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“This is fucking stupid.” Tommy complains.
Ranboo, who is sitting cross-legged on the grass with a book in his lap, looks up. “I’m going to start counting in a second.”
“Counting what?”
“How many times you complain,” He says. And damn, okay, when in tartarus did Ranboo get so sassy. “What’s your tally Tubbo?”
Tubbo, whose head is halfway inside a shredded dummy, says something that gets muffled.
“What was that?”
Tubbo pokes his head out. “I’ve got seven.”
Ranboo gives Tommy a look, like, see, there you go. “Seven Tommy. Seven times this morning. It’s not even ten!”
“Okay, well,” Tommy sighs, then walks over, dropping down onto the grass next to Ranboo. “How about you try being undetermined for a bit, see how you like it. I bet you’d start complaining a shit-ton then.”
“This dummy is completely useless,” Tubbo says. “You’ve fucked it.”
“...I beg your pardon ?”
Tubbo pays him no mind, busy walking around the dummy- probably seeing the schematics in his mind. “You could be a son of Ares. All that unchecked aggression. And they do have a habit of complaining about things that aren’t fighting or winning.”
Tommy balks. “I do not complain that much!”
“Seven,” Ranboo reminds, flipping the page in his book.
Tommy’s mouth snaps shut. Okay, so he might have been about to complain. What of it? “I’m telling Purpled that you said he has anger issues,” he says instead. “Then he’ll beat your ass.”
“He’d be proving my point. He’s smarter than that.” Tubbo says easily. The dumb witty bastard. He comes over and sits on Tommy’s other side. “Okay, so we’ve successfully eliminated you being a son of Ares, a son of Demeter, and a son of Athena.”
“Wait. When did we eliminate me being a son of Athena?”
Tubbo gives him a look. “Let’s just say, I don’t think it’s happening.”
“We can also eliminate a son of Hypnos,” Ranboo says. “George told me to tell you that. I think he just really doesn’t want to have to live with you.”
“I don’t want to live with George either.” Tommy huffs. “One of these days he is going to go missing and he will only be known as George, not found.”
“George, not found?” Tubbo repeats.
“George, not found.” Tommy nods.
“You suck so much.”
“ Okay Tubbo.” Tommy pokes him. Tubbo smacks him away, then smiles. Good, Tommy’s still got his best friend. “So what’s next on the list?”
“Well, we could always see if you’re a son of Aphrodite,” Ranboo says, closing his book.
Tommy’s stomach flutters. A son of Aphrodite. Ranboo’s brother. There’s nothing he would want more. Well- actually, there’s one thing, but-
“How would I even test that out?”
“Well,” Ranboo rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You can either break up or match together a couple successfully. Usually both of them at the same time. They’ll have you do it as a hazing thing when you’re first claimed too.”
“Wait.” Tubbo exclaims. “Is that why you were so interested in Niki and Puffy’s relationship during your first month here?”
Ranboo ducks his head, sheepish. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Lesbian rights.” Tommy nods.
“Lesbian rights.” Ranboo agrees.
“Okay, but maybe we should save meddling with people’s love lives for the last ditch effort.” Tubbo advises. “How about we try a son of Apollo?”
Tommy stiffens.
“Oh wait,” Ranboo snaps. “Yeah! Singing and healing and aiming- you definitely can do at least one of those."
"And Wilbur's a son of Apollo," Tubbo nudges Tommy. "Wouldn't that be cool? You guys are already close!"
Tommy swallows thickly against the want building up in his throat. "No," he rasps. "No, let's- what about a son of Zeus, huh? Or Poseidon? One of the big guys? Maybe I'm the second coming."
Tubbo and Ranboo both squint at him, seeing right through his bullshit. Ranboo goes to say something- probably something sappy about how Tommy's insecurities have no value and he is worthy of everything that they are or some shit- but Tubbo cuts him off.
"Maybe." He says. A tactical retreat. Ranboo's mouth clicks shut, following Tubbo's lead. "Although I doubt it considering you can't row for shit."
"Okay, well, is it scientifically proven that all Poseidon kids can row like Gods?"
"If you want to go ask Dream personally, then be my guest." Tubbo shrugs. "But I can already tell you his answer. A yes. Considering he's the only Poseidon kid in this camp, yes."
"Ugh. The last thing I want to do is talk to Dream."
…
"So," Dream grins, "you want to learn how to row?"
Tommy hates his life. Standing here in the blistering summer heat with all the damn mosquitos and the stupid fucking water. Tommy is going to leave Camp Half Blood's boundaries and find a monster to beat his ass- he will, he doesn't make empty threats.
"Is there any particular reason why?" Dream asks, leaning on the wooden oar like an asshole. Because that's what he is- an asshole.
"I deem it really necessary knowledge to be able to navigate through shallow, basically still, water in a leisurely manner." Tommy says dryly.
Dream squints. "You're making fun of me."
"I would never."
"I could drown you."
Tommy raises an eyebrow. "I'm a half-blood and a minor. You drown me and you're done."
"Do you think if he drowned you," George pipes up, "that your Godly parent would come down to seek revenge?"
There's a pause.
Tommy glares at Dream. "Why is George even here?"
"He's my emotional support." Dream defends. "I'm- I'm being supported. Emotionally."
"I'm so helpful." George says.
Tommy sighs. "Teach me to row. I don’t want to know the ends and outs of your guys’ relationship- I think I’ll just throw up.”
Dream flushes red and turns away to get the boat ready. George rolls his eyes. “There’s no relationship Tommy, we’re just friends.”
Tommy squints at Dream’s tense back. Uh huh. Sure.
Whatever, that’s for the Aphrodite cabin to deal with, not him.
Thankfully, whenever Dream isn’t in the midst of pining or half-flirting with George, he’s good at rowing. He leads Tommy out into the boat carefully and tells him how to hold the paddle and how to drag it against the current to move. He shows Tommy how to go backwards, how to go forwards, how to turn quickly, and then sits back, giving the control to Tommy.
He's a great teacher. The thing is- Tommy was not really listening.
So- well.
He flips the boat.
“Tommy, what the shit!” Dream splutters. He wasn’t expecting it, but even still his magical poseidon powers still kicked in, leaving him completely dry there in the water, under the upturned canoe. Tommy didn’t have the same luxury.
“This,” Tommy flails to grab the wood, kicking frantically, “is the worst.”
Dream gets the canoe turned back upright and pulls himself into it. Tommy sticks up a hand for Dream to help him up, but Dream just gives him a look. “If I let you back into this boat, do you promise to not touch anything?”
“Dream, I will seriously drown myself right here,” Tommy warns. “My shoes are all fucking wet, come on man.”
Dream groans and then helps Tommy up before rowing them to shore. George cackles when Tommy steps onto the pier, his shoes squelching grossly.
“Oh my gods- oh my gods,” George goes, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “This is- this is amazing. Oh, Tommy, is there a boat-flipping god? You might be their son!”
Tommy wrings out the bottom of his orange tee. “Go the fuck back to sleep George. I don’t want to hear it.”
...
The thing about the Apollo cabin is that it’s just too good.
Keep up with Tommy’s logic here, people. Tommy has never, in his whole entire life, had something good. His mother, mortal, and his father, awful, did their best to raise him. Or, he should say, keep him alive for as long as they could. They didn’t really do much in terms of ...Tommy’s general happiness or affection or whatever, but, like, who needs that shit? Tommy was alive and generally unharmed - except those rare times when a monster slipped through the cracks or his father had a bit too much to drink - but otherwise, he was alright.
