oh. Do I know him?"

Tommy shrugged. "Maybe. He lives near here, might go to your high school."

Wilbur nodded at that. "The name sounds familiar. What's his last name?"

Tommy paused. "Uh… Underscore, or something like that."

Wilbur did not know a Tubbo Underscore.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Tommy said he wasn't hungry for dinner and excused himself to Wilbur's room. 

Techno had already eaten, giving the excuse of having to study before disappearing himself.

Which left Phil and Wilbur alone at the too-large kitchen table. 

Wilbur found himself drumming his fingers against his knee, humming softly. Neither man was particularly talkative, probably for good reason.

"Dad…" Wilbur started, waiting until Phil finally looked up at him before he continued to speak. "Are you really going to call Tommy's social worker on him? That can't seriously be necessary."

Phil chuckled, but there wasn't much humor in it. "I'm afraid so, kiddo."

"But-"

"It's for his safety."

"How?" He loved his father, but he had serious doubts that calling CPS would be the 'safest' thing to do. 

"For starters, he's probably registered as a missing person. I'm sure his parents are worried sick."

Wilbur was taken aback for a second. "Parents?"

Phil nodded. "He was adopted a few years ago, I only found out it was official last year. I meant to tell you, Will, but I think it was when you were out all the time with your band. After that, it just slipped my mind."

It wasn't Wilbur's story to tell. It wasn't, and he knew that. But if Tommy didn't want to go back to foster care, then Wilbur had to at least share one thing to keep him from it. 

"They sent him back." He said rather uncomfortably. "He told me. Almost a year ago, they had an incident, and sent him back to foster care."

"Oh." Phil frowned. "I had no idea."

"I didn't either. Not until last night, anyway."

There was an awkward silence for a moment. 

"I still have to call social services, you know," Phil said, voice cutting sharp through the quiet. 

"I figured you would say that." A pause, then, "We could foster him."

Phil's frown deepened. "Wilbur, you're not thinking things through."

"No, dad, you're not. He's terrified and hurt and I'm not sending him back to that."

"It's for his safety, Will. You know that."

"He's safe here."

"At the moment, yeah. But what about when you and Techno leave? And when I have to go to work? He's a kid, he needs attention that we can't give to him."

"I'll do it."

"You're not putting college off another year."

"Dad-"

"Even if you wanted to, he can't stay here. He needs to go back to school, he needs therapists, he needs a doctor, probably, and I can't give any of that to him without documents that I don't have, because I'm not his foster dad anymore."

"You're not listening to me."

"You're not listening to me. I'm putting my foot down, the answer is no."

"Dad, please."

It was weird. He hadn't thought about Tommy in years. Sure, they almost adopted him, but that was years ago, and no one had so much as heard about him sense. There was no reason for him to care that much. 

But he did. 

It was honestly ridiculous how much he cared about the little gremlin. Well, not so little anymore, but the thought was there still.

Maybe it was seeing him so hurt. Or hearing that he had been (and still sort of was) homeless. Maybe it was about whatever son-of-a-blank that had practically kidnapped him. Either way, Wilbur wanted to do nothing more than protect Tommy. 

"No. I'm not fostering again, and even if I was, there would be no way to guarantee this is were Tommy would end up."

Wilbur groaned. "We could find a way. We could, you know-"

"I'm not fostering another kid."

"Dad."

"This conversation is over, Wilbur." Phil pushed his chair back and stood. 

Wilbur stared for a long moment. "Look… I'm sorry, okay?" He didn't want to deal with two family members angry at him, not when one was bad enough. "Just sit down, yeah? I don't want you to have to skip dinner or anything."

Neither of them spoke the rest of the meal. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

"I can sleep on the floor." Tommy offered. It was nearly eleven, and everyone was on the edge of exhaustion. 

"I'm not making you sleep on the floor," Wilbur replied, exasperated. 

"Well I don't want to sleep in your gross bed-"

"You were fine with it last night," He grumbled. 

"-And I've slept in much more uncomfortable places than your floor. It's fine, Will." 

The thought of Tommy sleeping under some bridge crossed his mind. Sure, Wilbur didn't know for sure that it ever happened, but Tommy had been homeless. It was a possibility. 

"You'll sleep in my bed, I'll sleep on the couch."

"I'll sleep on the couch, you sleep on the bed." Tommy was already halfway out the door. 

"Tommy, no." Wilbur tried to argue, but then Tommy slammed the door shut. 

"Goodnight, big man." Tommy shouted through the closed door. 

Head in hands, too tired to argue, Wilbur shouted back. "Goodnight, Tommy. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

He didn't get an answer, but he was fairly certain that Tommy heard him, at least. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur crept downstairs at two A.M. to check on Tommy. Part of him was worried that Tommy would run away in the middle of the night, though the other part assured him that thought was unjustified. He didn't know which part was correct.

He stopped a few steps away from the bottom when he heard his brother's voice.

"Wilbur didn't change your bandages?" Techno sounded annoyed, but not as angry as he had been earlier that day. 

Tommy's voice replied, "Don't need 'em changed for another week, big man."

He could almost imagine Techno's face: giving Tommy a painfully long stare followed by a slow blink. "You're gonna get an infection."

"I'm not. I've never gotten an infection before."

"Somehow, I doubt that. Stay here, I'm gettin' the bandages now."

Techno's footsteps got quiet, silent, then louder again as he returned to Tommy.

It was quiet for a minute, minus the shuffling of fabric, followed by a yelp from Tommy. 

"Stop squirming." 

"You're a d-"

"Quiet, you're gonna wake everyone up." Techno's voice dropped to a loud whisper. 

It was quiet again, and Wilbur was about to leave before Tommy spoke up again. 

"Thanks, Technoblade…" He said, sheepishly.

"Night, kid. Oh, and don't try an' steal from me again. Don't think I didn't notice my money missing."

Once Technoblade's footsteps started again, Wilbur dashed back up the stairs. 

There were a lot of issues they needed to work out. But for now, it was… Not okay- certainly not- but it was manageable. 

And that was enough for that night. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur woke up at five AM that morning. He would love to say that he was happy to- that he was a morning person, and he would have gotten up anyway, but that would be an absolute lie.

Wilbur was anything but a morning person.

But today he had decided to make breakfast.

The breakfast may or may not have been specifically to try and butter up Phil into not calling social services.

And maybe deep down, Wilbur knew that it was a bad idea. That social services were there for a reason, that they were supposed to be the ones keeping Tommy safe. He knew that this whole… Situation needed to be reported to the authorities. 

But he had heard a lot of horror stories from Technoblade growing up.

Stories of workers who dropped Techno off at houses even though they clearly weren't fit for any children to live in. Stories of workers who didn't listen when Techno told them he was getting hurt. Stories of dangerous situations that no child should ever be in.

Technoblade was fifteen when Phil started fostering him, and the man regularly said he wished that he had done it sooner.

Tommy was… Oh, wow. Tommy was sixteen, just a year older than Techno had been. A sixteen year old kid who had been in sixty different homes. He ran away from all that for a reason, and Wilbur was well aware of that.

He was less aware of the pancakes burning. 

At least, he wasn’t until the smoke alarm went off.

The pancakes were burning, yes, but they weren’t on fire. At least… He stuck the spatula under the side of one and lifted it slightly to check underneath. No, not on fire, then, just black as coal.

He dropped the pancake back onto the pan and immediately went to throw open the kitchen window, followed by the back door. 

He spun around to finally turn the stove off (something he should have done already) and was met face-to-face with Tommy.

Or, not face-to-face. More like face-to-back, because Tommy was at the stove and had just flicked the burner’s dial to its ‘off’ position. He grabbed the handle of the pan and turned, stumbling backwards when he realized Wilbur was right in front of him.

If they were slightly more unlucky, Tommy might have backed into the still-hot stove. He might have dropped the pan onto someone’s bare foot. He didn’t, though.

However, the pancake did catch fire, as if waiting for this moment.

They both let out surprised shouts, both just as much in shock as in panic. 

Wilbur, trying to be the responsible adult for once in his life, pulled the flaming pan from Tommy’s hands and more or less tossed it through the open back door.

He was very lucky that they had a cement patio instead of a wooden porch.

Wilbur whirled around to look at Tommy.

“Why would you grab the flaming pan?” Wilbur shouted incredulously.

“It wasn’t on fire when I grabbed it!"

"Kids aren't supposed to touch hot pans!"

"I'm not a child!"

They were interrupted by the sound of someone running down the stairs. Phil, who was shouting in the most panicked tone Wilvur had ever heard from him. 

"Wilbur! Tommy! Fire!"

Phil stopped when he saw them standing in the kitchen, both looking unimpressed. 

"Should I be concerned that neither of you are worried?" Phil joked, still on the edge of nervousness. 

"I'd be more concerned that your kid slept through it." Tommy shrugged. 

“What, no, I woke-” Phil cut himself off, turning to face the staircase. “Techno!” 

There was a mumble of a shout (how Techno managed to mumble a shout, Wilbur could never figure out) from upstairs, but there were no real signs of him getting up. 

"He was up late last night, I think." Tommy supplied, as if the information made this situation any better. He was 

Wilbur took a deep breath before speaking. "I burnt breakfast. No one's hurt, the kitchen is fine." He paused, thinking of the pan he had launched outside moments ago. "We might need a new saucepan though."

"Will…" Phil said. If Wilbur didn't know him better, he would have thought him to be annoyed. But Wilbur could see the glint of a smile in his eyes. 

"Hey! At least I didn't burn the house down."

-----0-----0-----0-----

Tommy drummed his fingers on the table, and the noise was starting to drive Wilbur insane. 

Phil had insisted that they stay clear of the kitchen, even with Tommy insisting that he wasn’t even awake and that Wilbur was the one to set the fire alarm off. So now they sat next to each other at the kitchen table, awkwardly waiting as Phil cooked breakfast.

Phil set down a plate of eggs and fruit in front of each person, and put foil over Techno’s plate since he was still asleep. Maybe not still asleep, but asleep again.

“So,” Tommy said, speaking though a mouthful of eggs, “Did you call them yet?”

Wilbur made a face. “Chew with your mouth closed, child. Did no one teach you manners?” 

Tommy sneered at him, “They tried, but they said I was ‘unteachable’.” He said it like it was something to be proud of.

Phil shot Wilbur a look. “Called who, Tommy?”

“You said you’d call social services today. Well, you said it yesterday, but, you know.”

“Oh. Right- yes. Well, no, I haven’t called them yet. It’s a little early-”

“Will, can I borrow your phone?” Tommy asked, turning to Wilbur.

Wilbur frowned. “Why?”

“I want to call Tubbo and let him know I’m leaving again. I don’t really know the next time I’ll be able to access a phone.” His face fell, and it almost looked like he was going to cry, except for the fact that his eyes were still dry.

Wilbur let out a sigh before unlocking and handing the phone to Tommy.

Tommy pushed back his chair and stood up before hesitating, sending a glance at Phil. “Can I, uh, be excused?”

“Sure, now you care about manners.” Wilbur muttered, mostly teasing.

“Go ahead, Tommy.” Phil said softly.

The boy practically ran out of the room.

“I am sorry about the fire, dad. I wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

Phil laughed. “There’s a reason you don’t cook, Will.”

“Oh, shut up. I try to do one nice thing-”

“And I am very appreciative of it.”

Wilbur smiled, but it quickly fell again.

“When are you calling social services?”

“After breakfast. I wouldn’t want to send him off without a good meal.”

He grimaced, looking down at the table. “We still could-”

“Wilbur, we’ve talked about this.”

“You’ve fostered him before. You could do it again, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I don’t-”

“I know you don’t want to, but he needs someone.”

“We don’t have enough beds, Will.” Phil said, firmly enough to surprise him. “He needs his own room and I can’t provide that. I don’t have the extra money to get clothes for him, or bathroom supplies or anything.”

“But you fostered him before.”

“That was before Technoblade. There was a reason we never fostered siblings, you know, we didn’t have the room for them.”

He hated when his dad was right. When everything he was saying made sense. It made Wilbur want to double down on his point, even if he knew the argument was fruitless in the end.

Finally, Wilbur relented. 

Sort of.

“Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”

There wasn’t. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

They sat in Wilbur’s room as Phil made the call. Tommy looked like he wanted to jump out of the window, and Wilbur didn’t feel much different.

“We could run away together.” Tommy suggested in a voice that made Wilbur unsure whether or not it was a joke.

“That sounds like a bad idea.”

“But we could.” Tommy insisted, already creeping over to the window. Wilbur had to grab him by the shirt collar to stop him. “Think about it- you and me, against the world. We’d be like brothers.”

“Unfortunately, you’re sixteen, and I would be charged with kidnapping.”

“I am an adult. A big man. Thank you very much.” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Talk to me when you’re emancipated.” Wilbur flopped down onto his bed. He hadn’t even bothered to make it that morning, so the blankets were strewn everywhere. From the corner of his eye, he was pretty sure he caught Tommy sticking his tongue out at him.

Tommy groaned. “They don’t emancipate problem children, Wilbur!” 

“You’re not a problem child.”

“Tell that to every foster parent I’ve ever had, they’d disagree with you.”

Wilbur sat up to look Tommy in the face.

His black eye was healing, despite the fact that it looked worse than before. The red of the night he arrived had changed into a purple so dark it was almost black, but at least it was a little less swollen than that night. Butterfly bandages still held closed the cuts on his forehead and cheek.

Calling social services would prevent whoever had hurt Tommy like this from hurting him again.

Calling social services would also give other people the chance to hurt him.

“Are you going to run away again?” Wilbur asked rather suddenly.

“From you guys? No, I-”

“From your future foster family.”

Tommy laughed at that. “Did Phil not let you read my file? I was a flight risk, even back then. I’m gonna go anytime I want.”

“You haven’t run from here yet.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure if he was referring to the past when Tommy stayed with them, or the present. 

“I like it here.” Tommy said with a shrug. “It’s a good home.”

Wilbur’s heart didn’t break at that. It didn’t. That didn’t make him sad, it didn’t sting, it didn’t do anything. Because Phil was doing what was right.

“There are other good homes, you know.”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. “I know.”

“You could get put in one of them.” Wilbur suggested with a slight smile.

Tommy did not smile back. “I’ve been in those before. Good homes don’t want bad kids, Wilbur.”

“I just-”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Wilbur’s smile fell. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

“What’s your opinion on hippos? Personally, I can’t stand those guys.”

Wilbur would later realize that he hadn’t been trying to reassure Tommy with that conversation. No, saying that there were good houses out there wasn’t for Tommy. Saying that he would be safe wasn’t for Tommy.

It was for himself, really.

He wanted to convince himself that it would be okay, when he really didn’t know if it would be.

-----0-----0-----0-----

A social worker arrived within two hours of the phone call. Wilbur walked Tommy downstairs to meet them.

The man was… Not who Wilbur was expecting. He was tall, well-built, and had dyed green hair. The hair didn’t bother Wilbur, though he was surprised at how young the guy was. Most social workers were in their 40’s at least, but this guy looked to be in his mid 20’s, which Wilbur supposed wasn’t impossible, just unlikely.

“Phil, it’s so nice to meet you in person. I’ve heard a lot about you since I started working in this district.” The man said with a big smile as he shook Phil’s hand.

“All good things, I hope?”

“Good things. I’m Sam, by the way. We spoke over the phone.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Phil nodded, before taking a step back. “Well, come in. I’m sure Tommy’s just- ah, he’s right here, actually.”

Wilbur was at the bottom of the staircase, and Tommy was just a few steps behind him.

Sam stepped inside the doorway and gave a wave to Tommy. “Hi, Tommy. I’m glad to meet you. I'm Sam.”

Tommy didn't shrink back from him, but he didn't rush forward, either. Instead, he crossed his arms and sent the man a glare. 

"Yeah, I know. Do you have any belongings to bring with you?"

"Oh, hang on." Wilbur turned and rushed up the stairs at that. 

He knew Tommy didn't have any belongings- not with him, at least. And most of the time (as far as he was aware) if you left something at a house, you weren't getting it back. 

He had washed Tommy's clothes the night before. They were a little worse for wear- holes scraped through the knees, stretched out shirt collar- but Wilbur wanted Tommy to at least get those back. He threw the clothes in a bag.

Along with that, he threw in a jacket he no longer wore as well as a few more random things, too. Most notably was a stuffed cow.

Wilbur paused when he grabbed the stuffed animal. The cow had been sitting in the back of his closet for… Well, six years now. He wasn’t sure why it was difficult to give it up.

He had bought it just over six years ago, the last time Tommy lived with them. Wilbur, thirteen at the time, thought it would be a good present when they announced they were going to be adopting him.

Obviously, they never got the chance to announce it, and now the cow stayed with Wilbur.

He had meant to give it to some other kid they fostered eventually, he just… Never got around to it. That’s what he would say when Phil asked, anyway. But they weren’t fostering anyone anymore (Phil had made that quite clear), and since the cow was originally meant for Tommy anyway…

He put it in the bag, came back downstairs, and handed the bag to Tommy.

“But-”

“It’s for you,” Wilbur assured.

Sam pulled Phil away to talk for maybe five minutes before coming back.

“Alright, Tommy. Are you ready to go?” Sam asked, plastering on another reassuring smile.

Tommy nodded stiffly and stepped forward.

“Wait.” Wilbur said before running off again, coming back half a minute later with a piece of paper and a pen.

“This is my number,” He said, scribbling it onto the paper. “This is our address, in case you forget.” Another scribble on the paper. “If I don’t answer, here’s Techno’s.” A third number was scribbled. “Oh- and my email. In case you don’t have access to a phone.” The email address was added to the bottom of the page. He handed the paper to Tommy, who stuck it in his pocket.

“Thanks, big man.” He didn’t sound excited, but Wilbur couldn’t blame him. 

“That offer still stands, by the way. If there’s an emergency, come to us.”

Tommy muttered something under his breath. Wilbur couldn’t pick out the words, but it was harsh and angry. “Okay. Bye, Wilbur.”

