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Tommy was five years old when he lost his parents. If he thought hard enough, he could almost remember them. Mom would sing him lullabies and would make him food. Dad would read him bedtime stories and take him to the park. He wasn’t sure what happened to them (they died, he later realized), but one day he no longer lived with them. No, he lived with his godfather instead.
His godfather was…. A strange man. A good one, otherwise Tommy wouldn’t have been left with him, but a strange one nonetheless.
Tommy wasn’t sure what caused it. He had been misbehaving. His godfather probably said something along the lines of “if you want to behave like a dog, you can be treated like one,” and next thing he knew, he was locked out in the doghouse.
At least it was summer at the time. At least Dream let him in a few hours later.
But as time went on, so did how long he stayed in the doghouse. Hours turned to days turned to weeks turned to years.
Tommy could barely remember what it was like to live inside a house by the time he was eight years old.
Tommy’s hands shook so badly that he could barely undo the clasp of his collar. He wasn’t even supposed to undo the clasp, but it wasn’t like he had another choice. His hands were a bright red on the palms, fading to an awful shade of blue-purple on the fingertips. He had lost feeling in them hours ago.
He had also lost feeling in his feet, toes the same shade of blue as his fingers. He knew that it was bad. Usually, when Tommy was cold enough to change color, Dream let him in. But he hadn’t yet. He had let Spirit in, but not Tommy.
Of course he let Spirit in, Spirit was the better dog. A little smaller than Tommy, with thick brown-and-black fur, pointy ears, and the most intelligent eyes Tommy had ever seen (besides Dream’s, he guessed). Spirit, like Tommy, was an outside dog. They both spent most of their time chained to the post outside of the doghouse, but Dream had let Spirit inside a few hours ago due to the white rain.
Tommy knew it wasn’t actually rain. It was the wrong color, and much too cold. Not to mention, it stacked on top of itself, which was something rain didn’t do. Rain would fill the backyard with puddles Tommy could play in, but white rain would force Tommy and Spirit into hiding in the doghouse. Their only relief was when Dream decided the white rain had piled too high, and then Dream would let them inside. If he was feeling especially nice, he would let them sleep on the rug after they had dried off.
Not today, though. Dream had let Spirit inside, but refused to let Tommy in. He had said something about Tommy being a bad dog, and that he would have to wait outside longer. It was only mid-morning when it happened, and Tommy hadn’t thought much of it. He had simply gone back into his doghouse, curled up, and dozed for a while, waiting for it to warm up a little bit.
Then it became too cold to doze, and so he stayed awake, curled up, staring at the back door as he waited for it to open. Occasionally he would have to push the white rain away from the entrance of his doghouse, and each time he did, he had to draw his hand back, freezing and shaking. He started wiping it on his shirt, then the ground, and eventually gave up once it became too difficult to move his hand.
The sun had gone down not long ago, but the backyard light hadn’t flicked on. The white rain was blocking nearly half of the entrance to the doghouse. Tommy’s teeth were quite literally chattering, and he couldn’t stand to wait any longer.
He didn’t want to be a bad dog. No, no, he wanted so desperately to be good. Even now, something inside of him screamed to stay put, that if he waited just a little bit longer, Dream would come for him and bring him inside.
The other part told him that he would freeze to death if he stayed outside any longer. He didn’t have warm clothes like Dream did- of course he didn’t, he was a dog. But he didn’t have a thick pelt of fur like Spirit, either. He was entirely defenseless to the onslaught of white rain, and it was only getting worse.
So, with shaking hands, he undid the clasp of his collar, watching as the collar and chain sunk a few inches into the white rain. He crawled out of the doghouse, cringing as he realized that the white rain reached all the way up to the tip of his chin. He considered walking on just his back legs like Dream, but shook the thought away. Dogs didn’t walk like that.
He ran to the back door first, scratching at the metal screen door. He could imagine his fingertips bruising at the pressure, but it didn't matter. It wasn’t like he could feel it anyway.
He tried whining as loudly as possible, but the door didn’t open.
He barked, but still, there was nothing.
He tried howling. Spirit didn’t howl very often, but some of the neighborhood dogs did, so Tommy learned through them. He howled until he couldn’t anymore, staring at the door expectantly. The door didn’t budge. He couldn’t even hear any sound from the inside.
Dream wasn’t going to let him in. He was going to freeze out here in the snow. He was going to freeze to death if he didn’t do something soon.
His fingers and toes were blue. White rain piled up on his shoulders and in his hair. His name eyes stung just being open in the harsh chill.
Tommy had no choice.
Bad dog.
Bad dog!
Good dogs stay and wait for their owner. Bad dogs scratch at the door. Really bad dogs run away.
But Tommy had no choice! It was too cold and he knew- he knew he couldn’t last out here!
There was a hole in the back corner of the fence. It had been broken for a few years now, and Tommy used to stare at it as it taunted him.
He had never been through it though. Of course he hadn’t, he was a good dog, and only bad dogs run away.