He lived, and not every demi-god gets to say the same.
In fact, being sent away to camp half-blood is one of the best things they did for him. Not only because he finally got to learn what the fuck he was, but also because he got to meet some of his favorite people of all time.
Phil, Ranboo, Technoblade, Tubbo- Wilbur.
Wilbur is like sunlight, Tommy thinks. He’s just bursting with life and joy and care. In the mornings he sits outside his cabin with his guitar on his lap and plays until breakfast, greeting the people that walk by. In the afternoons he heads down to the strawberry fields or the forges to Learn about gardening or weaponry because he just loves to learn things. Tommy always sees him at dinner talking to someone new, from any cabin, it doesn’t seem to matter to him. One night he’ll be talking to Sapnap from Ares cabin about capture the flag techniques and then the next he’ll be talking to Quackity of Athena about finances. During camp bonfires, he’s always the one leading the song, and because of it the fire is always high and bright.
If Tommy ever had to pick someone who he wanted to be like, the answer would be Wilbur, a hundred times over.
Which is why Tommy can’t possibly be a son of Apollo. He’s just not made for all that goodness. He just doesn’t deserve it.
“Tommy!” Wilbur calls, voice and smile like a ray of light. He’s sitting in the front steps of his cabin, a book open on his knees- one of the few demi-gods here to actually still read for fun. “Hey! Come here!”
Tommy jogs over, figuring that training can wait until later. “Hey, what’re you reading?”
“Ancient Greek poems,” He says, then pats the wood next to him for Tommy to sit. “I’ll read you a bit of one if you want.”
“Sure,” Tommy says even though he’s never cared about poetry in his whole life. There was one teacher that tried to get him to write one in third grade. Tommy wrote about car tires and every single word was spelled wrong. Tommy never wrote a poem again.
“Okay, here goes,” Wilbur squints at the pages. Tommy closes his eyes and braces his elbows against the steps, turning his face up to the sun. “ Humans cannot stow the sun, nor freight good fortune, since heaven’s cartel controls the port of wealth, prosperity. Still, if Younger Brother could lift his head and find the man inside of it, then we might, from this estuary slit, dredge something up. ”
Tommy opens his eyes. “Wow.” Wilbur hums. “What does it mean?”
Wilbur grins. “I have no fucking clue! Isn’t that cool though?”
Tommy nods, leaning over in Wilbur’s space to look at the words. There they are, sitting there. How can you read something and just not know what it means? That’s so fucking dumb.
“What do you think it means?” Tommy asks and Wilbur frowns, expression turning thoughtful.
“I think…” Wilbur pauses, getting his thoughts in order. “I think that the poem is saying it’s up to the younger brother to find what we’re all looking for. I think that it means we just have to have faith that he’ll figure it out, for himself but for everyone else too.”
Then Wilbur locks eyes with Tommy and Tommy’s mouth turns dry.
“Oh,” is the only thing Tommy can think to say. “That’s- that’s a lot of pressure, then. On the younger brother.”
“Maybe,” Wilbur whispers. “But I believe in him. I think he’ll get there.”
The moment hangs there, tremblingly, and, by no surprise, Tommy is the first to look away. “Well, I think poetry is stupid.” He says loudly.
“Yeah? You’d rather go kill shit huh?” Wilbur asks amusedly. “Go out with your sword and start stabbing?”
“Oh, Wil, you know me so well. Come on, come on, let’s go find something to stab.”
“Wow, I’m surprised Ares hasn’t claimed you yet.”
“Don’t even joke about that- oh Gods, if I end up related to Sapnap, I’ll just die. Poof, gone- that’d be me.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to fend Ares off with my guitar then- I quite like you being alive, Tommy.”
…
“Is that Tommyinnit from nowhere?”
Oh! That's convinent. He’s actually walking up to the Athena cabin steps to knock on the closed door when he hears the familiar voice calling from behind him.
Tommy turns around, beaming already. “Charlie from Athena cabin! Just the guy I was looking for- how do’?"
Charlie brightens. "I'm groovy, Tom, you know. Just grundging around, as I do. You were looking for me though?"
"Yeah, I- well, I was wondering if I could kind of...follow you around today."
"Follow me around?"
"Yeah, um, to see what you do. What you get up to. All that stuff."
And because Charlie is clever- there's a reason why he's a son of Athena- his green eyes gleam. "Ah, you wanna see if you could be a son of Athena, don't you?"
"Maybe. Why? Don't think I'm smart enough?" Tommy spits, preemptively defensive.
"Oh no. In fact, you're plenty smart. Tommyinnit from Athena cabin has a nice ring to it." Charlie smiles then hops up the steps to open the cabin door. "Come on, then dude, follow me."
Tommy does. And he follows Charlie for the rest of the day, too. Sitting in the cabin as Charlie, who has been writing a comedy routine for a couple months now, scribbles out jokes. Tommy watches for a little, then hesitantly offers his thoughts, and soon they're bouncing off each other like they've been doing this their whole lives. Puns and word play and making each other snort so hard that they can't breathe.
Tommy thinks this could be it- he would love having Charlie as his family. The both of them having their wit and wisdom be in the most unexpected place, laughing with one another for the rest of their lives. It sounds like Elysium.
Then the cabin door opens and Quackity is walking through, tugging a hand through his hair- stressed.
"Quackity, hey!" Charlie greets. “You look- you look stressed, actually.”
“I need some help. These numbers are- oh. Tommy.”
“Hey big Q,” Tommy pulls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around his legs. He’s content to just observe. Quackity’s secret project has always interested him. He’s tried his best to pry it out of the man, but Quackity is nothing if not clever- hence, again, him also being a son of Athena. “What’cha working on?”
“Things.” Quackity says, passing his notepad to Charlie. “Lots of things. Boring things. You would be bored with them.”
Tommy pouts.
“No, no, he’s right,” Charlie says absently, squinting at whatever Quackity is showing him. “This is literally just math. And lots of it. You wouldn’t find it interesting.”
“Child of Athena thing,” Quackity teases. “We’re huge fucking nerds for numbers.”
And it’s a joke- not even a bad one- but hearing it makes Tommy’s stomach twist. He thought he was doing it right, the child of Athena thing. He had a bit of hope for a moment. Maybe he could’ve been Charlie’s brother. Maybe he could’ve found a home here.
But no, even when he’s trying he’s still stuck on the outside. And it’s not even that Quackity is wrong. Tommy has no interest in math nor numbers. He’ll do wordplay and make jokes with Charlie all day, but with this he’ll always be out of place.
Charlie winces, clearly reading the slight hurt on Tommy’s face, but what is there to say? Tommy isn’t a child of Athena. He isn’t a child of anyone.
"Right," Tommy swallows. "Yeah. Keep your secret numbers. I don't like math anyway."
…
Tommy goes to dinner, and he must look abnormally dejected because Technoblade comes up to him of his own volition.
Significant for two reasons, one because Technoblade makes a point to avoid Tommy as much as possible even though Tommy is at least forty five percent sure that Technoblade likes him. And two because Technoblade also mentions that he's only working at this camp because Phil is his favorite semi-immortal person still alive. Tommy can't imagine that the God spends his free time talking to random undetermined kids.