Tommy stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. It was nothing like last time except for the fact that it felt just as final. 

“Bye, Tommy.”

They walked out, and Phil closed the door behind the two.

-----0-----0-----0-----

“You did the right thing, you know.” Technoblade said. He leaned against the doorway of Wilbur’s room.

“Did I?”

“Yeah.” Techno straightened and stepped inside. “Are you gonna spend the rest of the week sulking in your room?”

It had been a day since Tommy left. Wilbur wasn’t sure what he expected- a phone call, a text, maybe. He got nothing, just pure radio silence.

“Maybe.” He muttered, pulling his blankets over his head.

To say he wasn’t upset about how things ended would be a complete lie. He really felt like he had betrayed Tommy, despite knowing the fact that that wasn’t the case. Tommy didn’t even seem angry at the situation, just… Tired. 

Wilbur was tired, too.

-----0-----0-----0-----

It was the first time he had been down to breakfast in a week. Technoblade was still asleep, and probably would be until at least noon, so it was once again just Phil and Wilbur at the kitchen table. 

“Do you remember Puffy?” Phil asked, cup of coffee in hand. He looked tired and stressed for some reason, though Wilbur didn’t bother to ask why.

“Social worker, yeah?”

“Yeah. She called today and wanted to give me an update on Tommy.”

Immediately, alarm bells started to go off in Wilbur’s head. Social workers didn’t update previous foster parents on kids, that wasn’t a thing that happened. He knew that.

“She said he had been missing for about a week before we called services,” Phil said.

Tommy had said he ran away a year ago.

“Although he had been adopted before, they sent him back for, uh, undisclosed reasons. His papers got passed around a lot for a while, apparently, so the history was a little jumbled.” Phil continued. “But she said he has a biological brother.”

Wilbur froze at that. “Huh?”

“Yeah, a brother. He’s around your age, I think. I… Don’t remember his name, but she said if you wanted, she can try and get you two in touch. For closure.”

Was it weird to contact a previous foster brother’s biological brother for closure reasons? Probably. Definitely, actually.

Tommy may have called him his brother when they were kids, but it was different. Wilbur wasn’t his big brother, not really. Plus, Tommy apparently had a big brother. A real one.

Foster siblings can be real siblings too, he reminded himself. Technoblade was a perfect example of that.

Wait, that still left a loose end.

“What about the cuts and bruises, then?” 

Phil frowned. “They don’t really know. Sam thinks bullies at school, or maybe he was attacked by someone after running away. They didn’t get much information from Tommy, though.”

“He wouldn’t tell them?”

He wouldn’t tell Wilbur, either.

“No. He shut down on them and didn’t talk at all. It took Sam a full day before he found out that the brother had custody.”

“...How long has he had custody?”

“A year, give or take. I thought it was strange, since his brother found him so quickly after being… Sent back, but sometimes things work out well, I guess.” He let out an awkward chuckle, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere of the room. 

It didn’t make sense.

Why would Tommy lie? He seemed so sincere about everything.

“Is his- his mental health, uh, okay?”

“That’s… Not really for us to know, Wilbur. We’re not his family.”

Oh how Wilbur wished he would stop bringing that up.

“But,” Phil continued, “He mentioned something about an issue with pathological lying. I can see the gears in your head turning, Will, but I promise that he’s safe.”

Tommy had PTSD. A thirteen year-old Wilbur had found that out after sneaking a look at the kid’s file once. He had issues, and Wilbur knew that.

Maybe it did make sense that Tommy would lie.

He wanted attention. Or sympathy. Or he wanted to rekindle something with the Watson family. 

It was concerning that Tommy would go so far as to run away from home to do it, but Wilbur didn’t know what was going through his head.

But Phil insisted that the boy was safe- and Phil was usually (always, really) right. Not even just right about things involving foster care, just right in general. Wilbur was inclined to believe him.

Right now, Tommy was probably asleep in his own comfortable bed with an older brother watching over him lovingly. He was probably safe and happy and protected.

He didn’t need the Watsons peering into his personal life, especially after lying about it like he had.

“Yeah, actually,” Wilbur said, “If I can, I’d like to get in contact with his brother.”

It was just to make sure.

Chapter Text

It took three days to get the number for Tommy's brother. It took another day to work up the courage to call. 

There were several points where Wilbur considered hanging up, and the phone hadn't even stopped ringing yet. 

"Hello?" A male voice crackled over the receiver. He had an accent similar to Technoblade, though his voice wasn't half as deep. 

"Hi, this is Wilbur- um, Wilbur Watson. Is this Dream… Uh, Dream Clay?" Wilbur asked, cringing internally at how nervous he sounded. 

"This is he. Wilbur Watson… Sorry, that name doesn't ring a bell."

"My family fostered your little brother a few years ago. I figured Sam- his social worker- would have let you know I was calling."

"Oh, you're that Wilbur. Well, it's very nice to get to talk to you. I'm just so grateful that you took care of him while he was missing." There was something strained in his voice. It verged on anger. 

"Of course, it was no problem." He almost added 'Tommy is like a brother to me', but figured that might not go over well. 

"That's good. Thank you again. We'll, I've got some work to get back to, and I'm sure you're busy, too-"

"Wait." Wilbur hadn't quite meant to interrupt, but he couldn't help himself. "I'd really like to see Tommy in person again. Just once, to make sure he's alright."

It took more convincing than he thought it would to get Dream to agree, but eventually a time and place was decided. 

Two days from then, at a coffee shop about ten minutes from Wilbur's house. Wilbur insisted he would buy the brothers whatever as his treat. 

-----0------0-----0-----

The coffee shop felt pretentious. Dream was the one to pick it, and honestly, Wilbur was regretting giving him the choice. 

It was all muted colors- beiges and browns, with an a few hanging plants for pops of color. Wilbur hated it. 

He showed up fifteen minutes early. He would love to say it was an accident, but he wanted to scope out the place beforehand. 

He chose a booth towards the back of the shop, hoping it would give them a little bit of privacy. Besides, he had a clear view of the door, so he could see the two when they walked in. 

The spot he chose worked out well, actually, because he could see them as soon as they walked through the door. 

There was Tommy, who no longer had a knee brace, was still covered in half-faded bruises, but at least he had a clean sweater. He stood next to the man who must have been Dream. 

Dream was a little shorter than Tommy, but he was less lanky and more athletically built. His hair was blonde, like Tommy's, but his eyes were green instead of blue. He was much more tan than Tommy, too. 

Dream was holding Tommy by the arm, whispering something into his ear. Wilbur couldn't hear what was said, but Tommy was making a face. 

Wilbur leaned out of the booth a little, raising his hand and waving at them. 

Dream was the one to see him. He immediately let go of Tommy and pointed Wilbur out to him. A grin spread across the youngest's face, and without hesitation Tommy left Dream and ran over to him. 

"Wilbur! You're here!" 

Wilbur shot him a grin back and stood. He wasn't expecting the kid to hug him (not after all the flinching away he had been doing lately), but Wilbur found Tommy's arms wrapped around him anyway. 

"So this is the famous Wilbur, then," Dream said. 

Tommy let go and slid into the booth as Dream extended a hand to Wilbur.

"And you must be Tommy's brother."

They shook hands before sitting, Dream next to Tommy, and Wilbur across from them. 

"It's great to finally meet you in person, Tommy's said a lot about you," Dream said. 

Wilbur got iced tea, Dream got coffee, and after a glare from both men when he tried to order coffee, too, Tommy got hot chocolate. 

"Well, I'm sure you're wondering about… everything." Dream was the first to speak after they got their drinks. 

"I wasn't going to ask, I swear." Wilbur laughed. 

"No, no, it's fine. Tommy and I were separated when we went into foster care. He was too young to remember it, and I vaguely knew, but it's really hard to track someone down when you both keep moving around so much." Dream said the last bit in a teasing tone, even lightly elbowing Tommy in the ribs.

"But you found him eventually." Wilbur noted. 

Dream nodded. "Yeah, around last year, when he went back into foster care. I had a guy looking into him who found his papers, and, well, I'm sure you've gathered the rest."

"Yeah, yeah, I think I get it."

He kind of got it. He was also quite confused, because not everything felt like it lined up. 

For starters, he thought Tommy went into foster care when he was around six, which should have been enough time to remember a brother. 

Plus, Tommy's whole 'living with some random man' story seemed to come out of left field, and even with a pathological lying issue, Wilbur didn't see why he would lie in the way he did. 

Also- they had different last names. 

"It was part of some confusing issues when we were first fostered," Dream said, still giving him that bright smile. 

Had Wilbur asked that last question out loud?

"We think he got dad's last name and I got mom's, but there's been so many issues with paperwork and birth certificates that no one is really sure."

"Plus," Tommy added, "Since I got adopted, my last name isn't even In-"

Dream elbowed him again, though this time it looked a lot less like teasing and more to physically shut him up. "Tommy," Dream said harshly, but it quickly dissolved into the kind tone, "I'm sure Wilbur doesn't really want to hear about that."

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Wilbur said, forcing a brief smile himself. “I’d love to hear what Tommy was saying.”

Tommy looked at Dream for a moment before continuing. “My name got changed when I was adopted, so technically it’s Innet-hyphen-Smith.”

Dream’s smile was strained. “Just Innit-Smith, Toms. You don’t say the hyphen.”

“Innet-hyphen-Smith.” Tommy said again.

Conversation was light. Wilbur talked briefly about his own family- about how Technoblade was a foster kid, too, and how Phil fostered lots of other children, Tommy included. They talked about school, college, and other unimportant things.

There were several times that Dream cut Tommy off (not that Tommy didn’t do that, too, but the vibe was completely different when it was done by Dream), either by interruption or with an elbow to his side, and though Wilbur always tried to encourage Tommy to finish his sentences, by the end of their time, he was pretty quiet.

Actually, Tommy was fairly quiet throughout the entire meeting. He was probably just tired. After all, that kid never seemed to get enough sleep.

Eventually, they all were standing, ready to leave.

“Again, it was really nice meeting you.” Wilbur was saying.

“You too, for sure.” 

“And I’m really glad that I got to see you again, too, Tommy.”

Dream nudged the boy when he didn’t respond. “Yeah,” Tommy muttered.

Dream took a deep breath and then clapped his hands together. “Well, we’d better be going.”

“Yeah, of course.” Wilbur nodded. “Oh, but we should totally do this again sometime.”

“Definitely. Although, we’re quite busy for the next few months, so we’ll have to see.”

He had to hide his disappointment. “Yeah, understandable. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

Dream gave him a nod at that. Tommy didn’t really respond at all.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Three days passed before Wilbur got a phone call. 

It was only a few minutes before midnight, and Wilbur was about to go to bed when his phone started ringing. He almost didn't pick up, considering he didn’t recognize the phone number, but decided to answer anyway.

"Wilbur?" A voice whispered through the phone. Not just a voice, Tommy's voice.

"Tommy? Holy- how are you? Why are you calling? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I just… I can't sleep."

Wilbur frowned. "Insomnia?"

"Sleep-walking." He corrected.

"Oh."

There was a beat of silence.

"I'm not sure how to help with that one, to be honest." He laughed a little. Sure, he had researched sleep-walking when Tommy came years ago, but he had forgotten most of it. 

"Can you just, like, talk to me?" There was a sort of desperation in Tommy's voice that Wilbur just couldn't ignore. 

"I could tell you a bedtime story."

Tommy snorted at that. "I'm not five, Will."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Doesn't matter. Get in bed, I'll tell you a story." 

There was the sound of shuffling, followed by the sound of…

"Were you on your roof?" Wilbur asked. "I heard a window close."

"No, that's dangerous, Wilbur. I would never," Tommy said. It was followed by the sound of blinds being closed.

After another minute of shuffling, it got quiet. 

"I'm doing this for you, you know." He could practically hear Tommy roll his eyes. "To make you feel better."

"Of course, Tommy. I'm sure that's the only reason. I bet-"

"Just get on with it, prick." Since he had closed the window, Tommy had been whispering. 

Wilbur shushed him. “Okay, okay. So this story is about the founding of L’manburg.”

“That’s not a real place.” Tommy muttered.

“Who’s telling the story, you or me? Thank you.”

That made Tommy let out a little laugh.

“Long ago,” Wilbur started, as if he rehearsed the story. He hadn’t, of course, and was absolutely making it up on the spot. “There was a brilliant poet named Wilbur-"

"You're really making yourself the main character." Tommy teased. 

"Wilbur Soot. Not me, just the same first name." He laughed. "Wilbur lived under a tyrannical leader, who was incredibly strict. One day, uh, Wilbur decided he had enough, and he decided to make a new country.

"He realized he couldn't do it on his own, so he recruited some friends to help him. Friends including…"

He paused, thinking. 

"His good friend Tommy Innit."

"That's literally my name."

"No it isn't, his is spelled with an 'I'."

"My last name is spelled with an 'I'."

"I-n-n-i-t. Not I-n-n-e-t. Don’t patronize me, Tommy, I make unique and creative characters all the time."

"Oh screw off."

"He and his right hand man, Tommy Innit, built this little country together. As time passed, others decided to join it as well. They decided to name it L'manburg."

Tommy interjected less and less as Wilbur went on to explain the rest of the story, how the tyrannical ruler waged war, how the people of L'manburg fought back, and how eventually, L'manburg won. 

It wasn't a long story, nor was it particularly good, but it was enough for Tommy to eventually go quiet and for his breathing to slowly but surely even out. 

"Tommy?" Wilbur whispered, just in case. When he got no response, he smiled. "Goodnight, kid." He hung up. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

It didn't take long before nightly phone calls became routine. 

Tommy would always be the one to call Wilbur, usually around eleven or twelve at night. Sometimes, he would go to bed early and be woken up by a phone call. 

The shortest calls lasted less than four minutes, the longest one was around five hours. 

It was a lot of Wilbur talking.

Sometimes he would tell stories, other times he played guitar. Every once in a while Wilbur would talk about his family, or friends, or dogs he saw at the park. 

Tommy was… a lot less disclosive about his home life. It probably had something to do with the fact that he lied to Wilbur's face about it last time. 

Neither of them had brought that fact up, though. 

A month after the first phone call, their routine stopped out of seemingly nowhere. One night, Tommy called him, and the next, he didn't. 

He didn't the night after, nor did he answer when Wilbur called him. 

Wilbur barely pushed down worry, assuring himself that it was fine and that Tommy maybe just fixed his sleep schedule. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

“Don’t you think it’s just a little coincidental that Tommy has a biological brother out of nowhere?” Wilbur asked as he stirred a pot of noodles. It was his turn to cook that night, and Techno was hanging around for the company.

“No?” Techno gave him a look. “I think you’re looking too far into things.”

“It’s just- it’s weird. The guy gave me sketchy vibes.”

“How so?”

“He…”

Wilbur trailed off. Because it wasn’t entirely about Dream, rather it was about the situation as a whole.

But that was a little too deep to go into right now, so he could stick with the surface-level stuff.

“Little things. Back when we met at that coffee shop, he kept cutting Tommy off, almost every time the kid tried to talk.” Yeah, that felt like a reasonable start.

Techno just rolled his eyes. “So he’s impatient. So are you, so you should know that’s not a crime.”

“He also kept elbowing Tommy in the ribs. Like, repeatedly, to get him to be quiet.”

“I do that to you sometimes,” Techno offered.

“His story wasn’t really lining up, either. The timeline didn’t match with what I know about Tommy.”

“You mean what you learned about him six years ago?”

“I… Yeah.”

“Look,” Techno said, rather softly. He grabbed the wooden spoon from Wilbur’s hand, “Do you want my honest opinion?”

Not really.” 

Wilbur leaned against the counter. “Yeah.”

“Tommy has a history of running away from houses- good ones and bad ones. The running away thing isn’t a sign of abuse. The fact that he’s with his biological family is a probably good thing- especially if his brother’s been through foster care before.

“I know that you’re worried about him, but that’s what his family is there for, not you. They probably want to be done with all this CPS business and just move on, you know?”

Wilbur looked at him for a long moment before nodding.

“Then let them move on. Tommy has your number, if he’s in trouble, he knows he can reach out.”

Except for the fact that last time Tommy ‘reached out’, he had CPS called on him.

“Okay, Technoblade.”

“Just trust me on this one, yeah? I’m the foster kid of the house, I think I know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

Dream had called him barely two hours ago.

"Yeah, I'm glad you could meet me on such short notice." Dream said. They were back at that prestigious coffee shop- the one that Wilbur hated. Dream was the one to invite him, saying that he needed to talk about ‘something important’ and that he would ‘fill you in on the details once you get here’. So, there Wilbur and Dream were- at the coffee shop. Tommy must have been at home or something, because he wasn’t there this time.

Dream ended up buying Wilbur coffee. He knew he shouldn't have accepted, considering he knew that his hands would shake for the next several hours, but he wanted to show he appreciated the gesture. 

"I just wanted to let you know," Dream said, taking the seat across from Wilbur, "I know you've been talking to Tommy a lot lately."

"Oh, just a few phone calls here and there. I think the kid gets lonely sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I understand. But he's a minor, and you're not his family…"

Wilbur blinked slowly. "I… Know?"

"I just think it's a little weird, is all. That you, an adult man, keep talking to my ch- my little brother so often."

"Okay, hang on, it's not like that-" Wilbur tried to defend himself, but was quickly cut off. 

"In what world is it reasonable for you, an adult, to be making nightly phone calls to a fifteen year old?"

Sixteen. He wasn’t sure why he was so sure of it, but he was. Tommy was sixteen. 

"It's not like that." He repeated, firmer this time. "First of all, he called me."

Dream gave him an unimpressed look.

"Look, I'm sure you know about his sleeping issues. I do, too, and for whatever reason, Tommy decided I would be the one to help him back to sleep."

"Mhm, I'm sure." Dream deadpanned. 

"No, really, I-"

"Just- stay away from him, okay? If I find out you two are talking again, I will contact authorities."

