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The day Tommy comes back to him is the day Wilbur remembers the best.
He’s not going to fuck this up. Sure, admittedly, Wilbur doesn’t really believe in the entire “do good and good will come to you” bullshit people seem to believe in these days, but some part of him knows this is perhaps his one singular shot for salvation.
He’s not going to blow it.
“You want anything? I don’t have a lot going just this minute,” he finds himself making light conversation.
He feels a bubbling laugh emerge within himself from a place of disbelief. When did he turn into a people pleaser? He must really like Tommy. He shakes his head but continues. “But you know what I do have? Cards.” He smirks at the teenage boy, who looks unamused, perhaps even… slightly bored. Like he doesn’t want to be here, like he doesn’t want to be near Wilbur.
That’s not good. It makes Wilbur’s chest pang against his will. “Wanna have a go? First winner gets chicken dinner.”
Tommy bites his lower lip down hard, wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans. He tilts his head a little and stares at him. “Chicken dinner? You motherfucker.” Tommy says, and he laughs. It rings pleasantly in Wilbur’s ears. “We’re both fucking dead.”
Wilbur grins. “Hey hey, you keep it clean now smartass. No cursing in my Christian void.”
Tommy smiles and shoves him hard and Wilbur falls a step back just to play along. “Who said it was yours?” Tommy asks and Wilbur's smile drops.
The follow-up question. Of course. Tommy raises his eyebrow. "Where's Schlatt? Mexican Dream?"
There's a beat. And then Wilbur says, keeping his voice steady. "They're not here anymore."
Tommy's expression is that of shock, which surprises Wilbur for he doesn't think it's that big of a deal. Not anymore, anyways. It hurt more at first.
In hushed tones, Tommy says, "They died? Again? Double death? Where did they go, hell times two? Hell squared?"
Wilbur stares at him blankly before Tommy doubles over, shaking silently and it is clear he was joking.
"Prick," Wilbur says, but he's smiling too. "Fucking prick. You're the biggest asshole I've ever met."
"Then," Tommy says, between wheezes, "I'm doing my job right."
“Son of a bitch,” Wilbur murmurs, turning away.
It's true, Wilbur thinks to himself. He must really like Tommy after all.