“What’s wrong kid?” Technoblade asks. “You look like a cyclops in a glasses store.”
“Spend a great deal of time coming up with that one, Blade?” Tommy huffs, raising an eyebrow. Technoblade reaches down and swats gently at his hair.
“Be careful man, I can still curse you.”
“Empty threats.” Tommy sighs. “Though I’d be a pretty good dolphin, huh?”
Technoblade rolls his eyes. A thought occurs to Tommy- maybe unlikely, but he feels he ought to try.
“Technoblade,” he starts slowly, “are you my father?”
Technoblade spits.
No, like really spits. The water he had been drinking, in a glass he’d been swirling around, sprays from his mouth all over the wooden table that Tommy is sitting at. Tommy cringes back, grossed out.
“What the fuck Techno?” Tommy says, half laughing. “That’s disgusting.”
“You- you just-” Technoblade splutters. “I’m- wow. Okay. This is why I don’t speak to mortals.”
“It’s a valid question! You are one of the Godly parents, are you not?”
Technoblade sighs like he wishes that wasn’t. Then he sits down at the table across from Tommy, his expression turning sympathetic. “Tommy, if you were mine, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you. That you can be sure of.”
“Are you sure that you wouldn’t have just forgotten maybe? That I could still be yours?”
“I wouldn’t forget you, kid. You’re entirely too memorable. Even baby-you. I’m sure you were a tyrant.” Technoblade chuckles. Tommy flushes. Maybe. “Listen, your parent will claim you. You’ll get your cabin and your official place. You will. Have I ever been wrong?"
Tommy sighs. "No, I guess not. Still, wouldn't it have been cool if I was your son? The Blood God's kid."
Technoblade huffs a laugh. "Oh yeah, kid. It wouldn't be so bad. I'll still be here, though. When you need me. You know that right?"
Tommy gives a small smile. "Yeah. Thanks Blade."
"Anytime. Except not any time, please don't come up to me randomly, I will turn you into a dolphin." Then Technoblade looks up. "Looks like your cabin is coming. Enjoy dinner, kid."
Tommy turns, and sure enough, the kids from the Hermes cabin are trickling into the mess hall, laughing amongst themselves loudly. Tommy sighs, and scoots over, preparing himself to sit at a table with no room for him, with people who don't think of him as one of them.
…
He waits a bit to get his food- until everyone else in his- the - cabin is settled and eating. Then he goes up to make his sacrifice alone. He knows what he's supposed to say: for the God Hermes, for the God Poseidon, for the Goddess Demeter- whichever parent he needs to bless. But the thing is, Tommy still doesn't know.
Blessing Hermes doesn't feel quite right. Neither do Poseidon nor Athena. Definitely not Demeter.
Tommy takes a breath, then scrapes his juiciest piece of meat into the fire. “Please,” he whispers to no one, to all of them, his soul aching, “please give me a family. Anyone. Just- show me someone.”
Nothing.
Tommy sighs. Of course.
He turns, and standing right there is Wilbur. Plate in hand, waiting patiently. He smiles when Tommy sees him. He looks heaven-sent. A hand-made brother. A perfect family.
Now this is just cruel.
“Tommyinnit,” Wilbur says. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Tommy manages over the lump in his throat.
Wilbur’s brows furrow. “You alright? Do you- is everything okay?”
Tommy nods jerkily. “Just- uh- gonna sit now. With my- with the Hermes cabin.”
Wilbur’s frown deepens. Then it suddenly lightens, clearing away. “Hey,” he says mischievously, “wanna sit with us?”
“The Apollo cabin?”
“Yeah!”
“Is that even allowed?” Tommy peeks around- Phil is eating over at the long table in the front and Technoblade isn't watching, too busy reprimanding Dream for fucking with people’s water glasses- namely Quackity and Karl’s.
“No,” Wilbur admits, “but what is Phil going to do? Go, now mate, you know that’s not allowed.”
Tommy giggles. “He’ll go- he’ll go, aw, mate, next time you can just sit with me if you want.”
Wilbur snorts. “Now mate, I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
Tommy laughs in earnest then, nearly dropping his plate. He catches his breath and opens his eyes to find Wilbur looking at him, watching him fondly.
“Oh yeah,” Wilbur says firmly. “You sit with us. I’ll deal with Phil later.”
…
Sitting with them is like sitting with light itself.
Tommy had a fear that he'd go over there and be met with weird looks, or confusion, but Niki, who's a daughter of Apollo, just smiles knowingly at Wilbur and then passes Tommy a cookie off her plate.
He gets to sit there, by Wilbur's side as Wilbur regails them with a completely embellished story about a quest that he never went on. They all know it's fake, and yet they lean in to hear when he paints pictures of danger and suspense. Of quick chases and thrills. It's so daring and magical and beautiful, you would hardly believe that Wilbur's been an all-rounder for most of his life.
Then Wilbur passes the story off to Tommy, his eyes bright, and Tommy fumbles a bit before getting into a flow- following the plot that Wilbur had made up and adding his own flair. He thinks he does pretty well, because when he passes the story off to Niki, Wilbur leans down and whispers.
"You're a natural storyteller, Toms." He pauses, then adds, "You fit in here really well."
Tommy has to blink touched tears out of his eyes during the entirety of Niki's section of the story.
…
"Hey! You're back!" Fundy exclaims when Tommy sneaks his way back into the Hermes crowd on the way to their cabin. "I was just wondering- where did Tommy go?"
"M' here," Tommy sighs, unable to stop himself from thinking- you just realized? I left about two hours ago. "What did I miss?"
"Oh man, I was talking about something I nabbed from the Big House the other day- it was sick. You would've loved it, man."
"I'm sure."
"Are you still doing your little search for a cabin?" Fundy asks, hopping up the stairs. Tommy trudges after him, not excited about another night of sleeping in a too crowded cabin.
"More than just a cabin, Fundy, you dick."
Fundy raises his palms. "Hey, my bad. But, I mean, listen. Have you ever considered that you belong here? With us? That maybe you are a child of Hermes and dad just hasn't seen you yet because you're already in here."
Tommy looks at him balefully.
Tommy couldn't care less about which God he has as a parent, not really. They aren't the real family anyway. Tommy's learned not to expect much from adults, and Gods are basically just adults to the power of three. No, the real family is here- in the cabins, the brothers and sisters and friends that he makes when he's shuffled accordingly.
And really, no offense, but Fundy as his brother? Tommy would rather face a chimera on his own.
"Maybe," he says noncommittally. No, he thinks. "I don't know. I think I'll still keep looking though. Just in case."
…
"You've come to the right place."
That's the first thing that Sapnap says when Tommy tells him that he wants to see if he could be a son of Ares. Surprisingly, it makes Tommy feel like he came to exactly the wrong place. Sapnap being confident usually ends in a mega-ton disaster. Case in point, the chariot race of '19, forever down in history as the camp's worst race. There are still scorch marks on the stands.
"Sapnap," Purpled sighs from where he's leaning against the wall of the training arena, "don't big yourself up too much."
Sapnap unsheathes his sword and points it at Tommy's armored chest. "Let's see if you've got what it takes to be a son of Ares."
Tommy yelps and just barely gets up his own sword to block Sapnap's downswing. He scrambles back a few steps and Sapnap advances, taking a few jabs at the air under Tommy's elbows.
