Archive of Our Own ^beta

At eight years old, Wilbur’s only birthday wish for years came true. He became an older brother.

Wilbur could hardly remember the previous night, falling asleep in his own bed after being tucked in by his mother, wishing the stars and the moon goodnight, and briefly waking up to the feeling of being picked up and moved in someone’s arms. When he woke up, he wasn’t in his own bed anymore. But he was a child so these moments were common; falling asleep somewhere and waking up in a completely different spot, so it didn’t worry him.

He clambered down the stairs with a blanket in hand the minute he smelled cooking bacon. Sure enough, his grandmother was stood over the stove staring intently at a frying pan that Wilbur could only assume was where the smell of bacon had been coming from. 

She noticed his presence immediately, “Oh, hi dear! Good Morning,” she smiled and set the spatula down on the counter beside her, turning off the stove and setting the frying pan to the side as well. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” he rubbed his eyes sleepily and stretched his legs before stumbling towards his grandmother. She seemed to have understood what he wanted because she was kneeled on the floor with his arms spread wide by the time that he had made it to where she stood. Wilbur fell forwards into her arms and didn’t bother hugging her back as arms made their way around his back, squeezing tightly.

“Are you hungry? I made pancakes and bacon,” the smell of bacon wafted his way again and Wilbur was reminded just how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten dinner the night before, it was chilli. He hated chilli and yet somehow, his mother had forgotten and told the boy that he either ate what was for dinner or went to bed hungry.

Obviously, as stubborn as he could be, Wilbur went to bed hungry.

The effects of that were clearly showing now because his stomach growled loudly as a reminder. His grandmother laughed at the noise and pushed herself back to her feet, “I take that as a yes?”

Wilbur nodded and hurried to follow his grandmother behind. She pulled a plate from the cabinet and dropped two pancakes and a strip of bacon onto it, not bothering to hide her smile when he perked up from beside her.

“Did you put chocolate chips in mine?” He rocked himself back and forth on his heels and smiled widely as if asking a question with his expression alone.

“Not this time my dear, I ran out last time you came,” Wilbur visibly slumped at the news, crossing his hands over his chest and pouting dramatically. 

“Aww man… I love chocolate chip pancakes.”

“But,” she pulled the syrup out of the fridge and popped the cap open with a click , “I did put sprinkles in them.”

Wilbur gasped like that was the best news he had heard in weeks–which wasn’t completely unbelievable considering he was eight and getting to lead the line at recess was groundbreaking news for him–and pumped his fists in the air, “Oh yeah, oh yeah!”

His grandmother burst into giggles at the sight, her grandson dancing around the kitchen as if he had just come up victorious, and it was all over sprinkles in his pancakes. It was heartwarming to see though and she wouldn’t give it up for anything else in the world.

That was something that Wilbur was forever grateful for. Even at eight years old, he knew that his grandmother loved him more than the moon and stars themselves. More than his own mother as well. She was the kindest person that he had ever met and he couldn’t recall a moment that she wasn’t standing by his side with a smile on her face to cheer him on. She loved him and she always would.

“Go sit at the table calmly please,” she managed after finally collecting herself from the kids victory dance. Wilbur frowned and slumped forwards again but obliged without another word, dragging himself towards the kitchen table and plopping down into his proclaimed seat.

His grandmother re-emerged from the kitchen seconds later with two plates in hand, one drowning in syrup and the other not. She set the plate pooling with syrup in front of Wilbur and the other across the table, sitting down as well.

“Before you make a mess of your food,” he scrunched his eyebrows up and whined, “I have news for you.”

“What? News about what? Is it good news? Is it a present?”

“Calm my love, calm ,” she chuckled as she watched Wilbur squirm with anticipation in his seat. “Your mother is at the hospital right now. You’re gonna meet your little brother today.”

The reaction that came from Wilbur would’ve been enough to fuel one person's faith in humanity for an entire year. He took a moment to process the words, clocked what they meant, and shot out of his seat screaming.

“I get to meet my little brother today!” He shouted from the living room, running circles around the carpet and giggling loudly. His grandmother didn’t even try to stop him or tell him to quiet down, not wanting the neighbours to hate them even more than they already did. Because he was happy. He was excited and it wasn’t for a toy or game he was gifted, it was because of his little brother.

His grandmother had recorded every one of his birthdays since his first one to his eighth, and each time she would catch his wish before he blew out his candles. They tried telling him that a wish wouldn’t come true unless no one else heard it but he didn’t listen. Every year since he was four and had learned what a little brother was in his preschool classroom, he would clasp his hands together in front of his cake, squeeze his eyes shut, and repeat please give me a little brother, please give me a little brother, please give me a little brother .

And finally, his wish had come true.

She watched the kid run around the living room like a maniac that had just been given three cups of straight sugar before swooping in and grabbing him into her arms, pulling him tightly to her chest while he squealed and kicked to be let down.

“Will you stop being crazy if I put you down and actually go eat your breakfast first?”

“Yes! Of course, yes.”

“Good, thank you,” she set him back down and smiled as he ran back into the kitchen, a small thud sounding from where he presumably had sat himself back down in front of his plate.

In hindsight, as she walked back into the kitchen and realised suddenly, it probably wasn’t the smartest idea to give an eight year old a plate of sugar filled with even more sugar after telling him the greatest news in his eyes, but that was a future problem. For now, she would sit down across from her grandson with a grin on her face and love in her heart.

…

April 9th, 2004. His brother was born on possibly the best day of the year, with fluffy white clouds filling the sky and a gentle breeze keeping the temperature just perfect. It was a perfect day in Wilbur’s eyes. He wasn’t quite sure if it was really that good of weather considering it was the beginning of spring, but it didn’t matter if it was raining and thundering outside. As long as he got to meet his little brother, that’s all that mattered.

Wilbur was colouring on a sheet of paper lying stomach down on the kitchen floor when his grandmother got the call. She had shot out of her chair smiling and shouting, “Really? Really?”

The time was still engraved in his head: 3:16 PM. 

His grandmother rushed him to change out of his pyjamas. He listened. They were on the road less than five minutes after she had gotten the call.

