Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommyinnit was most definitely afraid of empty rooms, even though he was a big man who, most of the time, wasn't afraid of anything.

To the young Avian (or, fledgling Elytrian, he hoped. It was a long shot, but the possibility was there), empty rooms symbolized three things.

The first, a suffocating silence. No matter how much he yelled and cut through the quiet, in the end - once his voice grew hoarse, once his mind grew weary - the stifling stillness always remained. He couldn't beat it, for it outlasted him, and he hated it.

The second, it was so... liminal. An in-between space, either that someone was moving out or in, but never staying that way for long. You weren't mean to be in a completely bare room for too long, trapped between layers of reality. Liminal spaces were cool in theory, but the actuality of it was just creepy. Altered in a way that the world simply shouldn't be.

The third, it reminded him of leaving. For a room to be empty, you see, there had to be someone there first. So the memory of empty rooms - well, Tommy was too damn stupid to leave before he was left. And perhaps some would say that such a desolate space shouldn't evoke so many memories, but Tommy would say that memories were the most important things of all.

"They shape how we live, innit?" His own voice echoed back at him - talking to himself, as one does in an empty room.

Well.

Not quite empty, not anymore. Now it was a vacant apartment filled by a kid, a chicken, and a few measly boxes.

Hetta, (the aforementioned chicken, Tommy's beloved, and his child) clucked at the sound of his voice. It wasn't really talking to yourself if a chicken answered, right?

"Right?" He asked Hetta.

They clucked back. Tommy was about to respond when a knock on the door pulled him back to reality. He hopped across the room, getting easily enough height to float to the door and swing it open.

"Who were you talking to?" A kid - literally, he couldn't have been any older than Tommy - was standing with a plate of cookies in his hands.

Tommy almost ran, for no reason other than pure instinct. It was hard for him to remember that he was allowed to be here. He was past his days of sneaking into abandoned buildings looking for a place to sleep, or even tiptoeing past his parents so they wouldn't be mad that he was out. He'd been given this apartment, fair and square by PUBE Inc.

These apartments were supposed to be the new model for origins - people with weird hybrid traits. They'd become more and more common (something about genetics. He didn't really understand.) and some genius at PUBE had realized that some origins needed special accommodations. Like Tommy, who was a fucking vegetarian and couldn't sleep near the ground. (Rooftops had been his saving grace over the last two years.)

He was a publicity stunt of course, the homeless kid thrown in there for some diversity and pity points. Oh look, we gave a whole-ass house to a legal adult (yup, that part was definitely true) who was drawn from a random lottery because we're nice and cool and charitable like that! Pay us! Not that he was complaining. Free living in a high-end apartment? Fuck yeah.

"My child," he answered quickly, leaning idly against the doorframe in a picture of perfect confidence.

The kid - a Bee origin, clearly (the transparent wings and antennae are a dead giveaway. Also, he's wearing a black and yellow striped sweater under his worn overalls.) - tilts his head, bemused. His antennae bob with him. "Huh. Didn't know you have a kid - I thought you were only eighteen. At least, that's what I heard. We're all new here, though, so it's not like any information is accurate," He babbled. "I've been here the longest, actually! Well, besides Sneeg. But he's been sitting around forever."

Tommy didn't want to try and process the back half of his statement. "I am eighteen." (That was a lie.) "And my child is a chicken. Named Hetta. They're mine and I would die for them."

"Oh, well that's pretty poggers," he didn't seem phased, to Tommy's delight. "So you're Tommy. I'm Tubbo! Here are some cookies - no meat, I promise! You're an Avian, right?"

"Who the fuck do you know that puts meat in cookies regularly enough to warrant that disclaimer?" Tommy asked dubiously, taking a second look at Tubbo's cookies. "And yeah. Avian." It was impressive that Tubbo could tell his origins from a glance. Without wings (no Avians had them, though there was always the rare chance that Avians could grow the extra appendages and transform into Elytrians), Tommy did look painfully human.

"Well, I don't eat at all, just chill near some flowers, but I dunno. Just thought you'd like to know. Have you talked to anyone else yet? Apparently even though this entire floor has never been lived in before, we've already got some interesting fellows! I saw someone setting up a Merling tank earlier. An' there's a landing pad for an Elytrian! And I've already lost two books and a spyglass, so there's got to be a Phantom around here somewhere. And I heard we're getting an Enderian prince!"