Wilbur hesitated, just for a moment, before speaking up. 

"Are you serious? I know what it's like being a protective brother, but that's cr"

"Wilbur, you're digging your hole deeper."

“Look, I don’t want to cross any boundaries or whatever, and I would never try to. The kid is like a brother to me,” He began to say. Before he could follow up that statement, Dream spoke.

His voice was a lot more angry now. “But he’s not your brother, he’s mine. So leave him alone.”

“I know you-”

“Do you know how much he’s been through? Between foster care and the whole adoption situation, he doesn’t need more of this crap. He wants to start a new life away from all that stuff, and you’re making it hard.”

Wilbur locked eyes with him, scanning for any emotion other than anger.

In some ways, Wilbur understood how he felt. Wilbur knew that Technoblade had practically been through hell growing up, and as his brother, he felt like it was his role to protect him from that. Not that Techno couldn’t protect himself, but Wilbur wanted to help, too.

But he totally understood how one could feel protective over a child who had been through too much.

What he didn’t understand was why someone was turning away a willing support system.

“You’re right.” Wilbur said, practically lying through his teeth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have overstepped.

Dream seemed to calm slightly at that. “You shouldn’t have,” He agreed.

Was this really how low Wilbur was going to stoop in order to keep talking to a sixteen year old they weren’t even fostering? He shouldn't have been so involved- he shouldn’t have cared so much. He couldn't stop himself. 

There was a beat of silence before Dream spoke again.

“Look, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I just… As of a week or two ago, a doctor confirmed he’s a compulsive liar. I guess I already knew, but having it confirmed is… Difficult.”

Wilbur tried to sympathize. “I can only imagine.”

“It’s just- he says things that are going to get us in trouble. I- I worry he’ll say something that’ll get him sent back to foster care.”

To be fair, that wasn’t too far off from the truth. Tommy had already said some worrying things.

“He’s already tried to lie to me about you,” Dream continued, “I know you’re a good person and would never, but he said that you hit him.”

Wilbur’s eyes went wide. “I would n-”

“Never, I know. Don’t worry, I’m aware it was a lie. I just… I don’t know what to do about it.”

“That… That seems tough, yeah.”

Maybe Wilbur was being overreactive. If Tommy compulsively lied, it explained a lot about what happened that night. Not everything, of course, but it at the very least explained his story.

Wilbur was much more willing to let Tommy stay with a concerned older brother than with some random guy off the street.

“But,” Dream continued, “The kid seems to really like you.” He admitted.

Wilbur couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his lips. “Yeah, I know. We were close for a while.”

“And when he ran away, he did run away to you…”

“Oh, speaking of that, actually, I had a few-”

“I’m willing to make an agreement.” Dream cut him off. 

‘I had a few questions about that night’ was what Wilbur wanted to say, but apparently that would have to wait.

“An… Agreement for what, exactly?”

“For your phone calls. I don’t think you should be calling him as much as you do, but I feel like we could work out something.”

Wilbur stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Look- again, I don’t want to seem like an overbearing parent or anything, I just worry. He’s… He’s had bad experiences with things like this. I’m sure you’re a good guy, but I don’t want it to happen again, is all.”

There was a look on Dream’s face that Wilbur couldn’t quite read. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Dream nodded at that. “So… Maybe we limit the calls to once a week or so?”

“I guess-”

“And, of course, they’ll have to be at a more reasonable hour.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but laugh. “That’d be nice, actually. Maybe I could finally manage to fix my sleep schedule.”

“So… it’s a deal, then?” He sounded desperate. Wilbur wasn’t sure why.

“I guess, sure. It’s a deal. One or two phone calls a week, at a reasonable hour.”

Dream nodded again, though at what, Wilbur didn’t know. “Good, good. Now, I’d love to trauma dump on you some more,” He joked, “But I’ve got some business to deal with. Enjoy the coffee, Wilbur.”

“...Okay. Have a nice day.” It came off almost as a question, but Dream didn’t seem to mind.

Maybe Wilbur wasn’t so wrong when he was telling Technoblade about the strange vibes, because something was definitely off about that entire interaction.

Chapter Text

The agreement was for Tommy to call at two PM on Wednesdays. 

When two thirty rolled around, Wilbur finally dialled Tommy’s number and called instead. 

Dream answered.

"Sorry, he's had a rough day today, maybe call back some other time," Dream said, concern laced into his tone.

"Oh, is everything alright?"

Dream made a noise of affirmation. "He… Got into a fight at school. He won't admit to it, though, so it's not going well."

"Geez, I'm sorry. Is he okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. A little banged up, but it'll heal."

Wilbur cringed. "It kind of sounds like he gets beat up a lot. Are you sure he's-"

"He's fine," Dream repeated. 

Wilbur's mind was racing, which was weird. 

He had no reason to distrust Dream. He actually had every reason to trust the guy. Dream was Tommy's brother for goodness sake. Tommy was a compulsive liar. 

Dream could still be hurting Tommy, even if they were brothers. 

But wouldn't Tommy speak out about that? Why wouldn't he just say that Dream was hurting him?

"I'm glad to hear it. Maybe we can try again tomorrow?"

Dream hummed in response. "If he's feeling up to it, I'll have him call you, yeah."

"Okay, sounds-" Dream hung up. Wilbur let out a sigh "Sounds good."

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur met Fundy on a Thursday, back when he was twelve years old. Fundy was ten, but had managed to get into middle school a year early due to some accelerated program.

It was raining that day- and that was the only reason they had met. Wilbur would have been outside, but didn’t want to get wet, and found himself in the computer lab. That’s where he met Fundy.

 The bright red hair made him easy to spot in the crowd of kids, and the fact he was sitting alone made him an easy prospect for a friend.

They were fast friends (more or less). Wilbur couldn't remember what started the jokes about being Fundy’s father, but they had never really stopped, even after they both graduated.

Fundy was an incredibly smart and funny guy. Emphasis on the smart, though, because that was the important part in this situation.

Wilbur called Fundy shortly after his phone call with Dream. 

“Hey, Fundy?”

“Wilbur!” Fundy shouted back. There was blaring music in the background that Wilbur elected to ignore, despite the minor concern that it sounded as if Fundy was at a club at three in the afternoon. “How have you been, man? I haven’t seen you in years!”

“In a year, but sure. I’m good, I’ve been good. How about you?”

“Good, good, just living it up.” His words were slightly slurred, and, oh no, was he drunk?

“Glad to hear it. Listen, you still work at that computer place, right?”

“I don’t work at a computer place, but I do coding, if that’s what you mean. Hey, you should really come visit, you know-”

“Fundy, you know I love you, and I’d love to visit, but I kind of have something important to ask you.”

“Oh,” Fundy sounded just slightly disappointed, but quickly covered it. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can you online stalk someone for me?" Wilbur asked rather awkwardly.

"Online stalk? What, you lose contact with Sally or something?" He asked cautiously. 

“No! No, not like that. I was wondering if you could look into someone for me. Crime records, birth certificates, that sort of thing."

"Oh, yeah, I can totally do that."

Maybe it should have been concerning how quickly and easily it was for Fundy to agree to something like this. 

"What's their name?" Fundy asked.

"Dream Clay.”

“Dream Clay,” He repeated, testing the name. “Do I know this guy?”

“Doubt it. He’s- apparently he’s the biological brother of my ex-foster brother.”

There was a moment of silence. Or, as close to silence as they could get with the blaring music. “That’s a lot of big words, real mouthful, really.”

“We used to foster this kid named Tommy. Dream- the guy I want you to look into- is his blood brother.”

“Ah.”

“But you can do it, then?” Wilbur asked hopefully.

He could hear the grin in Fundy’s voice. “Of course. Send me any details you know, and I’ll do my best to track him down.”

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

After they hung up, Wilbur sent him everything he knew about Dream Clay.

It wasn’t much.

He knew they lived relatively near Wilbur’s house (Dream suggested they “meet in the middle”, and the coffee shop was only ten minutes away). He knew that Dream was around his own age, maybe a little older. He knew that Dream was a foster kid.

And that was it.

Fundy shot a text back, saying that he would look into it in the morning, or maybe the night after. Wilbur reassured him that it was fine, and to just get to it as soon as he could.

-----0-----0-----0-----

When he tried calling Tommy again the day after, to no response, he figured he would have to wait until next week.  

Until, a few days later, Wilbur received a call right as he was falling asleep. 

"Isn't it a little late to be calling me, Tommy?" A glance at the clock confirmed it was well past one in the morning. 

Tommy barked out a laugh, but it was cut short and replaced by him whispering. "I always call at this time."

"You haven't called for a week," Wilbur muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 

"I was grounded."

He raised an eyebrow, despite the fact Tommy couldn't see his doubting look. "For what? Calling me? Or for getting in a fight?"

There was a beat of silence. "What fight?"

"Dream told me."

"I didn't get in any fights."

"Tommy… You don't have to lie. Dream told me about it, it's okay. Are you okay, though?"

"I'm fine because I didn't fight anybody."

Tommy was a compulsive liar. Dream said he wouldn't even admit to being in a fight.

Still, there was such a conviction in his voice, it was hard for Wilbur to brush it off.

"Okay.”

“Okay.”

Wilbur bit his lip, not sure where to go from here.

"What happens next?" Tommy asked, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"In the story of L'manburg. Is it really 'they won and lived happily ever after, the end'?"

"I-" Wilbur thought for a moment. 

He should have agreed and gotten off of the phone as quickly as possible. But…

Tommy was reaching out to him. That was good. That was important.

"Get in bed, I'll tell you the story," He instructed. 

"I am in bed."

"I can hear the wind around you. Tom, please tell me you're not on your roof again."

"That would be dangerous, Will."

"You've literally told me before that your middle name is 'danger', I absolutely would not put this past you." He deadpanned. 

Tommy groaned, and then there was the telltale sound of him climbing back into his window. "Story now?"

"They decided to hold an election. It only made sense- Wilbur didn't want to be a dictator, he wanted his people to choose. Of course, he tried to rig the election so he could win, but it’s the thought that counts."

"Did he win, then?"

"No. Other people caught on, and they ran for president, too."

Wilbur Soot lost the election, he decided, to some guy named Schlatt- an evil dictator who wanted nothing but power and control. 

Schlatt exiled Tommy and Wilbur, forcing them to move into an underground ravine. 

"Pogtopia," Tommy murmured. 

"Huh?"

"That's what the ravine is called. Pogtopia."

He smiled. "Sure, Tommy. So, they move into Pogtopia…"

He was describing a minor skirmish when there was a muffled sound from Tommy's phone. 

"No, I'm not talking to anyone," Tommy said, voice further away now. 

"Tommy, is everything okay?" Wilbur asked. 

At the same time, "I told you to stop calling him. Tommy, this shouldn't be so difficult for you to understand. You're my brother, remember? You're supposed to-"

It was so chiding, so… rude. But maybe it wasn't Dream's voice, maybe it was someone else's. Did Tommy have multiple siblings? He hadn’t heard anything about that, but he hadn’t heard anything about Tommy having any siblings until about a month ago, either, so there was a chance.

"You're not my brother, Dream."

Oh. So it was Dream.

Hang on, what?

"Tommy, we've been over this. You're my sweet little brother," There was a sound of something- maybe Dream ruffled his hair? "And I'm your loving big brother."

"I don't want to do this right now," Tommy muttered. 

"Do what? Have a civil conversation?"

"I'm sick of playing pretend!" His voice verged on a shout. "I don't- I don't want to do this anymore."

"Tommy… We've been over this. We're brothers, you- you know this."

"We're not! You're not related to me!" There it was again, that absolute conviction that made Wilbur desperately want to believe him. 

Wilbur started heading down the stairs- it wasn't like he knew Tommy's address, but he wanted to at least pretend he'd be able to help, were something to happen. 

"Listen to me, Tommy Innet, you-"

"Hyphen-Smith. Tommy-" Tommy started to correct, but was silenced by… Something. 

Leave it to Wilburs brain to come to the worst conclusions. Maybe Dream hit him. Maybe he fell out of that stupid window. Maybe-

"You're very sick, Tommy. Not physically, but in your mind." It was almost calming, but there was an air of condescension, too. "You're my little brother, you're home, you're safe."

Wilbur should have hung up then and there. He should have hung up before, actually, when Dream first walked in. But… He couldn't. His hand was rooted to the phone, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

"I'm-"

"You're home. I'm here with you."

There was a painfully long moment of silence. 

"Okay," Tommy said, a whisper so low Wilbur could barely hear it. "Yeah, I'm home."

"And?"

"And I'm your brother."

"Good. Now, Tommy," Dream said, voice getting closer, now. "Give me your phone."

There was the sound of nails clicking against a phone screen- likely, Tommy was trying to hang up and failing. 

And then it was Dream's voice, loud and clear. "Hello? Is this Wilbur?"

Wilbur nearly jumped, jerking the phone away from his ear. 

If he was less of an anxious person, he may have spoken to Dream civilly. Instead, he panicked and hung up. 

He could talk to Dream in the morning.

-----0-----0-----0-----

"Are you gonna call CPS?" Techno asked. 

Technoblade was the first person Wilbur went to after the phone call. It was half past two in the morning, but of course, the man was up. 

"Should I?"

Techno hummed, non committedly. "Dunno. It could make things better, could make things worse."

"That… Doesn't help."

"Neither do social workers." Techno snorted at his own joke. What a prick. 

"I'm worried he's unsafe."

"Can't ya ask Dream to visit 'im?"

"He'd say no."

Techno gave him a look. "You haven't even asked yet?"

"No…. But he seems so controlling-"

"Ask him. Find a place that Tommy's comfortable in, though."

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair. "So you don't think that whole phone call thing was weird?"

"You're nineteen calling a sixteen year old at two in the morning. I think you might be the weird one here."

"Okay, okay, fair. But the thing with Dream- it’s weird."

“You’re being paranoid, Will.”

That sentence stopped him in his tracks.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that,” Techno said, quickly trying to backtrack, even though it was already too late.

“I’m not paranoid!”

“You’re not. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not… Am I being paranoid? Tech, I didn’t- I don’t-”

He wouldn’t remember much of the night after that, other than the fact he spent it in a state of half-panic while Techno desperately tried to calm him down. 

He spent the next day exhausted.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Tommy called at Noon the very next Wednesday, but Wilbur wasn’t going to complain.

“Hey, Toms, how are you?"

Tommy made a non-commital noise. "Good."

"Okay, that's… That's good, yeah."

A beat of silence, then, "You?"

"Good, good. Listen, I know we don't have a lot of time to talk, but I think we need to discuss that phone call from the other day," Wilbur said, putting on his best calming voice. 

Tommy didn’t seem calmed at all- if anything, he was verging on panic "Phone call? What phone call?"

"You called me the other night."

"I never called you."

 "It was two nights ago, remember? We talked about Pogtopia?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about, big man. You must have me confused with someone else."

Maybe the gaslighting would have worked if Wilbur wasn't so sure of himself. And if Wilbur hadn't already talked to Technoblade about it. Oh, and if Tommy didn't have a history of lying. 

But, see, that was Wilbur's biggest concern. Lying about your guardian is a big thing, but at least it can pass as a lie. But lying about something they both knew to be true?

"Tommy," He said, voice warning. 

"No. Didn't happen. Let's talk about something else. I saw this documentary the other day about penguins- did you know they hate opera?"

Wilbur let out a surprised laugh. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I just learned about it, so listen.”

There was a chance that the penguin thing was all lies, too. Something said to make Wilbur… He wasn’t sure what the point of it was, actually. Or if it even had a point. He hadn’t really researched compulsive lying yet (although he really should have), so he was kind of just taking everything at face value.

“And, that’s not even the best part, because-” Tommy started to say, but cut himself off. “Oh, Dream wants to talk to you.”

“Uh,” Was all Wilbur managed to get out before he could hear the tell tale shuffling of Tommy passing over the phone.

“Hi, Wilbur,” Dream said.

“Dream,” Wilbur replied, forcing himself to act civilly.

Sure, Dream was probably harmless, but there was still that little suspicion he had.

He might have just been paranoid, but- no, he was pushing that thought of his head. He wasn’t paranoid, it was fine. 

“Look, I know he called you the other night.”

Funny enough, Wilbur was the one to think about lying there. But, no, that would be too much. “He did, yeah. He’s been struggling with sleeping, I think, and-”

“I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not sure you should be in contact anymore.”

A beat. 

“What?”

“I know you’re a very nice person, don’t get me wrong, but you’re still influencing him negatively.”

“Dream, I-”

“He’s lied about five times more often since he ran off to you. He’s been sneaking phone calls, stealing money, and completely making up stories.”

Was Tommy really doing all that?

“I didn’t know.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m telling you now,” Dream explained. “I know it sucks, but it’s for the best. You do want the best for him, don’t you?”

Wilbur found himself nodding. Wanting the best for Tommy got him in this whole mess in the first place. “I do.”

“Then let’s cut contact.”

In the long run, it made sense. Dream was Tommy’s brother, Wilbur wasn’t. He had no real reason (legally, anyway) to care about this kid, and it certainly wasn’t his responsibility to.

Still, he found himself not wanting to let go.

“Yeah, okay.”

“That means not answering when he calls you in the middle of the night.”

“...Yeah, okay.” Wilbur pursed his lips. “Would you still keep me updated, at least? I can’t see a problem with you telling me about him.”

There was a pause before Dream answered. “That’s a good idea. Yeah, of course, I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Dream.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

They hung up shortly after that.

The thing was, Wilbur probably really was just being paranoid. He knew of Tommy’s past, and so he was terrified of it happening in the present. But Dream really was just an over-protective big brother.

Sure, he had weird ‘vibes’, but that doesn’t constitute taking his brother away from him.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Fundy called Wilbur shortly after. 

“Do you still have my address?”

“Probably… Why?” Wilbur asked, confused. 

“It’ll be easier if I show all my research in person. It’s kind of a mess.”

“Don’t you live two hours away?”

“An hour and a half. You said this stuff was important, didn’t you?”