The car ride to the hospital was calm and quiet. If you didn’t know that Wilbur’s brother was being born and they were driving to see him for the first time, you would’ve assumed that it was a normal drive to the park or the library like it had become a part of Wilbur and his grandmother's routine when he came to visit.

But it wasn’t calm, it was anything but calm. 

Wilbur’s heart was racing, his leg was bouncing up and down, and he couldn’t sit still for the life of him. Truly, he had no reason to be nervous. This was his brother, his family , there was no reason to be scared of making the wrong move, especially when he wouldn’t comprehend anything he ever said for the next few years. He tried to reassure himself of this, repeating it like a mantra in his head, but it helped to no avail. He was still utterly terrified.

Maybe it was excitement, maybe it was anticipation, but whatever it was had him clasping his hands together in hopes that the drive would be over soon.

The car parked and Wilbur was jumping out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him and not bothering to apologise for how harsh it was so suddenly. His grandmother understood, he was sure.

He had been ushered through the hospital door, down the hall to a random room, and was met with his mothers warm smile behind the curtains, like always . 

“Hi love,” she looked away from the bundle of fabric in her arms to meet her, now oldest, son’s eyes. “Come here, I’m sorry baby I can’t get him to calm down.”
Wilbur had to stop himself from putting his hands over his ears at the ear piercing screech coming from the baby in his mothers arms. Should someone this small even be that loud?

A shudder of hesitancy ran down his spine and froze him in his spot, still stood in the doorway with wide eyes. Wilbur had been an only child his entire life, clearly, and yet, from the day he found out his mother was pregnant in the first place, he had forgotten to realise that babies were not just tranquil and still. Not at all. They were loud and brash, they screamed and cried until they got their way–which was never clear–and they never shut up.

He pulled himself onto the bed with a huff, just a few inches too short to reach the handlebars and settled into his mother’s side. The urge to throw his hands over his ears was still there, just not as apparent when he could actually see the baby’s face himself. He had never seen a real life baby in person, he was the youngest in his family and didn’t have any cousins or friends with younger siblings, so figuring out that they were actually this small was incredible in Wilbur’s eyes. 

“Can I hold him?” He whispered without taking his eyes off of the newborn baby, already settling into the small nook of pillows beside his mother.

“Of course my love, be very gentle, okay?” Wilbur nodded sharply, putting his arms out in front of him expectantly. His mother laughed at the sight and carefully placed his little brother in his arms. 

If you would have asked Wilbur right then and there, he would’ve told you that he was holding the entire universe in his arms. He felt his eyes water almost immediately. Because there, wrapped in a warm and soft blanket, was his little brother. His brother.

Wilbur adjusted the hold he had on his brother and shifted him to one arm, pulling the spare one out from under him and carefully dragging his pinky finger down the bridge of the baby's nose. He was gentle, soft with his touch because to Wilbur, his brother looked like the sun had finally come to rest, laying its head in his own arms and trusting him enough to keep it safe. 

An act of some miracle, the baby stopped crying the moment that he was handed to Wilbur. It was like his arms were some off switch because his little brother seemed to relax on impact. 

“Look mama! Look!” Wilbur whispered with a grin on his face, eyes darting between the baby in his arms and his mother. She smiled back.

“I see Will, I see. You’re the first person to get him to stop crying, you know?” 

“Really?” She nodded and rested her head back onto the pillows behind her. “Oh, good.”

Wilbur continued to brush his finger down the baby’s nose, “What’s his name mama?”

“Tommy,” she let her eyes slip shut, the remnants of a smile still faintly on her lips.

Wilbur shifted the baby closer to his chest, curled forwards, and pressed a kiss on Tommy’s head. “Hello Tommy, I’m Wilbur, your big brother,” Tommy didn’t respond of course, but Wilbur continued anyway. “I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. Nothings ever gonna hurt you as long as I’m there.”

He let his mother rest, holding onto his brother protectively like he could shield him from the world itself. He would. That was a promise he could make himself and keep it like no other. Tommy, his Tommy.

Obviously, Wilbur wasn’t left alone to watch over Tommy, his grandmother was stood in the doorway watching the entire ordeal happen, but if he could just tell himself that he was doing a good job taking care of his brother, Wilbur felt complete.

And when nine years later Wilbur was staring at the ceiling above his bed, ignoring the quiet snores that came from the weight beside him and was sprawled across the bed, he couldn’t help but wonder: When did it stop? What did he do to make them stop loving him?

The Wilbur that Tommy knew had always been loud. From the moment he laid eyes on the boy to any given moment that he wasn’t asleep or listening to his big brother play the guitar, he was loud.

It hadn’t ever been an issue for him, this was the Tommy that he had always known and the silence that had been building up in their home for the first eight years of his life had become deafening. The sudden bubbling laughter and blood curdling screeches were the biggest reminder that he was a big brother. A good reminder.

On particularly bad days, Wilbur would push through his bedroom door after school to meet a half asleep Tommy with his hands curled around Wilbur’s blankets. He was only four at the time and Wilbur, despite wanting nothing more than to crash onto his bed and cry until the previous day in secondary school was worn away from his memories, settled into the bed beside his little brother. If Tommy needed him, he would be there. 

Perhaps that day should’ve been a warning, however, because Tommy was never quiet.

Wilbur was thirteen when he first told his brother to be quiet when their mother came home or they could get hurt. Tommy was five. 

It was a good day, a cold Saturday with fresh snow coating the front lawn. Saturdays were always good because their mother worked from open to close. She was gone before they woke and back after they had already gone to bed. Wilbur loved Saturdays because he could breathe.

He snuggled further into the couch cushions and threw his legs on top of the coffee table. This weather was perfect to him, it was quiet and it homed up everyone on the streets so that not even a car driving past could disturb this silence. It gave him room to think, especially when it was just him and his brother home for the day.

This weather also made him feel safe. It wasn’t like he needed protecting, he was the favourite out of all his family and that was abundantly clear, especially after Tommy had been born, but it was still nice to feel like anything could happen and he would be okay. Still standing on his own two feet.

He grazed his thumb and index finger over the strings on his guitar and hummed a quiet melody of some song he had heard on the radio before. This weather was also nice because it was the same weather that it had been when he had first picked up a guitar and taught himself how to play. When he had finally learned how to play a song correctly, his mother recorded it three times over and sent it to the entire family.