The way Tubbo said 'we' was a bit infectious. Tommy didn't want to talk to his neighbors, but the way his new friend described it, it sounded like they were all going to be some sort of reality tv show, which was both very pog and very annoying. "That's a nice way to put it. What, did they just order a prince from Prime and ship it down here?"

Tubbo laughed. "Nope! I just hacked into the computer files that they keep on residents." So that was how he knew his name. And origin. Tommy wondered what else he knew, looking at Tubbo with a new appreciation. "And I think the prince is one of those pricks who decides that he wants to live in the dorms at college to have 'the real experience.'"

"He thinks that he's roughing it in the wild halls of a luxury apartment building." Tommy deadpanned.

"Exactly!" Tubbo seemed pleased. It was only now that Tommy noticed that the Bee was, in fact, half a foot shorter than him. The fucker had been levitating steadily for the past ten minutes. "Anyways, I've got to bounce now. Hope you like the cookies! I'd say that I'll see you tomorrow, but you've probably got school or shit."

Tommy did have a job he had to get to. It was flattering of Tubbo to assume he was pursuing a college education - stupid fucking idea, didn't make any sense for him - so he let it slide. "See you around, Bee Boy!" He chirped, lifting a hand as the door closed.

He was once again in an empty room with a chicken, but now he had a plate of cookies and a new friend. Pretty poggers, if he did say so himself.

Chapter Text

Wilbur Soot's room was most definitely not empty, to his immense relief.

The Phantom had paid an embarrassing amount of Primes for all of his things to be transported carefully over to his new apartment before he got there. You see, it wasn't just him being picky - they were all priceless antiques! Pieces of history! Sure, they didn't make for the most streamlined décor, but those home-improvement magazines never helped anyone. His hodgepodge of stolen random trinkets and stolen musty books was an aesthetic, and one that he treasured. When it came to collecting, no one did it better than him.

He'd even bribed asked his adopted father to set up his room just how he liked it before he got there. Wilbur was glad that Phil was also living here, even though it'd been years since they'd been under the same roof. Of course, they were in different apartments - 902 and 903 (Wil had requested to be in 420, but winged species couldn't sleep below the eighth floor. Instead, they'd given Phil and Wil the very top floor with access to the roof to make up for it.) - but it was still odd to be right across the hall from him, once again.

He let out a content sigh, running his transparent hand through a heavy bookshelf, glad for the quiet of his new home. That was, until a crash sounded from the room next to him.

It was - he glanced at one of his several analog clocks quickly - six thirty am. What on earth was some idiot doing making noise at six thirty am? It was in these moments that having the power to turn invisible and phase through walls was very much helpful. Stepping easily into his Phantom form, he simply stepped through the bookshelf and onto the other side.

He had walked into a very odd situation. That was one way to categorize the kid (didn't you have to be eighteen to live in these apartments? He looked probably fifteen, at most sixteen - but that was a stretch), the chicken (he had no commentary for that one. Ignore the chicken was the prime rule in any situation), and a broken plate. The kid - blond, lanky, and lacking any specific hybrid traits at the moment - was cursing loudly, glancing around as if someone was watching him.

Oh. Right. Wilbur was watching him. Now was as good a time as ever to meet his new neighbor, he reasoned philosophically. With that, he turned into an opaque human again.

The kid screamed. After he screamed, without taking a breath (high lung tolerance - perhaps an Avian?) he launched into a colorful expression of emotions. "Fucking prime, who the fucking nether are you and why the fucking shitting balls are you watching me - "

"Calm down, you child." Wilbur responded, brushing an invisible speck of dust off of his well-worn yellow sweater. "My name is Wilbur. I'm your new neighbor. And it's bad etiquette to be making so much noise at this ungodly hour. I'm only here because I just arrived in town this morning - why are you up, anyways? Shouldn't a kid like you be sleeping in until school starts?"

"Not a kid. I'm eighteen." He responded automatically. Wilbur didn't believe that for a second. "I'm Tommy. And some might say it's bad etiquette to be sneaking into your neighbor's apartments and spy on them!"

"You're not eighteen." He interrupted. Fuck him if he was being argumentative, but there was no way. And if he was a minor, he shouldn't be living alone. "You should be going to school."

"School is for losers. I have a job." Tommy boasted, puffing his chest out. Definitely Avian body language.

"Does it pay well?" Wilbur asked skeptically, forgetting that that was a rude question. However, Tommy seemed pretty proud of himself, so he was assuming it was a good job.

