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---- 1
The first time it happens, Tommy realizes, is pretty early on.
Tommy shifts in his chair, hands uselessly toying with the hem of his shirt as he tries to keep himself quiet in the call. Techno and Phil are talking quietly; Wilbur is tuning his guitar as they wait for a few others to join to begin the stream.
EarthSMP is one of Tommy’s favorite memories, because it's where he met some of his favorite people in the world- despite his lack of confidence, the tattered way he holds himself- he enjoyed the time he spent with everyone in that era.
He used to get nervous before joining the stream most of the time. Tommy literally- literally had to give himself a twenty-minute pep talk in the mirror telling himself not to geek out about being in a call with the Technoblade or the Wilbur Soot or- for god’s sake- Philza Minecraft.
It’s so fucking cool how Tommy can actually just shoot any of three a quick message and they respond within a few hours, at least, when a few weeks ago his DM’s were left unread, piled in with all the other texts fans sent in for just a sliver of recognition. Absolutely mental.
Phil clicks his tongue, “I was thinking.”
The tuning of Wilbur’s guitar dims down, gone, and Tommy can practically hear the way he perks up. “Philza is thinking.”
“Absolutely ground-breaking.” Techno deadpans.
“Oh shut the fuck up,” the oldest in the call laughs- and it quiets down, like usual. “Seriously. I- hm.”
Tommy has the urge to butt in. To shove his words head-first into their conversation, but he keeps his mouth closed, because he really can't handle being told to shut up for the billionth time that day. It doesn't matter anyways, since he's ninety-nine percent sure they forgot he was in the call.
“Wilbur,” Phil murmurs, “I was rewatching some vods of EarthSMP.”
“Yeah?”
“You and Tommy..” Phil says slowly, enunciated. “The two of you remind me of-” he stops. Tommy holds his breath. “brothers. That’s the vibe I got. It was cute.”
Tommy leans back in his chair, and he wants to bow down to any deity out there and praise them for making sure his chair didn't squeak, and he stares at the ceiling. The phrase; You and Tommy, you remind me of brothers, echoes in his head, and the ghost of a smile skids across his face before-
Wilbur scoffs, and there's a tinge of humor, but not the type of humor as if he was indulging in the idea- and Tommy definitely is- but it's the type of amusement where it's something that Wilbur would laugh at. As if the idea is too much of a stretch it's impossible to believe. As if the idea is funny, the thought is too outlandish and it isn't worth Wilbur’s attention. Tommy knows how that feels, anyways. He pulls shit everyday to get the man’s attention- and he does want Wilbur to see him as something more than just a kid he plucked off the street. The idea of Wilbur seeing him as something as intimate as family is enough to make Tommy’s heart clench emptily for something he cannot get.
There's an empty chuckle, “ Brothers? Really, Phil? Tommy? Him? Mate, you've gotta be kidding. Me and Tommy are- have you seen the kid?” And Tommy feels his heart crack. First- yeah. They definitely forgot he was here. Second, he also feels really hurt by the idea Wilbur said that confidently knowing Tommy wasn’t present, cushioned by the thought the blonde wouldn't overhear Wilbur’s thoughts he’s choosing to share.
“Uh.” Techno says, voice laced, peppered, in hesitation, “Wilbur, you shouldn’t have- Wilbur.”
Tommy’s never heard Techno’s voice like that. He really can't focus because of the burn straining in his eyes. Reaching up a hand, his fingers press against his cheeks, and it’s wet.
Wilbur makes a questioning noise, the tone of sarcasm washed away, before he gasps. “Oh no. I- Oh.”
“Wilbur..” Phil warns.
Tommy can’t do anything- his mind has melted into pure mush, brain a bit clouded by distress, and Wilbur makes a sympathetic, agonized whine, “Oh, Tommy, I-”
And Tommy leaves the call as fast as he fucking can, because he's not dealing with that absolute bullshit. Wilbur can't pull a 180 like that, hell to the no, and he shuts off his PC with a sharp click, pressing the meat of his palms against his eyelids because he can't think about anything besides- Me and Tommy? Have you seen the kid? Tommy lets a stray sob rip out of his throat, because the second Wilbur realized he was caught- that stupid fuckin’ smug facade melted like a candle- who the hell does Wilbur think he is? Holding himself up on his pedestal- but, Tommy thinks Wilbur’s also got a point. They just met. He can’t assume Wilbur would put him that high on his list.
Yet… Wilbur didn't need to take his heart in his hands. And crush it beneath his fingers. And slam it on the floor, crushing it beneath his boot. And spit on it.