There was still a picture of him holding the same guitar in front of their christmas tree hanging on the wall. Looking at it now didn’t give him the same gold medal feeling in his heart like it used to.

There was no picture of Tommy hung up in the house.

He took a deep breath in, held it ( don’t choke on it ), and let it out. The snow continued to fall and he kept his eyes trained on the window in front of him. 

The quiet sound of feet padding down grew closer, “Wilbs?”

Wilbur shot his head up at the sudden noise and brought a hand to his heart to calm him. “You scared me, geez.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to,” Tommy shuffled across the living room and dropped himself next to Wilbur on the couch. His words were slurred with sleep and the idea that his first thought when he had woken up was to go find his big brother had Wilbur smiling fondly.

Tommy pushed himself into Wilbur’s side and rested his head against his shoulder.

“Keep playing,” he yawned silently, “I like it when you sing.”

Wilbur nearly cried on the spot. No matter what Tommy did, how big of a fight they had been in or how much of an annoying pest he was being, he always came back to his brother. They relied on each other in their own ways; Tommy needed an extra set of eyes to stop him from wandering off every two seconds, he needed praise and validation. Wilbur needed to feel wanted, to feel like he was doing his job right, whatever that was.

He hummed quietly in agreement and began to pick at the strings on his guitar again. A song that neither of them had ever heard before but beautiful nonetheless. It was done out of love, that checked all the boxes excluding proper melody or tuning, not like it mattered anyway. Tommy would cheer and tell him that he was the best musician ever, even if he was playing on broken strings with a sore throat.

Wilbur loved that about him. Tommy was his number one fan and made that very, very clear. More times than he could count, after a long and tiring one sided screaming match between Tommy and their mother, Wilbur wouldn’t give him the chance to process what had happened. Instead, he would pull out his guitar and play louder than he had ever, singing until his voice was hoarse. It was a good distraction for his brother, and even if Wilbur couldn’t escape it, Tommy could.

So, as Tommy laid half asleep on top of him, Wilbur kept playing. It was his job anyway.

He played and he played and he played for what felt like an hour until Tommy was finally awake enough to take in his surroundings. 

“Wilbur, look! It’s snowing!” Tommy blurted suddenly, pushing himself up fully.

“Yeah,” Wilbur snorted, “it’s been snowing since last night. The only reason I didn’t go outside to stand in it was because you were asleep.”

And of course, Tommy didn’t know that the sentence meant because I love you . He was only nine and it couldn’t half be expected of him to find kindness in the simplest of things like Wilbur did, but knowing that it at least was in his head was enough for Wilbur. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He frowned and jumped off of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest to pout.

“Because you needed the rest idiot,” Tommy gasped and tried to kick his brother but was seconds too late, Wilbur swerving out of the way and off the couch. “It wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, I just woke up like… thirty minutes before you anyways.”

“Who’re you calling an idiot? I hate you. Die.”

“Yep! Sure you do!” Wilbur called behind him from where he had made his way into the kitchen.

Tommy, despite looking like a disgruntled kitten, followed him in foot.

“Cereal?” He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a box of Cheerios, waiting with his hand on his hip for a response.

Tommy nodded firmly, “Yes please. Did mom buy Fruit Loops? I want those.”

“Yeah, she did. Good manners,” Tommy beamed at the compliment and clearly struggled to keep up his angry facade. “Go sit down.”

Wilbur poured the cereal into two bowls, silently praying that this time Tommy wouldn’t drop it onto the floor by accident and leave a mess of shattered porcelain and soggy cereal. Times like these he really missed his grandmother's pancakes. 

He set the bowl down in front of Tommy and sat right beside him. When his mother had first brought Tommy home, he had been waiting at the front door with the cut off top of a pizza box that he had spent all day colouring. The words were sloppy and you could hardly read the bold Welcome home Tommy! that was scrawled atop it, but his mother had seemed to like it and that was all he cared about.

Then, when Tommy could finally sit by himself in a highchair, Wilbur was proclaiming the seat directly next to it as his. 

Neither of them had ever grown out of that, even after nine years.

Breakfast between the two of them was quiet, peacefully so. Wilbur scrolled through his phone lazily and Tommy stayed focused on finishing his cereal, staring at a picture of their mother and Wilbur on the wall. 

By the time Wilbur had finished his cereal, Tommy was already dropping his bowl into the sink.

“Oh,” Tommy began, running into the living room, “in school yesterday we had to make a painting for someone we love.”

“Yeah? Do you want me to hang it up in her room for you?”

Tommy re-emerged into the kitchen and waved a canvas in front of his face. “Her? No- it’s for you dummy,” he smiled sheepishly, “take it.”

In that moment, Wilbur was sure his heart had melted into putty. He took the canvas from his brother and had to choke back tears at the sight. An orange and purple sky with two stick figure blobs holding hands. Just like his story.

“Oh, Tommy, I love it,” he looked up from the painting and back at his brother, smiling widely. “I love it so much. I’m gonna hang it up in my room right next to my bed.”

“Really? You like it that much?”

“Anything you make I love, Tommy. Anything.”

…

Attempting to fit a coat on top of the sweater that Tommy was already wearing was a hassle and a half. He squirmed impatiently, trying to fit an arm through the sleeve of his coat and failing miserably, before promptly giving up and slumping onto the floor.

“I give up Will, this is impossible.”

“Oh really?” Wilburs smile was apparent in his voice as he leaned down to ruffle his brother’s hair.

“Yep. Impossible,” Tommy swatted at the hand. “Just leave me here to die, go on without me.”

The theatrics on this kid were going to kill Wilbur one day. “You’re so dramatic,” he rolled his eyes and stretched an arm out for Tommy to grab, which he did, hoisting himself up before standing with his arms spread wide as if Wilbur could help him at all. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Wilbur, my friend, I have serious business to attend to outside, the snow is my calling, can’t you see?” Wilbur could in-fact, not see that. “This coat is stopping me from attending that business, so please help me put it on.”

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose and nearly keeled over on himself laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” Tommy huffed and put his arms down to his side, barely hiding the smile creeping up on his own face just knowing that he made his brother laugh.