He found himself shivering as he walked through the white rain to get there. His shirt was already soaked from the stuff, and his shorts weren’t far behind. His fault for not having fur, he guessed.
It was a tight squeeze, but Tommy was small enough to make it through.
Tommy didn’t know what he was expecting. He hadn’t seen outside of the backyard in years. But this… Was not it.
It was another backyard. This one had no doghouse, but it did have a little… Grey statue. Tommy couldn’t remember the name, but he knew it was supposed to hold water for birds. But the birds weren’t even here now that it was so cold out, so Tommy didn’t understand why the statue was.
The backdoor was shut tightly and all of the lights inside the house were off. That was good, that meant no one was home. Tommy could try-
Well, he couldn’t try to sneak in. He couldn’t open doors.
Besides, his attention was focused on a large square a few feet away from the back door. It was also covered in the white rain, but it rose a few inches above the other.
Tommy quickly made his way over to it and brushed the snow off his with his front paws. He paused once he did, blinking down at what he discovered.
Curiosity killed the cat.
That’s what Mom always said. Tommy never understood it, but he didn’t have to.
Tommy was a dog, not a cat.
Underneath the white rain was a sort of wooden gate, split down the center with a handle on either side.
Tommy pushed a paw underneath one handle and pulled it open.
Inside was a… a room. Indoors. It led indoors. Tommy climbed in without thinking-
And immediately fell six feet down, landing on cold concrete with a harsh thud. He hadn’t hurt himself badly other than a few bruises, and he could definitely deal with that.
This room was warm. Hot, almost, but that was probably only because the white rain had made him so cold. But it was nice. It was warm and comfortable and-
Before he knew it, he had pulled a few blankets down from some shelves and made them into a makeshift dog bed. He curled up and fell asleep.
And now? Now he was standing next to Wilbur, front paws- hands?- just barely grazing the carpet. The front door was open, letting chilly air in, but he refused to complain.
A blonde man stood at the door. With his long hair and green jacket, he reminded Tommy of Dream.
Not nearly, though. His eyes were the color of the sky, not green. Plus, his hair wasn’t pulled back like Dream’s always was. And-
“What’s your name, kiddo?” The man had crouched down towards Tommy, baring his teeth at him (smiling. It was a smile).
Tommy let out a low growl and backed up behind Wilbur.
He could almost hear Wilbur’s awkward smile as he said “Sorry, he doesn’t really like strangers. He bit me when I first met him, anyway.”
The man nodded and stood back to his full height. Tall, compared to Tommy, but not as tall as Wilbur.
“His name is Tommy, by the way.”
His eyes flicked to Tommy before settling back on Wilbur. “It’s a fitting name. Did you choose it?”
Wilbur shook his head. “No, I think- maybe you should come inside. It’s cold out there.”
“That would be great, thanks,”
Wilbur took a step back, forcing Tommy to go back as well, so the man could step in. The door was closed behind him.
In all honesty, Tommy was grateful. That meant that the cold wind couldn’t get in anymore. But that also meant that Tommy was now stuck in a house with that man. Surely he couldn’t be that bad. Wilbur seemed good (within reason), and he probably wouldn’t let anyone bad in. Tommy hoped so, anyway.
“Tommy,” Wilbur said, “Will you take Phil’s coat and put it in the front closet?”
The man- Phil, apparently- was already slipping off his coat.
Tommy pushed up onto his hind legs to reach, grabbing onto the coat with his front paws. He was about to put it in his mouth and drop back down to all fours, when Wilbur interrupted.
“Hands, please,” Wilbur said.
Wilbur kept trying to get him to use his hands. He wasn’t sure why; using his hands was weird and uncomfortable. But he took it anyway, struggling to balance as he made his way to the front closet.
He let the coat fall to a heap on the floor, then dropped down back to all four paws (hands? Wilbur called them hands). He trod back to Wilbur’s side, not really listening as the man talked and talked about… Something.
Dream never spoke this much to anybody. Or if he did, he never did so in front of Tommy. In front of Tommy, Tommy was almost always the center of attention. And if he wasn’t, it was only because Dream was giving attention to Spirit, who probably deserved that attention more than Tommy did. Or Dream was punishing Tommy for some reason, which happened fairly often. Tommy was not a well behaved dog.
But he tried to be well behaved! He tired so, so hard. He’d walk on all fours, he’d eat with his mouth, he’d bark instead of talk. But it was never enough for Dream!
That just meant Tommy wasn’t a good enough dog. Spirit never was punished for that. Spirit was always well-behaved. Spirit never got shouted at for walking on his hind legs or for talking.
Tommy’s stomach growled, apparently only loud enough for Tommy himself to hear it, as neither Wilbur or Phil looked down at him. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, Tommy could deal with hunger for a little while.
…Probably.
He used to deal with hunger all the time. Dream insisted a certain diet for Tommy, since dogs could get really sick from overeating. But Wilbur fed him way more than Dream ever did, and Tommy had only felt less sick than he usually did. Maybe Wilbur put something special in the food.
