Work Text:
There’s a teenager sitting on the stairs that lead up to Wilbur’s apartment.
Correction: there is an absolutely soaked teenager lounging on the stairs that lead up to Wilbur’s apartment, his legs taking up several steps and his torso lying carelessly across all the length of the steps. He has his phone out, and by the sounds of it he seems to be playing some obnoxious phone game like the type Wilbur’s dad plays all the time when he’s bored. The kid doesn’t bother to look up at Wilbur, not even when the man clears his throat.
He waits for a moment, the boy doesn’t move a muscle.
“Uh,” Wilbur tries once more. “Hi?”
The boy finally looks up, his eyes are half covered by a mop of wet, blonde hair, but Wilbur can see just a flash of distrusting baby blue eyes underneath. He seems awfully young, and Wilbur ends up having a tough time trying to discern his age though he’s certain it’s less than eighteen.
“Hello?” The boy responds, sounding twice as confused and way more uninterested.
“I need to get to my flat,” Wilbur explains, looking at the boy. He blinks at him.
“Congrats?” Is his only response before he goes back to focusing on his phone.
Wilbur sighs, realizing that’s probably the best he’s going to get from the kid. He pulls his bag with his university supplies closer to him before using his thankfully gangly legs to try and step around the boy; it’s not exactly easy, there are barely any steps left without teenager all over them and the boy does not make any move to get out of the way, but after almost falling on his face twice and coming close to smashing some fingers under his heels, he manages to conquer his objective and stand triumph with only another flight of stairs to go.
Then he stops on his tracks, a thought coming to mind.
“Wait,” He says before turning once again to the boy. “Do you even live here?”
Wilbur isn’t the most sociable of people, sure he’s fine hanging out with friends, but strangers tend to freak him out more than he likes to admit; that being said, he has been living in the same three storeys apartment complex since he started university two years ago and that means that he has at least some idea of who his neighbors are. This kid, however, is completely new to him and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t remember hearing about new tenants.
“No, I broke in to rob this place and then realized picking any of the locks was too much work so I decided to just sit by the stairs until the cops come,” The kid delivers dryly, not bothering to turn to look at Wilbur as he talks. From where the man is he can see that he is currently getting his ass handed to him in Candy Crush. “Of course I fucking live here.”
Wilbur would have chuckled in any other situations, but he has had a pretty full day of classes and that has since worn his patience thin. He frowns.
“Why are you out here, then?” He asks, crossing his arms. The boy pauses the game but still doesn’t turn.
“I still haven’t got my own stupid keys,” He says, sounding annoyed. “So, now I gotta wait until someone’s home to let me in.”
Ah, so he and his family just moved in. That makes sense…kinda.
Wilbur hums. “I could have sworn I hadn’t seen any moving trucks around lately” He says, mostly to himself but the boy seems to get annoyed at him because he finally turns to face him, water dripping from his hair, down his nose and onto the concrete floor beneath him.
“What, I fucking need your permission to live here now?”
“No, no I’m just-”
“Spying on new tenants?” The boy snorts. “That’s fucking weird, dude, makes you sound like a wrongun and a creep.”
Aaand Wilbur is done with this conversation. Honestly what the fuck is up with this weird ass kid? None of his questions were mean or unreasonable, he was just trying to understand who he was and why he was alone on the stairs leading up to his fucking flat..
Though…
Well, Wilbur can kinda understand his frustration. It’s the middle of autumn and by the looks of it, the kid had to brave the horrid rain outside the building all alone with no umbrella, not only that, by the time he finally got home he found himself locked out of his apartment and having to stay on the stairwell that lacked any central heating or comfort. Then he got stuck making small talk with a stranger, every teenager's favourite activity.
If Phil was here, he’d invite the kid inside his apartment to dry off.
As it turns out, Phil isn’t here, but the annoying voice in Wilbur’s head that sounds an awful lot like his dad still is.
Wilbur let’s out a sigh and rubs his temples before gently nudging the boy with his foot. “You’re gonna get hypothermia and die if you stay out here,” He tells the boy, digging his keys out of his bag and keeping them in hand. “C’mon, I’ll lend you some towels at my place.”
The kid looks at him like he has lost his mind. “I’m not going to your fucking apartment you weirdo.” he says. “What if you’re a psycho murderer or something?”