"It pays minimum wage!" He said pridefully, in the same tone that you would use if you were bragging about the billions you make every year.

"What is a fifteen year old doing living alone and working a minimum wage - "

"Hey! I'm not fifteen, I'm almost seventeen, thank you very much. And it's not a nine to five, it's a seven to five." Tommy cut in. It took him and Wilbur both a moment to realize his mistake.

"You're a minor - " Wilbur started.

"I'm a big man! I promise I'm a major or whatever you call adults!" Tommy squawked indignantly.

The Phantom shook his head. "I've been on this apartment floor for twenty minutes and there's an illegal child living in the room next door - do you have papers? Legal guardians? Anything?"

"I've been talking to your for five minutes and you've interrogated me the entire time," he said, giving Wilbur a glare but deflating quickly. "My papers are forged," he mumbled, bluster fading away until his seemingly endless boisterous confidence sagged on the ground. "And my guardians don't exist."

Wilbur didn't press on the issue of his parental figures, trying to pick which question to fire out next. He had a lot of them. But before he could speak, Tommy glanced up again.

"Please don't tell PUBE," he blurted. "I'm here as - they're sponsoring me and shit, so that they look charitable - I need to not have lied on the papers. They'll kick me out."

Wilbur Soot had seen Phil get attached before. Heck, that was how he ended up here - Phil, being the universal father figure that he was, had picked him up from the streets. Usually though, he'd never understood how his father was pulled into people so fast, but he was beginning to see it now.

"Of course I won't tell them - I may have been convicted for robbery before, but I'm no snitch." Wilbur said breezily, wanting to settle the loud teen's nerves. There was definitely a question in Tommy's eyes about how he got convicted, but that was a story for another time. "Are you sure you should go to work, though - "

"Work is very much pogchamp, don't worry about me, ghost boy." Tommy said after a beat of silence, his carefully crafted façade pulling easily back up.

Wilbur wasn't going to comment, as not to make him uncomfortable. "Does pogchamp mean good?"

"Pogchamp means poggers."

"I don't know what that word means."

Tommy let out an exasperated huff of air. "You're a dumbass, Wilbur Soot. Yes, it means good."

He blinked. "...how do you know my full name?"

"My friend, the Bee hybrid in 906, hacked into the files on everyone. So I know that's you're a Phantom and you name and stuff." He explained, all very matter-of-factly. 906 - so that was the room on the other side of Tommy, who was 904. The right side of the hall held the even numbers, while the left had the odd - like Phil's room.

"Lovely." Wilbur said sarcastically, back in his bantering element.

Tommy nodded, pushing off the counter and floating forwards as he did a little hop. Avian. "Gotta run now, Soot! Work waits for no one."

And he left. Tommy just left, with no other words.

He didn't even get to ask about the chicken.

This was going to be a long stay.

Chapter Text

When Tommy arrived back at the apartment, elevator door dinging open with a satisfying tone, a note was pinned to his door. Written on what looked like ancient parchment and scrawled in some nearly illegible handwriting, there was an invitation from one (1) annoying Phantom.

to: gremlin child,
you're invited to dinner with phil (dad) and i.
- wilbur

At least, that's what he thought it said. The words were scribbled, blending together in a combination of cursive and normal lettering. Sure, his name looked a little like it said Wilby, and the name Phil could easily be Pnll, and there were a few inkblots (seriously, could this guy just get a phone? Or a normal pen?), but it was legible. Barely.

Tommy dismissed the paper, pulling it off his door and shoving it onto the counter inside. He wasn't needy enough to go to dinner just because his new neighbor felt sorry for him. He didn't even like the arrogant prick that had blatantly broken into his house to complain about the noise and then interrogated him for ten minutes.

But then, his stomach dropped. Looking back on his day, Tommy realized that he had not in fact eaten since ten-thirty that morning, and that he was in fact very hungry. Also, he didn't actually have food in the house. While the apartment was free, he didn't expect a real-estate company to supply him with food. It would normally be fine (he'd just go without dinner until brunch tomorrow, in order to stretch his meager earnings) but he felt a little idiotic going to bed hungry when Wilbur had offered to feed him. And it would be nice to have someone to talk to.