Maybe it was because it was people food.
It didn’t matter anyway, because all Tommy could think about at the moment was how hungry he was. He had just fought with Wilbur over dinner, and then Phil knocked on the door, which meant he still hadn’t eaten yet. And he was hungry, okay?
Tommy reached up and tugged on the hem of Wilbur’s shirt.
Wilbur looked down at him. “What’s up, Tommy?”
Tommy glanced awkwardly between Phil and Wilbur. “‘M hungry,” he whispered.
“Oh!” Wilbur exclaimed, as if he had only just realized they had dinner interrupted. “Of course. Okay, come on, let’s go back and eat.”
That was another thing- Tommy didn’t like eating alone. Sneaking food was bad, and if he accidentally ate something Wilbur didn’t want him to eat… Tommy had already gotten yelled at for eating food that Wilbur had provided him once! He didn’t want to mess up again. So it made more sense to be cautious with meals, making sure Wilbur was always watching so he wouldn’t eat the wrong thing.
Wilbur led Tommy- and Phil- back to the kitchen table. Tommy quickly clambered up onto his seat, about to bring his face to the plate to eat, when he remembered what Wilbur had been trying to teach him.
Carefully, slowly, he raised his hand up to the food. He let it hover over one piece of the sandwich, before dropping it down and closing his fist around the food. That was… That felt right. Well, it felt sticky, but the food was in his hand, so that was something.
He brought his hand up to his mouth before pausing. His fist was closed around the food, so how was it supposed to go in his mouth? If he opened his hand, then the food would fall out.
Oh! He was so smart! He knew exactly what to do!
He shoved part of his hand into his mouth, let go of the sandwich, and pulled his hand out. He chewed on the sandwich bite cautiously, as if it would taste different just because his hands touched it. It tasted just like normal, actually.
Tommy wasn’t sure this way of eating was more effective. It was slower, and now his hand was all wet. He scowled and wiped his hand onto his pant leg before grabbing another piece to try again.
He repeated the process three more times before looking up and seeing both Wilbur and Phil staring at him, both with slightly different levels of horror on their faces.
Tommy put his current fistful of sandwich back onto the plate. He wiped his hand on his pant leg.
“What?” Tommy asked, genuinely confused.
Phil and Wilbur exchanged looks, but it was Wilbur who finally spoke up. “Nothing. You can go back to eating, don’t worry.”
Tommy didn’t necessarily believe them, but he was still hungry, so he went back to his method of putting a fistful of sandwich into his mouth at a time.
Wilbur and Phil went back to talking about whatever.
Finally (a few minutes later), when the end of the meal came, Wilbur turned his attention over to Tommy and gave him a look. Not a bad look, just a look of ‘we do this every night, you know what’s going on’.
Tommy stared back at Wilbur for a long few seconds.
“My hands are sticky,” Tommy said. Wiping them off on his pants hasn’t fixed the problem. “I have to wash them, too.”
The routine went as it always did. Wilbur led Tommy to the bathroom, Tommy scrubbed his hands and face the best he could (with soap, of course), and then Wilbur brought him into his room to go to bed.
Tommy still slept on a pile of blankets in the corner. It was more comfortable that way, even the couch much too soft for him to sleep on. He preferred the floor.
Usually he preferred outside- not because it was more comfortable, but because that’s where dogs are supposed to sleep, but…
Wilbur had said it at dinner.
Tommy was a human. That’s what Wilbur thought, and Wilbur seemed pretty smart. But Dream was smarter than Wilbur, and Dream said Tommy was a dog.
It was confusing. It hurt Tommy’s head to think about.
But Wilbur was right in some regards. Tommy had four fingers and a thumb, not paws. He didn’t have fur or a wet nose. Walking on his back legs was difficult, but not impossible.
But did those things make him human?
Tommy used to be human at one point, he was sure. He remembered fancy clothes- a shirt with buttons and pinchy shoes. He remembered Mom insisting he wash his hands before eating. He remembered Dad taking him to the park and pushing him on the swings.
But Tommy had spent much more time in Dream’s backyard. In the doghouse. Doing tricks and barking and begging Dream to take pity on him.
Maybe Tommy wasn’t a dog by blood, but he had been more or less raised as one.
“Wilbur,” Tommy spoke suddenly, right before Wilbur could leave the room, “Aren’t you going to read the story?”
Wilbur slapped a hand against his forehead as if he had forgotten. “Right, right, of course.”
They only read one chapter that night, Wilbur claiming he had ‘things to discuss’ with Phil. Tommy just rolled his eyes in response, not saying a word to Wilbur, even when the man tucked him in and wished him goodnight.
Tommy spent an hour trying to fall asleep before deciding it wasn’t worth it. Wilbur wasn’t in bed yet, and the light to the kitchen was still on, so Tommy decided to go find him. He crept on all fours, staying close to the ground, like Spirit had taught him, as he snuck his way closer and closer to the kitchen.