His phone vibrates with the power of a thousand suns, definitely Wilbur- or Phil or Techno, because both of them seemed concerned the second Wilbur finished his spew of bullshit.
His phone won’t shut up, so Tommy picks it up and turns off his ringer. He’ll deal with it in the morning, and he sniffles loudly, using the back of his wrist to brush away any stray tears rolling down his cheeks. He doesn't want to speak to any of them at the moment. Tommy would assume Phil, or even Techno, possibly, if Tommy could hope, is chewing Wilbur out right now for being an unobservant prick.
But now, sleep.
---- 2
Tommy remembers multiple moments of Wilbur making him feel like shit, and it doesn't happen often, but there's small moments that are just little nudges in the wrong directions, then there are moments that feel like right hooks to the stomach. Stab in the back and a slap in the face, if you will. Although, every time these moments happened, Wilbur always ended up apologizing, thank god for Phil.
About that last scenario- Tommy woke up the next morning and tried to sleep away the day, but Philza practically pried him out of bed with consecutive calls multiple times in a row. The older told him that if he didn't call and work it out with Wilbur the man was going to explode if he was kept away from Tommy any longer. So, they did. Tommy called Wilbur, the brunette on the verge of tears as he apologized for what he said. He told him that yes, he doesn't see Tommy that closely, but- the other parts of what he had previously stated were indeed jokes. Just, poorly timed and executed. He probably should've told Tommy about it beforehand and made it a bit instead of making the younger burst into tears moments later.
Anyways. Uh. Yeah. The next time Wilbur fucked up was- well. You’ll see.
It was actually the first time they met up, which is. You know. Worse. Because Tommy cannot end a call to escape from that one, and he has to look Wilbur in the eyes and tell him he hurt his feelings- which, mind you, is absolutely mortifying.
Tommy and Wilbur were standing by a coffee shop, Phil off to grab some stuff while Wilbur got himself pure caffeine. (Tommy was denied a coffee, because giving the kid a coffee is equivalent to pumping him full of ten pounds of sugar. He would bounce off the walls with the amount of energy he'd get. He’s more of a tea guy anyways, sue him.)
The cashier looks at them, and it's more a drive-in type thing, a small shop located next to the shore, glancing at where Tommy's leaning against the wall, phone propped up in his hands. “Does your brother want anything?”
Wilbur blinks, and the first thing he does is glance to Tommy, who looks over at him in a similar manner; he shakes himself out of it.
Wilbur looks like he was caught off-guard, a placating smile on his face, eyes gleaming. “Ah, miss, we're not brothers.”
Tommy’s shoulders slump - just slightly - and he ignores the pang of hurt.
The cashier frowns, “I see.” she turns to him, noticing the look in Tommy’s eyes. Shaking away an amused expression, she asks Wilbur for his credit card.
“I’m gonna go to the beach,” Tommy mumbles to Wilbur- he doesn't really care if the man didn't hear him, because fuck him. He’s surprised he hasn't learnt his lesson since before, but he's happy that it wasn't as bad as Him? Really, Phil? You're kidding, and instead was more a No, we’re not related. At least he improved.
The sand is slightly comforting in a moment without any comfort present at all. There's footsteps approaching from behind, and Tommy’s fingers clench around his phone case. He’s sat on his ass in the dirt, and fuck, he's gonna get sand in his socks. Sounding behind him, there’s a small sigh, and a hand lands, in what is supposed to be soothingly, on his shoulder.
Tommy glances over himself, silently hoping for Phil. He tries not to be disappointed. “Wil.”
Wilbur’s face looks pained as he sits down beside him, cradling his coffee as he takes a long sip. Tommy’s tongue aches in sympathy. He swallows, “I’m sorry about-”
“S’ nothin,” Tommy mumbles into his hands, propping the elbows up on his bony knees. The breeze is cold. “It wasn’t like you were supposed to say yes, I’m your brother.”
Wilbur glares at him in the corner of his eye. “It’s not nothing, Toms! We’ve had this shit happen before where I say something about our friendship and it always seems to be the thing that makes you upset.” Tommy turns his head to the side, so Wilbur cannot see, because this moment is breaching something too tender for Tommy to taint. Wilbur’s voice reaches a point where it lilts in the best way possible, coaxing and soft, like pulling a puppy from its cage. “It's always with me. You can dish and take it with everyone, but you always seem extra sensitive when it comes to me. And I’m also sorry that I keep hurting your feelings on my own accord. I should be more thoughtful of your feelings. I realize I say that we aren't related like if it was- it would be a bad thing. I don't think that, bro, I don’t.”