So that was how he found himself sitting across from an Elytrian and a Phantom thirty minutes after his work shift ended. Phil - Wilbur's adopted father, and apparently the man who lived across from him and Wil - was actually a lot nicer than his son. Perhaps it had something to do with the wings - if you had wings, you were automatically promoted above all other people in Tommy's mind. And Phil said mate all the time, which made him cool. And he could fly. And he wore a hat. Phil was a badass and the only man ever.

Tommy took a single bite of the food in front of him, which was some type of pasta-cheese combination. It was delicious, but he also hadn't had a hot meal in a few weeks, so perhaps he was biased. Whatever it was, though, Tommy had to restrain himself from digging in and eating all of it before the other two had even started eating.

"So, Tommy," Phil started, giving him a soft smile. "How are you? Wil mentioned you had work today."

"I'm fine." He answered, trying to sound upbeat. He really wasn't in the mood right now to talk, but... food. "And yeah. I work. Why does everyone on this floor know my name, age, and profession? Isn't that a little weird?"

That was meant to be a deterrent for Phil. It was not. "Well, mate, I think that Tubbo's been doing some hacking." He knew Tubbo? Of course he did. Wilbur didn't only because he'd moved in this morning, but if Phil had been here for any longer than Tommy - so, a couple of days - than Tubbo had probably gotten to the older man. "An' you and Wil talked this morning, and he told me most of your conversation, so I know a little about you."

"It was less of a talk and more of an interrogation, Mr. - uh - Soot?"

Phil turned to give Wilbur a slight glare. The Phantom just shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back in his chair. "You can just call me Phil, mate. Although it is Mr. Minecraft, technically, but no one every calls me that."

Tommy nodded stiffly. He was beginning to realize why he didn't like this - it was too reminiscent of nights spent in front of his parents and their friends, testing the waters and praying that he didn't say the wrong thing. It wasn't that he thought Wilbur or Phil were going to hurt him, but he also didn't not know that. And people, he had learned firsthand, could be unpredictable.

They exchanged small talk for a few more minutes, Tommy trying awkwardly not to offend anyone, before he stood with an apologetic smile. "I should probably get back, now."

He genuinely liked Wilbur (not that he'd ever admit it, but their conversation had been more than tolerable, and he'd even downright enjoyed some of their banter), but this wasn't - he had just wanted food, okay? He knew there had to be strings attached (no one in their right mind would help some random kid out of the kindness of their hearts, even if they were pog and had wings), and he was just sitting anxiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Phil nodded immediately. "Of course, mate!" He chirped. "Want to take some food for the night?" Maybe they were luring him in or something. This time they wouldn't hurt him, so next time, he was less cagey when they finally did. Made sense, he supposed.

Tommy shook his head. It's probably a test. They don't want you to take their food. "I'm good thanks. I actually have lots of food at home." He rambled, forgetting the first rule of lying: be concise. Too many details makes one suspicious. "Y'know, like food and eating things and stuff."

Phil was either lenient with Tommy's rambling or just stupid. He doubted it was the latter. "Alright, then. See you around!"

And just like that, Tommy left, skittish as he took a few steps across the hall, locked the door, and thanked Prime that he wasn't sleeping on the streets tonight.

_____

"He was a lot more energetic this morning," Wilbur mused.

"Why have you randomly got attached to the child living next door?" Phil asked, amusement twitching on his lips as he leaned against the table, stretching his wings slightly. "I mean, he honestly reminds me quite a bit of you, but it's still odd for you to - "

"Fuck off," He said, without any drive or malice behind the words. "I just... dunno. He's clearly not eating enough, and he doesn't have any family that'll take care of him, and I just - I don't feel bad for him, but he reminds me of... well, I s'pose you were a little bit right. And he's funny and bright and owns a pet chicken."

Phil nodded. "He's an Avian, right? They usually aren't treated great on the streets."

The issue with Avians was that while they had powers, those powers had way too many drawbacks. Sleeping restrictions, dietary restrictions, a visible float in your step every time you walked - and no defense mechanisms. So, if a group of assholes wanted to harass or beat up an Origin to feel good about themselves, Avians were the clear choice. No way to escape, like Elytrians, Enderians, or Phantoms. No way to fight, like Bees or Blazeborn or Starborn. And very likely to get jumped or something.