“You are so- Gods, Tommy, you’re so dramatic.”

“Shut up, you’re ugly and stupid. Help me put on my coat so I can run away,” Tommy frowned and lifted his arms yet again.

This time, Wilbur didn’t protest. He pulled his brother’s hands one by one until they were sticking out of the coat and then zipped it up until the fabric reached his chin. Stepping back, he could see that Tommy looked like a marshmallow in this much clothing, but so what if Wilbur was a mother-hen? He did it out of care.

Tommy dropped his arms back down to his sides–which could hardly go down all the way anyways–and grinned toothily. Well, as much as a seven year old who had lost both of their front teeth and few more on the sides could. And Wilbur was, once again, hit with the swarming feeling, almost overwhelming, of love for his little brother. Innocent, kind, compassionate. As much as Tommy would scream and puff out his chest when you told him this, Wilbur knew that his Tommy was all of the above. Because he had taught his Tommy how to be kind, why to be kind, to help yourself before others (which realistically, Wilbur had never listened to his own advice), and Tommy had listened. He was a good kid.

Part of Wilbur just wished that it wasn’t him that had to teach his little brother all of this, that their mother could have. 

“Can we go outside now? Please?” Tommy clenched and unclenched his fists excitedly.

“Wait,” Wilbur grabbed his scarf off of the coat rack and hung it around Tommy’s neck. “There. Yeah, go crazy. Stay out of the road please!” He called out the door, but Tommy was already gone.

…

By the time Wilbur had finally managed to usher Tommy back inside, having to bribe him with hot cocoa, it was nearly three. There was no doubt that Tommy would get sick from being out in the cold that long, even with layer upon layer of warmth, it still could seep through. He barely managed to hold back a groan at the thought, because that meant he would be the one left to deal with a sick nine year old. A sick Tommy .

He didn’t mind taking care of his brother, not in the slightest, never Tommy, but the kid was beyond stubborn and getting a spoonful of cough syrup down from him was a miracle in itself. Really, he knew his mother should be the one taking care of Tommy, her own son, but she didn’t. She never had and she never would, that Wilbur knew for sure. There was no point in wishing on something impossible like that.

But, Tommy wasn’t sick now , so he could wait until the next morning to deal with that.

He pulled two mugs from the cupboard, filled them with hot milk, and dropped two spoonfuls of chocolate powder into both of them.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” Wilbur had warned, handing Tommy one of the mugs, but Tommy was stubborn so he took a sip immediately. 

In one second, Tommy was holding the cup to his lips, eyes shut in bliss, and the next he was dropping it onto the ground and just barely stepping back in time before the liquid splattered onto his pants. The mug hit the floor and shattered on impact.

Wilbur hadn’t even gotten the chance to process the situation, let alone clean up the mess, before the front door was being unlocked. In his defence, he hadn’t been expecting their mother to come home from work so early. 

Not giving himself a second to breathe, Wilbur grabbed his brother’s hand and squeezed it tightly, letting go after a beat to hurdle his way up the stairs.

He didn’t want to leave Tommy downstairs with their mother alone, but if he tried to help, Tommy would just get told off even worse, and he had tried that before. He had tried jumping in to save his brother, to shield him from their mother the first time she told him that she wished he was never born. But Wilbur was the favourite and his mother only frowned at him and called him a good older brother before going right back to clawing at her youngest. Clawing at the integrity of a five year old.

He learned after that to hide in his brother's room waiting for him to stumble in, arms open and ready to catch him when he cried.

Wilbur shut his bedroom door behind him and slid down the back of it.

One loud voice and another's choked sobs sounded through the house, bouncing off the walls and straight into his already ringing ears. Tommy was crying and so was he, but if he shut his eyes and thought hard enough, he could pretend that his little brother wasn’t being scolded for existing just below him. He could pretend that he was able to help.

He didn’t worry about Tommy feeling betrayed for his inability to protect him from the one person promised to keep them safe, that was the least of his worries. Tommy was brave and he too knew that Wilbur couldn’t do anything, say anything, to get their mother to calm down.

A terrified screech came before the sound of glass shattering. Wilbur was shooting to his feet before he could realise that the sound had come from Tommy.

Quiet, quiet, quiet , his mind supplied as he ran down the stairs, skipping every other. Tommy knew to be quiet, he knew not to make a sound, if he had screamed that loud then it had to have been bad.

Wilbur swerved the corner into the kitchen and froze, paralysed with what he could assume was fear. There, in the corner of the dining room, was Tommy. Tommy, who was shaking like a leaf and curled into himself on the floor, hands over his ears and eyes squeezed shut as tears poured down his cheeks. Just a few feet away was a shattered glass mug. 

Their mother had never hurt them, they had never been hit or kicked or left with bruises, she just knew how to pick and pick until your dignity had nothing left. Until you believed every word that left her mouth.

Looking between his mother and little brother, just like he had the day Tommy was born, Wilbur felt sick.

“What the fuck did you do?” He shouted, trying his best to ignore the way Tommy curled further into himself.

“Excuse me, do not use that language with me young man,” Wilbur’s fists clenched at his sides.

He narrowed his eyes and bit his tongue to stop the next wave of arguments that would leave his mouth without notice. That would just hurt Tommy more, he kept reminding himself.

“What the fuck ,” he accentuates the curse purely to push her limits, “did you do to my brother?”

She had the audacity to laugh, “What does it look like? He broke a mug and didn’t bother to clean up after himself. Teach your brother to listen when spoken to next time then.”

Wilbur didn’t respond. He didn’t know if there were any words he could say that would convey how angry he was.

Instead, he wedged past his mother and dropped to his knees besides Tommy, arms open like always. Always for Tommy.

Tommy clenched his jaw to hold in another sob and fell forwards into his brother's arms, hands still kept tightly over his ears, and Wilbur held him. He tightened his arms around Tommy’s back and squeezed just enough to let him know that he was safe now, Wilbur was here.

Slowly, Tommy let his hands fall back into his lap. “I’m scared, Will,” he whispered into the front of his brother’s shirt. “Please tell her to stop.”

Those words themself had been enough of a sign to run. 