“If I had had a biological brother,” Wilbur murmurs, “and he turned out like you,” and Tommy can just almost hear the shake of his head. “I would be very proud of him.”
Oh.
It’s quiet for a moment, and Tommy still won’t look at him, because if he does, he's pretty sure he’ll start crying. Wilbur notices, too, because of course he does. “Tommy, look at me.”
Tommy looks down, and he lets the hand that gently, so gently, grabs his chin guide his face towards the brunette. “Oh, Tommy,” Hands cup his cheeks, hesitant, “I’m sorry, don’t cry, I don't wanna see you cry.”
“I’m not crying,” Tommy chokes, and he rubs away the tears as harshly as he can to ensure they don't streak down his face so Wilbur can see, knocking away his friend’s hands. “I'm being stupid. All you said was one thing, I shouldn't be this sensitive.”
“No,” The tallest says, almost mad, “You’re perfectly allowed to feel upset. Doesn't matter how big your problem is, you deserve to have someone listen to it. Especially if they made you feel like shit.”
Tommy nods, noncommittal, because it is stupid. Crying over jack shit is absolutely stupid, but leave it to Wilbur to try and lift his chin up and steady his crown.
“Now,” Wilbur sighs, lips pulling into a fond grin, “C’mere. Phil got us ice cream.”
Wilbur slings a protective arm around his shoulders, tugging him close, enough to hear the man’s heartbeat. Tommy caves in, snuggling himself underneath his hold and letting Wilbur direct him to Phil where he waits with their desserts.
Eh. It wasn't that bad.
---- 3
Well. Tommy was right, it really isn't that bad, but- depending on your point of view, it probably gets worse.
Staring at a livestream, and months have passed since that last interaction- Wilbur’s gotten much, much better at being sweeter to the blond. In fact, it's practically an anomaly to see him being pissy, but it only happens when he wakes up that way. It’s borderline impossible for Tommy to truly get on his nerves and genuinely make him angry anymore. It happened constantly during EarthSMP, but Wilbur has grown, and so has their budding friendship.
It's February 2021, things have changed, and Wilbur has even publicly said on a late night stream he and Tommy were best friends despite quite a gap in their age.
He’s a fucking legend, TommyInnit, and I used to tell him it was depressing I was best friends with a sixteen-year-old, but it's not depressing, it's not.
Tommy remembers it, and he never read into it, but he does know it stung just a little bit. The idea that Wilbur owned up to it and realized it was a bit cruel speaks volumes; it’s borderline a fever dream for someone like Tommy.
Anyways. The stream.
He’s watching it live, and it's being a really fucking long day. It's been kinda shit, he resorted to showering at five o'clock in the afternoon and hasn't left his bed to do anything besides use the bathroom while playing on his phone under his blankets. It's practically a therapy notification when he gets the alert Quackity is live with Wil.
It's a late night stream with Quackity and Wilbur, the latter popping in with his voice low and raspy, Strangebur vibes all around, and Quackity breaches the topic of Tommy and Wilbur’s brotherhood.
“Brothers, hmm?” Quackity does one of his bits of hysterical, iconic giggling, “You and Tomathy, ay?”
“I wouldn't call it brothers,” Wilbur muses, and Tommy hears a smirk pulling at the man’s lips, “Business partners.”
Business partners.
Looking back on it, it's so obviously a joke. You can hear it in the way Wilbur sounds- fond, endearing almost, speaking of Tommy in such a manner it'd usually bring a smile to the blonde’s face. Except, Tommy’s a bit out of it, and hearing Wilbur call their friendship a ‘business only’ relationship really crushes his heart in two.
Q snorts, “ Business? Brother business?”
“Nah,” he affirms, “just business partners. Nothing else.”
Fuck, okay, this is not good for his mental health.
He swears, and he pulls up Wilbur’s DMs, heading to Discord dot com, scrambling to type in something as coherent as possible:
tommy
i dont like this bit >:( wilbur im watchign the stream
There’s a pause on stream, and Tommy’s heart is too loud in his ears. Q makes a questioning sound, “Wil? William Soot? Wilba?”
There's clicking on Wilbur’s side, and he sees typing.. besides his name. Tommy feels his breathing begin to go back to a slightly-normal pace.
wilbur
its okay tommy ill stop dont worry. do u want me to leave and call?
Tommy hums, satisfied.
tommy
no it's fine! stay on stream i'm having fun watchin
There’s no response, and on stream, Wilbur’s quiet voice returns, “Sorry, I had family business.”
Another pause, before Wilbur sighs, affectionately, “Had to take care of my kid.”