Wilbur nodded. Phil knew that Tommy's situation was remarkably similar to the Phantom's background, albeit with a few differences. And he also knew that his son got strongly invested in certain people very quickly, though it was nearly impossible to gain his interest. Once someone did, though, he definitely made an effort. "I just want him to know that if he'd like, jumped on the way home from work or starving to death or needs a few eggs for a cake - "

"You mentioned he has a chicken - "

" - it was just an example! If he needs a bit of flour, he can always come to us. Okay?" Wilbur said, looking rather uncomfortable with this whole conversation. Phil knew why - the lanky ghost fucker didn't like to admit when he actually cared about someone, nor did he liked to bring up his past. Both things that were happening right now.

Phil nodded. "I'm going to sleep, mate. G'night!" He trilled, pushing through the door, leaving a few black feathers in his wake. Wilbur just stood, remembering the tapping of Tommy's foot and the careful flickers of familiar emotion on his face.

Chapter Text

A week and a half had passed since Wilbur had talked to Tommy. The kid had probably been avoiding him, but it didn't stop the Phantom from trying. It might even make him more intrigued, because the more the boy pulled away, the more Wilbur was reminded of himself. Other people had moved in - a Blazeborne by the name of Jack, a Merling in the tank called Niki, even a suspiciously rich Enderian that Phil seemed to be quarreling with. (something about a roof. Wilbur didn't know.) He'd exchanged amicable words with all of them, but none of them had caught his eye like Tommy did.

Since getting to the apartment, he'd talked with him a few more times, and he was just as bright and offensive and entertaining as he'd been the first time. The kid caused Wilbur's lips to twitch in amusement every time he said something, and had even pulled out a few full-blown, entire body laughs. He genuinely liked Tommy.

He had a tendency to do this - hang onto someone until they liked him, however clingy he was being. Phil called it getting attached and said that it was probably a result of having a childhood where it felt like everything was going to be pulled away from you. Phil was also usually right about this kind of thing, but that didn't mean he really had to like it. Anyways, sure, Tommy had been away all day for a while, but his next interaction with the kid was in the most unlikely place possible.

It wasn't, as one might think, at the apartment complex. Instead, it was at work. Wilbur worked at an antiques shop, and the interior of the old store (he was usually the only one in there) looked almost similar to his house, in a way - random things shoved together in no particular order. He rather liked the job. Being alone all the time was therapeutic, and he typically brought something with him to read when traffic was slow. Plus, the vibes of the place were immaculate.

It was even more aesthetic today. The morning had brought slate-grey clouds hovering over the entire city, filling the air with a cool sense of anticipation, and then it had begun to rain. It was a slow October drizzle at first, pinging softly at the metal awning of the shop, but it had quickly grown to a massive storm, dumping buckets on the store with no sign of stopping. The steady echo of the pouring rain was the only sound heard for hours, slowing traffic and letting Wilbur just relax with his book.

That was, until a tall, thin person in a red hoodie burst into the store, a bell jangling as they did, not that it actually alerted the worker of anything. With the streams of water and muffled cough coming from the human, it was clear that they were just taking shelter from the rain. They pulled off their hood, facing away from Wilbur as they shook their hair out, not unlike a dog drying off.

"Hello," Wilbur greeted anyways, leaning across the counter to get a better look at them. It was a small shop, but crammed with oddities and old gadgets in every nook and cranny.

The figure froze, pulling upright, limbs stiff with tension. He turned, and Wilbur registered the face quickly.

"Tommy? What are you doing around here?"

The kid opened his mouth to answer, probably ready with some lightning-quick witty retort, but instead fell into a wheezing cough, doubling over with the force of it and holding a hand up for Wilbur to wait a moment. Finally, Tommy wasn't coughing a lung up anymore and looked up to answer, face red.

"I work near here," he rasped. Privately, Wilbur thought like he sounded like he smoked a pack a day, but he wasn't going to comment. "An' I'm walking home. An' it started to rain too much, so I hopped in a random antiques store - are you stalking me?"

"I work here," Wilbur replied, leaning father over the counter. He didn't ask about the cough. It sounded like he'd spent too long in the cold rain. "And you were just going to walk? All the way back?" It was a ten minute drive back to their complex, making it about a half-hour walk.

It was late October, making it downright chilly outside. It was raining. No wonder Tommy's hoodie was soaked, clinging to his skin in a skeletal manner. And now, Wilbur didn't think he was imagining the slight shiver he could see.