“I know, I know. We’re gonna be okay,” Wilbur pressed a kiss onto his brother’s head and whispered back.

Sometime in the night, after their mother had given up and gone to bed and Tommy was sound asleep in Wilbur’s lap, he stood on shaky legs, held Tommy to his chest, and hauled the both of them upstairs to his bedroom. Carefully, he unwrapped the small arms clung to his neck and set the boy onto his bed, throwing a blanket over top of him.

Sometime in the night, Wilbur crept back into the kitchen quietly and swept up all of the glass. If he tried hard enough, he could hide the evidence and convince Tommy that this was all just a very bad dream.

And sometime in the night, Wilbur dumped out the contents of his school bag and began to stuff it full with his belongings. He did the same with Tommy’s bag.

3:16 AM; 12 hours before Tommy was born. It was 3:16 AM when Wilbur threw a coat and backpack over his sleeping brother’s arms, picked him back up to hold to his chest, and prayed he had enough money for the bus.

It was 3:16 AM when Wilbur hadn’t been bothered to shut his bedroom window behind him. He jumped onto the grass, held the back of Tommy’s head, and he ran.

Finding an apartment for the two of them and a job that would hire someone at seventeen hadn’t been the hard part, not even close to it, trying to get Tommy to understand everything was the hardest.

The first six months had been rough. Luckily, Wilbur had managed to find a place to live three days after they had gotten onto the bus in the middle of the night and refused to look back. His phone was nearly dead and he relied on google maps with barely any signal to get them to their destination, but it worked.

Tommy didn’t speak the entire walk there, keeping to himself and not daring to let go of the tight grip he had on his brother's hand. He didn’t know what was happening, no one had explained where they were or why they weren’t at home anymore, but he knew his brother was stressed and that was enough to keep him from bugging about anything. That was special about them; throughout everything, they always stuck together. Tommy didn’t have to say a word for Wilbur to understand what he needed and the same went for Wilbur as well. Some kind of brotherly bond.

For that, Wilbur was grateful. Because no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t sure he could explain anything from the past week without breaking into tears.

He gripped Tommy’s hand tighter as they climbed the stairs to the front office of the tall building, pushing him behind himself when they walked through the door. 

“Uh- excuse me?” Wilbur leaned forwards to look behind the counter just as an older man rounded the corner.

“Oh, hello! Sorry about that, I didn’t hear the door open,” he began, messing with something on the computer in front of him. “Can I help you?”

Swallowing his nerves, Wilbur nodded firmly and pulled Tommy closer to his side. Not that the man behind the counter could see anything other than the top of his head, far too short still. 

“I called earlier. Wilbur?”

The man perked up at that, smiling warmly, “Right, Wilbur! Lovely to meet you, I’m Phil. And you are…?” 

Tommy jumped at the sudden attention and stood on his tippy-toes to see over the counter fully. Wilbur still had a death grip on his hand and was eyeing the man, Phil , carefully. “Tommy,” he mumbled quietly. 

Wilbur bit his tongue. Tommy wasn’t shy around anyone, not once in his life had he been the quiet type, but a lot had changed in the past few days, so he did his best to hide the shock in his expression.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Tommy,” Phil’s smile had yet to fall from his face and his eyes only scrunched up tighter in the passing seconds. 

Wilbur cleared his throat abruptly, pushing forwards carefully, “You have one bedroom apartments for rent, yeah?” 

“Nine hundred pounds a month including utilities.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah that’s- that’s fine,” Wilbur sucked in a sharp breath and dug through his pocket, pulling out an envelope of money with five hundred pounds inside.

It was inherently clear that they were runaways, or at least in need of help in some way, because Wilbur set the envelope on the counter like he was paying for groceries. Phil took one look at the two boys, pressed his lips together in a thin line, and nodded to himself. An internal debate that Wilbur didn’t need to know about.

Phil opened the envelope and didn’t have to count the bills to know that it was clearly short. However, he didn’t comment on it. 

Instead, he pulled a sheet of paper from underneath the counter and handed it to Wilbur with yet another warm smile. “Here, sign this.”

Wilbur spent twenty minutes signing forms, Tommy stayed quiet, still.

Eventually, Phil led the two brothers up a second flight of stairs and onto an outside deck. The rooms looked more like a one night stay motel, but they hadn’t been given any trouble yet, so Wilbur wasn’t going to be the one to complain about anything.

He reached the end of the hall and wiggled a key into the lock until it opened with a click.

The apartment wasn’t nice by any means–stained carpet and paper thin walls–but it kept a roof over their head and they had each other, that was all that ever mattered. As long as they had each other, everything would be okay.

Sharing a bed with his little brother wasn’t something all too uncommon with Wilbur. Even when they weren’t in an apartment miles away from home, sleeping under a roof that was partially caved in from water damage, Tommy still would find his way into Wilbur’s room and curl up beside him almost every night.

Tommy was notably clingy, constantly needing to be around someone he loved, and for now, the only person that checked all of those boxes was Wilbur. He didn’t mind it though, either way, because he loved his little brother more than anything in the world. He had loved him from the first time he held him, up until now, arms wrapped around the sleeping boy’s back as his head stayed curled into Wilbur’s chest.

There had been a time when Tommy had night terrors every night for an entire month. That was when their grandmother had died, Tommy was only five. It’s what began their mother’s hate towards her youngest, or made it obvious, at the very least. She would stay up until midnight finding any small thing to pick at Tommy for; stuttering over his words, asking for help tying his shoes, asking a question. Eventually, Tommy learned to be invisible when their mother was home, and that broke Wilbur.

The first time he had a night terror, Wilbur was rightfully terrified, shaking him awake until he shot up in tears, a scream only being silenced by a hand slapping over his mouth. Wilbur had been crying too and that night, he carried his little brother into his room across the hall and settled them both into his bed. Like he had when Tommy was born, he brought his pink up and ran it down the bridge of his nose, humming a quiet lullaby until he was sound asleep.

So, seeing Tommy like this, peacefully asleep with no signs of disturbance, safe from the world , Wilbur was happy. He would stay in this moment forever if it meant his brother was alright.

“Tommy get up!” Wilbur called from outside the door to his and Tommy’s shared room. “You’ll be late for school at this point, come on.”