“You need to call CPS, mate,” Phil was saying. He sounded… Concerned?
“I know, and I will, but… Not right now. He’s scared,” Wilbur replied.
“He didn’t seem that scared to me.”
“He lashes out when he’s scared. But- Phil- the kid thought he was a dog until four hours ago, and even then, I’m not sure he doesn’t still think that. I can’t just hand him over to CPS.”
Oh. They were talking about Tommy.
“CPS are professionals. Those are definitely the people who you should hand him over to.”
“And what if they send Tommy back to- to whoever Tommy was stuck with before?”
“What’s your plan then, Wil? Are you going to raise him?” Phil was verging on anger now. Tommy shrunk back.
Wilbur, however, did not shrink back. He just raised his voice a little, also angry. “And what if I am?”
A sarcastic laugh. “You are not equipped to raise a child, Wilbur!”
“And you were?”
“Excuse me?”
There was no hesitation when Wilbur shot back, “You certainly weren’t equipped to raise me and Techno.”
“Wilbur-”
“And, hey, I bet I can still do a better job than you!”
“Wilbur!”
Tommy shrunken back even more. He really wished he wasn’t listening in to their conversation anymore.
“Do you even know how much you messed us up? Do you care?”
Silence.
Wilbur scoffed. “That’s what I thought. I’m going to bed. You should go home.”
Tommy waited with baited breath for Phil’s response, when he realized what Wilbur going to bed meant. It meant he needed to scurry back to bed before Wilbur got there and realized he was gone.
Tommy made it back under his blanket right as Wilbur opened the door to his room. He did his best to quiet his breathing and pretend to be sleeping, and Wilbur must have believed it, because he didn’t even say Tommy’s name to see if he was still awake.
Phil didn’t join them for breakfast that next morning. Tommy wasn’t even sure he was still in the house, not that he really cared. He didn’t like Phil very much, especially not after he had yelled at Wilbur like that.
Wilbur was nice! He gave Tommy all the food and comfort he needed, and Tommy would be forever grateful for it, even if he tried to push his agenda of Tommy being a human.
“You know you don’t have to put your whole hand in your mouth, right?” Wilbur questioned, eyebrow raised.
Tommy furrowed his own eyebrows. “Huh?”
“You can just… Bite the food and let go. Like this.”
Wilbur demonstrated the process twice before Tommy tried it himself, taking a slice of banana and trying to bite it out of his fingers.
“It broke.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes. “You’re a little gremlin child. Don’t bite so hard and it’ll work.”
Tommy tried again, being very, very carefully. To his surprise, Wilbur was right. And it was less messy than sticking his fingers in his mouth. It was even less messy than not using his hands whatsoever as none of the other banana slices got stuck to his face. Tommy tried it a few more times before looking up at Wilbur again.
“What’s a gremlin child?”
Wilbur laughed. “That’s what you are.”
“A dog?”
“No- Tommy- it’s like… A little creature that likes to cause problems.”
“I do not like to cause prob-lems!” Tommy stood on his chair on his hind legs, glaring down at Wilbur.
Another eyeroll. “Mhm. Sit back down, Tommy.”
Tommy did his best to roll his eyes back at Wilbur- who only laughed- before dropping back onto his chair with a quiet ‘thud’. He went back to eating the banana slices as carefully as he could.
“I was thinking about going to the store today,” Wilbur said through a bite of his own food. “They finally plowed the roads yesterday, so it shouldn’t be too bad to get to. Maybe a bit crowded, though.”
Tommy nodded, shrinking down into his chair a little. He wasn’t really sure why Wilbur was telling him this. Dream left the house whenever he wanted without so much of a warning- not that he would need one. Why would an owner tell his dogs where he was going? That would be weird.
“And… I was thinking that you could go with me.”
Tommy scrunched up his nose. “You can’t bring dogs to the store.”
Wilbur took in a sharp breath through his nose, exhaling it slowly through his mouth before speaking. “Yeah, but you’re allowed to bring gremlin children.”
“I’m not a gremlin child!”
“Whatever you say, gremlin child.”
Tommy was about to stand up again, half-considering lunging across the table to try and bite Wilbur, but the man spoke, interrupting his planning.
“You need to come anyway. I need to buy you some clothes and stuff and I don’t know your size,” he said.
Tommy made a face. “I have clothes.”
“Those,” Wilbur gestured to what Tommy was wearing, “Are my clothes. Plus, you need clothes that actually fit you.”
“These fit me just fine!”
“You’re drowning in them. Plus, you don’t even have shoes.”
Dad had tried teaching him how to tie shoes once. There was something about rabbits and bushes (trees?) but Tommy had always been confused. In the end, he just wore velcro shoes instead.
“I don’t want shoes, they’re un-com-for-ta-ble,” Tommy complained.
“Yeah, but you need them to go places.”
“What places? I’m s’posed to stay in the backyard.”
A look of pain flashed across Wilbur’s face, but he quickly hid it behind a smile. “Not with me. You can go to the store, the library, the-”
“What’s a library?”