He had just had that conversation with Dream, where Dream assured him everything was fine. And in the back of his mind, he knew it was fine. It was a morbid curiosity that made him decide to see what Fundy found, anyway.

“I can be there in an hour forty-five.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

He sat at Fundy’s kitchen table- if it could be called that, anyway. It was a folding table stuffed into the tiny ‘dining room’ of the apartment, and it was covered in papers and notes that Wilbur couldn’t understand.

“So, this is Dream’s address,” Fundy said, dropping a stack of papers in front of Wilbur. “And his past three addresses before that.”

Wilbur’s eyes went wide. “You- you found his address?”

“Address, bank, credit history, crime records, birth records, all of it. Oh, medical records, and a bunch of stuff from foster care, too.”

“You… Found this all on the internet?”

“More or less, yeah.” Fundy shrugged.

“How much of this was illegally found?”

“Just the foster care stuff.”

He face-palmed.

They started with Dream’s birth certificate; he was born to two parents- John and Mary Clay, in a hospital halfway around the world from where he lived now. Apparently, his parents died in a fire when Dream was six.

“They had another kid, too. Here-” Fundy handed him another few pages, “In these foster records, Dream is said to have a little brother, and it mentions that they shouldn’t be separated. I can’t find a name or anything, but that’s gotta be Tommy.”

Wilbur nodded slightly, glancing over the papers. They looked familiar- similar to Techno’s records- but he didn’t know enough of it to make total sense. “Is there a way to find where the kid went?”

Fundy shook his head, “Not that I’ve found yet, but I can keep looking if you want.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep looking. It’s… Really important that you find this information.”

“Will do. But I think there’s something you should see.” Fundy’s voice went solemn as he handed Wilbur…

A juvenile record. This one looked much more familiar- Technoblade definitely had one of these, though Phil had managed to get most of it expunged later on.

“Aggravated assault,” Wilbur read off, “Against his own foster parents.”

“He was around fourteen and ended up in juvie for a week or two.”

“Why would he attack them?”

Fundy grimaced, “That’s the thing. According to the records- at least, if I’m reading the legal jargon correctly- he only attacked them because, uh… They killed his little brother.”

They would be able to hear a pin drop in the silence that followed that statement.

Chapter Text

“That doesn’t make sense, though,” Wilbur said, slowly, “Tommy’s alive.”

“I know, I know. But that’s what the statement says, and Dream doesn’t have any records of being fostered with a sibling after that.”

“So… What does this mean?”

Fundy shrugged.

“Very helpful, thanks.”

“Well- listen, I did my best here. The thing is, I can’t find a death certificate for the kid, either. I guess it could just be harder to find, since it’s for a child, but even after digging, there’s nothing I can find.”

“So his brother didn’t die?” Wilbur asked, growing more confused by the second.

“Well, if his brother is Tommy- then no, he’s very much alive.” Fundy deadpanned.

“I don’t get it,” He finally confessed. 

Another shrug. “Me neither, really. Maybe he just thought they killed his brother? It’s kind of unclear. I can keep looking for something-”

“Please do.”

“...But it’ll take time. Hang on, there’s more to tell you.”

He went through the remaining six years of Dream’s history.

Dream was put back into the foster system shortly after his stunt in juvie, and was emancipated two years later at the age of sixteen.

From there, the details are fuzzy. He starts off in one apartment, then another, then there’s a two-month period with no information, and then-

“This paper says he’s eighteen.”

Fundy nodded.

“Wouldn’t he be seventeen there?”

Fundy nodded again. “Probably lied to get the job.

Dream was twenty years old now, though all of his work documents and apartment lease said he was twenty-one. 

There was a long moment where Wilbur sat and thought. 

“The math doesn’t add up,” He stated.

“What, about him lying?”

“No, no. He was fourteen, so Tommy would’ve been, what, ten?”

Fundy nodded, so Wilbur went on.

“We fostered him on and off for years before that- he never mentioned a brother- Dream said they were separated too young, too. It doesn’t add up, it doesn’t make sense.”

Fundy grimaced at that. “So… Dream’s lying, then.”

After a thought, he nodded, slowly. “Dream’s lying.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

He didn’t even bother to leave Fundy’s house before calling CPS and giving them all the information he had. He told them Tommy and Dream’s full names, their ages, their address, and all that stuff.

Then he explained how he thought that Dream…

He wasn’t quite sure what he thought, actually. 

Kidnapped Tommy, maybe? At least, he had custody when he wasn’t supposed to, and that was certainly against some rules somewhere. He talked about how Dream was lying about them being brothers (though he didn’t explain that he illegally obtained records to find this out).

The only problem was- as far as he was aware, Tommy wasn’t in immediate danger.

“So, he’s being provided for?” The person on the other line asked.

“Pardon?”

“Is Dream giving him what he needs? Food, water, a place to sleep?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilbur agreed, “I think so, anyway.”

“And he isn’t neglecting him in any way.”

Wilbur felt himself deflating. “No, he seems to care a lot about the kid.”

“And he isn’t hurting him?”

“...No.”

“Alright, Mister Watson. We’ll send someone out once they're available.”

And with a click, they hung up.

Wilbur knew it was supposed to take a day or two for CPS to investigate. He also knew that it could take longer, sometimes, especially if they didn’t find something important.

He didn’t mention this to Fundy, though, not wanting to sour the other’s mood as much as his own had just been.

-----0-----0-----0-----

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Phil noted, looking at Wilbur with a concern in his eyes that Wilbur honestly despised. 

Wilbur responded by forcing himself to take a bite of whatever Techno had cooked (he wasn’t sure what it was- something with carrots, maybe). 

“Is everything okay?” Phil asked.

He dropped his fork onto his plate. “I called CPS.”

Phil furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

“I called CPS on Dream.

Phil set down his own fork lightly. “Why?”

“I don’t think he and Tommy are actually siblings. I- I don’t know if it’s a kidnapping thing or- or what. But clearly something is wrong, and I’m not going to sit down and just let it happen.” He wasn’t sure when he started to raise his voice, but he was practically shouting now. 

“Wilbur, sit down.”

Wilbur hadn’t even realized he was standing.

“Is he in danger? We can-”

Wilbur cut him off, voice full of anger. “Don’t act like you care now. I tried to tell you weeks ago.”

“Wilbur, that’s not-”

“I called them, and- and now I’m not even sure they’ll actually check it out.”

"They will. They're legally required to," Phil tried to assure him, but it wasn't working. 

"They're supposed to, it doesn't mean they will."

Phil sighed. "He'll be okay, Will. He's a strong kid, he can get through this."

A beat. "He had a stab wound when he first came here."

Phil froze. "What?"

"Well, not really a stab," He explained, "But definitely a knife wound. And- and old burn scars- and before you ask, no, those weren't there when we fostered him."

It took a long time for Phil to reply. "You think his b- Dream did that?"

"I don't know. I just know he was hurt, and he was terrified for us to call social services. Remember that?"

Phil nodded slowly. 

"Why would he be so terrified if nothing was wrong?"

They ate- er, Phil ate, Wilbur just pushed the food around his plate- in relative silence. 

Right as Wilbur stood to leave, Phil spoke. 

"I'm glad you called them. Even if it's nothing, it’s better to be safe than sorry."

-----0-----0-----0-----

Tommy had been nothing but radio silence for a week, not calling, answering calls, or even responding to texts. It made Wilbur more nervous than usual, and it showed in the way his hands shook almost constantly. 

So when Dream called, even if it was Dream, it was a relief. 

He wanted to meet in person again, and promised to bring Tommy along. It was something about clearing things up, and that was when Wilbur realized Dream totally knew who called CPS on them. It was whatever though, because Wilbur didn’t really care. 

Wel, he did care. Because Dream currently had custody, and Wilbur needed to play nice if he wanted to see Tommy.

Which was why he found himself back at that prestigious coffee shop, ten minutes before their planned meeting time.

To his surprise, Dream and Tommy were already there, sitting in a booth- Dream closer to the outside, Tommy closer to the inside. They were discussing something. Arguing, even, judging by Tommy’s expression. 

For a moment, Tommy’s eyes caught Wilbur, but he quickly ducked his head down as Dream continued to speak.

“...Is that what you want? After everything I've done for-” Dream cut himself off, finally noticing Wilbur himself. He let go of Tommy’s arm (which Wilbur hadn’t even realized he was gripping) and his lips curled to a smile. “Hi, Wilbur.”

Out of mostly spite, Wilbur ignored Dream- instead sliding into the booth and grinning at Tommy. “Hey, Tommy. How are you doing?”

Tommy looked miserable. He was wearing a hoodie despite it being boiling hot outside, and he kept fidgeting with the sleeves. Even with Wilbur’s greeting, he didn’t muster up a smile.

“‘Ow do?” He replied, giving a slight nod.

Okay, that didn’t answer his question, but whatever. 

"Dream," Wilbur finally addressed him after an uncomfortable moment. 

"Wilbur. I already ordered you coffee, I hope that's-"

"You're not Tommy's brother." Wilbur blurted out, almost unintentionally. He surprised even himself, but especially Dream and Tommy.

Tommy looked shocked, but seemed to subconsciously lean towards Wilbur despite it. Dream, on the other hand, looked… Taken aback. Caught off-guard.  Angry. 

And then the anger dissipated, his lips curling back into an awkward smile. 

"You're confused. Trust me, Tommy is my brother."

"You're lying."

"Excuse me?" 

"You're lying," Wilbur repeated firmly. "I saw your records, your brother died, didn't he?"

Instead of watching Dream, he watched Tommy's reaction. Except, Tommy didn't really react at all, much more focused on tugging his sleeves over his hands.

And then there was a gasping breath from Dream. Wilbur tore his attention away to look at Dream.Dream, who looked to be having a panic attack. Tommy was quickly whispering something into Dream's ear- though Wilbur couldn't catch the words, he could tell it was supposed to be calming- and rubbing circles on his back. 

Tommy's sleeve slipped down slightly, and Wilbur caught a glimpse of something. He wasn't sure if it was a bandage or a bruise or another long-sleeve shirt, but it worried him nonetheless.

Dream took a slow breath, probably trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, that’s just- it’s a hard time to think about.”

Though Wilbur wanted to grab him by the shirt collar and shake him, he refrained. “I understand,” He said instead, "But, please. This all looks very concerning from an outsider perspective.”

After a moment, he finally started. “It was a very abusive home. I should have just called our social worker as soon as I realized, but I thought I could handle it on my own.”

Wilbur grimaced and glanced down at the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I know. But I think I should explain anyway, that way you really understand.” Dream took another deep breath before continuing. “Tommy… Well,” He chuckled, “I don’t even remember what he did, but he upset our foster parents. I mean, really upset them. They grabbed him, and- and- they hit him. Over and over again. They wouldn't stop, and I didn't know what to do. I panicked, tried to pull the foster dad off of him."

He took a shaky breath. 

"And I was just so angry, so when I fought back… I couldn't stop, either."

Technoblade had mentioned that before. How people being abused didn't know how to stop fighting back sometimes, how they couldn't tell when enough was enough. 

Before Wilbur could reply, Dream continued. "The foster parents ended up in the hospital, I ended up in juvie. And Tommy… He- he did die, technically. His heart stopped, and I was dragged away before the doctors started it again. To me, he was dead."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

"I know. You kept prying into things, and now you have the burden of knowing." He let out a sharp laugh, and Wilbur narrowed his eyes just slightly. 

"But- you said you two were separated once you went to foster care? 

Dream grimaced. "I lied. Look, I'm really sorry, but our story isn't a happy one. It was easier to make something up than to talk about… Well, everything."

Wilbur nodded slightly, despite the horrible feeling in his gut. "I understand."

Tommy had gone back to tugging on his sleeves, staring down at his lap. Dream's hands were shaking. Wilbur’s were, too. 

Tommy was the first to speak up. "I lied. Dream-" He started to say, but Dream putting a hand on his arm stopped him. He started on a new sentence, instead "Back when I first showed up at your house- uh, sorry about that- I lied about the whole homeless thing."

"It's okay, Tommy," Wilbur tried to reassure, "You don't have to-"

"No, I do. Because- because you think we aren't brothers, even though we are." Tommy sent a quick glance to Dream, whose nod was miniscule enough that Wilbur wondered if it was just his imagination. 

Overactive imagination. 

Paranoid, Technoblade had said. 

“I have papers,” Dream added, “Proving that we’re brothers. If it helps, I can send them over to you.”

"That would be great, actually,” Wilbur replied honestly, “And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that."

Dream laughed. "It's alright, I understand. It's… a lot. That's why I didn't exactly tell you."

A server came by and set drinks down on their table. Iced coffee in front of Wilbur and Dream, and what looked like lemonade in front of Tommy- who immediately grabbed his drink and started chugging it. 

Dream grabbed Tommy's arm quickly (earning a gasp from Tommy), pulling it down. "Manners, Thomas." 

Tommy's expression soured. "I'm thirsty."

"That's no reason to act like an animal," Dream chided. 

"It's hot, Dream," Tommy complained, almost desperately. 

Before the two could get into a deeper argument, Wilbur cut in, "The kid's right, it is pretty warm out. Honestly, Toms, I'm surprised you're wearing a jacket in this weather."

"He insisted on wearing it," Dream replied. 

Tommy glanced between the two men before saying the next words carefully. "No, I didn't."

Dream frowned. "He did. Wilbur, I'm sorry-"

"It's bugging hot, why would I wear a hoodie in weather like this?" Tommy asked, making another sour face.

“Tommy-”

“He did kidnap me, you know. Picked me right off the streets and took me home, like I was some furniture.”

“That’s enough, Tommy.” Dream snapped, fear and anger in his eyes evident as ever. After a few deep breaths, he turned to Wilbur, who must have looked horrified, judging by Dream’s reaction. 

“Tommy, are you… Are you lying right now?” Wilbur asked, softly.

“You wouldn’t believe me either way, would you? Bet you don’t believe me right now,” Tommy replied, taking a sip of his lemonade. 

There was a lapse of silence. 

Dream just shook his head. “Wilbur, I’m so sorry. His lying habit has been out of control recently. I don’t- I shouldn’t have taken him today, but I was worried you’d think I was lying if he wasn’t here.”

“Understandable,” Wilbur muttered.

He was met with a grim smile. “It’s really difficult- uh, parenting. Especially parenting Tommy, but I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“I… Don’t, actually.”

“Well, you fostered him, so you must know it’s difficult to live with him.”

Tommy shrunk back slightly at the words- not in fear, just in disappointment.

“Well sure, he’s a little annoying, but all little brothers are.” Wilbur faked a smile.

Dream nodded. “Yeah, I’m starting to think so.” Slowly, he wrapped an arm around Tommy, pulling him into a side-hug.

The conversation got less tense from there. It was mostly Dream and Wilbur talking, though Tommy would chime in occasionally.

It was hard to listen to Tommy after his outburst.

Dream had said Tommy was a compulsive liar. Tommy’s own social worker said he was a compulsive liar. Wilbur just hadn’t expected it to be as bad as it was.

Ah, speaking of his lying issue.

“I think it might storm today.” Tommy said out of nowhere, earning quizzical looks from both men. “I mean, it’s been stormy for a while now, but it’s going to be worse tonight.”

Wilbur was almost grateful that Dream looked just as confused as himself. “What do you mean, Toms?” Wilbur asked. 

“I mean there’s gonna be a bad storm tonight.” He spoke incredibly sincerely for someone who was so clearly lying. It had been sunny for the last several weeks, and still was sunny that day. “Like, hurricane bad.”

Dream looked exhausted. “It’s sunny, Thomas. No storms.”

“No, it’s been storming for over a year. It stopped for a few days, but-”

“We should leave,” Dream said, suddenly, sounding exasperated. “I’m so sorry, Wilbur. I thought he could handle being out in public.” He stood, taking Tommy’s arm and practically pulling him up out of the booth with him.

Wilbur slowly stood, too. “Are you sure? Really, it’s okay.”

“No, no, we should head home anyway, especially with him acting like… Like this.”

Wilbur glanced at Tommy before setting his focus back on Dream.

“I’m sorry this meeting wasn’t… Better,” Dream apologized.

Wilbur just shook his head. “Really, it’s alright.”

“Well, we better get going.” Dream hadn’t let go of Tommy, but Wilbur wasn’t all that surprised.

The three walked to the exit together, and made it outside, about to go to their separate cars, before Wilbur hastily said,

“I would like to see those papers, though, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Dream shot him a smile, “Of course. I’ll have to dig through my files, so give me a day or two, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

That night, Wilbur laid on the roof of his house. It was ironic, considering he usually told Tommy off for doing the same thing. In Wilbur’s defense, he was an adult, whereas Tommy was a child.

Next to him lay Technoblade, staring up at the sky, occasionally pointing out constellations, though he didn’t tell the stories.

It was painfully reminiscent of when they would stargaze as teenagers, down to the laying-on-the-roof thing.

“I’m just glad that you’re over this whole thing. It’ll be good to have my brother back,” Techno said rather quietly.

Wilbur glanced over with a frown. “You really weren’t like… Jealous of him, were you?” He cringed internally at the way he phrased it, but at least it got the point across.

Techno made a face. “Jealous? Never.”

“Good. Because he’s a…” He was going to say a good kid, but after the whole coffee-shop-fiasco… “He’s an okay kid, but you’re my brother.”

“Not my brother.” Techno rolled his eyes, much to Wilbur’s delight.

“We’re brothers. Twin brothers. Admit it, Techno,” He teased.

In return, Techno smacked the side of Wilbur’s face. Not hard, just enough to get him to stop.

There was a brief moment of silence where they both just stared up at the stars.

Back when they were teenagers, they would lay on top of the roof for hours, Wilbur listening to Techno tell him stories about the different constellations. It was great, and Wilbur honestly missed it.

Still, he was just a little shaken by what happened at the coffee shop.

“He just… Kept lying to me, even when I asked him not to.”

“Compulsive lyin’ Will. It sucks.”