A groan came from within the room and a thud from what was presumably Tommy falling off the bed. “I’m coming, I'm coming. Stop being so pushy old man."

“What-” Wilbur stammered, “old man? I’m not even eighteen yet!”

Tommy swung the door open and stared at his brother with an armful of clothing. A small part of Wilbur was a little proud at the fact that he had managed to put together an outfit in under a minute that didn’t include mismatching socks and pyjama pants like normal.

“Yeah you say that but then you get mad when I tell people you aren’t eighteen, not my fault here bitch,” Wilbur pressed his lips together in a tight line as he watched Tommy scamper off into the bathroom across the hall.

And, well- that was true. Wilbur did get angry when Tommy would tell someone that he was seventeen, because then he would have to backtrack and create a fake scenario where excuse my little brother, he’s only nine, he doesn’t really understand ages all that well . But it was never to spite him. Wilbur did everything in his power to make sure that Tommy grew up with a normal life under normal circumstances. People finding out that he wasn’t legally old enough to own an apartment or take care of his brother on his own would shatter that in an instant.

Luckily, Tommy had stopped telling people Wilbur’s true age when he was ten and CPS was almost called on the two of them. He still wasn’t exactly sure how Phil convinced them that he was their father, despite no proof of such.

Tommy stomped out of the bathroom with a grin on his face, probably knowing that his outfit was actually nice for once, “And you thought I’d never be able to dress myself. I look so damn good, Wilbur.”

“Yeah, you did good, I’m proud of you,” Tommy’s cheeks flushed red at the praise, “but you also forgot to brush your hair.”

“No no no no-” but Wilbur had already grabbed the hairbrush and was chasing Tommy down the hall.

This was Wilbur’s life, their life. He took care of his little brother and protected him from the world, he pretended Tommy was doing the same thing back. He wouldn’t be the one to shoot down his pride when he came in with a handful of coins he found on the ground at school after he had noticed Wilbur struggling to pick up extra hours at work and pay their bills. It was the kindest gesture anyone had given him in a long while, at least.

This was Wilbur’s life and as long as he had Tommy, he was okay with it.

Tommy was fourteen when he had first come home with a terrible report card. He had stumbled through the door with his head low and handed Wilbur the paper in silence. Part of him had expected to be scolded or belittled for the three F’s and a D, but instead, he was pulled into a tight hug. Wilbur had whispered that it was okay, that he had tried his best and that was all that mattered. 

That night, they had ended up on the sofa watching one of the three DVD’s they had for their hardly working TV; Up , Tommy’s favourite.

That night was good, but that wasn’t now. He was fifteen now, year ten, and he wasn’t a child anymore. 

This time, he stumbled through the door with his head high, handing Wilbur his report card and waiting to be brought into open arms like the previous year, but Wilbur never opened his arms. 

“Tommy, come on man, I know you can do better than this. Three D’s?” He pointedly ignored the way Tommy tensed, “This is your future we’re worrying about, Toms. You gotta start taking it seriously.”

Scrunching his eyebrows up in a mix of confusion and anger, Tommy huffed, “I am trying, Will! I don’t even have any F’s this year, it’s way better than last year.”

Wilbur’s expression didn’t change. 

“I know you’re trying, but you need to try harder. I don’t-” he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “Tubbo’s not allowed over anymore until you get those up to at least C’s, got it?”

Tommy stared at his brother in disbelief. Tubbo was his best friend. They walked to school together every morning, walked home in the afternoon, and were inseparable. Anyone who knew Tommy knew Tubbo by association, and anytime one of them got in trouble, the other was roped in too. By some grace of God, Tubbo also lived three doors down.

So, hearing that he couldn’t see his best friend outside of school anymore was just as painful as leaving his mother.

“What- you can’t do that! What the fuck, Wilbur?” 

“I found a tutor at the library every Wednesday after school. It’s for an hour and he’s in university so he can help you get your grades up.”

Tommy squinted his eyes, looking at Wilbur like he was an idiot. “A tutor? I don’t need a tutor, I’m not stupid. I can do it on my own, back off.”

“I don’t really care whether you want to go or not, I’m the one paying for it, not you. If I say you’re going, you’re going. End of discussion.”

The urge to scream, to throw something, to cry , was very strong. Tommy didn’t bother saying another word, clenching his jaw and heading to the bedroom. He locked the door behind him, shoved his face into a pillow, and screamed. Wilbur could sleep on the living room floor tonight for all he cared.

Four days later, Tommy dropped into an empty chair at the only occupied table in the library, fatigued with exhaustion from his six hours at school. The man across from him didn’t seem phased in the slightest and only looked up to glance at him, bringing his gaze back down to whatever he was writing.

“Uh- are you Techno?” Tommy waited a beat, leaning back in the chair and staring at him impatiently. Again, the man only looked up for a moment, grunted in confirmation, and brought his attention back to the stack of papers in front of him.

“Tommy, correct?” A nod, “Great. We’re starting with history, get your folder out.” 

Tommy frowned and tilted his head to the side, “Oh, I don’t have homework in history today.”

Techno looked up at the boy and raised an eyebrow. “We’re not doing your homework, I’m tutoring you. You do your homework on your own time, I’m not giving you the answers for free.”

“It’s not technically free, you are being paid to be here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Techno deadpanned.

Clicking his tongue, Tommy pulled his history folder out from his backpack and slid it across the table, restraining himself from making a snarky remark. He didn’t necessarily dislike Techno, he just seemed like a stuck up prick, that was all. 

“Right,” the older flipped through the pages of Tommy’s folder, “we’re starting with the civil war.”

…

As expected, tutoring lasted an hour, running until four. Honestly, he could hardly remember a word that Techno had said the entire time, nodding along and blurting random answers whenever he was asked a question, but it wasn’t boring, per say. 

Wilbur didn’t need to know that though, Tommy would rather die than let Wilbur know he was right.

He kicked his shoes off at the door and headed to the kitchen, dropping his backpack on one of the two chairs at the table. Wilbur worked late, so the apartment was silent most days when he came home from school. 