My kid. Tommy gasps, leaning back in his seat, “Oh you fuck,” he says to no one, “motherfucker.” He rubs a wrist against his warming cheek, “Awh, Wil.”
Quackity seems to agree, because the man’s face lights up, before crumpling in an aww expression, “You’re so fucking gone, Wilbur Soot, holyyy shit. You call that shit business partners? Fuckin’ family right there, man, I’m sayin. ‘Softbur my beloved-’ agreed chat, we love Softbur. Big man’s all soft for Tommy.”
Tommy swears he can hear Wilbur’s eye roll- he can visualize the man leaning back in his chair and putting his head in his hands and reconsidering all his life choices.
Q grins. “Tommy’s watching too, aww. Big brother’s complimenting you, my boy, feel good about yourself!”
“He doesn't need his ego inflated anymore,” Wilbur snorts.
Tommy hums, mumbling a quiet, “Shut the fuck up, Wilbur.” So what if he can't hear him? It has to be said. His ego is at a perfectly high level, thank you very fuckin’ much. Suck his dick.
After the stream ends, Tommy immediately joins the call, swearing at Wilbur.
“ Fuck you!”
“What did I-”
“You fucking- oh my go-”
“Piece of shit.”
Wilbur hushes him, before reeling back, eyes glinting, “Are you upset with me?”
“It's been a long day,” Tommy amends, quietly, “you were fuckin’ with me- with my head n’ shit. I need this brain to commit world domination. And big brother.”
“Of course,” The older laughs brightly, fondly; he sounds amused, humming, “I would never ask for anything different.”
---- +1
There’s also times that Wilbur pulls a 180, and completely takes the side of being related to Tommy. Of course, it's gotten much more common after knowing him for over two years, and sometimes Wilbur does so to keep Tommy safe.
But, alas, it doesn't happen very much where Wilbur’s being genuine; besides the fact he plays into it even off camera and teases Tommy whenever he gets all flustered at the idea. Okay, so, it doesn't happen very much where Wilbur's being genuine on camera. He's usually playing into a bit to poke at chat or the viewers of a mod video.
Anyways. Wilbur Being Big Brother ™ is a go.
Tommy sniffs, before he rolls right into a violent sneeze. He glances up at Wilbur, then back at George.
George eyes him in concern. “Are you sick?”
“Nah,” Tommy answers, and Wilbur cups his cheek, the other hand pressing itself against his forehead.
The man’s lips tug into an annoyed frown, “Kiddo, you're burning up.”
“I'm no..” Tommy wobbles, and Wilbur and George gasp, both of them rushing forward to catch the kid before he faceplants into pure concrete. Wilbur sweeps a hand through the youngest’s golden blonde curls, the hair ruffled and tangled, and Tommy manages a sigh in his sleep as George pats his back sympathetically. “‘M not sick..”
“Sure you aren't, bro, but you've gotta lay back,” The two other Brits work together to push Tommy backwards onto the public bench, and George glances up. “Would it be easier if we took him to my flat? It's not that far from here, just a few blocks. You could carry him, couldn't you?”
Wilbur nods, running a hand down his face, before shifting in place so Tommy can sit more comfortably, or, as comfortably as you can be with a fever and turned on your side with your head nestled in your brother’s lap. Affectionately, he watches as he slowly falls asleep.
They end up walking the way back down the street, Tommy safely carried in Wil’s arms, Wilbur and George chatting idly as a lamp on the edge of the block buzzes with light.
When Tommy finally regains some sort of consciousness, he's laying on GeorgeNotFound’s couch.
Wilbur groans, before half-heartedly laughing. “Of all days.”
“Honestly,” George weakly replies, “I’ll get Tom some ibuprofen, one second.”
The tallest watches on, silently, as the shorter pulls himself to his feet and fluidly makes his way to the kitchen cabinets.
His shoulders slump, but he gasps as a weak hand tugs on his jumper’s hem. He looks down. “Tommy.”
The boy is sweating, breathing out in short breaths, meekly smiling. “Wil.” Then, he frowns, “I’m sorry for ruining the meet-up.”
Wilbur makes a wounded noise, kneeling by his bedside — or, couchside, he supposes. “Oh, Tommy, don't say that. It's not your fault you got sick.”
“Augh,” Tommy groans, taking a hand and pressing it against his sweaty forehead. “Tommy needs a break.”
“Tommy does need a break,” Wilbur snorts.
“Tommy hates you.” Tommy grins.
“Tommy is a fucking nightmare.”
He looks to the side, trying to smother his smile. “Wil, are you seeing this shit? We’re brothers. Twitter would go insane.”