Wilbur stares at him, unimpressed. “We live in a surveillance state, there are cameras everywhere. I wouldn’t kill you if I couldn't get away with it,” He tells him, and then cringes hard at how creepy that sounds. “Also, I have some tea and biscuits.”
The boy gives him a mistrustful look and Wilbur internally kicks himself for his tone before he speaks again. “Do you have hot chocolate?”
Wilbur blinks. “Uh, yeah, I think so?” Phil has this nice habit of sending him and Niki a care package every few months, especially near exam season. He’s almost certain that the last one he received has a few sachets of a hot chocolate mix that he had been saving up for a rainy day.
Said rainy day seems to be today because at that the boy is on his feet in an instant, giving Wilbur an expectant look. “So, are you gonna stand there or are you actually gonna give me free drinks?”
Wilbur’s apartment is really nothing special. It’s a two bedroom place that he and his roommate share, but since she’s at work at the moment he has it all for himself. If he’s being entirely honest Niki is the only reason the place is some semblance of clean; Wilbur hates doing any sort of housework and often doesn’t see a point in it, but he does do it for the sake of not forcing his poor flatmate to share a pigsty with him which means he currently has a lovely clean kitchen and communal space and a bedroom that would kill Marie Kondo on the spot. Because of that, he found himself somewhat unwilling to let the soaked teenager too far into his apartment.
“Ok, look, I’ll go grab some towels, you stay put,” He instructs over his shoulders as he tries to locate their towel wardrobe. “Don’t touch anything until I’m back!”
He half expects the boy to disregard his directions immediately and to come back to the living room to find him lying on his couch, but much to his surprise given the other’s earlier attitude, he does what he’s told. Wilbur passes him a sizable pile of towels.
“Just…wrap those around where you’re cold or wet, or something” He says, not fully aware of what he’s supposed to be doing and how he’s meant to help now that the kid is actually here . He puts a towel down on one of the few stools on the island between the kitchen and the living space. “You can sit here if you want!”
He puts some milk over the stove top before turning to face the boy. He struggles slightly with the towels, wrapping one around his head, neck, torso and legs above his wet clothes, Wilbur cringes slightly when the boy takes a step towards the kitchen and his well worn sneakers make a gross wet sound.
They catch each other’s gaze for a moment.
“I’m, uh, Wilbur by the way,” He tells the boy, nodding at the boy’s phone still in his hand. “In case you wanna tell your parents where you are. Wilbur Soot on 3B.”
The boy stares at him for a few seconds. For a moment it looks like he wants to say or maybe even ask something, but then his eyes focus on the space just behind Wilbur.
“The milk is boiling”
Wilbur turns to see frothy milk over filling the pot and making a mess of his stove.
“Shit, fucking bitch!”
Five minutes later they are sitting across from each other, both nursing mugs of chocolate with a few marshmallows adorning the top while the teen makes an absolute mess of his floors.
“Tommy.” He says after a long stretch of silence where Wilbur finds himself fascinated with the texture of the island he’s owned for two year instead of the kid he impulsively invited into his home.
“What?”
“My name,” The boy repeats, looking somewhat annoyed. “My name is Tommy.”
“Oh” Wilbur extends his hand across the table. “Nice to meet you, Tommy.”
Tommy doesn’t take it.
Tommy ends up staying for an hour or so after that; he uses Wilbur’s charger to get his phone to full battery-which he continues to use to play games in as Wilbur awkwardly starts looking through his course work. It’s…odd and wildly uncomfortable, so much so that when Tommy makes his excuse to leave, Wilbur just sorta lets him, not really caring if the door to his flat is now finally open or not.
He considers it the end of that, chalks it up as his good samaritan act of the month and thinks that will be all. No more weird teenagers in his apartment, no more piles of towels in the washer and no more goddamn Candy Crush sound effects in his living room.
And then the next day…
“Seriously? You still don’t have a fucking key?”
Wilbur was having a considerably better morning; Niki had brought over some pastries from the bakery she worked at the day before and Willbur had reheated some for breakfast, he had fewer classes so he could go home earlier and he had a song idea ready to be written sitting at the tip of his pen all morning. He had slept fairly well, his hair looked nice, he felt good.