"Death, death, death," Sapnap says as he jabs. "These are wide open stabs that you're just letting me take, man. I could've killed you six times over by now." Then swings again, knocking the flat of the blade against Tommy's side, making him groan in pain.
"Mh," Purpled sighs. "He's got you on the defensive. That is exactly the last place you want to be."
Tommy huffs, falling back again, circling around the area as Sapnap follows. This time when Sapnap gets within swinging range, Tommy takes the initiative and slashes wildly before he can. Sapnap steps back, letting Tommy's own momentum carry him so that when Sapnap attacks, Tommy can't block.
And sure enough, that's exactly what happens.
Sapnap gets his blade in the place to call for a end spar, but because Tommy is still stumbling, he falls into it, and it cuts harshly against his right shoulder.
"Shit," Sapnap says, stumbling back, pulling back his newly blood stained sword. "Shit, shit, fuck."
Tommy's shoulder is a mess of stinging pain, and redness. “You- you fucking stabbed me!”
Sapnap pales. “I- no! You didn’t stop moving! You ran into my blade!”
“Oh my Gods, you’re victim-blaming me now!” Tommy wails, pressing his hand to painful redness. “Oh my Gods, I’m going to pass out- I’m going to die on camp grounds-”
“Calm down,” Purpled says, stepping in between Tommy and Sapnap and curling a hand around Tommy’s wrist. He pulls Tommy’s hand away, and Tommy cringes when his palm comes up bloody. “Hm,” Purpled peers at the wound. “You’ll be alright. We’ll get you to the medbay. They can give you some ambrosia for the pain and wrap it up to stop the bleeding, alright?”
Purpled carefully leads Tommy’s hand back to pressing on the wound, and then steps back, heading out of the arena. Tommy follows, wincing, and Sapnap moves like he’s going to help.
“Sapnap, if you touch me I’m filing a restraining order on all children of Ares, I fucking mean it. Stay back you child stabbing bitch.”
Sapnap takes a wide step back.
…
Wilbur does not look happy when Purpled steps aside to reveal Tommy.
“What the fuck happened?” He growls- and even though his tone is aggressive, he’s gentle when he guides Tommy to one of the many beds. Tommy sits, trusting Wilbur’s direction.
“Sapnap stabbed me!” He says.
Wilbur whirls around to look at Purpled, eyes wide. “He fuckin’ what?”
Purpled sighs. “Sapnap grazed him in training. I was watching the whole time. It’s skin deep, I think Tommy just bleeds easy.”
Tommy pouts. Wilbur turns back to lean down and look closer, then he hums, sufficiently calmed. "Okay, thank you Purpled. Tell Sapnap that I'll see him at the mess hall tonight."
Purpled nods jerkily, the threat loud and clear. "Got it. Anything else?"
"No thank you," Wilbur says. "The rest I'll just save for our own Tommy over here."
Tommy pales. Purpled turns and hightails it out of the medbay. Under other circumstances, it would be funny- Wilbur Soot, son of Apollo, pacifist and lover of ancient epics, scaring Purpled, son of Ares, who has successfully completed two quests and done at least three Herculean tasks- but actually, Wilbur being mad with Tommy is nothing to laugh about.
Wilbur looks down at him and tsks. "Let's get that wrapped up."
Tommy sits quietly, moving when Wilbur tells him to. He winces when Wilbur wraps it a bit too tight, and Wilbur whispers an apology. Eventually it's all bandaged and the blood is cleaned away, and Tommy's carefully snacking on the bits of ambrosia that he's been allowed.
Wilbur comes back after washing his hands and sits next to Tommy on the cot. Tommy keeps his eyes down on his own scarred hands.
"What happened?"
Tommy thinks it's dumb that he cares so much about Wilbur's opinion. Wilbur isn't even- anything to him. Not really. They're so far apart in age and they're such different people. Gods, Tommy can't count the number of campers that have been confused by their relationship, saying that their friendship shouldn't make sense. Maybe they're right.
Maybe there's nothing for him here.
"Sapnap stabbed me and then victim blamed me." Tommy answers.
"Okay, I hear you." Wilbur nods, he reaches out to fix Tommy's curls. Tommy tries not to lean too far into the touch. "Now. Tell me what really happened?"
Tommy sighs. "I- well. I was training with them."
"You hate Sapnap."
"I...don't!"
Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "You talk about how much you dislike him every chance you get."
"Nicely." Tommy says firmly. "I hate him, nicely."
"I hope you know how much that doesn't make sense." Wilbur sighs. "Tommy, you don't even really like training either- why are you- what are you trying to do?" Wilbur's voice is gentle, but by now, Tommy has his hackles raised, expecting judgement.
"I'm- I want to find my cabin." Tommy says. "I want to know where I belong."
"Well...okay, what have you tried already?"
"Demeter, Athena, Poseidon. I asked Technoblade too."
Wilbur snorts. "I bet that conversation went well."
Tommy sighs. "You can imagine."
"So Demeter, Poseidon, and Athena- I would bet Athena would've been high up there." Wilbur says absently. Tommy flushes. "Well, have you tried Apollo? I mean, I think you could really fit in here. At dinner, you- it was like you were supposed to be there with us. With- with me."
Tommy stiffens. "No, I haven't. No."
"Why not?"
Because, Tommy thinks, I don't think I could stand being proven wrong.
"Because," Tommy scoffs, rolling his eyes, painting a teasing smile on his face. "I wouldn't want you as my brother, Wil. I can't imagine having to see your dumb face every morning when I wake up."
Tommy expects Wilbur to smile and join in, teasing just the same, but he doesn't. He pauses, then looks down, a vaguely hurt expression crossing his face.
"Oh." Wilbur breathes.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Wait, Wil-" Tommy starts, but Wilbur stands, pulling away.
"I should check on Quackity," He says quickly. "He came in earlier with a sprained wrist. He might need another bit of ambrosia."
"Wilbur, Wil-" He reaches out and catches Wilbur's hand, making the man stop. Wilbur turns. "I'm sorry, Wil. I didn't mean it."
Wilbur smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "I know you didn't, Tommy. But you're probably right, yeah? You're probably a son of Hermes anyway. I hope that you find what you're looking for. I'll be back to check on you later, yeah?"
Then Wilbur pulls away and Tommy feels like he's taking Tommy's heart with him.
…
“None of this is in english,” Tommy complains.
He’s in the camp forge with Tubbo and Ranboo and the half a million other Hephaestus kids that are always in there. It's loud and crowded and full of dangerously sharp metals that threaten to poke Tommy's sensitive skin. Tommy has no clue how all these people manage to hold them and handle them without bleeding all over everywhere- he guesses that's what the calluses on Tubbo's hands are from.
“Well, you’re right.” Tubbo nods slowly. “This is what we call Ancient Greek.”
Tommy looks away from the complicated blueprints to glare at his best friend. “You’re being sarcastic with me and I don’t appreciate it. Stop it now.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Tubbo sighs. “But I tried to tell you Tommy, I just don’t think you’re a son of Hephaestus.”
“Why not?" His voice dips in a whine. "Wouldn’t it be cool if we were brothers?”
“It would be! I’d love that Tommy, but- you just don’t care about mechanics or builds or any of that stuff. Like, Grian and Mumbo and Cleo all want to make things. That’s all they do all day because they love it. You, well, you’d call them nerds for it. You’d call me a nerd for it.”
Tommy balks, offended. “I would never call you a nerd, Tubbo.”