“A place where you can borrow books.”
“What does-”
“I’ll explain more later. My point is that you need shoes to go inside, so I’m going to buy you shoes.”
“Oh.” Tommy thought for a moment. “Do I need shoes to go in the store?”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Then how am I supposed to go? ‘Cause I don’t have any.”
After breakfast, Tommy found himself bundled up in Wilbur’s sweatshirt, coat, and sweatpants, as well as a blanket wrapped around his feet. Tommy swore that his feet wouldn’t get cold because he was used to walking around in the snow, but Wilbur insisted.
If anything, Tommy was hot, especially now that he was loaded into the backseat of Wilbur’s car.
It had been a while since he had seen a car. He had heard them drive by the backyard, sure, but he never saw them. Cars were smaller than Tommy remembered. More dirty, too, with paper bags and trash littering the backseat.
Tommy’s feet still didn’t touch the floor, but they were much closer. If he leaned forward far enough, straining against the confines of his seatbelt-
“Tommy, sit back.”
Tommy scowled but did as he was told.
Because Tommy wasn’t used to walking on his back legs (and Wilbur insisted he had to)- not to mention, he didn’t have shoes- Wilbur set Tommy inside the weird metal holder (a shopping cart, according to Wilbur) once they were inside the store.
This was weird.
Shopping was a human thing, not a dog thing.
But if shopping was a human thing, why was it so familiar? Why did it not feel wrong? Maybe he was just a confused puppy, maybe Wilbur was leading him astray.
…Or maybe Dream had taken a confused child and confused him even more.
“What’s your favorite color, Tommy?” Wilbur asked as the shopping cart slowed to a halt.
Tommy turned to see what Wilbur was looking at- a wall of puffy jackets, all in different colors. They looked a lot smaller than Wilbur’s clothes.
“My collar is red,” Tommy said, eyes fixed on the red jacket.
Wilbur’s face went pale. “What?”
Tommy frowned. “Are you sick, Wilbur? Do you want to sit in the cart instead?”
“No, no, I just-” he glanced over at the other shoppers. None of which were paying them much mind. “Collar?”
“Yeah. Dream always bought me red stuff. Red collar, red food bowl, all that stuff. He liked me to match.”
Wilbur swallowed. “Well… Uh… It doesn’t have to match. If- if you were to pick a color- any color- whatever you wanted, what would you choose?”
Tommy thought for a moment before pointing to a blue jacket hanging up on the top of the display. “That one looks like the sky.”
Wilbur smiled at him. It was clearly forced. “I’ll get you that one, then. I’m thinking… Medium?”
He must have been talking to himself, because Tommy had no real idea what ‘medium’ meant in the context of a coat.
“Here, stand up for a sec.”
Tommy stood, holding on to the side of the cart to steady himself. He was already pretty shaky standing up on solid ground, much less in a cart with wheels.
Wilbur held the coat up to Tommy’s chest, squinting as if that would help him see whether or not it would fit Tommy. He must have decided it would, because he dropped it into the cart.
It was a similar process for a few T-shirts, long sleeves, and pairs of pants.
“Now, shoes are going to be different. You’ll have to try them on, okay?”
Tommy groaned. “I don’t want to try shoes on. I don’t want shoes in the first place!”
“Tommy, please.”
“I don’t like them! They’re uncomfortable! And- and dogs don’t wear shoes, anyway!”
“You need to stop shouting,” Wilbur practically pleaded, “Plus, you’re not a dog, remember?”
“I’d rather be a dog if it meant I wouldn’t have to wear shoes.”
Wilbur let out a loud sigh. “Have you ever worn shoes before?”
Tommy nodded. “When I was little.”
“And how many years ago was that?”
He shrugged. “I dunno, I didn’t count.”
“Mhm. Well, maybe it’s changed since then. But you’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“I don’t want to try,” Tommy huffed. There wasn’t really much he could do unless he jumped out of the moving cart, and he really didn’t want to do that. So he let Wilbur push him towards the shoe aisle and eventually sit him down on some weird shaped seat.
Wilbur grabbed a few boxes of shoes off of the shelf before setting them down next to Tommy.
“I don’t want these,” Tommy declared, shoving the boxes onto the floor.
Wilbur groaned before placing them back on the seat. “Tommy, please.”
Tommy just shook his head. “I don’t want them.”
This went on for ten minutes before Wilbur groaned and placed the boxes back. Tommy was about to climb back into the cart, thinking he had won, when Wilbur placed something else in Tommy’s lap.
Tommy held it up, confused.
“They’re sandals,” Wilbur said. “They might be more comfortable than shoes.”
Tommy stared at them for a long time. The ‘sandals’ didn’t exactly look like shoes. It wouldn’t cover his whole foot, and looked to be made out of straps rather than a big piece of fabric.
“I don’t know how to put it on,” Tommy admitted, rather embarrassed.
“Oh!” Wilbur quickly grabbed them from Tommy, undoing the straps.