“Yeah, but, like… It wasn’t just that. He lied about things that were obviously wrong. And he kept going on about how the weather was stormy or something, even though it’s been clear skies for days now.”

Technoblade stiffened.

“He said- hang on, what exactly did he say about the weather?”

Wilbur struggled to recall exactly. “He said that the weather had been storming for a year, and he was pretty sure there’s going to be a hurricane soon. I don’t know what city he’s living in, but clearly that’s not…” He trailed off once Techno shot up to a sitting position. “What?”

“Has he ever mentioned weather to you before?”

“Huh?”

“Does he make casual conversation about the weather often, or is this the first time?”

Wilbur frowned slightly, thinking. “I guess this is the first. He talked to Tubbo over the phone about the weather the day after he showed up, though. Maybe he does it when he’s nervous or when he’s lying or something.”

Techno dropped his head into his hands. “No, Will, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s code.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Techno stood up, extending a hand out to him, “We need to get the key.”

Wilbur frowned deeper. “What key?”

“To the code. You said he said it to Tubbo?”

“Maybe?” He stood and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Techno stared at him for a moment, an expression on his face that Wilbur couldn’t read.

The thing was- Wilbur had been raised by his dad. He had never wondered where he would sleep or where his next meal would come from. He wouldn’t grow up missing parents- or, worse (in Wilbur’s opinion), not remembering his parents enough to miss them at all.

The thing was, Wilbur would never understand what it was like to be a foster kid.

But Technoblade? Technoblade did. He spent fifteen years in foster care; eighteen, technically, but the Watson home was slightly different from others. 

“You ever hear those stories about abused wives calling the cops and ordering a pizza?”

“...Yeah?”

“Sometimes- lots of times, actually- kids aren’t in a safe place to talk about their abuse, especially if their guardian is listening to their phone calls. So, they devise codes.”

Wilbur stared at him for a moment before ushering him to go on.

“It’s usually about simple things that sound normal if you don’t understand the code. TV shows, bird’s behavior, really anything that can sound casual.”

He could barely feel his heart beating. “Like the weather.”

Technoblade nodded. “Like the weather.”

Chapter Text

It was almost too easy to find Tubbo's address. 

Wilbur suggested calling the cops, but Techno insisted that they find the ‘key to the code’ first, just in case it wasn’t as severe as Wilbur worried it was. Wilbur would later regret not immediately calling the cops, but at the time it made sense. 

Which was why the brothers found themselves standing outside of Tubbo’s front door.

Technoblade knocked on the door. Well, 'knocked' was too kind of a word. He banged his fist against the wood so hard Wilbur feared it would splinter, and he continued to do so until the door swung open in front of them. 

The kid looked like a teenager. He was short, anyway. And he had messy brown hair that went well with the vibes of his black and yellow pajamas. 

"You're Tubbo?" Wilbur asked, though it came out as more of a statement than a question.

Tubbo frowned. "Do I know you?" Wilbur recognized the voice. Yeah, that's Tubbo. 

"I'm Wilbur, I used to be Tommy's foster brother."

Tubbo stared at him blankly for one second. Two. Three. And that was when it must have clicked. "Oh! You're Wilbur!" He shouted, nodding. 

Wilbur forced out a little smile. "Yeah, yeah, that's me. And this is Techno, he's my brother."

"Foster brother," Techno corrected. "I only met Tommy once, but we're not really here for introductions."

Tubbo frowned, confused. "You're… Not?"

"No, we're here to ask you about your and Tommy's code." 

There was a beat of silence. 

"How do you know about that?" Tubbo asked, voice serious. 

"He told me something in code- I think he did, anyway- and it's really important that we know what he meant."

Tubbo's eyes were blown wide. "What did he tell you?”

“Uh, he kept going on about the weather. I didn’t really understand any of it, though.”

Tubbo swore under his breath. Then he swore, loudly and clearly. “What did he say exactly?”

“He mentioned a hurricane,” Technoblade, ever helpful, supplied.

More swearing. Tubbo took a step back, grabbing shoes and slipping them on. “That’s bad.”

“How bad?” Wilbur asked, concerned.

“Clear skies mean he’s safe and happy. Cloudy means safe, but not sure. Rainy means bad, but survivable.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow. “What about a storm? He said something about it storming for a year.”

Tubbo frowned. “A storm means he’s being abused.”

Oh.

“He doesn’t- he doesn’t like me to tell adults or anything, so I… usually don’t. But I take care of him, I swear. Every time I see him I check for injuries and everything,” Tubbo added, quickly trying to make a bad situation better, though it wasn’t working.

“And a hurricane? What does that mean?”

“It means that he’s in immediate danger. I need to call the cops.”

------0------0------0-----

Wilbur ended up calling the cops. Techno offered, but Wilbur insisted. After all, he was the one who knew the most about the whole situation.

He gave police the address (thanks, Fundy), saying he believed Tommy was in danger and explaining the situation to the best of his ability, which was honestly difficult, considering how weird of a situation it really was.

“Yeah, Dream is either fostering him or has adopted him, I’m not totally sure. But I don’t even think he’s the kid’s brother, so it’s not worth much."

The responder hummed at that. They asked a few more questions to which Wilbur panickedly responded the best he could. 

How old is Tommy?

Sixteen.

How long has he lived with Dream?

Maybe a year, he's not sure.

Does he know if Dream has any weapons?

No idea, but he wouldn't put it past him.

"Thank you for your help, responders are on the way. We'll call you back if we need any more information."

That should have been good enough for Wilbur. He should have called it okay for now. He should have called Tommy-

Tubbo had climbed into the backseat of Wilbur's car. Both Wilbur and Technoblade, who had been sitting in the car for the phone call, turned around, confused. 

"Why are you waiting?" Tubbo asked, buckling his seatbelt. 

"What…?" Wilbur began to ask, but trailed off. 

"You know his address, don't you?"

"I… I do, yeah." It wasn't like he could deny it- he had given the address to the police mere minutes ago.

"Then go."

Going to a possibly active crime scene was srupid at best and dangerous at worst, especially if they were going to bring a seventeen year-old with them. 

But Dream's house was only twenty minutes away from Tubbo's…

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur's heart dropped when they pulled up to Dream's house. It was small; in a moderately nice neighborhood, too, but Wilbur didn't care about any of that. 

No, what he cared about was the bright yellow crime tape wrapping around the perimeter of the building. He cared about the six police cars blocking off the street, sirens off but lights blazing. 

Tommy and Dream were nowhere to be seen, though there was still a car in the driveway. 

Wilbur, Tubbo, and Technoblade were out of the car as soon as it was put in park, and Wilbur honestly didn't even care to turn the thing off. Not when the situation looked so… Bad.

It was Tubbo who tried to run up to the scene first, shouting for Tommy with a voice that made Wilbur's heart ache. 

Before he could get too far, Wilbur grabbed the kid's arm, pulling him back. 

"He'll be okay, Tubbo," He lied through his teeth, "But we need to stay back and let the police do their job."

Tubbo looked unconvinced, but Wilbur wasn't surprised. Panic leaked into his voice, even if he didn't mean for it to, so of course it wasn't that calming. 

He let go of Tubbo's arm. And then, being the hypocrite he was, he walked up to the nearest officer, who immediately raised his hand to wave Wilbur off. 

"No, no, I'm Wilbur," He said, quickly, "I made the phone call."

The cop's expression softened just slightly. "I see. You need to stay back, still, we're still searching the property."

Searching?

"Of course, yeah. Is- where is Tommy?"

He could have been hurt. Wilbur wouldn't have been surprised if he was, all things considered. 

That was when it clicked, funnily enough, why Tommy wore that jacket and complained about it being hot. 

He must have been hiding bruises from earlier. Bruises from when… When Wilbur called CPS.

The cop looked uncomfortable, refusing to make eye contact or even answer the question.

Wilbur bit his lip. Of course Tommy was hurt. But they arrived twenty minutes after the cops, maybe Tommy had already left. "Was he taken to a hospital or something?"

The cops expression changed from uncomfortable to sad. "Oh, Mister Wilbur, I'm really sorry…"

He was on the ground. He could feel the rough concrete underneath his knees, but couldn't find it in himself to care. Not when-

Tubbo was next to him. "Wilbur, what's wrong?"

Technoblade, too. 

Wilbur didn't answer. Couldn't answer. The world was spinning and Tommy was gone, all because Wilbur was too late.

Because every interaction Wilbur had with Dream and Tommy was full of red flags, but he continued to choose to ignore them. And now Tommy-

Please, no.

And now Tommy was dead.

Something changed in the cop's expression. Sadness to confusion. "What? No, no, I didn't say that."

They all stared at him expectantly. 

The cop took a deep breath. "We just haven't been able to locate him yet. He's not dead, no."

Wilbur stood up. Technoblade put a hand on his shoulder, and thank goodness he did, because Wilbur was genuinely about to punch a cop. 

And then the front door of Dream's house was pushed open, and out walked Dream, hands cuffed behind his back, being escorted by two more police officers. 

"I didn't do anything," Dream said, rather calmly, "He was gone when I got home. I assumed he was out with friends."

One of the officers scoffed. "Come on, man, there was blood on the floor."

"It's blood from beef. I was cooking and didn't have time to clean up before you broke in." 

Suddenly, Dream turned his head, making direct eye contact with Wilbur. 

There was something in his expression that Wilbur didn't like. 

"You need to question that guy over there." Dream insisted, shrugging his head in the direction of Wilbur. "He's been trying to take Tommy from me for months."

Technoblade's grip tightened on his shoulder. 

"Please, you need to believe me," Dream begged. 

Wilbur took a step back, shaking his head slightly. 

The cop nearest him sighed. "Don't take it too personally, but we will be questioning you, too."

"Wait, you can't be serious. I'm not actually a suspect, am I?"

-----0-----0-----0-----

They stuck Wilbur in a small, cold, metal room for almost an entire hour. He figured this was standard procedure, though he really didn’t know. All he knew was that he was offered water when he walked in, and then he was read his rights.

He didn't think he was a suspect. Not really, anyway. They still did question him though.

Their biggest issue was Tommy’s code, because no matter how many times Wibur insisted that it was- according to Technoblade- a common thing, they didn’t seem to believe him.

“He’s not a stupid kid, he’s completely capable of coming up with a code. Ask- ask Tubbo or Technoblade, they’ll tell you.”

“He’s a known liar-”

“Is he?” He interrupted, angry at this point. “Dream said so, but there’s no proof. If anyone’s the liar here, it’s Dream.”

“You seem very adamant about it being his older brother, why is that?”

“Tommy ran away a few months ago, and he snuck into my house. It’s a long story, and it’s not really important, but when he was there, he told me… Something.”

He trailed off, thinking about it, letting the words sit in the air. When the interrogator didn’t speak, he continued.

“He was adopted four years ago, but the parents reversed the adoption last year. He was homeless after that, until… Some guy- he didn’t say who, but I think Dream- started feeding him, then offered him a place to live. And… That’s about it, honestly, that’s all he said.”

The interrogator raised an eyebrow, but still didn’t speak, so Wilbur didn’t, either.

What felt like minutes ticked by, but was probably forty-five seconds maximum.

“What makes you think Tommy was telling the truth?”

“He has no reason to lie,” Wilbur said, firmly. And it was true, because the kid really didn’t.

“But compulsive lying doesn’t always come with a reason, compulsive liars lie just because. Why wouldn’t he lie to you?”

Wilbur glanced at the floor, frowning.

Tommy wouldn’t lie, right?

Would he?

He must have lied at some point, because even Tommy’s story didn’t make exact sense, but it still was better than Dream’s.

“He was beaten black and blue when he came to my house. And- and he had a knife wound that my brother and I patched up. He had these old burns and scars, too. They weren’t there last time my dad fostered him.”

Another raise of the eyebrow. “And who do you think gave them to him?”

“Dream.” He spoke it as fact.

Another moment of silence.

“Let’s change the subject slightly. Do you have any idea where Tommy could be?”

Wilbur shook his head, “No idea. I can imagine him going to Tubbo’s, but I’d doubt he would go to my house again.”

“Right, right,” The interrogator nodded, “And who is Tubbo, again?”

“Tubbo is his best friend. Tubbo’s the one that knows the code.”

“Right, the code. I’m sure Tubbo must be horrified over this whole news then, yeah?”

Wilbur paled. “What?”

“His best friend is missing, possibly abused. It must be hard on the kid. I’m sure he’d feel a lot better if we could find his friend.”

He nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

“Come on, Wilbur. I’m sure you know some spot he might go.”

“I don’t.”

“Nowhere? He never ran away from your house when you fostered him? He never hung out somewhere after school? I thought you were supposed to be his foster brother.”

“It’s been years, I don’t…” He paused, trailing off.

“You must have some idea where he is. Please, Wilbur, think of all the people who are worried that he won’t come back safe.”

And that was when the puzzle sunk into place.

No, not where Tommy was. Wilbur still had no idea, but… 

“You’re accusing me.”

“What? No, no, I’m-”

“You’re accusing me of- what, kidnapping?” Anger was rising in his voice, along with tears in his eyes, “You’re accusing me of hurting him? He’s a kid, sir, I just want him home safe.”

“And I fully believe you can help us find him.”

Threatening a cop is always a bad idea.

“Listen here, you little-”

The argument went on for a little while. Wilbur didn’t keep track of how long, though he didn’t stop until tears were spilling and his voice was shaking. He was given another cup of water.

Technoblade didn’t make any comments as Wilbur came out of the interrogation room- thank goodness- and they went home pretty quickly after that.

-----0-----0-----0-----

“They’ll find him,” Phil insisted, watching as Wilbur walked around the house, unlocking windows in case Tommy thought about stopping by.

“They accused me. They have no idea where he is.”

“He’s a smart kid, but they’re smarter. Unless he’s off in the woods somewhere- which we live nowhere near- they’ll find him."

Technoblade, who had been texting Tubbo (when did he get the kid’s number?) looked up, “If he’s smart, he’ll run for the hills.”

“Techno-” Phil started to chide.

“No, really. Seems like the best option, to be honest. If Dream really is abusing him, and they can’t prove it, Tommy could end up back in his custody.”

“You’re not helping, Techno.”

“I’m just saying that it’s a good thing if they don’t find him.”

Wilbur let out an exasperated breath. “He could be dead, Technoblade. They found Tommy’s blood in the house. He could be seriously injured, and- and…”

“He’s a strong kid, Will. I’m sure he can power through it.”

Wilbur gave up arguing after that.

-----0-----0-----0-----

He fell asleep on the couch around seven that morning, exhausted after the previous day. His dreams were full of… Well, Dream, for starters. His mind was basically replaying every red flag Wilbur had encountered while interacting with him and Tommy, and there was a surprising amount of content to go through.

The hoodie. The burn scars. The elbowing. The arm grabbing. The whispering. The codes.

Tommy said he had been abused for a year, if the code held up. It didn’t make sense to Wilbur. Why wouldn’t the kid run away earlier? Why wouldn’t he ask someone for help? If Dream wasn’t his brother, why wouldn’t he tell someone?

…

Because everyone thought he was lying. Even Wilbur.

‘He did kidnap me, you know.’ Tommy had said, ‘picked me right off the streets and took me home, like I was some furniture’, and Wilbur had assumed he was lying. Because Dream said he was lying.

If Tommy was telling the truth, then he was seriously screwed. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur woke barely two hours later to the sound of something clattering against the window. He jumped to his feet, rushing to where the sound came from.

“Tom-” He started to say, but his voice died before the second syllable came out.

It was just a tree. A stupid tree clattering against the shutters.

Wilbur slammed the window closed, swearing under his breath that he would chop down the tree first chance he could. He knew once he calmed down, he wouldn’t really mean it, but at the moment, he was livid. It was stupid false hope, and he knew that, but what else was he supposed to do?

He had been promised he would be contacted once Tommy was found, but so far, it was nothing.

Well, not nothing.

They had issued an Amber Alert about an hour after Wilbur got out of the police investigation. That wasn’t reassuring, and if anything, it made him feel worse.

-----0-----0-----0----

After four anxiety filled days of sleeping on the couch, Wilbur resigned. 

Not really, of course. He had gone out to look for the kid every day, checking every place he could think of. The malls, alleyways, homeless shelters. Not one of them had Tommy.

It was when they released Dream due to 'lack of proof' that he finally gave up. It was one thing to have Tommy missing, it was another to have the reason for the kid's disappearance walk free. 

He refused to turn on the news, not wanting any new information on the case. 

The case- that's what it was now, wasn't it? A missing child's case with insane twists and turns. 

A few news stations had mentioned Wilbur (not by name) and how he believed that Dream wasn't Tommy's real brother. Police said that they were 'looking into it', but he hadn't heard anything since. 

Wilbur was exhausted by day four. No one had any leads- or, if the police did, they weren't telling him. 

It was useless to keep worrying about it. He kept worrying about it. 

Or, he did, until someone slipped an arm under his legs, and-

Technoblade was carrying him, bridal style, towards the staircase. 

"Techno-" He started to argue, but was cut off.

"You need real sleep. I'll keep watch for now, okay?"

"I'm not 'keeping watch'."

Technoblade rolled his eyes. "Right, you're just watching the windows and doors like a hawk for fun," He said sarcastically. 

"I'm not- don't you dare drop me." He grabbed onto Techno as he ascended the stairs. 

Not long after that, he was dropped into his bed, then a blanket was thrown on top of him. 

"Sleep."

"But-"

"If any news breaks about the case, I'll be sure to let you know," Techno assured. 

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Now sleep." He walked out, closing the door tightly behind him. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur was greeted with pancakes cooking the next morning. He hated to say that it reminded him of when he burned pancakes trying to convince Phil to let Tommy stay. 

"Mornin', sleeping beauty," Techno teased lightly, "Take a seat. Breakfast 'll be ready soon." 

Wilbur sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. 

Technoblade waited until he served breakfast to tell Wilbur the news. 