“Affectionately.” Tubbo smiles. “You would. And that’s alright- I love building. I love redstone and science and nuclear chemistry. That’s not you. And that’s alright. We’re no less best friends. We’re no less brothers.”
“Oh.”
And yeah, okay. Of course he knows that his claiming won’t ruin his friendship with Tubbo or Ranboo, and that they’ll always be just as close no matter what, but-
Tommy wants to belong somewhere. He aches with it. He doesn’t want to be undetermined for the rest of his life. He doesn't want to go unwanted forever.
Ranboo, who’s sitting on the workbench just kicking his legs absently, makes a note in their little notepad. “So no Hephaestus. Got it. Well, we’re pretty far down the list now, so that-” Then Ranboo pauses, paling. “Oh. Oh no.”
Tubbo nods solemnly and Tommy grins, feral. “Oh yes Ranboo. It’s time. Aphrodite cabin won’t know what hit them.”
Ranboo looks way, way up. Probably praying to the Gods. “This is going to be so awful.”
...
It does not take but two seconds for Tommy to decide who he’s going to try and pair up for his Aphrodite training.
"They're a mess," Tommy explains. Ranboo nods warily. "Like, imagine a hellhound in a hot air balloon. That kind of mess."
"Crashing and burning," Ranboo notes. "Got it. Okay. Bit of a challenge for your first try."
"What can I say," Tommy grins. "I'm an ambitious little fuck."
Ranboo looks long at him. "Please never refer to yourself as that ever again." He sighs. "Well. I can only assume who you are talking about and because I can't exactly help you, I'll just have to hope that you're basing this off of plausibility and not just fantasy."
Tommy keeps grinning. He has no clue what the styx Ranboo is even saying.
"What do you know about romance?" Ranboo asks.
Tommy tilts his head. "Um. You wanna give gifts. And make them feel nice. And spend time together. Oh! And eye contact."
Ranboo blinks. "Wha- eye contact?"
Tommy nods. "Yes, eye contact."
"Okay," Ranboo says slowly. "Well, romance is not an oral presentation, Tommy. Eye contact is good, but it's really more so up to the people themselves to do that- you can't make people look at each other."
"Oh yeah?" Tommy raises an eyebrow haughtily. "Bet."
…
Tommy plops down onto the sand and George and Dream's conversation abruptly halts.
"You guys are a bit awful, you know that?"
Dream sighs. "Hello to you too, Tommy."
"Don't you have some shit to steal or something?" George asks pointedly.
"I'm not a child of Hermes." Tommy leans over and swipes the book from George's lap. "You guys should really look at each other when you talk. Hey! I have an idea! Let's do a staring contest."
George blinks, confused- wow, already a loser. Dream leans forward. "All three of us? How do you-"
"Three, two, one, go."
Tommy waits a beat for the two of them to process, watching as they both open their eyes wide, and then grins.
He blinks. "Oops, I lost, shit. How unfortunate. You guys are doing great though."
"Did you even try?" George asks, and he sounds completely done with Tommy, but surprisingly, they both keep their eyes open. Competitive fuckers. Tommy'll have them falling in love in no time.
He digs around in his pocket and pulls out the small radio that he had Tubbo make. He turns it on and grins when it crackles to life, tuning in and playing echoey saxophones and jazzy music.
"What is that?" Dream asks, starting to look over, but Tommy pushes his cheek back into place.
"Don't lose!" He says. "You don't want to suck. Just- enjoy the staring contest."
Tommy puts the radio down in between them. He leans back, trying to think. What else did Ranboo say? Eye contact, spending time together- Tommy's already set the mood.
Oo.
"Can I see your palm, Dream? But don't look away!"
Dream sighs and turns his hand up to show Tommy. Tommy takes his wrist and lays it there, upright on Dream's knee.
"Okay, and now yours George?"
"No."
Tommy pouts. "You can't see my face but I'm doing the big huge eyes at you. I'm- I'm really hurting here. All I want in anything ever is just to see your palms. Please? Please? I'm saying please. This is serious."
"It's serious," Dream says, because whether he likes it or not, Dream has a soft spot for Tommy and Tommy knows it. And George, who has a soft spot for Dream, sighs like he's holding up the damn sky and gives Tommy his palm.
"Thank you," Tommy sniffs. He takes George's wrist and carefully lays it on top of Dream's. Dream startles. "There. Perfect."
"Tommy," Dream says flatly, his cheeks pink. "What is this."
"This is how we do staring contests where I'm from!" Tommy says brightly. "Music and a bit of physical contact and a winning attitude!"
"You're from New York," Dream points out. "Not some far-way ancient uncivilized land."
"Manhattan is plenty uncivilized. Have you ever had a staring contest with someone from Manhattan, Florida boy?" Tommy asks. Dream looks away to glare at him. Tommy nudges his cheek back. "That's what I thought. Well! You two have fun now. I'll see you all later. I expect to hear a big life update at dinner."
The last thing Tommy hears before he leaves ear-shot is George going, "what in Hades do they do to the kids in Manhattan?"
…
When he reports back to Ranboo, Ranboo simply lays his face in his hands. Tommy argues that he thinks he did well given the circumstances. Ranboo just sighs.
…
It's fairly normal that George doesn't follow the rules and sits with Dream at the Poseidon table during dinner. Tommy thinks that Phil allows it because the two of them are all alone in their cabins, being the only known sons of Hypnos and Poseidon.
Phil's got a kind heart, and Tommy is going to use that to his advantage.
"So!" Tommy exclaims, smacking his palms down on the wood of the Poseidon table and making George jump away from Dream. "How are we looking, boys?"
"Tommy," Dream sighs. "Your table is over there. It also seems to be filling up fast, so I think you ought-"
"I'm going to sit here for a second," he cuts Dream off, ignoring that little jab. He'll give Dream that one just this once. He scoots in across from the two and smiles. "What are you talkin' about? Monster attacks? Sword fighting techniques? Dating?"
"One of those is not like all the others." George squints.
"I know, one of them is way more appealing- hey, speaking of dating, have you two decided to- well, to yet?"
"To what?" Dream asks, startled.
"Stop indulging him," George hisses. Tommy decides he's going to ignore that.
"Date!"
They both blink at him like he's lost it.
"Date who?" Dream asks. "And why? And what is wrong with you?"
Tommy hesitates. What was that thing that Ranboo said? Plausibility and not fantasy? Well, fuck. He might have miscalculated entirely. Shit. Fuck. Balls.
"Um. Um." Tommy tries to think. "Um. Well, no, I just- I needed advice! Yes, that's- yes. I needed dating advice, and you guys are very big men who seem to do a lot of...dating. And I do not, so my question is...uh, how do you...date?"
"How do you date." Dream repeats. "That's your question."
"That's a terrible question, Tommy." George sighs.
"Aren't you like, twelve?" Dream continues, a bit incredulous now. "Shouldn't you be- I don't know- climbing a tree and breaking your arm or something?"
"I'm not twelve!" Tommy snaps. Then, he processes. "Wait- you want me to break my fucking arm?"
"No! No, I'm just-" Dream splutters a bit, panicking, then looks at George for help. "I'm- I don't-"
"Shouldn't you be asking Wilbur about this stuff?" George asks pointedly. Tommy reels back.
"Why would I- what? Why would I ask him?"
George squints. "Aren't you two related or something?"