“They’re velcro?” Tommy asked, taking the sandal back. He slipped it onto his foot and struggled for a moment before managing to close it correctly.
Wilbur let out a confused laugh. “You know the word ‘velcro’ but not ‘sandwich’?”
“I used to have velcro shoes ‘cause I couldn’t tie mine.”
“Huh…” Wilbur seemed to be thinking for a moment. “Your grasp of the English language confuses me.”
Tommy had taken the other sandal from Wilbur and slipped it on. “Now you’re using big words on purpose.”
“I’m just curious what you know,” Wilbur explained. “When I first met you I didn’t think you spoke English at all.”
“Why not?”
“You didn’t talk at all, Tommy.”
“Well, duh.”
“And now I can’t get you to stop talking,” he teased, lightly nudging Tommy with his elbow.
Tommy rolled his eyes- or at least attempted to. “Yeah, now that I know you won’t hit me for talking, I can do it more.”
Wilbur’s smile immediately faded. “Right.”
Tommy was quiet for a long moment. “You’re… Not gonna hit me, right?”
“No- no. No, I would never, I promise, Tommy.”
Tommy just made a face, sticking his tongue out at Wilbur.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Do you like the sandals though?” Wilbur asked.
“I hate them.”
“Then why are you still wearing them?”
Tommy glanced down at the shoes, then back at Wilbur. “Because I hate them.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes- he did that far too often, in Tommy’s opinion. And then he hooked his hands under Tommy’s arms and in one, smooth motion, he picked Tommy up and dropped him into the cart.
“You can take them off now if you want to,” Wilbur said, taking his place at the back so he could start pushing the cart again.
“I don’t want to.”
Wilbur laughed. “Okay, gremlin child.” He leaned forward and ruffled his hair.
It felt a lot like how Dream used to pet him.
By the end of their shopping trip, Tommy had a whole ‘wardrobe’ (whatever that was), several clothes, a pair of sandals, and ‘groceries’ (food and things to cook with, according to Wilbur). It was a good trip.
And an exhausting one. Tommy was falling asleep in the back of the car long before they pulled back into the neighborhood.
He lazily watched as the rows and rows of far too similar-looking houses passed by, Wilbur driving slowly for whatever reason (something about how he wasn’t allowed to go too fast?).
And that was when Tommy saw him.
Blonde hair pulled up and away from his face. A green jacket, not unlike Phil’s, but brighter. More vibrant. More familiar.
Tommy froze.
That was Dream. That was Dream! His owner! His- his best friend! His Dream!
But oh, Dream would be so angry at Tommy. Tommy had talked to people, he had worn shoes- for goodness sakes he had run away! Dream would-
Dream might put him down.
That’s what happened to bad dogs. Bad dogs get put down.
But Dream was so nice, he would never!
…He would never, right?
Tommy sat frozen in his seat, unsure whether to jump out of the window or sink down onto the floor where Dream couldn’t see him.
And then they passed Dream, turned a corner, and he was gone. Just like that.
“How would you feel about learning to read, Tommy?” Wilbur asked one day over breakfast.
Tommy was halfway through a bite of pancake, syrup dripping down his hand and onto the cuff of his new blue sweater, when he looked up at Wilbur. “Why would I need to read?”
“It’s an… Important skill to have?” Wilbur tried, but he didn’t even sound like he believed himself.
“Dogs don’t read,” Tommy murmured, more to himself than to Wilbur.
“But if you learned, you could read our story without me having to read to you.”
Tommy paused for a moment, actually considering that. It… Would be nice. Wilbur never read half as much as Tommy wanted him to. But Wilbur always made the excuse that he couldn’t stay up too late, or that his throat was getting tired.
“But reading is hard,” Tommy complained.
Wilbur laughed a little. “For a little kid, maybe-”
“Hey! I am not a little kid!”
Wilbur rolled his eyes, his smile growing wider.
“I’m not! I’m- I’m-” not a dog, not a gremlin child, not a little kid, “I’m a big man!”
Wilbur cackled at that. “A big man?”
“The biggest!”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s true! I’ll be bigger than you someday.”
“Keep dreaming, kid.” Wilbur shook his head, clearly amused.
“It’s true! I’m a big man- and I’m still growing. One day I’ll be bigger than you- and- and bigger than Dream!”
Wilbur’s smile dimmed only slightly. “I’m at least two feet taller than you-”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
Tommy used to watch movies with his parents, a long, long time ago. He had even half-watched some with Dream on the rare occasion he’d be allowed inside, curled up on top of a blanket set on the floor.
He’d watch movies of families. Of a mom and dad trying to raise their child. Of siblings arguing. Arguing a lot like how Tommy and Wilbur were arguing now…
“We’re like brothers.”
“Don’t say that, I’ll cry,” Wilbur said in return.
“But we are! You’re like- like my big brother.”
Wilbur’s smile grew again. “Am I really?”
“Yeah! I think so anyway, I’ve never had a big brother before.”