"I was watching TV this morning, there was a new development- they didn't find him, stop looking at me like that." Techno let out a sigh before continuing, "DNA tests came back today, you were right, Dream isn't his biological brother."

Wilbur stared at him, jaw dropped to the floor.

"They think," Technoblade continued, "He had a social worker friend mess with the papers, which was how he got custody in the first place. Tommy was moved around enough that no one could keep track, anyway."

Wilbur nodded, slowly. "So… What does that mean?"

"It means Dream will be in prison, at the very least for kidnapping."

"Oh."

"It's… Good news. Why aren't you happy?"

He forced a pained smile onto his face. "I am happy, I just…" He trailed off, but Techno understood. 

"It's not Tommy. I get it."

And that was it. No more reassuring words, no 'I'm sure we'll find him', just assuring that he was understood. 

And maybe the understanding was what he really needed. 

Chapter Text

On the fifth day it rained. Not a torrential downpour, not a storm, but rain nonetheless. 

Wilbur drove through the city again- both near Dream's house as well as his own house. Tommy was nowhere to be found. 

He wondered, vaguely, if that meant Tommy was safe and inside somewhere. Hopefully curled up under a warm blanket, maybe watching a TV show. 

More likely, though, Tommy was outside. 

Wilbur didn't want to think about that. 

The rain didn't stop. No matter how much Wilbur wished it would, it didn't. He sat on a chair in the kitchen, staring out the backdoor, watching as the rain fell down. 

A mug was placed in front of him. Wilbur glanced up, surprised to see his dad, who was taking a seat next to him. 

"Hot chocolate." Phil drummed his fingers on the table. 

"It's not cold enough for that, is it?" It was a little cool, sure, but Wilbur was still wearing shorts. 

"Probably," Phil shrugged, "But I thought it might make you feel better."

Steam rose from the cup slowly, like smoke. 

"Tommy likes hot chocolate," He murmured, raising the cup and taking a long drink. 

Phil hummed in response. He stared out of the backdoor for a long time. 

Wilbur wouldn't call the silence comfortable, but it wasn't bad, either. It was survivable. Especially with the pitter patter of rain. 

"I've been looking into fostering again," Phil spoke softly, cautiously, as if he was walking on eggshells in the conversation.

Another sip of the drink. "Oh?"

"Emergency fosters, just like the last time. Though only during the school year, while you guys are gone."

"Don't want them to bond with me?" He joked, though internally he felt awful about it. 

Would Tommy be in this situation if he hadn't gotten so close to Wilbur?

"It's a three bedroom house, Will. The kid will need a place to sleep, too." 

Wilbur let out a sharp laugh. "Do they get my room or Tech's?"

Phil cracked a smile at that. "Depends which one of you is willing to let someone borrow your room. Nothing is set in stone, though, of course."

A beat. "Have you told Techno yet?"

"No," Phil shook his head. "Not yet."

Another beat of silence. 

"You said you weren't going to foster anymore. What changed your mind?"

A third beat, then, awkwardly, "It was Tommy, actually."

Wilbur frowned. He took another sip of hot chocolate. It was far too warm.

"I know I couldn't help him, and I'm sorry." A hand was placed on Wilbur's arm, but he didn't look at it. "But I thought… If I can't help him, maybe I can help others."

He shook the hand off. "He's not dead, you know."

"No, Will, I know, I-" Phil started to say, but it was too late. 

Wilbur slammed the mug onto the table, then he pushed the chair back. He storms out of the room before Phil could protest. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

They didn't find Tommy on the fifth day, or the sixth. Nor the seventh, or eighth.

The search had been called off by day eleven. 

It was day twelve when something finally changed. 

Wilbur answered the phone call without even thinking, because of course it was Tommy. It had to be. 

It was two in the morning, and Wilbur didn't recognize the number during the brief glance he had before answering. 

"Tommy? He asked, pushing himself up to a sitting position. The phone ringing had pulled him from his sleep, but the possibility of it being Tommy had pushed away any tiredness he was feeling. 

"No, sorry," A low voice replied. They reminded him of Technoblade in a way, though less accented. 

Wilbur let out a disappointed sigh. He moved to hang up, when the guy spoke again. 

"You, uh- this is Wilbur Watson, right?"

He didn't reply for a long minute. "What do you want?"

"Do you… Sorry if this is weird- do you know what to do about sleepwalking?"

Maybe Wilbur was still a little tired, but did this kid just ask him what he thought he asked? Sleepwalking?

"What?"

“Sleepwalking,” The guy repeated, “I thought you might know, like, how to deal with it? I just- I don’t know what to do, so I panicked and then I called you and-” He started to ramble before Wilbur cut him off.

“Sorry, hang on, who is this?”

“Ranboo.”

“Alright, and how did you get my number, Ranboo?” He asked, running a hand through his hair.

The reply was stilted. Cautious, even. “I… Found it.”

“Found it… Where?” Wilbur prompted.

“Uh… I found it. I just- I just found it.” 

Then it clicked. 

There was only really one person he had given his number to recently, and that person just so happened to sleepwalk.

"Did you kidnap Tommy?" It came out much more blunt than intended, but it startled Ranboo so much that he didn't care. 

"Did I- what? No, no, I would never- I couldn't, I-" He sputtered out for at least twenty seconds, before deciding on: "Who's Tommy?"

"Ranboo, I swear I will kill you myself if you don't tell me where he is," Wilbur growled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sorry," Ranboo said in the most unconvincing voice. 

"He's been missing for two weeks, Ran-boo," He emphasized the name, putting particular disdain into it. "You either tell me where he is, or-"

"What do you mean missing?"

"I mean a missing person, you d-"

"Tommy's a missing person?"

That response had actually taken him by surprise. Ranboo didn't know? But it seemed like he was with Tommy, so how wouldn't he know? 

"There's still an Amber Alert for him," Wilbur replied softly. 

A long pause. "Oh."

"The theory right now is that Dream killed him," he added.

"Oh… Oh."

"And," He continued, trying to appeal to the guy's sympathy, "It would make everyone feel a lot better to know if he's alive."

For a moment, all Wilbur could hear was the slow breathing of Ranboo. Wilbur could almost count along with him, because he was clearly doing some anxiety breathing exercise. 

Then Ranboo replied, more calculated than he had been in this entire situation. "I'm sure it would."

And then Ranboo hung up. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

After three minutes of sitting in shock, Wilbur tried calling him back. The phone rang three times before going to voicemail.

After the fifth call straight to voicemail, Wilbur gave up.

Well, not entirely.

Instead, he texted Ranboo.

‘For sleepwalking, close any doors you don’t want him going into’

He barely even remembered what one was supposed to do.

’Make sure there isn’t anything he could trip over, and definitely keep him away from any sharp objects’

Tommy used to sleepwalk a lot, Wilbur remembered that. He remembered the day that Tommy, still asleep, nearly fell down the stairs. 

Well, he did fall down the stairs, technically, but Wilbur had caught him halfway down and softened the fall. They bought a baby gate after that.

’Don’t try to wake him up, but guide him back to bed if you can’

He was sure there was a plethora of things to say. Instructions, help, but he wasn't sure how to phrase it.

Wilbur didn’t get the chance to say anything else, as he received a text back.

‘Thanks’

And that was the end of their conversation.

-----0-----0-----0-----

"I knew a kid named Ranboo once," Technoblade said.

They were out on their roof on day fifteen, the night after the phone call, having another one of those (almost nightly) deep conversations. 

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Techno continued, "It was my last foster home before you guys. I think I still have his number, actually."

Wilbur's heart beat just a little faster. 

"You do?" He asked. 

He did. It was labeled under 'Ranboo Foster' in Techno's phone. Techno explained that his last name wasn't actually Foster, that the kid didn't even have a last name, but it was back when Techno only put in first names and where he knew people from. 

Ranboo was around Tommy's age, Wilbur learned. He also sounded scarily similar to a kid Phil once fostered, but Wilbur wasn't totally sure it was the same person. 

What he was sure about was that the number that called him matched the one in Techno's phone. 

"What kind of coincidence…" Technoblade muttered, trailing off.

Wilbur just shook his head. “Do we call him?”

He was met with a shrug. “If you think he kidnapped Tommy, maybe call the cops before the kid.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t think he kidnapped Tommy.” He let out a long sigh before continuing. “He sounded genuinely worried. I mean- he called me about sleepwalking for heaven’s sake.”

“So he’s just hiding him, then,” Techno stated. He wasn’t even looking at Wilbur, instead staring up at the stars.

“Yeah.”

They stared up at the stars for a little while longer before Techno finally added,

“It sounds like he’s safe, then. Ranboo is a good kid, I’m sure he’s helping Tommy.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but crack a smile. “If anything, Tommy’s corrupting him.”

That earned a snort from Techno. “Probably, yeah.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur had half a mind to let Tommy stay a missing person. If he really was safe, if he was happy, then was there really much harm in it? Maybe in the long run, but… He didn’t know. He really should talk to Phil, but if Phil told him he needed to tell the police, he didn’t know what he would do.

Instead, he decided to call Ranboo. Well, he decided he would call Ranboo, he just hadn’t decided when he would call the kid. Maybe at night time? It was Summer, so it wasn’t like Ranboo was in class, but Summer school was a thing.

He wasn’t sure, but it was only three PM, so it wasn’t like he was running out of time to call him.

Apparently, though, he didn’t need to worry about it. Because not long after, his phone rang again. He recognized the number as Ranboo’s, even though he had yet to save it in his phone.

“Wilbur,” Ranboo said, almost immediately. Panic hung heavy in his tone. “You’re over eighteen, aren’t you?”

“I’m… nineteen, yeah..?” 

“So you can- you can buy over-the-counter medicine, right?”

A beat. "Where are you going with this?"

"I can pay you," Ranboo said, quickly, "I can pay for it, but I need fever reducer and I can't buy the grade I need without an ID."

Saying Wilbur was confused would be the most mild way to put it. "Can't your guardians buy it?"

"I'm emancipated. Please, Wilbur. I'll pay you back- I'll pay with interest, even." There was such a desperation in his voice that Wilbur couldn't help but agree.

"Okay."

"Really?"

"I said okay. Let me know what brand to get, I'll buy it for you." He paused. "Is everything okay? You sick or something?"

"I'm not sick."

So Tommy was sick, then. Sick enough that Ranboo called Wilbur of all people in a panic. Great. 

"Text me the name and your address. Assuming it's not far, I'll be there in twenty."

Ranboo started to protest, but Wilbur had already hung up. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

There were two options here: either Ranboo had sent him a fake address, or Ranboo lived in a park. Wilbur wasn't sure which option was more believable, though he knew which was more worrying.

Because this park was run-down. Graffiti littered the playground, the walls, even the sidewalks. Caution tape circled trash cans and benches, and Wilbur just had a bad feeling about this place.

He knew it was in the bad side of town as soon as Ranboo had texted him, he just hadn’t expected it to be… This bad.

Despite not knowing what to look for, it was easy to spot Ranboo, who stood alone at the park, towering over the children.

Ranboo looked around Tommy’s age, though it was hard to tell as the teen was wearing sunglasses. His hair was a light brown, fluffy, and sticking out in all directions. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, both of which looked like they had seen better days.

Pure nervous energy radiated off Ranboo, and Wilbur almost expected him to run off as soon as he was approached.

“Ranboo?” He asked, testing the name, just to make sure he was right.

Sure enough, the boy turned his head. “Wilbur?” He was still visibly tense, but must have been at least a little relieved to see Wilbur.

“You don’t… Live here, do you?” He asked, not sure how else to phrase it.

Ranboo was taken aback to say the very least. “What? No, no- no, I’m not homeless. I have a home. Kind of- I just- I didn’t want to give my address to a stranger.” A pause, and then, before Wilbur could respond, “Did you buy the medicine?”

Wilbur held up his pharmacy bag, then stopped, a plan forming.

Was he really about to bribe a poor teenager with medicine he clearly needed? 

Yeah, he was.

“I bought it, yeah.” His arm sunk back down to his side. “I want to see Tommy first, before I give it to you.”

He could picture Ranboo’s eyes widening under the sunglasses as he took a step back. “No- no, I can’t. I promised- I can’t let you.”

“Look, I know you’re scared, but I want to see him. Please, Ranboo, he’s like a brother to me. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Ranboo shook his head wildly. “Nope, no can do. Tommy’s not- Tommy’s not here. The medicine is, uh, for me.”

This guy was a terrible liar.

Wilbur took a small step forward. “I won’t call the police or anything, I promise. I just want to know that he’s okay.”

“He’s fine,” Ranboo spat out. “Not that I would know, uh…”

“Ranboo,” Another step forward. He placed his free hand on Ranboo’s shoulder in a way that was both comforting and intimidating. “I just want to know that he’s okay. Soon as I do, I’ll leave.”

Ranboo faltered. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

There was a long lapse of silence. “Because he’s not okay.”

“Then let me help.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

It took five minutes of arguing to convince Ranboo that he really wasn’t going to call the police, that he just wanted to help Tommy. And it took him showing Ranboo his ID, proving that he really was Wilbur Watson, before the boy gave in.

After a fifteen minute walk- which was slightly nerve-wracking, considering all the people that gave specifically Wilbur strange looks as he walked- they ended up at Ranboo’s apartment.

If one could call it an apartment, anyway.

The building had clearly seen better days, and even if it hadn’t, there were still bars on every window. Ranboo led him up the three steps to his apartment door, which was painted a muddy red color, with paint chipping off.

Twenty seconds passed between the time Ranboo put his key in the door, and the door actually unlocking. He had to jiggle it in a weird way, at a specific angle that made no sense to Wilbur.

The door swung open slightly, and Ranboo spent an additional ten seconds pulling the key out.

“Just- take your shoes off before you come in, okay?” Ranboo asked, closing and locking the door behind him.

Wilbur slipped off his sneakers before following Ranboo further in the apartment.

It was dark inside, all the lights turned off, and all the window blinds closed (though some light still shone through the broken blinds). It was cold, too, cold enough that Wilbur found himself folding his arms to gain some warmth back.

The apartment was small, cramped, and uncomfortable. The idea of anyone living here- especially a lone teenager- made Wilbur’s skin crawl.

Ranboo stopped outside one of the two doors in the apartment. “Swear you won’t tell anyone?”

“Cross my heart.”

This must have been Ranboo’s room. Like the rest of the apartment, it was small, barely having enough room to fit the twin sized mattress and a dresser. A lamp sat on said dresser, though it was currently turned off.

Wilbur didn’t focus on any of that.

He focused on the shivering figure in the middle of the bed.

“Tommy,” He whispered, rushing forward.

Tommy’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he tightly gripped a blanket in his arms, along with…

Along with a familiar, small stuffed cow.

Even in the dim light, he could tell that Tommy’s face was red and sweaty. His hair stuck to the blankets, and Wilbur had a feeling that the shivering wasn’t the only reason Tommy was shaking right now.

He’s alive, Wilbur realized.

Maybe not for long.

“What happened?” He asked, turning to Ranboo.

Ranboo had pulled off his glasses, revealing eyes that looked almost a reddish-purple, though it was hard to tell as Ranboo stared at the floor. “I don’t know.”

“Ranboo,” Wilbur said, voice warning.

“I don’t know, I swear.” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. I- I tried so hard to keep all his injuries clean- I replaced bandages, I disinfected them, I made sure he was clean, I just- I don’t know.”

Wilbur didn’t respond, pressing a hand against Tommy’s forehead. He almost immediately moved his hand away, having not expected such an intense heat.

“Do you have a thermometer?”

Ranboo grabbed one off of the dresser and handed it to Wilbur.

His temperature read 103, which… Wasn’t terrible, but was still concerning.

“How long has he been like this?”

Ranboo bit his lip. “He started getting sick a week ago, but swore it was nothing. Two days ago he- he collapsed, so I put him on bed rest.”

Wilbur gave him a look.

“He seemed fine; under the weather, but fine. He was still swearing at me and stuff, and kept telling me he was okay, so I believed him…” 

“Oh…” Wilbur murmured, glancing down at Tommy. 

“He fell asleep around two in the afternoon yesterday,” Ranboo added, “And he hasn’t woken up since.”

Wilbur turned back to Ranboo, alarmed. “He what?”

“That’s why I wanted the fever reducer!” Ranboo said, panicked.

“He’s been asleep for a whole day and you didn’t think to call 911?” Wilbur shouted.

“I can’t afford 911!” Ranboo back. “Even if I could, what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I have the kid everyone’s been looking for’?”

“Yes!”

“I’m not stupid- that would land me in jail!”

“I don’t-” I don’t care, Wilbur started to say, but he was cut off.

“Even if I wanted to, I promised Tommy I wouldn’t. I promised- I promised him. No hospitals, no police, nothing.”

They stared at each other for a long moment in the dark. 

“He’ll die, Ranboo.”

Ranboo’s face fell. “What?”

“You said you cleaned all his wounds, but you clearly missed something. He’s got an infection.”

His face fell even more. “I didn’t… No, he can’t.”

“Don’t you know what sepsis is? People die from it.”

“I… I promised him I wouldn’t. I can’t- I won’t go back on my word.”

Wilbur took a deep breath. “I didn’t promise anything, I’ll call.”

“But- you bought fever reducer. Can’t we just use that? We can- we can help him without a hospital.”

“I’m not force-feeding an unconscious child fever reducer.” He was already pulling out his phone, dialing 911.

“Wait- wait!” Ranboo raised his voice.

He lowered his phone just slightly. “What?”

"I can't afford an ambulance…"

Wilbur held back a grimace. He really should have figured cost would be an issue. "My dad can pay, it's not a big deal."

Ranboo shook his head. "No, no, I don't want to be in his debt."

"You won't be in debt. Look, Ranboo, every minute we spend arguing is another minute Tommy gets worse," he said, gesturing to the boy on the bed. 

He wasn't even wrong, because Tommy had gotten a little more red. His face was scrunched up in pain, too…

"Okay," Ranboo finally said. 