Ow. Ow, ow, ow. Gods, Tommy's chest hurts. George might as well have run a sword through him. It would have hurt so much less.
"No." Tommy swallows, thinking of you're probably a son of Hermes anyway, and, I hope you find what you're looking for. "No, we aren't."
"Oh." George's gaze flickers to Dream, and then back. "Well, I'm sure that either way he'd be more willing, and way more equipped to help you than us. I mean, he did have that thing with the water nymph a bit ago. He probably learned something from that."
"Yeah," Dream laughs, "how to swim, probably."
Tommy sighs. He mentally crosses Aphrodite off his list of possible Godly parents. He also crosses Ranboo off his list of possible family members. He will die alone at this point- no, actually, he'll die with Fundy and he can't even say that isn't worse .
"Thanks anyway," Tommy mumbles before getting up to go sit in place at his- the Hermes table.
…
He doesn't bother with any of the camp activities the next morning.
Tommy doesn't feel up to strawberry picking or pegasus riding or lava-wall climbing with his- the cabin. Usually he'd be jumping around to try his luck, making Wilbur shake his head at Tommy's recklessness and making Tubbo and Ranboo follow along as he tries to destroy the course. But today, Tommy feels a bit empty. He feels a bit hollowed out.
He sneaks away as his cabin is getting ready for the day- which is not hard in the slightest, as they never seem to notice when he's gone and it doesn't seem to matter when he's there. He grabs a bow and sheath of arrows, a dagger, ties up his shoes, and heads off to the forest.
At first, it's peaceful- the tree nymphs wave and then disappear into the wood, and the birds are all twittering high up in the tree-tops. The sun beams down through the leaves, decorating the forest floor with patterns of light. The air is still and it's beautiful- Tommy thinks it's the kind of thing that Wilbur would write a poem about.
Thinking about Wilbur hurts, so Tommy makes a mental note not to do that.
The deeper he goes, the more wild the woods get- the worn pathways becoming covered with green growth, and the gaps in the trees becoming few and far between. It's alright though, this is what Tommy wanted. Just a bit of solitude. Himself and the nature. And well, maybe a monster or two. He didn't bring his bow for nothing.
Sure enough, a branch a bit ahead of him breaks, and Tommy crouches low behind some brush. Up ahead, there's an animalistic snort, and Tommy squints as a big black snout noses forward through the leaves.
A hellhound. Perfect.
Silently, Tommy unsheathes an arrow, and positions his bow. He notches it back, the celestial bronze gleaming in the sunlight. He waits a beat, watching the monster creep forward slowly, sniffing at the ground, and when most of its body is visible, then Tommy releases.
The sound, the twang, makes the hound lift its head, its red eyes going wide with shock, but by then it's too late. The arrow hits the hound with a thunk and then it's just dust.
He grins, proud in the way he always is when he hits a shot with his arrow. He's not half bad, honestly. It's kept him alive this long, and that's what matters. A good arrow and a nice bow is all Tommy's ever really needed, and anything else is just-
A low growl cuts off his thought.
Instinctively, Tommy ducks back down into the bushes, pulling his bow out of sight.
Okay, he thinks, peeking through the green, one more hellhound. Easy. Nothing to it-
Then, another growl. Some snuffling. Another pair of red eyes opening in the shadows.
Tommy's breathing stops. Okay. Okay. Recalibrate. Two is...manageable. He could certainly deal with that. It would take some tricks and quick thinking, but-
Another growl. More eyes.
Well, fuck.
Tommy is going to file an official complaint with Phil about the camp woods. Too many hellhounds, the paper will read, I died and it was not pog at all. Zero stars.
He's got a couple of arrows and a heart of gold, maybe he can get out of this alive? It would be very nice, he thinks. He'd very much appreciate it. Tommy silently draws an arrow, and, still crouching, notches it, aiming it through the leaves and to the closest hellhound's breast.
If he releases this, he won't be able to run fast enough to get out unscathed. But, if he just runs, then he'll be completely mauled by three hounds that have over eighty pounds on him. He'll be dead within seconds, and no one will know until he doesn't show up for dinner later. Actually- longer than that, because the Hermes cabin might not even notice that he didn't show.
He's got to put up a fight- even if it's hopeless.
He inhales and then exhales, deep and slow, calming his frazzled nerves. He settles his eyes on the scruff on the beast's fur, and then lets go.
Again, the twang, again, the thunk, again, the dust, and then there are two pairs of eyes training on him, enraged. Tommy scrambles backward, fumbling for another arrow, pulling it back and then letting it loose just as the first beast jumps on top of him. It lodges in the hound's snout and the celestial bronze turns it into dust just as it's claws begin to sink into Tommy's chest.
The dust rains down around him, but he hardly gets a chance to breathe before the next hound is jumping at him, replacing the other. Tommy tries to push back and pull himself to his feet, but between holding his bow and all the tree roots under him, he can't quite get up. The hellhound's claws push him down and sink into either shoulder, making Tommy scream in pain.
It's huge head swipes down with teeth bared, and suddenly there's the sound of splintering wood as Tommy's bow snaps in half.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The hellhound roars in his face, clearly sensing victory, and Tommy whines, the claws digging in deeper into his flesh- breaking through his clothes and pressing into his shoulder. His shoulder blade cuts against the ground and he sobs and he begins to use all the energy he has to thrash about, not caring about the pain so long as he gets free.
He's going to die here, and with Wilbur still upset with him.
Oh Gods, he can imagine- Wilbur hearing about what happened and collapsing to the floor, knees hitting the wood, eyes glossing over with tears. He can imagine Wilbur- because Tommy knows him like he knows his own limbs, and he would- writing something to say at Tommy's funeral. It would be poetic and funny and a little bit bright, just the way that Wilbur always says he sees Tommy.
You beautiful mess, Wilbur laughs, ruffling Tommy's hair, pushing his head away. You stupid magnificent child. Insults and praise side by side.
Wilbur, who slows his stride so that Tommy can keep up, Wilbur, who reads outloud to Tommy because he gets too frustrated trying to read on his own, Wilbur, who hates horses, but will sit in the stables with Tommy just because Tommy loves them. Wilbur, Tommy's best friend. Maybe not his brother, not really, but the closest thing Tommy's ever had to a family ever.
Wilbur, who will miss him.
No, Tommy can't die here. No.
Paws are squeezing him and sharp teeth are coming at his face and Tommy cringes back as far into the forest bed as he can go. As he lowers, the hellhound tries to follow, leaving Tommy just enough space to free up his arms and snatch at the dagger tucked into his belt.
Thank the Gods for Purpled, who nagged him about not carrying a weapon around everywhere that wasn't a stupidly snappable bow. Bless that kid's paranoid war-hardened heart.
He gets his fingers around the leather handle and then slashes wildly, heaving against the dog with his injured shoulder. The first slice makes the monster releases him, and Tommy, running on adrenaline and spurred on by pain, keeps attacking, jabbing the blade deep into the monster's side. It wails, and then it's gone and Tommy stumbles, catching himself on the forest floor.
He sits there for a moment in shock, breathing heavily, so shocked that he's unable to feel his limbs- and then, that ebbs away and all Tommy is left with is the pain.
His shoulder, his back, his palms, his chest, his lungs. He hurts all over and he feels like sobbing. All he wants is to be held and taken care of. He wants comfort. He needs comfort.