“You’re… Not missing out on much, honestly.”
Tommy frowned and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I have an older brother, he’s… He’s something else, really.”
“Is he like you?”
“No, nothing like me.” Wilbur then leaned forward, as if to tell Tommy a secret. “He has pink hair.”
Tommy pulled a face. “Pink hair?”
Wilbur just solemnly nodded.
Days turned into weeks, and Tommy found himself feeling… Human more often than not. Maybe it was because he was dressed in his own, soft, warm clothes for once. Maybe because Wilbur convinced him to walk on his hind legs (just legs, Wilbur would say). Or because he used his hands to eat (Wilbur was going to teach him how to use silverware at some point, whatever that was). Or it could have been the reading lessons.
Tommy used to know how to read at some point. Mom and Dad had taught him. They had foam mats and blocks and magnets up on the fridge. They had worksheet after worksheet for Tommy to carefully practice tracing.
Wilbur’s method of getting Tommy to read was similar. Except this time Tommy’s hands were a lot shakier. He didn't remember it being this hard to write before.
“This is like kindergarten,” Tommy said to himself one afternoon as he traced the letters on the paper before him.
“You went to kindergarten?” Wilbur asked.
Tommy hadn’t even realized he had been listening. “Yeah, for… For a little while. But then I had to go away.”
“Go away?”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah. Mom and Dad… They disappeared, and then I had to live with my… With Dream.”
“Oh… Do you, uh, know how long ago that was?”
Tommy shrugged, going back to tracing the letters. It had been five winters since he had started keeping track, but there were several he didn’t count back when he was too young. He hadn’t even thought of keeping track when he was young, more focused on not freezing.
A few seconds passed before Wilbur asked “Do you want to talk about it?”
Tommy shook his head.
There was still snow (yes, Wilbur had taught him that word) on the ground when Wilbur and Tommy went out again. It wasn’t even that long after they had gone shopping last time, but Wilbur insisted they needed more groceries, and for whatever reason, he said that Tommy needed to come, too.
Tommy didn’t really want to go to the grocery store. Not only did he not like all the people there, but it was loud and bright and confusing. And even if he sat in the cart the people were still all too close to him. It was very… Tight. There was a word for it, feeling scared in small spaces, but Tommy couldn’t remember the word anymore.
Dream would have said that it was because dogs didn’t need to learn big words. All they needed to know was their name and a few basic commands.
Wilbur said it was just because Tommy was learning so many other things.
Tommy didn’t know who was right, or even if it mattered. All he knew was that if he was going to be treated as a human, he might as well act like one.
It was… Familiar. Almost. But at the same time, nothing like he had really experienced before. Wilbur wasn’t all that much like Dad, nor was he like Mom, but he still insisted Tommy wash his hands and read him stories until he fell asleep.
And dogs didn’t have moms and dads. They certainly didn’t have Wilburs. So maybe, maybe…
Hold that thought. There was someone else outside as Wilbur and Tommy stumbled through the car. Tommy squinted. He hadn’t seen many neighbors outside, even when he occasionally looked through the windows of Wilbur’s house.
Although this wasn’t exactly a neighbor, was it?
No, Tommy knew this person. This person with blond hair, tied up. Green eyes glinting in the snow. And to make matters worse, those eyes were staring directly at Tommy.
Tommy took a deep shaky breath and stumbled back behind Wilbur to hide, but it was already too late.
“Tommy?”
Dream had already seen him.
Tommy could barely breathe, creeping further back behind Wilbur. He needed to- he needed to go back to Dream, right? Good dogs come when their owner calls- but he’s not a dog- but he’s supposed to be. But he’s human, Wilbur always says-
“Tommy!” Dream was over in a flash, from down the street to only a few yards in front of them.
Wilbur was reasonably confused. “Sorry- who are you?”
Dream paid him no mind. “Tommy- Tommy, come here, boy.” He even crouched down on the sidewalk to come closer to Tommy’s height. Maybe to appear less threatening.
Tommy almost stepped towards him on instinct, but stopped himself.
A good dog would come to their owner immediately. Dream knew that, clearly, because he frowned at Tommy.
“Tommy, come here.”
Wilbur cleared his throat loudly, moving over slightly so he was fully blocking Dream’s view of Tommy. “Who are you?” He repeated, this time, less confused and more demanding.
Dream looked up at him, frown only deepening. “I’m his dad, who are you?”
Wilbur raised an eyebrow judgmentally. “You’re his dad?”
“I am. I- he’s been missing for- who are you?” There was just as much judgement in Dream’s own voice. Judgement mixed with anger.
Tommy crouched down, pressing his hands against the cold sidewalk, on instinct. Dogs didn’t walk on two feet.
“I’m Wilbur. I’ve been taking care of him for the last two months.”
“Well I’ve been taking care of him for the past eight years, so…”
Eight years? Wouldn’t that make Tommy- he had no idea, actually. He couldn’t count that high.