That was why the sound of a quiet dripping was so obvious. There had been leaks in their house before, it wasn’t uncommon to wake up to the sound of a single droplet of water hitting the floor every few seconds–those were typically patched up by Phil for free. He was nice like that.

Tommy grabbed a hand towel from the counter and followed the noise into the bathroom, a steady trickle of water coming from a corner of the room and streaming down the wall into a small puddle on the floor. Thankfully, by the looks of it, this leak must have been fairly new, because there had been times he came home from school and found the floor soaking wet, or even worse, the carpet. 

Truthfully, he could leave it for his brother to deal with, he was still mad at him for their argument (which became far too common as of late), but Wilbur was the only one paying the bills. He was the only one choosing to take care of Tommy, and as much as he didn’t like his older brother, he could never hate him.

Dropping the rag onto the floor, Tommy kneeled down and began to soak up the puddle as best he could. When the floor was finally dry, he pulled a bucket from underneath the sink, kept on hand for leaks like this, and set it under the crack so that the water would pool in that instead of the floor.

“Another leak?” Tommy practically jumped out of his skin, whipping his head back and putting a hand on his heart.

“Jesus Christ, Wilbur. When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in?”

“I’ve been home this whole time, I was in the bedroom,” Wilbur gestured towards the bucket with his head, “is that a new one?”

Tommy huffed and shut his eyes for a moment, collecting himself from the scare. He could’ve sworn Wilbur had work today. “Yep, surprised you didn’t hear it, it was loud as fuck.”

“How was tutoring?” The topic change was quick and Tommy could tell, despite his cold stature, Wilbur was asking because he cared. Because he wanted to know if his little brother was okay.

“Fine.”

The only response given was a hum of acknowledgement. Wilbur turned away and walked back into the bedroom without another word, leaving Tommy to mope in his own thoughts and blame himself, yet again, for something out of his control. 

Like always .

Wednesdays after continued like that; Tommy went to school in the mornings without Tubbo, sat through all five of his classes, talked to Tubbo for an hour at lunch, and walked to the library. Techno was… different, to put it simply. He wasn’t like Wilbur in the ways that he used to be, hugging and giving him space to breathe, but Tommy still liked him.

He didn’t necessarily blame Wilbur for being so distant lately, bills were expensive, the crack in their ceiling needed to be fixed desperately, and he was pretty sure that his job had fired him days ago. 

But, he still kept paying for tutoring. Thirty pounds a week–the same amount they spent on groceries every month.

Tommy tried to understand, he really did. Some nights he forgot to sleep because he was worried about a test or an assignment due the next day, making flashcards and studying until his eyes burned. He tried so, so hard.

What hurt him the most was the fact Wilbur could clearly see him trying. He would come into the kitchen for a glass of water at an ungodly hour in the middle of the night, look at Tommy like some bug, and go back to bed without another word. 

He saw Tommy trying, and it still wasn’t good enough.

Tommy wasn’t so sure he would ever be good enough in his brother’s eyes.

One day after school, Tommy had managed to sneak out of the apartment before the sun had even risen. Wilbur was still sound asleep and though he wasn’t sure that he would even care if he caught Tommy sneaking out without telling him, he still did his best to make sure that Wilbur did not find out.

Wilbur, for some reason, needed to know everything his brother did. That irked Tommy especially, because he wasn’t his dad, he was his brother , that was it. 

Maybe, just maybe, the world was out to get him specifically, because not only was it freezing cold, fresh dew on the grass that soaked through his sneakers and the cuffs of his jeans, but when he had finally made it into the library, by some coincidence, Techno was sat at a table in the corner. Just like he had been when Tommy first met him, he was scribbling away at a piece of paper in front of him.

His first thought was to run. Turn around and walk right back out the door like he had never been there in the first place. But of course, Techno noticed him before he could act on that. 

“Tommy?” He waved the boy over and Tommy obliged, albeit hesitantly. “Why are you here so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing, have an english exam today,” Tommy wedged himself into the chair across from Techno and slumped forwards, elbows resting on the table and chin in his hands.

Techno hummed in understanding, “Me too, but I’ve got maths. You wanna study with me?”

In all honesty, if it weren’t for the lingering anxiety settled deep in his gut over this exam, Tommy was sure he would have fallen asleep right there. It was calm and Techno’s breathing was steady, the sound of a pencil gliding over paper adding to the peace. Much calmer than it had begun to feel at home.

He didn’t really know when Wilbur stopped being his hero, the big brother he could look up to and never be afraid around, and started being a monster.

“Sure,” Tommy agreed quietly. Everyone had bad days– Tommy was having a bad day today. If Techno noticed, however, he didn’t mention it. 

Snapping himself out of his trance, Tommy unzipped his backpack and pulled his folder out. Wilbur was a bitch, but not enough of one to be the reason he failed this exam.

…

The two studied in silence for an hour before Tommy had to–begrudgingly so–leave for school. To him, it felt like a crime for school to start at seven thirty in the morning, but no one other than Tubbo understood that, so he kept it to himself.

“Give me your phone for a second,” Techno reached a hand out, palm facing up expectantly, and Tommy froze in his spot, setting his backpack on his lap.

“Uh, why?” 

“Just give it to me, I’ll give it back, I promise.” Tommy trusted the man, so he unlocked his phone and slid it into his hand hesitantly. After a few moments of typing into the screen with his thumbs, he handed the phone back to the kid.

“My number, in case you ever need anything. If you need help with something just let me know, don’t worry about paying.” 

Tommy positively beamed at that, suppressing a smile that was itching to emerge. “Cool, will do.”

He shoved his phone back into the front pocket of his backpack and stood from his seat, pulling his backpack on and shaking out his hands that had begun to cramp up from writing so much. “See you Wednesday?”

“See you Wednesday.”

The week after his 16th birthday, Tommy was back in the same spot he had been the previous two years, head down and holding out a report card for Wilbur to grab. However, this time they were sat at the kitchen table with some pasta and veggies Wilbur had made the night before and reheated. 

He had spent the past five months in tutoring, working until his head was pounding and he was physically unable to take in any more information, all to raise his grades. And luckily, it worked. The first person he showed was Techno, of course. They met at the library like usual, except this time, Tommy didn’t pull out a textbook or a folder. Instead, he pulled out a folded sheet of paper with the highest grade being a B, but the lowest not below a C-.