Wilbur didn't question it beyond that, immediately dialing the number and pressing the phone to his ear. 

Chapter Text

Most emergency vehicles turn off their sirens right before they get into a neighborhood. The ambulance that was now in Ranboo's neighborhood certainly turned off their lights and sirens, anyway.

So it was a real surprise when Wilbur stepped outside and was met with… Several people. Most were just looking out of their windows, but a few were watching from their doorsteps or even balconies.

Wilbur shot Ranboo a look, gesturing with his eyes to the people watching. 

"They're neighbors," Ranboo explained quietly, "They're nice. Well, most of them, anyway." His sunglasses were back on, once again covering his eyes. 

Wilbur had to force himself to not look away as the paramedics wheeled Tommy out of the apartment on a stretcher. 

If someone didn't know what was going on, they could almost assume Tommy was just asleep. Except for the fact that he was sweating, shaking, and strapped into the stretcher around his legs, hips, chest, and shoulders. 

Ranboo was frantically answering an EMT's questions, though a lot of the answers were just 'I don't know' and 'I can't remember'.

Another three EMTs were loading Tommy into the back of the ambulance.

If his feet didn't feel like they were glued to the floor, Wilbur would have tried to go in the ambulance with them. 

Instead, his feet were rooted to the cracked concrete outside of Ranboo's dingy apartment. Not dingy, cozy and rundown, but… It didn't matter, not right now. 

He had just managed to lift his left foot, when a man climbed up the three steps to the apartment, glaring at Wilbur the entire time.

The man adjusted his beanie before stepping straight into Wilbur’s personal space. With the scar going through his eye, he might have been intimidating if he wasn’t half a foot shorter than Wilbur.

“What were you doing in the kid’s apartment?” The man demanded, glaring up at him.

"I- what?"

He must have been around Wilbur's age- maybe a little older, despite the fact he was nearly a foot shorter than Wilbur. There were faded bruises on the right side of his face. His dark hair was partially hidden by a beanie that seemed to have been stuffed on in a hurry.

What was most noticeable about the man, though, wasn't wasn't of those things. No, it was definitely the white scar that ran up the left side of his face, catching his top lip and carving all the way up to his eyebrow. 

"Why were you in his apartment?" The question was an angry growl as he grabbed the front of Wilbur's shirt, as if to pull him down to eye-level. 

He didn't have the energy to get defensive. "I was calling the ambulance," He said dully, gesturing to the vehicle. 

"Right, sure," The guy rolled his eyes, "Let me guess- you're the reason it had to be called in the first place. Listen here, you little-"

"Quackity!" Ranboo cut in, clearly panicking. He must have been done with questioning because he speedwalked over to them. "It's fine. I'm fine. He's a good person."

The guy- Quackity- narrowed his eyes. "You don't have to lie to me, kid."

"I'm not- I'm not lying, I promise. This is Wilbur, he's a friend of a friend."

Slowly, Quackity let go of Wilburs shirt. He took a step back, then forced a smile. He was missing a tooth, right where the scar was, Wilbur noticed. 

"You should've just said that. Nice to meet you, Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him in shock. "You too..?"

They were in silence for five painfully awkward seconds. 

"They'll only let one person be in the ambulance," Ranboo explained. 

"Oh, I-" Wilbur started to say, but to his surprise, Quackity cut him off.

"You can ride in the ambulance, Ran', and I'll take Wilbur in my car."

"Are you sure?" Ranboo asked.

"Of course." There was that grin again. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

Quackity's car was a beat-up blue van, ironically the same shade as his jacket and beanie. 

The van itself was… Loud. Not in decoration, but literally loud. It made clunking sounds as he drove, as if it was about to fall apart mid-drive.

"Ranboo's sort of been adopted by the whole neighborhood," Quackity explained, not at all sheepish about it. 

"Oh, that's… nice."

"And I'm sure you've noticed what kind of neighborhood this is."

"Uh…" Wilbur prayed it wasn't what he was thinking. Because if Ranboo lived in a neighborhood full of gang members, then he was about to have two children to adopt instead of just one. 

"Most of us would have no problems killing you, and most of us can hide a body, too."

He added Ranboo to his list of kids to help. Was it a list if it was only two kids?

"Oh, yeah," He coughed, awkwardly. "Of course."

They drove in silence after that, besides the clanging of the car.

-----0-----0-----0-----

To absolutely nobody’s surprise, neither Ranboo nor Wilbur were allowed to see Tommy. Wilbur briefly considered lying, saying that he was related to Tommy, but after everything that happened… Besides, even direct family wasn’t allowed at the moment, not when he was in such a bad state.

Wilbur and Ranboo sat in a waiting room outside of the ICU. Neither budged, even after a doctor told them it would be a few days.

After the third hour passed, Wilbur finally turned to look at Ranboo. 

Ranboo had taken his sunglasses off, and was fidgeting with them in his lap with shaking hands.

“So…” Wilbur started, awkwardly, “You know Technoblade?”

Ranboo flinched back, just slight enough that it could pass as surprise. He looked up. “What?”

“Technoblade Bloode, do you know him?”

“I’m, uh… I might?” He flashed Wilbur an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I have a bad memory, I’m not sure.”

Wilbur wondered how someone so awkward and apologetic became friends with someone like Tommy. “Oh. Well, he said he knew you- something about you guys being foster siblings a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Ranboo nodded slightly, “I’ll have to look into it.”

“He’s- he’s my foster brother now, that’s why I brought it up,” Wilbur explained. 

“Oh,” Ranboo said, again, “That’s… Cool.”

Conversation with this kid was hard. They fell back into another few minutes of silence.

“So, how do you know Tommy? I can't imagine he broke into your apartment, considering the bars on the windows.” Wilbur let out an uncomfortable chuckle at his terrible attempt for a joke.

Ranboo returned the gesture with a nervous half-smile. “No, he didn’t break in. He, uh, called me, actually. On some payphone- I didn’t even know those were still a thing.”

“He called you?”

A nod. “Yeah, yeah. Like, two weeks ago, I got a call from a random number, answered, and it was him.”

Wilbur mutely nodded back.

Tommy called Ranboo. Tommy called Ranboo, and not Wilbur. And- and obviously Tommy had Wilbur’s number, because that must have been how Ranboo found it in the first place.

Why wouldn't Tommy call Wilbur?

“It was… A long night,” Ranboo murmured.

“What happened?”

Ranboo laughed a little, “He was on the opposite side of town, so I had to take a bus to get to him at, like, ten at night.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have just asked your friend… Quack-something?”

“No, I don’t like being a burden. Besides, the bus wasn’t that bad- though it was awkward to bring a bleeding Tommy back home on one.”

His eyes widened. “He was bleeding?”

Ranboo shrunk in on himself, and Wilbur forced himself to calm his body language. “He was, yeah… It- it wasn’t like he was immediately bleeding out,” He said, rushing the words out. Wilbur vaguely wondered if he was lying, “And most of his injuries are- are healed now. Kind of, anyway.”

Wilbur avoided eye-contact. “I see,” He muttered.

Tommy had been hurt. He had been injured, and if Wilbur had just figured it out a little bit earlier, maybe Wilbur could have saved him.

Not saved him, because Tommy wasn’t dead. Well, not yet-

He needed to stop thinking about it.

“But I met him in foster care,” Ranboo said, finally addressing Wilbur’s original question, “I was in group homes a lot, and so was he. We spent a lot of time together, but we lost contact when he was adopted.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” A long pause, “But then I met Tubbo, and Tubbo was the one who put together that we were both friends. I’m honestly not sure how he did it,” He spoke through an awkward, quiet laugh, “But he managed to get us in contact with each other.”

Wilbur frowned slightly, “What do you mean?”

“Tubbo’s parents don’t like Tommy,” He explained, “They cut off most of his contact with him, so I was surprised that Tubbo managed to get his address.” He shrugged.

Wilbur had more questions- lots of questions, like if Ranboo knew about Dream, if Ranboo knew about the abuse- if Tubbo knew about the abuse. He didn’t get to answer any of those as a barely-familiar man speed-walked into the room. 

He was tall, fairly young, and had green hair. It took Wilbur a moment to recognize who exactly it was- Sam, Tommy’s social worker. 

Sam barely even glanced at them, instead heading straight to the first doctor he saw. They spoke to each other in hushed, worried whispers. Wilbur strained, but couldn’t hear the words.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Six hours later, Phil picked Wilbur and Ranboo up from the hospital to take them home. Sam had only briefly spoken to Phil, but apparently agreed to let them know once Tommy was conscious and if he was okay with visitors.

Quackity was glaring at Phil when he dropped Ranboo off. Wilbur ignored the look. Once they were out of Ranboo’s neighborhood, Wilbur finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you,” He whispered.

“It’s… Okay, Will. It’s a scary situation, I understand.”

“Do you?” He shouldn’t have asked that, but he couldn’t help the annoyance and anger that was seeping into him. “You- everybody- kept telling me he was fine, but he’s not. He could be dying, and I could’ve prevented that if anyone listened to me.”

Phil muttered an apology, and they didn’t really talk after that.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Three days passed before there was news of Tommy being conscious. Sam told him that, no, this wasn’t the first official time that Tommy woke up, but this was the first time he was cognizant enough to answer basic questions. According to Sam, they hadn’t asked him anything difficult yet- and Sam made it very clear that Wilbur wasn’t supposed to say or ask anything that could upset Tommy, either.

Oh, wait, Wilbur realized. 

This was Sam saying that Wilbur could visit.

-----0-----0-----0-----

He and Technoblade had picked his car up from the park a few days ago, thank goodness, because now Wilbur was driving to Ranboo’s apartment to pick him up before going to the hospital. They were told not to crowd Tommy, which was the only reason Wibur didn’t bring Technoblade and Tubbo along, too.

Ranboo stopped in the hallway to get a drink of water, but Wilbur headed straight into the room.

Sam stood in the corner. He gave Wilbur a slight smile and nodded in Tommy’s direction, urging Wilbur to talk to him. Wilbur obliged, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the side of Tommy’s hospital bed.

The kid had seen better days. He was in a blue hospital gown, which did nothing but show just how skinny and pale he had gotten. He had somewhat-faded bruises everywhere; his arms, face, legs, pretty much every inch of exposed skin had the yellow and bluish bruising. 

The bruising was the least concerning thing, though, compared to everything else. A nasal cannula was placed in Tommy’s nose, helping with his breathing. An IV was placed in his arm, splitting off in a ‘Y’ shape into two separate IV bags. A second IV was in his hand, leading to a third bag. There were monitors and machines surrounding the bed.

Tommy’s eyes were dull and unfocused as they scanned the room around him, and Wilbur wondered how much information he was actually taking in. Tommy froze once he finally saw Wilbur.

Wilbur forced a grim smile onto his face. “Hey,” He whispered.

Tommy’s face crumpled into disappointment, and he immediately turned his head to face the doorway. He cupped his hands over his mouth before yelling, “Ranboo! I know you’re out there, memory boy!” His voice was hoarse.

“Tommy, I don’t think-” Wilbur started to gently protest, but Ranboo had already rushed in the room, next to Tommy’s bed.

“Tommy,” Ranboo spoke frantically, “I’m so sorry, I-”

Looking back, Wilbur was sure that there was nothing he could have done to stop what happened next. It came so far from left field that Wilbur wouldn’t have expected it to happen, even if someone had told him it was about to.

In a fluid motion, Tommy had pushed himself up to a sitting position and had wrapped his shaking hands around Ranboo’s throat. He was shouting swear words and insults that even Wilbur wouldn’t repeat.

Within seconds, Wilbur and Sam were both on their feet, separating them. It wasn't hard, considering how weak Tommy was. 

"You mother-" Tommy started to yell.

At the same time, Ranboo was yelling back, "I'm sorry!"

"You promised! You promised that-"

"You were dying-"

"I was not dying, you're-"

"You were passed-"

"Big men don't die, Ranboo, I-"

"You have sepsis, don't tell me-"

"You said you wouldn't call them! You swore it!"

Before Ranboo could shout back, Wilbur finally cut in, "It was me."

That was enough to make both boys go quiet. 

"It was me, I called an ambulance, not Ranboo."”

Tommy faltered, more likely confused than anything else, “Why would you call them?”

“Ranboo wasn’t lying, Toms.” Wilbur grimaced, continuing, “You had a really bad infection. If you didn’t get to a hospital when you did, you would have died.”

Tommy gave then an unbelieving look, and Wilbur didn't push further. 

Instead, they spoke on lighter topics. The cat that lived outside Ranboo's apartment (Catboo, apparently), the newest song Wilbur was writing ("I'll play it for you sometime", Wilbur promised) and a hundred other unimportant things. 

Twenty minutes later, Tommy let out a tired sigh.

“You should go soon,” Tommy murmured, “Dream won't be happy if he sees you here.”

“Did they… Not tell you?” Wilbur asked, genuinely confused. “Dream’s in prison, he can’t- he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Tommy shook his head. “You’re lying.”

Wilbur was about to argue, when Sam raised his hand lightly, shooting Wilbur a ‘we’ll talk about this later’ look. Wilbur dropped the argument.

"Wilbur and Ranboo should head out, though. I'm sure they're busy, and Tommy needs his rest, too." Sam said, softly.

Ranboo nodded, already grabbing his things. Wilbur pursed his lips. "Right, yeah."

Sam walked them out.

“You didn’t tell him his kidnapper has been arrested?” Wilbur forced himself to keep himself quiet, despite the anger he was feeling.

“I have told him,” Sam explained calmly, “Three times, now. The doctors think it's a trauma response, but we're not really sure yet." Sam frowned slightly before continuing. "That's why I asked you to keep the topics light."

"But Tommy was the one to bring it up," Ranboo pointed out. 

Sam nodded. "I know, I know. I should have briefed you beforehand."

"It's fine, Sam. Thanks for letting us visit." Wilbur gave him a clearly fake smile. "Are we allowed to visit again? I was hoping for tomorrow…"

Sam smiled back at him, though his seemed much more real, if not a little sad. "I'm sure he'd love that. Maybe call beforehand, just in case, but I doubt there will be any issues."

"Tomorrow, then. And, uh, how long until he can have more visitors?"

Sam's smile dropped just a little more. "A few days, maybe. Tommy will be in for about two weeks, so he'll have plenty of time for visitors."

There was a huge question lingering in the air, one that Wilbur couldn't bring himself to ask. 

What happens to Tommy after the two weeks?

-----0-----0-----0-----

Tommy was more cognizant and much less awake the next day, when Wilbur visited again. 

"Ranboo wanted to come," Wilbur explained, dragging a chair up up the bed, "But he had work."

Tommy made a face. If Wilbur was honest with himself, he looked just as bad, if not worse, than he did yesterday. "Gross. Did you know he works at Target and a bakery?"

Wilbur laughed a little. "I didn't, no. But, he did ask me to give you something." He reached into his backpack and pulled out the object. 

Tommy's eyes widened in delight. "You have Henry?" He snatched the stuffed cow from Wilbur's hands and hugged it close to his chest. 

"You named it? I'm not gonna lie, Tommy, that's adorable."

"I didn't- I'm not- I don't even like him that much," Tommy protested, pushing the stuffed animal to his side again. 

"No, no, I wasn't- I was glad you liked him, is all," Wilbur tried to reassure, but it was too late. 

Tommy wouldn't pick the stuffed animal up again for the rest of the day. 

"Tubbo called me this morning," Wilbur started, "He wants to visit you soon."

"He didn't come today?" Tommy pouted.

"Sam didn't want you to get overwhelmed."

Tommy pouted even more at that. "I don't-" He yawned, "I don't get overwhelmed."

Wilbur stifled laughter. "Mhm, sure."

"I'm a big man, Will, big men don't get overwhelmed." He rubbed his eyes. 

"Again, I believe you. Do you want me to put your bed flat? You look tired."

Tommy groaned. "I am tired. They wake me up every two hours to drug me and steal my blood."

He did laugh at that. "It's not stealing, Tommy."

"It is stealing. I didn't-" Another yawn, "-Give them permission to take it."

Wilbur rolled his eyes. He leaned forward, then pressed the button on the side of Tommy's bed, holding it there until the bed was flat. 

"I'll turn the lights off."

"Wait." Tommy reached his hand out and grabbed Wilbur's arm. 

Wilbur hummed in response. He hadn't hadn't stood up yet. 

"You never finished your story."

"My… Story?"

Tommy nodded earnestly. "About Wilbur and Tommy and L'manburg. Did they ever escape exile?"

He couldn't help the smile that crept to his lips, "I'll turn the lights off and then finish the story, okay?"

Another nod. Wilbur stood, pulled the blanket over Tommy, then turned out the lights. 

"Where did I leave off?"

"Some skirmish," Tommy replied. "Wilbur and Tommy were cornered by some guys. They were losing the fight, nowhere to run…"

"Ah, okay." He took his seat once again, smoothed back Tommy's hair, and continued the story. 

Wilbur Soot had a brother, he decided, named Technoblade. 

Well, 'brother' was a strong term. They weren't biologically related at least, somewhere along the lines of fostered or adopted, though Wilbur didn't make it clear.

Technoblade was a seven foot tall, behemoth of a man- if one could even call him that, because he wasn't really a man. No, he was somewhere between human and animal. 

"What animal?" Tommy murmured, "Cow?"

"No, Tommy. More like… A pig."

"Not even a boar?"

"Who's telling the story here?"

Technoblade was the best fighter… Ever, really. He had fought in countless wars, and, bless him, decided to show up to the L'manburg one. 

He swooped in right as their backs were against the wall, easily taking out-

Oh, look at that. Tommy was already asleep. 

Chapter Text

"Foster him."

"I can't."

"Foster him."

"I can't."

"You can. Quit being a stubborn old man." Wilbur crossed his arms and glared across the table at his father. Technoblade was there, too, awkwardly eating dinner as if the others weren't fighting. 

"I'm not certified," Phil countered.

"That's not an excuse; you can get certified."

"That takes time, Will. And even if it didn't, our house still isn't up to code."