And then he arrived to his apartment complex to find Tommy, albeit less wet and with a new change of clothes, sitting in the same steps as yesterday, playing the same stupid phone game like he had never moved at all.
This time, however, he turns to look at Wilbur immediately.
“Well, I’m sorry I’m not rich enough to get a million keys!” He argues, an odd fire in his eyes.“Those take a while to make, you know?!”
Wilbur can’t help it, now that he’s not plagued by yesterday’s crappy mood he bursts into laughter immediately. “No they fucking don’t!” He argues, still laughing. “They take a half hour and are less than a quid!”
“Oh, you’re a key expert now, are you?!” The boy asks, he still sounds angry but there’s an undertone of amusement hiding there somewhere. “What, are you a key maker or something?”
“Locksmith.”
“I KNOW THE DOOR IS FUCKING LOCKED! THAT’S THE ISSUE YOU MORON”
Wilbur laughs again before stepping over the boy just like he had done the day before, shaking his head fondly. He stops when he doesn’t hear footsteps following him and turns towards Tommy to nudge his head with his foot. “C’mon” He calls.
Tommy groans before getting to his feet and beginning to follow Wilbur up the stairs.
It’s not until Wilbur is unlocking the door to his own flat that it hits both of them that Tommy had no real reason to follow, nor did Wilbur have a reason to invite him.
He lets the teenager inside either way.
“You can sit on the couch now that you’re dry,” He tells him, dropping his bag off on the kitchen table as he heads into the kitchen. “I got games if you wanna play.”
“Poggers,” The kid says and Wilbur can hear the moment he throws himself on his couch. He is too busy laughing to ask what ‘poggers’ means.
Wilbur is halfway through making himself lunch when he glances at the clock. “Hey, Toms-”
“Tommy,” The boy corrects from the living room.
“-Have you eaten yet?”
“Hmmm, no” Tommy answers, seemingly not paying him his full attention. “Why?”
Wilbur sighs and cuts his sandwich diagonally, placing one half on a different plate. He takes them both to the living room and drops them on the dining table before calling out again. “Come here! If my flatmate sees crumbs on the couch she’ll flip.” She won’t, Niki is too nice for her own good, but Wilbur will feel bad for inconveniencing her.
When Tommy sees the plates his eyes almost bulge out of his face.
“Sorry, turkey is all we have. I hope-”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” Tommy says, trying to sound vaguely interested but his words coming out far too quickly for that to be the case. Wilbur feels a twinge of concern but says nothing as the boy sits down in front of him.
His sandwich is gone before Wilbur has had the time to take three bites.
“Please don’t throw up on my couch,” The man pleads and Tommy gives him an annoyed look.
“I’m not going to fucking throw up,” He says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not a pussy.”
“You just fucking demolished a sandwich like it was nothing! I doubt you even chewed!” Wilbur argues, half amused, half worried. He takes another bite of his food. “Just-Throw up in the bathroom when you do.”
“I’m not gonna throw up!” Tommy argues again, letting out a loud burp. “I’m built different.”
Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Sure.”
Tommy ends up playing video games on the couch as Wilbur goes over coursework a few feet away; every so often curiosity gets the better of him and he goes watch him play for a bit, and even indulges in some co-op. This time, the teenager stays in his apartment until Niki arrives and Wilbur has to start getting ready for work.
He doesn’t throw up.
It becomes somewhat of a routine after that.
Wilbur will get back from uni at some time after twelve pm and Tommy will be sitting by the stairs waiting for him; the boy immediately gets to his feet and tries to race Wilbur up the stairs to his own apartment, often cheating his way to a win. Wilbur fixes the two of them lunch, more often than not a sandwich or something easy to make, along with some tea, after that Tommy keeps himself busy while Wilbur does coursework and then they play video games together before he decides it’s time to go home.
The familiar routine extends even to days of the week where Wilbur doesn’t have classes but Tommy does, and he’ll often get woken up by incessant knocking on his front door until he lets the gremlin child in. Not that he’s complaining, it is pretty nice to have someone to hang out with during the day, it makes him think of home.
He also starts quietly loathing weekends, because even when he goes out and sees friends, he still feels oddly concerned for not knowing how Tommy is.
Niki jokingly calls them brothers, Wil doesn’t correct her.
“I’m not getting a key.”