Wilbur hums, before pulling off his beanie and tugging it over Tommy’s head. Tommy makes a pleased sound. “Maybe not by blood,” He taps Tommy’s cheek. “but you are my brother, and you're under my protection, so take that as you will.”
Eyes fluttering shut, Tommy grins.
Just then, George walks in with the ibuprofen, sighing loudly, tinted in frustration, “Took me a while, sorry, but here you go.”
He notices the way Wilbur hovers over Tommy, the boy pressing himself against his chest. “You know what, I'm not gonna get in the way of that.” He tosses the medicine to Wilbur, who catches it easily, “You take care of him, I’ll be in my room- call me if you need anything.”
“Oh my god,” Tommy groans - of course, right when he's about to sleep, “I was about to fall as- you guys know I just need my beauty sleep. Helps my skin n’ shit. No baggy eyes, like Wilbur over here.”
“Yes, yes,” Wilbur waves him away, sighing in exasperation. “Sleeping Beauty needs his sleep, but now shut the fuck up and drink.”
Tommy grumbles, and the sheen of sweat over his nose and cheeks is only getting more and more uncomfortable. He downs the medicine, and promptly lays his head on Wilbur’s thigh.
Wilbur hides an eye roll, before he watches George wander around the room, picking up a blanket and throwing it across Tommy.
“We can leave as soon as he feels better,” Wilbur supplies, but George firmly denies him.
“No, it's fine,” The shorter smiles, glancing protectively at the boy. “you can stay the night, Tommy doesn't feel well enough to even leave the flat right now.”
Wilbur and Tommy meet eyes, one who looks like he's about to nod off, the other possessing eyes that gleam worriedly. “Alright. His dad put me in charge of him, but I let him know we’re staying here for the night.”
“Alright,” George says, “good night.”
Wilbur makes a mm sound, and he shuffles, picking Tommy’s head off of his quad- Tommy makes an unhappy noise - and kneels next to him. He places his hand directly over the kid’s forehead. “Still warm.” Wilbur glances at Tommy, he looks at him with squinted eyes. “You can sleep, Tommy, I’ll still be here.”
“Alright,” Tommy mumbles, sleepily yawning, and he presses himself into the crook of Wilbur’s shoulder. “Night.”
“Night,” Wilbur parrots, but Tommy’s already asleep.
---- +2
Tommy stares at him, debating, and the bitch raises an eyebrow; his mouth curls, “Are you jealous?”
The brunette’s expression darkens - he looks like an idiot, and Tommy shoves down the inexplicable urge to laugh. His eyes narrow, his hand coming up to snatch the beige hem of his jumper, and Tommy grips his shoulder. His lips perk, before teeth peek out in between, “Oh my god! You’re jealous. You're jealous. Of Logan Paul.”
“No, I’m not,” Tommy is tugged forward, so his hands are intertwined with Wilbur’s and the man leans forward so his chin lays on the top of his head. “I’m not jealous of Logan Paul.”
He’s a Twitch streamer on Twitch dot tv slash Wilbur Soot, god, he is not jealous of Logan Paul - worst of all, over TommyInnit.
“I don't know how much I believe that,” Tommy murmurs, tongue as sharp as a knife, eyes pointed, and his curls tickle Wilbur’s jugulars. “You seemed real keen on making sure Logan understood you were my brother.”
“You are my brother,” Wil murmurs into his hair, hands tugging at the tangles; Tommy winces. “mine. You also shouldn't listen to whatever the hell Logan was saying, earlier.”
“I didn't,” Tommy acknowledges. He pulls back from Wilbur, grinning. “You know I wouldn't. I trust your opinion more than Logan’s, anyway.”
Wilbur stares at him, face blank, like he's trying to absorb the fact that Tommy has so much in Wilbur that he practically listens to everything he says. Usually explains why Tommy looks up to him so much, how Wilbur tries his best to make sure he's a good example for the kid.
“Thank you,” he smiles. Tommy’s eyes go misty. “Like—seriously, man, thank you.”
The blond’s head shakes, curls bouncing with it, sighing. “You're so clingy. And sappy. Way too sappy.”
“I am not,” Wilbur protests, “since we’re brothers, that means you're the same bloody way, bro!”
Since, not if. A statement, a fact, not a sentence that can be taken any differently than what is being spoken.
“We are,” he kicks at the concrete, shoes brushing against the asphalt. His heart feels like sugar; sweet, full. “doesn't mean I’m the same.”
“So you admit we’re brothers!”
“I've said that forever,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “It was always you who denied it.”
Wilbur's hand finds his. “Not anymore.”
“Not anymore,” he agrees. Not anymore. Not ever.