He picks himself up off the ground, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of his broken blood-stained bow. Gods, he- he almost died. Not the first time, but- well. It's the first time he's had something to lose, so it's just like the first time.
He needs- he needs-
Wilbur. He needs Wilbur. And medical treatment. And a hug. But mostly Wilbur.
He slowly picks his way out of the woods, back the way he came, following his own trail. His shoulder, bleeding profusely, aches like it just went seven rounds with the lava wall by itself, and Tommy can’t press his own palm to it hard enough. It seems like with every step he takes, there’s just rivers and rivers of blood falling from him. Tommy wonders how much he can lose before it’s all gone.
He stumbles his way to the med bay and pulls himself up the steps. He knocks the door open with his one good shoulder and it bangs against the wall. "Wilbur," he breathes, shuddering.
Wilbur is in there, as Tommy thought, and he has his back to the door. He seems to be sorting medical herbs. When he hears the door, he sighs so heavily that Tommy sees his shoulders heave. "Tommy, look, I'm busy today, I can't-"
Tommy's wound pulses and he can't bite back his resulting whimper. That makes Wilbur turn abruptly, and when he sees Tommy, his face drops three shades.
"Tommy?" He steps forward and in two long strides he's close, expression horrified at the red spilling through Tommy's pale fingers. "Wha- oh Gods, what the fuck-"
"Wil," Tommy begs. "It- it hurts, Wilbur, I-"
"Here, come here, oh my Gods." Wilbur puts a hand on the small of Tommy's back and hastily leads him over to the same cot that he sat at before. The one he was in when he hurt Wilbur's feelings- when he lied and said that he didn't want Wilbur as his brother.
"What the fuck did you do?" Wilbur says, but it's not mad- it's breathless and worried and almost uncertain. Like seeing Tommy hurting makes Wilbur forget the medical training that is running through his bloodline.
"Hellhound," Tommy manages, eyes wet. "Three. Sorry, sorry, I-"
" Three Hellhounds? You-" Wilbur takes a breath, resituating himself. "No, Tommy, I- don't apologize. I'm- I'm here and you're here, so I'm going to fix this, alright? You trust me, yeah?"
Tommy nods- it's why he stumbled here instead of anywhere else. He could've gone to the big house, to Phil, to Technoblade, but he passed them all just to come here. Just come to Wilbur and his worn orange camp shirt and his caring brown eyes. Comforting, reassuring. For some reason, despite everything that Tommy's been taught, he knows he can trust Wilbur. He knows that Wilbur would do anything to keep him safe.
"Okay, so, we're going to cut the sleeve away," Wilbur turns to grab a pair of medical scissors. His hands are trembling. "Just so I can really see what I'm looking at." He pauses, then pointedly catches Tommy's gaze. "Toms, you can let go of the wound now. You're alright."
"You- sure?" He wheezes- his other arm is tingling now. Numb.
"I'm sure," Wilbur nods. "You did so well. Let me take care of you now."
And Gods, Tommy wants nothing more. He just wants to fall into step next to Wilbur- let himself be taken care of in the way he's always wanted. He just wants to be able to settle down and not worry about whether he's wanted.
"Okay," Tommy says quietly. He moves his hand away with a wince of pain. Wilbur hisses, and comes close. "Is it- is it bad?"
"No, not at all." Wilbur takes the scissors in his steady hand and begins to cut the sleeve. "It looks awful on the surface, but as Purpled said before, you bleed easy, so what I'm going to do is get the fabric out of the cut, then clean it, and give you some ambrosia and we'll watch it heal. It may be sore for a little bit after that but you'll still be able to move it perfectly."
"Oh." Tommy frowns. It all seems a lot less scary when Wilbur breaks it down like that. "Will it scar?"
The sleeve falls away, and Wilbur turns to grab tweezers to begin carefully picking the sliced fabric out of the wound. Tommy grimaces. "It might- just a little, but it'll fade with time."
"Cool," Tommy says, sniffling, and Wilbur makes a face.
"I'm not going to bother asking what you were doing fighting three hellhounds when you are supposed to be with your cabin picking strawberries."
"Not my cabin," Tommy sighs. Wilbur raises an eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate. "It's just- I live there, and that's all good, but I'm not- I'm not a child of Hermes. I can feel it. And I know you think so, and you probably want me to be and-"
Wilbur puts the tweezers down, frowning now. "I never said that. I- okay, I said that you might be a child of Hermes, but that wasn't me wishing that you were, that was me-"
He pauses, throat bobbing. Tommy's brows furrow.
"That was you what?" Tommy asks, voice dropping to a bit of a whisper. If he wasn't hoping Tommy was in Hermes, or he didn't believe Tommy was in Hermes, then why-
"Alcohol pads," Wilbur blurts, turning away and heading over to the kit under the table. "I need- um-"
"Wilbur."
"-where the hell did Ponk put them last time they-"
"Wilbur."
"- because everything is supposed to be in its proper place or else we'll have people come in and die because we can't find the damn bandaids-"
" Wilbur."
Wilbur spins. "What?"
Tommy gestures with his head the best that he can to the shelf above Wilbur where the medical kit sits innocently. Wilbur looks up and flushes. "Oh. I see."
He gets the case and then brings it over, popping it open and grabbing himself all that he needs. Tommy tries to relax when Wilbur grabs his wrist again, no matter how gentle he is, the achy muscles from being tackled still persist.
"Sorry Toms," Wilbur says as he carefully cleans it. "Just- don't want you getting an infection."
"S' okay. Teach me when you're done?" Tommy asks, because he thinks proper first-aid would be good to know, and he could listen to Wilbur talk for hours and hours on end. Really, it's just another excuse to spend time together- Tommy thinks he's running out of them.
"Of course," Wilbur agrees, giving Tommy's shoulder one last wipe. "Just so long as you promise to come to me when there is a wound you don't think you can handle- I wouldn't want you trying to fix yourself up all alone."
Tommy nods and Wilbur tosses all the bloody wipes in the garbage, then goes to wash his hands. The wound doesn't look as bad now, Tommy thinks. Not when all the bleeding has stopped and it having been cleaned up. It still awes Tommy that Wilbur can do that- take things that are messy and bleeding and hurting and just make them stop.
"Here you go," Wilbur comes back with a square of ambrosia. "Have a bit of this- it should make the pain go away."
Tommy takes a decent sized nibble and the taste of Niki's homemade double stacked chocolate chip cookies melts onto his tongue. Any pain that he had been feeling turns into a weird tingle and then fades, leaving him just an achy mess. He's suddenly hit with just how exhausted he is- emotionally and physically. Having run through the forest and across camp after struggling to get away from a hoard of hellhounds- all he wants to do is sleep.
"Do you want to talk about what happened or rest?" Wilbur asks, concerned. "You know that I'm here to listen."
Tommy looks down at his hands, his fingernails stained red. "I know. I just- I'm tired Wil. I'm really, really tired."
Wilbur frowns, sitting down next to Tommy. "Tired?" he whispers. "Tired of what?"
"Looking for someone to love me," Tommy admits, looking up at him with teary eyes.
"Oh, darling." Wilbur breathes. He sounds like he's in pain. "You don't have to look far. I'm right here. I'm right here and I adore you."
"S'not the same," Tommy exclaims, chest burning. "It's not- I want- Gods, I want-"
"What do you want, Tommy?" Wilbur asks, watching him carefully. Tommy feels something inside of him crack open.