It’s a rainy Thursday afternoon, much like the one from when they first met, when Tommy makes his quiet confession. They are both sitting at the dinner table, pouring over their school work (something that also became a part of the routine since Wilbur found out Tommy was failing a handful of classes) when the boy suddenly goes deadly quiet, the scratching of his pencil ceasing all together. Wilbur is about to look up at him and remind him that he’s not allowed to play video games until he’s done (a phrase that he never thought he would say, specially when it makes him sound so much like his dad) when Tommy speaks.
He looks up from his laptop where he’s carefully reading through the most boring paper on Earth and blinks at the boy, confused. “Why?” Wilbur asks slowly, unsure what to expect here. “Did the ‘key maker’ mess up your key or something?”
“No, I mean-” Tommy groans, avoiding Wilburs gaze as he sinks to his chair and crosses his arms. “I was never getting a key in the first place, my foster parents don’t trust me with a key.”
Wilbur gives Tommy a confused look. “You never told me you were a foster kid”
Wilbur and Tommy talk often since they started their little routine, but Tommy always seemed to avoid talking about his own family and he often got uncomfortable when Wilbur brought up his own. He had run into the teenager’s alleged foster parents once while coming back from work once or twice and had found somewhat odd that they didn’t look much like Tommy and that they didn’t know who Wilbur was, but ultimately chose against commenting.
“Well, it wasn’t any of your business, was it?!” Tommy argues, looking like he’s searching for a fight. When he doesn’t get any reaction out of Wilbur he sinks more in his chair and starts fidgeting with his pencil. “But…yeah. So if you’re just letting me stay here until I get a dumb key because you feel bad for me you can fucking stop now or whatever.”
Wilbur frowns, not entirely clear on what Tommy is saying still. “Why wouldn’t they trust you with a key?” He asks, carefully before gasping. “For fuck’s sake, please don’t tell me you stabbed someone or something.”
Tommy barks out a surprised laugh and Wilbur relaxes a bit at the familiar sound, so different from the trepidation and anxiety lacing his voice just before. “No! I just-” He sighs, the earlier amusement dissipating into the air. “They don’t trust me alone in their apartment or something dumb like that,”
A knot ties itself in Wilbur’s throat, frown deepening but no longer out of confusion. “That’s fucked up.”
Tommy shrugs, but he seems to relax ever so slightly, almost as if he’s glad Wilbur thinks so. “I have a bad track record,” He still says, “It’s not really their fault.”
“Yes, it fucking is,” Wilbur argues, angrily. “You’re a kid! They can’t just lock you out like a fucking dog when it isn’t convinient to them! They are supposed to keep you safe!”
He remembers growing up with Techno in the room next door, remembering the stories he would tell him about being in and out of the system. He remembers thinking Techno was the greatest and smartest person who ever lived and getting enraged when he’d mention neglectful and even abusive foster parents who didn’t see how amazing his baby brother was.
“It’s ok, a lot of people have gone through a lot worse,” Techno would shrug, even after days where he would go to therapy and come back with red eyes and practically non verbal. Phil was always extra attentive those days. “Besides I’m-
“-a lot to deal with” Tommy says, still fidgeting, still not meeting wilbur’s eyes.
Wilbur wonders who the fuck is telling these horrible lies to all the people in his life.
“You,” WIlbur starts, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Anger was easy to be misinterpreted. “Are a teenager. A normal fucking teenager who is smart and loud and funny," Wilbur closes his computer so he can look at Tommy properly. "No one should be treating you like some sort of burden."
Tommy shrugs but says nothing this time, deciding to focus on his notebook once again instead of continuing with any sort of conversation. He’s not doing any work anymore, instead Wilbur can see him scribble nonsense on the margins of the paper, but he decides against mentioning it.
There is a long stretch of silence before he caves.
“Y’know, you remind me a lot of my foster brother, Techno,” Wilbur tells him softly. Tommy snaps his head up at him, his eyes wide and focusing on Wilbur for the first time since their conversation started. He gives the teenager a small smile. “You're both smart, funny, determined, that’s for sure.I think he’d really like you.”