He nodded. "I can leave here if you want - I should probably get going anyways, I only got a few blocks - "

"That's not what I meant at all!" Wilbur cut in, not wanting Tommy to get the wrong idea. "Fucking nether, man, do you want a ride home? I was just closing up anyways - "

"You don't have to. I can walk." It was Tommy's turn to interrupt, pulling his hoodie around him as a shiver wracked his thin body.

"I don't have to, but I want to - it's up to you, though." Wilbur offered.

However guarded Tommy was, Wilbur could read every emotion flit across his face. He watched the kid weigh the pros and the cons, and after a few moments, he watched exhaustion and physical discomfort beat out emotional armor.

"As long as it's not too much of a hassle for you - " He begun reluctantly.

"Perfect! And it won't be a problem at all, we're literally going to the same place." Wilbur said brightly, standing fully and grabbing the key to the store. The owner was frequently gone, and trusted Wilbur to lock the place up. "Just gotta lock the door, and then we're good to go. I have a spare hoodie in my car if you need - "

"I'll be fine." Wilbur nodded, pulling out an umbrella and ushering Tommy under it as they exited, shutting off the lights and locking the door firmly.

This close - for they were both huddled under the umbrella as torrents of water cascaded around them - he could see that Tommy was definitely shivering violently, the wet fabric of his sweatshirt likely not helping. He forced himself not to offer again, not wanting to push too far. If Tommy's time on the streets had been anything like Wil's, then he wasn't going to trust easily, and too much offered would just be regarded as suspicious.

Wordlessly, Wilbur unlocked his car, nodding Tommy into shotgun as he started the ignition.

"So," he asked as they begun to drive, one Phantom hybrid and one drowned rat of a child. "Where do you work?"

"Convenience store. All the ladies come around there, all the time. Very glamourous position." He answered quickly, the attempt at breathing some of his persona back into his words a bit futile at this point. Tommy just looked tired, and Wilbur didn't think that it was the kind of tired that came with just one bad night. It looked like the kind of tired that came with years of mental toil. He was only sixteen.

"Sounds wonderful," Wilbur responded nonchalantly. "It's only a block down from my place, right?"

"Mmh," he hummed. "And it's much better than working at a store for old things," the Avian boasted, so different from the shivering teen a few minutes ago. He was still shivering, yes - Wilbur reached to turn on the heat - but he was clearly forcing out a smile and a quick-witted statement.

"Fair enough." They sat in silence for most of the ride, Wilbur thinking hard and Tommy shaking slightly, despite the high temperature of the car. It seemed only a few minutes later that they reached the large apartment building, a big sign advertising the Origins-friendly modified living situations.

When they got inside, Tommy muttered a quick but genuine-sounding 'thank you' before darting off to his room, taking the stairs, probably to avoid having to talk to Wilbur anymore. Fair enough. Wilbur followed on the next elevator up, slipping through the walls back to his own room. The rain still sounded on the roof, and he thought he could hear very loud complaining about the rain (it sounded like the Enderian, which made a lot of sense), but all was calm as he readied for the next day, wondering how his young neighbor was doing tonight, and making a note to find a reason to visit the convenience store.

Chapter Text

There was another note on Tommy's door the next morning.

dear gremlin child,
if you want a ride to work i'm happy to give you one.

There was no signature, but if the familiar messy scrawl wasn't indication enough, the message itself would be. Not for the first time, Tommy wondered what Wilbur was playing at. What was his motive? He'd been too nice so far, and although Tommy wanted to like him (when they were actually talking it was great. The other man was bright enough to put up with his sense of humor, laughing along and even adding his own quips that Tommy had to stop himself from giggling at.) he knew that it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped.

The more he let Wilbur do for him, the more he owed the other man, and the more trouble he was in once he snapped. However, (and that was the problem, wasn't it? With the Phantom, there was always a 'however'. Always some way Tommy could justify letting him in. It was getting dangerous.) he had woken up a few minutes late, and it was a long walk, and he felt unusually tired... the Avian turned to Hetta, about to ask her whether he should go or not, but a hacking cough quickly overrode any words that were going to come out of his mouth. His chest rattled with dry wheezes, and he had to bend over, putting a hand on the counter to steady himself.

Fucking nether. Why did he still have a cough? Sure, Avians were typically more susceptible to colds, but that wasn't his fault! It was something about diet and lowered white blood cell levels - it was all very science-y, but the point was that he got minor colds an embarrassing amount. Nothing bad enough to force him to hunker down like he did when he was really sick, but just making him sick enough to be an annoyance. He supposed that all that time spent in the freezing cold rain probably didn't help, nor did the fact that he didn't change out of his soaking hoodie. (It was the only one he had, and he didn't want to wear a t-shirt. It was too cold for that.) Okay, maybe he knew why he still had a cough.