"We've got food, fire alarms, and first aid kits. What's not up to code?" Wilbur remembered the long list of things they had to buy when they first started fostering. It felt useless at the time, but looking back, everything was pretty important. 

"Bedrooms, for starters. Where would he sleep?"

"In my room," Wilbur stated without hesitation. 

“Foster kids can’t share rooms with biological kids, Will,” Phil countered, exasperated.

They had been fighting for at least an hour and it was wearing on both of them.

“He gets my room, I’ll bunk with Techno.”

“You’re not bunking with me,” Techno cut in with a growl. 

Wilbur let out a groan. “My own twin brother-”

“I don’t want a kid here, Wilbur. I’ve said that before, I'll say it again.”

“It’s not just some kid, it’s-” Wilbur started to argue, but Techno quickly cut him off.

“It’s Tommy; you’ve said that a dozen times now. The gremlin’s survived this far in foster care, let him live out the next two years. You don’t have to meddle with every little thing.”

Wilbur pushed a hand through his hair, though it got caught halfway down in the tangles. He was sick of this argument- and it’s pointless, anyway. Technoblade doesn’t want another kid in the house- which is stupid, because why go through the effort of helping Tommy if he doesn’t want to help him fully- and Phil kept insisting that it was legally impossible to foster Tommy.

They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. The rock being letting Tommy go back into foster care, and the hard place being… Well, also letting Tommy go into foster care.

The thing was- Wilbur even considered just fostering Tommy on his own. He had looked into it, briefly, but hopes of that had quickly been snuffed out by the fact that he had to be twenty-one to foster someone, and he was only nineteen. Stupid laws.

He knew reasonably that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

Still, he couldn't help but fight it.

“He could have died. He could have died because you two- idiots refused to help him!” He shouted, suddenly.

“Wilbur-”

“No, no, he’s in the hospital. He’s in the hospital and probably scared out of his mind, and you don’t-”

“Wilbur-” Phil tried again.

“He’s got three IVs, did you know that? And a breathing tube, and he’s barely out of the ICU and you don’t even care, because you’re too wrapped up in your own stupid heads to realize that we could help the kid.”

“That’s enough, Wilbur.”

Wilbur faltered, all the momentum building up from the fight had suddenly ceased. He just shook his head. “Whatever,” he murmured, leaving the room.

They didn’t talk again that night.

-----0-----0-----0-----

When Wilbur entered the hospital room, on the sixth day of Tommy's stay, he was met with a man he didn't recognize. For a minute, he wondered if it was a new social worker, but considering Sam was still in the room…

"I told you, I wasn't kidnapped!" Tommy insisted, a mix of anger and fear seeping into his tone. 

"Tommy, it's okay, you can be honest with me," the man said, "I'm here to help you."

"If you want to help me then stop calling me a liar."

"Sorry, am I interrupting something?" Wilbur asked, standing just a foot or so into the room, unsure of what to do.

"Nope!" Tommy proclaimed. He was sitting up today, which was good, even if the bed had been raised to help support him. IVs were still in his arms, and he was quite pale, but still leaps and bounds better than six days ago. "Nothing at all. Please, come in." 

Wilbur didn't move, giving Sam a hesitant look instead. Sam shrugged, looking at the other man for what to do.

It was almost funny, all of them stuck in a loop of looking at each other for advice.

"Right, uh, who are you?" The man asked. He was dressed fairly well- a well-tailored suit and dress slacks, with he suit coat over the back of the chair he was sitting in, right next to Tommy's bed. A pad of paper and a pencil were sat in his lap.

"Wilbur. And you are?"

The man gave him a smile. "Oh- you're Wilbur. It's so nice to meet you." He stood, going to shake Wilbur's hand. "You can call me Mr. Halo. I'm here to talk to Tommy."

"He's a cop," Tommy said, earning a laugh from Sam.

Sam shook his head. "He's an investigator, here to ask Tommy about some things. Phil said he was going to tell you not to visit today."

Oh, Phil. Wilbur hadn't spoken to Phil since their latest fight. 

"He can stay," Tommy said rather quickly. "I'd like him to stay. Wilbur's way better than the rest of you lot."

"Tommy," Wilbur chided, but Mr. Bad just flashed him a smile.

"If it would make him feel more comfortable, then there's no problem with you staying."

"It would," Tommy spoke quickly, nodding to Wilbur.

He stood for a moment, before taking the seat next to Sam. It wasn't right next to the bed, like Mr. Halo’s was, but it was close enough. 

"Tubbo said he was going to sneak out and visit me, you know,” Tommy murmured to Wilbur.

"Let's stay on topic, Tommy. You mentioned you stayed in youth shelters for a while, so why did you stop going?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Because they were gonna call social services." Then, he switched the topic, turning back to Wilbur, "I told him you would give him a ride. I already get enough complaints about the bus system from Ranboo."

"Where did you go next?"

"Ranboo's. Then his neighbors got suspicious, so I left. Then I moved to some park. You'll take him, right, Wilbur?"

Wilbur blinked. "Huh?"

"You'll take Tubbo to visit me."

"Oh, yeah, right." He hadn't expected the sudden topic change. "That's fine. Let's focus on the investigator for now."

Tommy would not 'focus on the investigator for now'. He kept fidgeting, changing the topic, and finding distractions.

Wilbur would have found it annoying if Tommy's discomfort wasn't so clear. Even if Wilbur couldn't tell by the darting eyes and the tapping fingers, he could tell by the spiking heart monitor. 

It didn't feel right to listen in on the conversation, so Wilbur tried his best to tune it out. Still, he caught bits and pieces.

"Did you know him beforehand, maybe from foster care?"

"No, I told you already, that was the first time I ever saw him."

…

"Did you go with him willingly?"

"I did. He's- he's a good guy, not some kidnapper."

…

"He has a younger brother, you know," Tommy offered up without prompt, "He would've been my age. Dream just says he's not around anymore, but I dunno if he's dead or if he just left Dream."

Wilbur didn't know much about the situation. He didn't want to know, either. It was Tommy's story, the only people who needed it were Tommy and his social worker. Maybe the cops, too, but certainly not Wilbur.

So when Tommy started to describe what living with Dream was like, Wilbur awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Sam? Can I talk to you, if you don't mind?"

They ended up in the hall, just outside the closed door of Tommy's room.

"How's… How is he doing?" Wilbur asked, awkwardly. 

"He's made major improvement since they brought him in. I mean, he's out of the ICU, right?" Sam let out an uncomfortable chuckle. 

"He's conscious, too," Wilbur remarked, managing to keep the same awkward tone as Sam. "But, really, is he… Will he be okay?"

Sam's smile dropped. "He was in really bad shape. Ranboo should have taken him here immediately, but even then…" 

"He was hurt, wasn't he?"

Sam simply nodded. "Few cuts and burns. Nothing too severe, it was purely because they were untreated."

Wilbur should have been there for him.

"Right, yeah. How long until he's up and walking again?"

"It's another day before he's even allowed to sit up by himself. The day after that he gets a wheelchair. The doctors say that they'll play it by ear after that."

Wilbur nodded. "How long until he's out of the hospital?"

"A little over a week."

Great, now for the difficult question. 

"Where does he go from there?"

"Pardon?"

Wilbur shrugged. "I doubt you'll let him stay at Ranboo's. And Dream is… Well…"

"I've already arranged a medical foster home for him," Sam explained. 

Wilbur had never heard of a medical foster home, but it sounded pretty self-explanatory. 

"After that," Sam continued, "He'll most likely stay in a group home until we figure out where he wants to go."

"Where he wants to go?" He asked.

"He's sixteen, which is absolutely old enough to ask his opinion. If he wants to stay at a group home until he ages out, that's what we'll do. Same applies for finding a new foster home. And even, if he's up for it, adoption."

Wilbur nodded, just slightly. "You'll find him a place where he's happy, yeah?"

"That's my main goal, yes."

"And safe?"

"Of course."

-----0-----0-----0-----

Tommy was walking by the ninth day, if it could be called that, with the support of Tubbo and Ranboo, both of whom Wilbur had had to drive to the hospital. It was less walking about more taking a stumbling step and being caught by his friends. 

Wilbur wasn't really talking to his father anymore, even if he knew he was in the wrong. Call it stubbornness, but he didn't want to admit it. 

…

He needed to admit it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was surrounded by kids who didn't have families (except Tubbo, his parents were lovely during the brief interaction Wilbur had with them). Maybe it was the hospital. 

Actually, it was definitely the hospital. Something about the chill and the sterile smell of it all made him think of… Well, his mom. And thinking about his mom made him think of family, and… Yeah, he needed to apologize to his dad.

So when Wilbur finally got home, after dropping off Ranboo and Tubbo to their respective homes, he took a deep breath before entering the house.

He pulled his shoes off and left them near the door. His footsteps were slow and quiet, which would explain why no one realized he was coming. 

"They're putting him with them?" Techno was asking, voice muffled slightly. 

"That's what Sam said," Phil replied.

"I've heard horror stories about that couple. Surely there's someone else."

Wilbur crept closer, careful to keep his steps quiet so as to not alert the others. Which was… Weird. He had no reason to sneak, really, but he wanted to know what they were talking about, and thought they might change the topic if they heard him.

"They're the only medically trained foster parents in the area, apparently." Oh, they were talking about Tommy.

Techno groaned. "They hit kids, Phil."

"Sam says-"

"I don't care what Sam says, I'm telling you what the kids say."

Was Technoblade… sticking up for Tommy?

"There's no proof of that, and there's no other options." Phil let out a quiet sigh. 

"Literally anyone can give the kid pills, Phil."

"No, Tech, he needs actual medical care. Thus the medical foster parents."

A beat.

"So you're defending them?" Techno asked. No, not asked. Challenged. 

"I'm not," Phil said quickly, "I would never. But there’s no proof of them abusing anyone, otherwise they wouldn’t be foster parents, and that’s the only place willing to take Tommy."

"So you'd rather let him get beaten than-" Techno cut himself off. "Wilbur's home."

Slowly, awkwardly, Wilbur crept into the kitchen. There were Technoblade and Phil, sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table. A pile of papers sat in front of Phil, spread out messing.

"Hey, guys." Wilbur gave them an uncomfortable wave. "Don't let me interrupt."

"No, no, interrupt," Technobawde nodded. "Tell dad that he’s insane if he willingly lets a child go into an abusive home. He won't listen to the child who's been through it, so maybe he'll listen to his real son." Techno stood suddenly, shoving his chair backwards.

The chair smacked loudly against the floor, clattering for a few seconds before setting still. It was the only sound in the entire house for a brief moment, cutting through the stunned silence.

"Techno, mate," Phil started to stand, reaching out towards Techno. 

"I'll be in my room. Don't bother." With that, he stormed out, leaving Wilbur and Phil alone. 

"Dad," Wilbur frowned heavily, "You're not- you're letting Tommy go to an abusive home, aren't you?"

"That's not the case, Will. It's different. Listen-"

"No, Techno’s right.” Wilbur turned on his heel, stalking off after Technoblade, though not before flipping his father off.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Wilbur called Sam, explaining his fears about the medical foster home being abusive. Sam, in turn, assured him it was fine, that they had been investigated before and always turned up clean. 

So… Maybe they got their act together. Maybe those kids had embellished the truth. Maybe Wilbur was just trying to keep himself calm in this awful situation. 

-----0-----0-----0-----

It was far too early to be on the roof, but Technoblade was out there, so Wilbur followed.

“I thought you hated Tommy,” Wilbur spoke softly.

“I never said that,” Techno replied, shaking his head. He leaned back until he was lying flat against the roof.

“You heavily implied it.” Wilbur rolled his eyes.

“I don’t hate the kid,” Techno said, firmly. “I just don’t want him living in my house. He’s annoying and he gets his grubby hands on everything.”

He couldn’t help the smile that crept on his lips. “Techno,” He started.

“I mean it. My room was turned upside down after that one day he hid out in it. The kid needs to mind his own business.” There was no anger in his words. No, if anything, there was a hint of… Fondness?

“Yet you still defended him,” Wilbur noted.

“Yeah. I dislike him, doesn’t mean I want him hurt.” He shrugged, sparing a glance at Wilbur, who was staring at him intently.

“Yeah,” Wilbur repeated. After a moment, he turned his gaze up to the sky, which was just starting to dim. Clouds were beginning to cover the sky, he realized. “What…” He started, unsure of how to ask the question, “How do we help him?”

“I’m not sure we can,” Techno replied, simply. 

“But-”

“There’s a lot of kids in foster care, Will. Not all of them get a happy ending.”

“He deserves one, though.”

“I know.”

-----0-----0-----0-----

He wrote down a few plot points for the story, which he had still yet to name. Maybe Tommy’s adventures in L’manburg, though that didn’t quite fit with the plot.

The name didn’t matter, though. In fact, none of the plot he had planned really mattered, especially since he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever get to finish telling it to Tommy. Still, he made sure of one thing- 

That the story would have a happy ending.

-----0-----0-----0-----

Technically speaking, Tommy should not have been released from the hospital as quickly as he was. The boy was still on several rounds of antibiotics, he still had that breathing tube up his nose, and he could barely walk. In Wilbur’s opinion, the kid was in no state to go home.

Not ‘home’. To some foster house, somewhere where people could take care of him. Somewhere where people were actually trained to deal with kids like Tommy. They were trained for kids in worse conditions than Tommy, probably.

Ranboo had to work, though Tommy couldn’t supply whether it was his job at Target or his one at the bakery. Tubbo had some Summer school classes that he simply couldn’t get out of. So it was just Wilbur helping Tommy pack his meager belongings before leaving the hospital.

“What about your things at Dream’s house? You don’t get to keep those?” Wilbur asked, genuinely confused. 

Tommy shrugged. “I didn’t really have much there, definitely nothing worth saving.”

“Oh,” Is all Wilbur can reply with, because how is someone supposed to reply to that? WIlbur certainly doesn’t know.

“You have Henry in your backpack, right?” He asked, glancing around the room, searching for the stuffed cow in case Tommy left it somewhere, still.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom, I have my stuffed animal. Can I go now?” He asked, already shoving himself towards the edge of the bed.

“Sam’s still doing paperwork, better wait.”

Tommy nodded. They fell into silence.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Tommy made a non-committal hum, showing he was listening, but not really agreeing.

“If this foster family hurts you- or even makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, you can come here. Call me, text me, send me a letter by carrier pigeon, I don’t care.” He let out a sharp laugh.

“Okay, Will. Geez, man, you’re clingy today.”

Wilbur gave him a strained smile. “I’m not clingy, just worried.”

“Nothing to worry about, big man.” He pushed himself to his feet, Wilbur almost immediately jumping on his own to steady Tommy, keeping him from falling.

“Nothing, hm?” Wilbur gave him a look.

“Shut up.”

“The doctors are going to force you to use a wheelchair to leave. You know that, right?”

“No, screw them.”

Sam walked in at that point, carrying a plastic bag filled with what Wilbur assumed to be medical equipment and, most likely, paperwork.

“Are you ready to go, Tommy?”

Tommy nodded.

Wilbur looked at the boy in front of him.

Tommy looked like Phil in a way that Wilbur still couldn’t wrap his head around. Freckles dusted his face, along with a few, small, white scars. His hair was curly to Phil’s straight, but it was the same color, and longer than it used to be, falling somewhere around his ears. His eyes were a piercing blue, and Wilbur was well aware of the way they crinkled in the corners when he smiled, just like Phil’s did.

He acted like Technoblade in more ways than Wilbur liked to admit. And not just in the skittish, not-trusting-people kind of way, either. No, but in his humor, and how he threatened to fight people, and how he was always willing to step in and protect people who he deemed weaker than himself.

And he was like Wilbur, too. In the curls of his hair and the edges of his smile. It was in his jokes and his love for music, and for the fact that Tubbo told Wilbur how Tommy had started telling him stories. And-

“Why don’t you walk us to the car?” Sam suggested, and it took Wilbur a moment to realize that the suggestion was directed at him.

“I’d love to.”

And he did. They had managed to get Tommy in a wheelchair only after a few steps outside of the room, and it was for the better, to be honest. They took an elevator to the first floor, and before he knew it, they were out in the parking lot and next to Sam’s car.

“You have my number,” Wilbur said.

Tommy nodded.

“And Techno’s number.”

Another nod.

“And my address?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I have it all, yeah.”

“Good. And Tommy?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t forget to call. Or text, or whatever. Even if it’s not an emergency. I have a lot more of that story to tell you.”

And Tommy smiled. “Okay.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“It’s, like, forty-five minutes away from your house. Feel free to walk when your loneliness gets too much.”

Wilbur smiled back. “Sure.”

They didn’t say goodbye. It wouldn’t feel right to. There was no hug, no more ‘in case of emergency’s, nothing. Sam helped Tommy into the car, Wilbur was tasked with bringing the wheelchair back inside, and they parted ways.

Tommy sent him a meme six minutes later. Wilbur sent him one in retaliation two minutes after that.

'boomer’, Tommy had texted in reply.

Wilbur rolled his eyes.

The wheelchair had been returned. Wilbur got into his car, turning it on.

‘I bet you like minion memes unironically’ Tommy texted next.

Wilbur smiled at his phone. ’I watched that movie with you and, can confirm, you liked it unironically.'

Phil was right, in a way. Because fostering was temporary most of the time, especially so with emergency fostering. Kids would come in their lives with short notice- though Wilbur had never expected them to come through the window. He knew they left on short notice, too.

Usually they didn’t stick around long enough for Wilbur to form a real bond.

Today, though, it hurt to say goodbye.

The clouds were slowly coming in overhead, and Wilbur wondered if they would clear up within the day, or if it meant a storm was coming. Although right now, there was nothing he could do either way, so he kept a watchful eye.

Tommy sent a picture of the view from his car window- some shopping center that Wilbur passed on occasions.

’Text me when you get to the foster home?' He asked cautiously.

’Ok Big Brother wilbur’

'Don't say that, I’ll cry’