Techno does like Tommy, or at least he likes the many stories Wilbur has shared with him about the boy during their semi frequent video calls and pretty constant messaging
You need someone to keep you on your toes, like we did Phil Techno told him once, half fond, half amused, after Wilbur told him that Tommy would now beeline for his fridge the second he opened the front door, loudly complaining when the contents inside disappointed him. You even sound like the old man now.
The comparison isn’t an insult, and Techno certainly didn't mean it like one, but Wilbur flipped him off anyhow. He thought it was an exaggeration on Techno’s part, sure, Wil liked the kid just fine but he was nowhere near as protective as Phil was, and still is, of them all.
Well, not until now.
“You were a foster kid too?” Tommy asks quietly, voice sounding akin to wonderous. Wilbur feels worse than he probably should for having to break that.
“No, but my dad started fostering a bit after I started high school,” He tells him. Of course, the story is not as simple as that, Phil didn’t just decide to become a foster parent one day and it wasn’t some sort of coincidence that Techno ended up living with them, but that’s hardly Wilbur’s story to tell. “Technoblade, he’s my best friend, ended up being sibling number one but now I think Phil’s up to kid number…five or six? Yeah, six with Ranboo, seven if you count me.”
“Oh…” Tommy says, sounding slightly dejected. He pauses for a small moment. “Do you…like it?”
Wilbur beams. “Yeah, of course man!” He tells him, honestly. “Most of my friends are my sibilings-which, yeah it does sound sad when I say it like that-but it was pretty cool growing up. I mean, I can’t imagine not knowing Fundy, Jack, hell, Niki is my roommate even after we both moved out!”
Tommy blinks at him, and then he curls his hands into fists. “Is that why you’ve been helping me?”
“What?”
“Am I just some fucking charity case for you?” The boy asks angrily, looking at Wilbur with a furious look in his eyes. “Is that what this is about? You trying to prove yourself or some shit?”
WIlbur can’t help the way he bursts out laughing, Tommy’s frown deepening. “Toms, king, I didn’t even know you were in the system until ten minutes ago,” He tells the boy, who looks somewhat sheepish now. Wilbur smiles at him. “But, no, I don’t have shit to prove and I am definitely not using you to prove it, don’t worry.”
“Then why ?!” Tommy demands, shooting Wilbur a lost look that breaks the man’s heart right in half. His evident confusion from receiving the most simple of kindnesses is apparent, and it makes something painful twist in the older man’s gut. “Why are you doing all this?!”
Why do you think I’m worth your time?
Wilbur thinks back to only a few weeks back, to a teenager waiting by the steps of his home, sopping wet and miserable. He thinks back to putting used towels in the wash after he lended them to Tommy and cleaning small puddles of dirty rain water off his floor before Niki arrived. He thinks back about the awkward silence that haunted them throughout that whole interaction and just how unsure he felt through it all. He tries to think about a world where his first instinct wasn’t to bring Tommy inside, a world where he and Tommy don’t play Terraria together for hours after they’re done with school stuff, a world where he doesn’t have to keep buying coke because a teenager frequently raids his kitchen.
Wilbur comes up empty.
“Because,” He tells the boy carefully. It’s not a pity thing, or a charity thing, it’s just something he was always supposed to do, like there is no universe out there where he didn’t bring the teenager inside. “it’s just what I had to do.”
Tommy must feel it too, whatever this weird realization is must resonate with him just right because he doesn’t ask anymore; he just goes back to his work, lips pursed and looking almost ashamed.
They don’t talk about Tommy’s living situation anymore that day, but they do play Terraria.
Wilbur never really thought he would get to see Tommy anxious.
He’s more than used to angry, happy, hell, he’s even seen him upset a couple of times; but anxiety looks completely alien on the boy, morphing his face into someone Wilbur doesn’t really know. He wants to wrap the boy in a blanket and promise it will be okay, he wants to drive him home and make hot chocolate for the two of them.
Instead, he coos at him.
“Awnnn, Tommy” Wilbur mocks, putting both hands on the boy’s shoulders. He stops chewing on his nails to glare at the man. “Are you nervous?”
“Fuck off” is Tommy’s only response; he tries to sound angry but the tremble in his voice gives him away far too easily.
“ Awnnnnn, ” Wilbur insists, wrapping his arms around him only to get elbowed in the stomach for his troubles. It doesn’t stop him. “You don’t have to worry”
“I’m not worried!” Tommy says, worriedly. Wilbur snorts and rests his chin on top of Tommy’s head.