The point was, he still had to get to work. His boss wasn't mean, exactly, and he was very lucky to have scored the job, but it was an unpredictable ride. He needed the job so badly that he couldn't lose it, and his boss knew that. So, whatever he needed, whether it coming in after hours or getting to work extra early, Tommy followed orders. His income was already hanging by a thread, and finding a new job would be nearly impossible - plus, he couldn't last the wait between getting laid off and getting hired again. He relied on his meager paycheck for everything - he'd starve to death pretty damn quick otherwise. Forged papers and absolutely no credentials didn't get you far, especially when the nicest interview outfit you owned was a frantically washed ten-year old blazer found in a trash pile.

Yeah, Tommy wasn't going to miss work today.

if you want a ride to work, i'm happy to give you one.

What were the strings attached? He wondered this as he pulled on his still damp red hoodie, not fully dried from yesterday. If he just knew the consequences, than maybe he'd take the offer. He did hate the idea of rushing through the streets so he wasn't late. And Wil's car had heat... should he take it and worry about debts later?

Five minutes later, the teenager knocked on the Phantom's door, half-hoping he wouldn't answer. Of course, the knob jiggled almost immediately. Wilbur's face lit up at the sight of the Avian, though as his dark eyes flitted across the tired teen's demeanor, his grin faded slightly. "Tommy! C'mon, I was just about to leave." He said pleasantly, grabbing a pair of glasses and a key ring from a side table. "You look - " There was a hesitant pause. "It's cold out, I'll be right back - gotta grab an extra hoodie."

Wilbur was already wearing a jacket over his sweater, but something stopped Tommy from commenting on it. A moment later, the duo was good to go, the taller translucent hybrid leading the way with a jaunty bounce in his step. He was carrying the hoodie that he'd grabbed, which looked very soft. And it was red, Tommy's favorite color. (He probably wanted it for himself. Right?)

"So," Wilbur asked, unlocking the car door and motioning for Tommy to get in. "How're you, gremlin child?"

"I'm not a child," Tommy whined petulantly.

"I notice that you didn't dispute the gremlin part."

"I'm not a gremlin either!" Tommy shot back, though he was grinning slightly. This was unfair - he shouldn't want to smile this much around Wilbur. The Phantom had no right to make him so jovial. Unfortunately, his cough flared up and he began to hack again, dry sounds bursting out of his throat. "I'm fine! I'm fine."

"Mmh. Keep telling yourself that," Wilbur said dryly, maneuvering through the parking garage. "You're getting my car wet. Just take the sweatshirt."

"I don't want it." That was just not true. It looked soft and nice and warm and he could imagine that it probably smelled like Wilbur did, and it was definitely a few sizes too big, but -

"You're shivering, dickhead, I'm not blind. And your own hoodie is still damp. That's just not fucking healthy, and I'd rather not deal with the child next door coughing himself to death." Wilbur said, not unkindly.

Tommy took the sweatshirt.

It was warm, and it was soft, and it did smell like Wil, and it was too big and it was slightly perfect, but -

"Why?" Tommy asked simply, lip quivering slightly. Oh fucking Prime, no. He wasn't going to start crying over a stupid hoodie, no matter how nice it was - he was too much of a big man for that.

"You looked cold," Wilbur said simply, parking half a block away from his workplace.

"But why?" Tommy asked again. That simple answer wasn't good enough. He didn't - couldn't - understand why Wilbur was being so nice.

"You looked cold," Wilbur repeated, turning to meet Tommy's eyes. "And I know what it's like to be cold."

Chapter Text

It was a few hours later, and Tommy was having a perfectly normal day at his job, minus the soft, new hoodie he was wearing. Of course, it was perfectly normal until Wilbur fucking Soot barged in at about noon, chirping happily that he'd just gotten on his lunch break. Tommy got off in six minutes, but he wasn't going to tell Wilbur that.

"You want to go out to lunch with me?" Wilbur offered, very predictably. The same thoughts as always swirled around Tommy's mind - debts and returns and strings attached. "You'd be doing me a favor, I'm always really bored at lunch."