“Then you’ve been neglecting him. I haven’t seen a single missing person’s alert-”
“Are you serious?” Dream sounded appalled. Offended, even. “Tommy, come here right now.”
“He was covered in years worth of dirt when I found him! That’s blatant neglect!” Wilbur shouted, suddenly.
Tommy flinched back.
“You’re not serious-”
“You- you-” Wilbur interrupted himself, taking a deep breath to try and calm down. “You’re really the one who raised him?”
“Of course I am, I’m his father. Tommy-”
“Then I’m calling the cops. I don’t know what exactly you did, but you clearly traumatized-”
“And who are the cops going to believe? You, the person who kidnapped my son, or me, his literal father?”
“They’ll believe Tommy,” Wilbur retorted.
“He doesn’t even talk. Tommy, come on, now, I’m not telling you again.”
Tommy placed his hand further in front of him on the cold, cold sidewalk. He really wished Wilbur made him wear gloves, now. He crept to Wilbur’s side, not quite ready to move all the way forward.
Dream was his owner. And Tommy- he betrayed him, didn’t he? Bad dog. Bad dog! What kind of- what kind of dog does that to someone? Dream had probably been looking everywhere for him, worried about if Tommy was even alive, while Tommy was out breaking every rule Dream had ever set in place for him! What a terrible, horrible-
“You're- you’re Dream, aren’t you?” Wilbur asked cautiously, as if he only just realized.
Dream gave him a confused look. “I have no idea who that is.”
“I think you do.”
Dream took a small step forward, closer to Wilbur. “Are you trying to imply something, Wilbur?”
Wilbur took a step forward. He was maybe a yard away from Dream now. “Am I? You tell me.”
“Tommy-”
“Isn’t coming with you. Leave the kid alone.”
“He’s my son!”
“Is he? Or is he your dog?”
The silence was deafening. Tommy took a small step backwards, still on hands and knees, away from both of them. Maybe he could turn and run-
No, bad dogs run away.
But he wasn’t a dog. He was a-
“Tommy.”
Yeah, that’s right. He was Tommy. He was Tommy! A gremlin child, a big man, Tommy.
He wasn’t Dream’s dog.
“Wilbur,” Tommy murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. He wished he could speak only so that Wilbur could hear, but it was clear on Dream’s face that he heard it, too.
Wilbur immediately stepped back, closer to Tommy. “What’s up, Toms?”
Tommy took a deep breath. He looked down at the ground, at the ice on the sidewalk, at his shaking fingers resting on it. “I want to go back inside.”
“Okay, let’s go. I want to get away from him anyway,” Wilbur replied, throwing a glare at Dream. “Can you stand up, Toms?”
Dogs can’t stand up, but Tommy could. He stood carefully, and took Wilbur’s outstretched hand in his own.
“I’ll call the cops on you for kidnapping,” Dream said angrily at Wilbur.
“And I’ll tell them all about how you abused your kid,” Wilbur shot back.
And then Wilbur led Tommy back into the house. Tommy let out a breath of relief, and so did Wilbur, apparently, but only when he finally locked (and dead-bolted) the front door behind him.
“Tommy,” Wilbur said, softly. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of Tommy to match his height better.
“What-”
Wilbur pulled him into a hug. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”
The day afterwards, Wilbur and Tommy found themselves sitting on the couch, each curled up underneath their own heavy blankets. Wilbur had a book in his hand. He had been reading for the last forty minutes or so, and only paused when he finally finished the last chapter.
“Tommy, can I ask you something?”
Tommy took a careful sip of his hot cocoa. He had made sure to wait until it was cool this time.
“Is Dream really your dad?”
Tommy frowned. “No, he’s not Dad. Dad died. A really long time ago…”
“Oh, kid…”
Tommy’s gaze dropped down to the floor. “I miss them sometimes. Mom and Dad. Even if I don’t remember them much.”
“That must be hard,” Wilbur murmured.
“‘S okay. You’re my family now, anyway.”
Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows. “I am?”
“We’re brothers,” Tommy explained.
Wilbur grinned. “Yeah, we are.”
A beat.
“Does that mean I’m Phil’s son, too?” Tommy asked, almost worried.
And Wilbur had the nerve to laugh! “You know… It’s complicated.”
“Can’t we just be brothers and nothing else?”
“Sure, Tommy, we can be brothers and nothing else.”
Tommy nodded. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t want you to be my Dad, too. Then you’d have to teach me to read and stuff, and that’s boring.”
“I’m still going to teach you that.”
Tommy rolled his eyes in response, something he had begun doing a lot more thanks to being around Wilbur so much.
And then it struck him.
He was going to be around Wilbur a lot more. Wilbur was going to… Going to keep him away from Dream, apparently, which was good. That meant that Tommy could keep being human. He could keep being Tommy.
Tommy was… A lot of things. He was loud. He was a big man. He was Wilbur’s brother. But he was sure, with Wilbur at his side, that he would never be a dog again.
Even if that did mean he would have to learn to read again eventually.