The teen’s “caretakers” (if they could even be called that) had decided to go on a nice little couple’s vacation, leaving Tommy all alone in their barren, shitty apartment with nothing but empty cabinets devoid of any change that the boy could ‘snatch’ and week old leftovers. Unsurprisingly, Wilbur was determined, not on board with this little agreement and instead decided Tommy should stay with him until his useless fucking foster parents decided to show their faces again. Tommy didn’t accept until Niki, who had apparently once gone through the same thing at his age, confirmed that it was okay and that she didn’t mind at all.
So for the last week, Wilbur had been sleeping on the couch while Tommy took his bed; not exactly a comfortable situation, but to him it was much better than letting Tommy stay all alone in an empty apartment.
This meant, however, that Wilbur was very insistent on Tommy going out with him when he decided to visit Phil on the weekend. A decision he had made with absolutely no second intentions or hidden plots behind it.
At least that Tommy knew of.
“Then why don’t you ring the doorbell?” Wilbur inquired, cheekily. He did feel a bit bad after seeing just how anxious Tommy was, but that would not stop his teasing; the gremlin needed some encouragement after all.
“Wh-you lived here! Don’t you have the keys?!”
“I forgot them at home, silly me.” Wilbur rolls his eyes, ignoring the weight of his keys in his back pocket. “C’mon don’t be a pussy. It’s just a doorbell.”
Tommy let out an annoyed huff before freeing himself from Wilbur’s grip and taking a couple cautious steps forward. The boy’s eyes analyzed the door for a moment, before landing on the small copper plaque next to it that read “ Craft’s Halfway Home’’. He took a deep, calming breath and rang the doorbell sitting just below it.
It took less than five seconds for Phil to open the door, a big smile on his face.
“Hey! You must be Tommy, right?” Phil says, enthusiastically but not enough to be off putting. He put his hand forward. “Wilbur talks so much about you, I’m Phil”
“I-uh” Tommy awkwardly shakes his hand. It feels like an odd contrast to when he and Wilbur first met. “Wil talks about me?”
“Oh, yeah,” Phil waves a hand, before leaning in to look conspiratory, but without really changing his tone or volume. “He’s a massive sap, you know?”
Wilbur lets out a faux offended gasp as Tommy snorts. “Excuse you!” He says, moving to stand next to Tommy. “If I am a sap, which I assure you I’m not, it’s only because you raised me!”
“Woah, what a fucking revelation mate.” Phil rolls his eyes before pulling Wilbur into a massive hug, the man repricicating just as strongly. “Missed you, kiddo.”
They had seen each other not even a week ago, but Wilbur knew he meant it. “Missed you too, dad” He replies before pulling away. Phil steps to the side and let’s Wilbur guide Tommy inside. The house he grew up in was a lot bigger than his apartment, with a second floor, three bedrooms, and an office, but the clutter ranging from pictures and drawings hung up everywhere and the mess left by two teenagers made it seem much smaller than it really was. “What’s for tea?”
“Well, Tubbo wanted to cook so probably take out,” Phil teases, a loud ‘FUCK OFF, OLD MAN’ ringing out from somewhere in the house. Phil laughs before turning to Tommy. “If the house burns down, are you cool with thai? Or would you rather something else?”
Tommy shrugs, looking at Wilbur like he’ll help him give the correct answer in this situation. “I’m fine with anything, sir.”
Phil smiles. “Just call me Phil, mate,” He tells the boy softly, before looking behind his shoulder. “Listen, the two other boys are in the kitchen, wanna go see what they’re making to make sure it’s something you like?”
Tommy gives Wilbur an anxious look. “Tubbo and Ranboo are good people,” He reassures the boy, hating the nervousness in his eyes. “You can go talk to them or you can stay, whatever you like.”
The teenager considers for a moment before leaving for the kitchen; where Wilbur thought he would be relieved instead he feels worry claw up his throat.
Please let them like each other, he thinks, pleading to no one in particular. it’s going to be so much easier if they like each other.
Phil takes one look at Wilbur and snorts.
“What?!” Wilbur asks, half confused, half offended. Phil shakes his head.
“They’ll be just fine, Wil,” Phil tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “From what you’ve told me about the kid I’m sure these three will be inseparable in no time.”