It was a thinly veiled request at talking a bit, and Tommy wanted to accept. At this point, he'd accepted enough from Wilbur that another meal on the pile that he owed was hardly anything, and a free meal was worth it. He hadn't eaten a hot dinner since the pasta at Phil's flat.

He knew that he had to be a bit of a mystery. Tommy was self-aware enough to know that swinging between a boisterous, arrogant teenager and a submissive, cagey kid was a bit abnormal, and that he'd spent enough time around Wilbur that the other man had probably noticed that there was something odd about him. And yes, it wasn't that he thought a sixteen year old living alone was really passing himself off as normal, but the more Wilbur had tried to give him, and the more the Phantom had talked about himself (along with bits and bobs about his past stolen from Tubbo's databases), Tommy thought it was only a matter of time before Wilbur wanted to talk.

So, twenty minutes later, they were at an unfamiliar diner, seated in a booth in the back corner. Wilbur had waved their server away for now, and the two hybrids faced each other, neither wanting to open the floor first.

"A question for a question? Does that sound fair?" Wilbur asked finally. It was the perfect thing to propose to Tommy - a fair trade, a clear deal. Nothing to wonder about when he was going to pay it back, nothing that seemed too good to be true.

"Fine," he relented, leaning back in his seat, the bright red leather of the booth comfortable on his chaotic blond curls. "I'll go first." There was a long pause while he thought, Wilbur waiting patiently across from him. "What's your favorite color?" He settled on finally.

Wilbur hadn't been expecting that. He'd thought it would be a probing question about his past, or an insult. But with all the waiting that he'd done, Tommy clearly had some sort of approach he was taking and -

Wilbur needed to stop thinking about this. He was getting as bad as Tommy, assuming that everyone had ulterior motives for every word they asked.

"Yellow," he answered finally, and the Avian nodded, like he'd been expecting that all along. (Wilbur wore yellow every day. Maybe he had.) "My turn. How long have you worked at this job? Did you have any jobs before that?"

"That's two questions. Now I get an extra one," Tommy informed him, a smug aura fluttering over his expression for half a second. "I've been here for seven months. Before that, I was doing other shit."

"Illegal shit, like stealing food an' stuff?" Wilbur asked, fingers tapping the table in a melody only decodable to his own ears - it was the chorus to a song he'd been working on.

"That's another question, idiot. You're really not very smart. And some of it. I wasn't hurting anyone though, I swear!" At least Wilbur was blunt. Tommy would have been annoyed if he'd tried to beat around the bush.

"My turn again. I have two extras, but I'm not gonna use them now. How did you meet Phil?" Tommy asked, bright blue eyes gleaming inquisitively, even with the clear caution that he was exerting over this conversation.

This was something that Wilbur had been ready for, but there was still the slightest tremble in his voice when he answer. "I was sleeping on his rooftop one night. Didn't know the owner of the house was an Elytrian, so when he flew up to stretch his wings, I was... surprised, to say the least." Scared. Hostile. Ready to turn invisible and flee.

"How long ago?" Tommy asked, bright tone steady as he used one of his extra questions.

"That was eight years ago. I was seventeen."

"Did he not kick you off the roof and tell you to go sleep somewhere else?" It was posed as a slightly sarcastic quip, but the shadows darkening the Avian's blue eyes told a different story.

"You've used up all your extras now," Wilbur pointed out smugly before going back to his more serious topic. "And no, Phil would never. He offered me a hot meal and a place to sleep."

"And you took it?"

"Not at first. But Phil's a good guy - he truly was doing it just because he liked me."

"My turn again," Wilbur said finally, accepting that Tommy wasn't going to say anything. Was there a question he wanted to ask? Sure, there was a lot that he wanted to know, but there was no universe in which wanting to know was more important than making sure Tommy was comfortable. So, he picked his last question carefully. "Do you want some food?"

Tommy, for once in the conversation, actually looked taken aback, eyebrows quirking quickly at the innocent ask. It was implied, of course, that Wilbur would pay, and both of them knew that - it was really up to the Avian at this point, to know what he was getting in to. To say that he trusted Wilbur enough to accept his friendship. The Phantom had reached a hand out. Now all that was left to do was for Tommy to grab it.

And he did, in one word. "Okay," he said simply, steady blue eyes holding a firm gaze with Wilbur's own, a silent conversation happening in the span of a moment.

The hoodie was never given back, instead worn religiously ever day by the Avian. Tommy met Wilbur for lunch the next day.

And the next.