"I want-" Tommy mumbles, voice jumbled, syllables sliding into one another. His head hurts. His heart hurts. He hurts. "I want to have you. As my family. As my brother. No one else."
Wilbur pauses. Tommy's pretty sure he hears his breath hitch. "Wh- what?"
Tommy leans forward and presses his forehead against Wilbur's shoulder. He's taking too much, always, always, but he can't help himself. He's selfish. He's awful. He wants more than what the Gods could promise him. "Want to be brothers. Wish we could be."
" Oh . Oh Toms." Wilbur sweeps Tommy up, careful of his aching, scarred shoulder. "Tommy. Sweetheart. We are. We are . You will always be my brother. No matter what. Forget anything that anyone else says, forget anything that Olympus says. Hera herself could come down and tell me we aren't family and I wouldn't hear a word of it. I love you, Tommy. And we are so much more than what anyone tries to make us. I promise you that."
And it's weird, because as he talks, Wilbur's voice shakes with the same want that Tommy's does. As if he's been sitting with the same wish that Tommy's been clinging to. As if he's been playing the same waiting game that Tommy has.
As if he wants Tommy as his family just the same.
It makes Tommy want to sob, being so close, right in Wilbur's arms, but being so far away. He wants claimation, he wants it to be announced. He wants everyone to know that Wilbur is his brother- that they belong to one other, as deemed so by the Gods.
Maybe they don't need it, but Gods does Tommy want it.
Tommy curls his hand into Wilbur's t-shirt and holds back his tears. He has a feeling that Wilbur is doing the exact same.
...
Wilbur stays by Tommy's bedside all while he heals.
It's nice, because Tommy knows he's got much more important things to do, but Wilbur stays and gives Tommy water and ambrosia like he doesn't.
He tells Tommy stories, not just the magical ones he makes up for fun, but ones about his life too- who he was before coming to camp, and his first days, his first quest. Wilbur's voice is soothing, melodic, and so comforting that Tommy will find himself close to closing his eyes and drifting off there in the med bay bed.
Tommy wonders if this is what it would be like to be a part of the Apollo cabin- to be read to sleep by Wilbur every night. Maybe even sung. Gods, Tommy loves hearing Wilbur sing- it's more medicine than nectar.
"Will you sing something?" He asks- blurts, really. A bit embarrassing on his part, but Wilbur only seems to melt.
"Yeah, Toms, yeah. I can- yeah." Wilbur nods. "I can go get my guitar. Maybe teach you a couple chords if you want."
"But you never let anybody touch your guitar," Tommy frowns.
Wilbur shrugs, cheeks pinkening. "Do you want to learn or not?"
"I do. Oh, I do."
Wilbur hurries away and quickly comes back with his guitar, all carefully polished and sanded wood with not even a scratch on it. Seeing it, in its golden-brown beauty, makes Tommy feel apprehensive all of a sudden.
"Wait, maybe I shouldn't-"
"Shush," Wilbur says, then pushes the instrument into Tommy's lap. Tommy awkwardly holds up his arms, unsure where they go, and the sight makes Wilbur snort.
"Here," He says, guiding Tommy's right hand under the frets and taking Tommy's left and putting them near the strings. "You've seen me play before, man. Don't look like you're seeing a ghost. Here, this is a C-chord, you put your fingers like this."
Wilbur shows Tommy the proper hand placement for a C chord, a G, an A and a F, then directs him through strumming patterns. Tommy relaxes enough to get steady strum and Wilbur laughs, a proud smile on his face.
"There you go, Toms! You've got it!"
Tommy, bolstered, starts switching chords and finds that it comes suspiciously natural to him, like he doesn't even have to think before his fingers are moving to the next place. He plays the first tune that comes to his head, which coincidentally, is one of the songs that Wilbur wrote. Tommy remembers when he showed Tommy the song- sitting in the pegasus stables together, backs to the wood, hiding away from their cabins. Tommy begged Wilbur to sing it for him, and of course Wilbur said yes.
Even now, having heard it twice, Tommy remembers how it goes and can replicate it perfectly on the strings. Wilbur laughs when he recognizes it and hums along. They're about to hit the chorus together when Wilbur stops, eyes getting big, looking at something above his head.
"Wha-" Tommy's playing falters. He follows Wilbur's gaze up. His stomach drops.
Up there, above his head, is the shining bright image of a lyre- symbol of Apollo- glowing just for him.
"I'm-" Tommy stumbles, disbelieving. "I'm-"
"You're a son of Apollo." Wilbur finishes calmly, and even a little proud. Certainly teary-eyed, that's for sure. "Just like me."
Tommy’s eyes go wide, looking up and the golden sparks gently raining down around him. Wilbur seems entirely too unsurprised with the way he's smiling.
“There you are,” He says softly. “Just had to make your way to me, huh?" Then, "I told you that you should’ve tried Apollo, dumbass.”
“Wilbur Soot, stop ruining my moment, oh my Gods.” Tommy complains, but he can’t stop smiling like a lunatic. He’s got tears welling in his eyes as well- the whole damn nine. Wilbur cooes then opens his arms and Tommy falls into them at once, feeling- for the first time in a long time- like he’s home.
...
Tommy kicks the Hermes cabin door open, startling all of them inside. His grin is a million megawatts bright and his eyes are still red-rimmed with happy tears. He looks like a damn lunatic right now, he knows.
He finds Fundy's eyes, his grin growing ten times bigger. "I'm a mother fucking son of Apollo! Bye bitches!"
Then Tommy grabs his shit and leaves.
...
"Okay, so when I told you that you should try Apollo," Tubbo starts, and Tommy claps a hand over his mouth.
"Die gear-boy? I don't need all this negativity in my life?"
"Was anyone surprised though?" Ranboo raises an eyebrow. "I mean, you and Wilbur are best friends, whenever you tell a story you add like, seventeen different chapters for no reason, you sing, and you literally only fight with a bow and arrow."
Tommy flushes. "I related a lot with Katniss Everdeen as a kid, what the fuck man?"
"Well, that's an issue that certainly could be delved into with a therapist."
"You can die as well?"
Ranboo grins, then dips his head. "I'm glad you found your family, Tommy."
"Me too!" Tubbo cheers. "Now you can stop bugging us about it!"
"No, no, now we can go on a quest together." Tommy nods.
"What's this about a quest?"
Tommy perks up like a dog, and spins around.
Wilbur is standing there, orange shirt, medical band round his bicep, glasses on the bridge of his nose. He's got his guitar case slung over his back and a half smile on his face, fond and warm. The Tommy look. The look just for Tommy.
"Hi," Tommy says giddily. "Hi."
"Toms. Ranboo, Tubbo. Do you guys mind if I steal Tommy for the day? I promised him that I'd teach him some first aid in return for some archery."
Tubbo smiles, because despite everything, Tommy knows that he's beyond happy for him. "Yes, yes, go on, steal your brother."
And - wow. Hearing it like that, from someone else's mouth. It's- wow. Godly.
Tommy peeks over at Wilbur and sees him stop short with that same dizzy expression, like he can't believe it either. It clears after a moment though, turning soft- the Tommy look, back again in full force.
"I will," he says softly. "Steal him. My brother."
And when Wilbur lifts his arm to beckon Tommy close, Tommy falls under it, right into step with him and following wherever he leads.