“Yeah…” Wilbur sighs, relaxing a bit. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
A loud, booming laughter, almost a cackle, echoes through the house. Phil beams. “I always am.”
The teenagers end up getting along swimmingly, if the loud laughter and lighthearted yelling is anything to go by. Tommy ends up not leaving the kitchen to stay glued to Wilbur’s side until the food is ready, by which point all three teenagers come into the room, Tubbo looking particularly smug.
Wilbur isn’t exactly sure what he’s smug for because while the boy may have not burned the kitchen down, all the food is still tough and tastes like char.
“I thought Techno and Jack were coming today” Wilbur comments as they eat. Phil shrugs.
“No, Jack had work,” Ranboo tells him, trying and failing to cut his food. “And Techno is coming over tomorrow, I think”
“That makes sense,” Wilbur comments, quietly making a mental note to stop by tomorrow as well so he can bug his twin. “Niki really wanted to come too, but she is spending the day with her bio mom today.”
“Well, at least she visits more than Fundy” Tubbo jokes, knowing fully well why Fundy wasn’t visiting. “He promised to help Ranboo with his horror project before he went abroad but then he fucked off and abandoned us” Tubbo says dramatically. “And now Ranboo keeps moping.”
“I don’t mope!” The boy in question responds, outraged.
“Oh, shit, how’s that going by the way?” Wilbur asks, leaning forward. Ranboo grins at him.
“Good, great actually!” He says enthusiastically. “I was actually hoping you could take a look at it later?”
“Because Phil is too much of a pussy for horror” Tubbo comments under his breath, making Tommy choke on his drink.
“Because Phil is too nice,” Ranboo corrects, though Wilbur doesn’t doubt that Tubbo’s point is also true.
“I’m not too nice!” Phil argues.
“Yes you are!” Three voices dispute in unison before immediately delving into laughter. The man rolls his eyes.
“You’re all ganging up on me,” He tells them, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “You’re all the worst, Tommy is my new favorite.”
Tommy chokes on his drink again, this time it throws him into a violent coughing fit. When he reemerges, his face is a loud shade of red.
Wilbur has to stop himself from cooing at the boy again.
Lunch is a loud, messy, wonderful ordeal as it so often is when Wil comes home. It turns out that Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo all go to the same school but had never actually met properly, this leads to an hour long rant over which teachers suck ass and which ones don't, Phil piping in every so often to complain about the few teachers that ignore Tubbo and Ranboo's needs as neurodivergent kids in the system and how often he needs to call said teachers out about it. Wilbur doesn't miss the way Tommys eyes seem to light up with wonder at that, like the sheer concept of an adult standing up for a child under their care is new to him.
They end up only leaving way after dusk, Tubbo and Ranboo roping Tommy into playing video games with them. Phil and Wilbur don't join them, not wanting to bother the new formed trio, but Wil would be lying if he said he didn't lighten up like a Christmas tree whenever he heard Tommy’s booming laughter echo in the house.
"You could stay here." Wilbur offers quietly as they make their way to the car hours later. They ended up staying for dinner too, and Tommy took that time to save both Tubbo’s and Ranboo’s number on his old flip phone with charms hanging from it.
Tommy looks at him, glee still staining his tired and now slightly confused features. "Hm?"
Wilbur nudges him with his shoulder, some anxiety creeping over him. “Phil could talk to your social worker, get you set up in Tubbo’s room,” Wilbur suggests softly, looking back at the house and then at Tommy. “You’d be safe here..”
Tommy huffs. “Getting sick of me already, bossman?” He jokes, but there is an edge of worry in his voice. Wilbur wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close.
“Not even close, king, I’ll still be visiting all the time and you’ll still have my number. Same with Niki.” He tells him, ruffling the boy's mess of blonde hair. “I just…I thought it was something you might like.”
Tommy gives an odd look back to the house and Wilbur’s heart sinks ever so slightly. He doesn’t want Tommy to go back to locked doors and skipped meals, he’s not strong enough to send him to a home without the love and care he so rightfully deserves.
But then Tommy smiles, softly, and with more hope than Wilbur has ever seen on him.
“Yeah,” He nods slowly, bumping his shoulder against Wilbur right back.
“Maybe I could.”