Techno had given him a high five and took him out for ice cream immediately after, tutoring abandoned for a good reason. It was nice because it felt like he had done something right, like his hard work had finally paid off, even if just for that moment, it was worth it.

And yet, watching Wilbur’s eyes scan over the paper in his hands, Tommy didn’t have to say anything to know that somehow his brother would still be disappointed.

“You really couldn’t do better than a C?” He set the paper back onto the table and ran a hand across his face. Just like Tommy had expected . “Come on, Tommy, I know you’re smarter than this.”

The small bubble of hope that Wilbur would be proud of him, burst into the air. It was kind of silly how still, after two years, Tommy continued to get his hopes up and had the audacity to be disappointed when he was proven wrong. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted to be anywhere but there.

“I did my best, Will, really. You can ask Techno, I’ve been working so hard. The teachers just don’t get it, I keep telling them that I’m trying but they’re all just- I ‘dunno, pesks.” 

Wilbur stifled a laugh, sarcasm apparent in his tone, “Yeah, because you’re the best example of someone who isn’t a pesk.”

It was evident that he was joking, clearly. And yet, Tommy couldn’t help but feel like his brother’s words were a personal attack directed just at him. Like he had taken a knife and pushed it through Tommy’s gut, not enough to kill him but enough to leave a scar. A very big scar.

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy bit, bringing his eyebrows together in a tight squint.

“It was a joke, Toms. Chill.”

“Didn’t seem like much of a joke to me,” he dropped his fork onto his plate, suddenly losing his appetite that had been working up throughout the entire day. Considering he forgot to pack lunch that day ( Wilbur forgot to pack his lunch that day), it was odd that he could just… forget about being so hungry in an instant.

Wilbur raised his eyebrows momentarily before bringing them back down. “Okay, but it was, calm down.”

“Calm down?” Tommy scoffed under his breath. He knew he was a match waiting to be lit, everyone knew that, and Wilbur just so happened to be the one to do it. “Do you know how stressed I’ve been the past two fucking years?”

“Yeah, yeah I do, because I’ve been double that much stressed since I was seventeen.”

“You act like that’s my fault!”

“Because it is your fault, Tommy. It is!” Tommy’s face dropped in an instant. “It is, because if you weren’t born I would still be with mom. The only reason we ran away, the only reason I never even graduated college, was for you. So yes, I do understand.”

Tommy slammed his fists against the table, “No, Wilbur! You don’t understand and you never have.” He was sure Wilbur could feel the heat radiating from his face across the table. 

“That’s not my fucking fault if you don’t tell me when you’re upset,” The older raised his voice, pushing himself backwards in the chair and standing. “I can’t read your mind, Tommy. I know that’s such a shocker to you because you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

Following his brother's lead, Tommy jumped to his feet as well. He wouldn’t admit it, never , but even if the world was burning and it was all Wilbur’s fault, he would still follow behind. That was his brother, they were family no matter what, through everything they would always be family.

It was funny, in a way, how terribly false that was.

“I’m the stubborn one?” Tommy clicked his tongue, “Have you seen yourself, Will? You are the most pretentious, stuck up, controlling person I have ever met. Fuck you!”

Wilbur had asked one simple question: how are your grades? how on earth did they end up here. 

“What, me telling you to get your grades up, me worrying about you, is controlling?” Tommy took a step back, back hitting the wall, but Wilbur continued on. “I’m so sorry that I’m working my ass off day and night for you to go to school and in return I want you to try.”

“I’ve told you I’m trying already! You can see that, I know you can.”

“Not hard enough, obviously.”

That, for Tommy, was the final blow. Because Wilbur could say anything to him, call him any mean word or insult him every way he knew how, but when he had been trying this hard just for him and it still wasn’t good enough, that felt like his heart had been shattered and put on display just to laugh at.

“Fuck you!” Tommy screamed, stepping forwards to get closer to the man–not his brother. He couldn’t recognize Wilbur as his brother right now, and he wasn’t sure he had been able to at all lately. “I hate you! You’re just like mom, and I hate you!”

Now Wilbur took a step back, face paling and staring across in shock. 

Tommy didn’t give himself time to feel bad and apologise, stomping to the front door, slipping his shoes on, and shutting the door behind him. It had all happened in the blink of an eye; him yelling, Wilbur yelling back, and the cops surely being called by their neighbours.

He ran down the steps to the parking lot, skipping two at a time, and only stopped for a moment at the bottom of the stairs. 

The brothers had fought more times than Tommy could count, just like all siblings do, and no matter how bad it got, they always found each other again and apologised. He tried not to think about the fact that this was the worst fight they had ever gotten in.

Tommy waited at the bottom of the stairs, silently hoping that his brother would chase after him and they could forget this ever happened, for five minutes before he gave up. His phone hadn’t rang once, he didn’t have a missed call from him, and it was clear that Wilbur was not coming after him this time.

It made sense, really, that the sun would have just set and it would be pouring rain at the very second he decided to run away. 

A bus came to a screeching stop just feet away and again, he didn’t give himself time to think before hauling forwards and onto the bus.

His mind was spinning and he could hardly keep up with his own thoughts, so it didn’t surprise him when the driver had to remind him to pay. He pulled the case off his phone carefully and handed the driver the five pound bill, not bothering to wait for the change.

Thankfully it was late enough that only two other people were on the bus at the time, a mom and her baby who was fast asleep in her lap. Tommy wasn’t awake when Wilbur had initially ran from the home they grew up in, their mother’s home, yet he still found himself being hit with an overwhelming wave of nausea from just how bad those first few months had been.

Phil was kind enough to cut their rent in half and even cover half their bills, but it was still expensive when Wilbur had never had a job before, he didn’t have a reason to before that. The first few months were spent skipping meals, being malnourished, and running from the police when Wilbur had decided to steal a loaf of bread from the store.

Looking back on that now, Tommy couldn’t help but smile, because it was funny when he didn’t have to remember the way they hid in their apartment for a week after and left him to watch his brother give up meal after meal so that Tommy could eat instead.

The irony of this entire situation set in much faster than he had wanted it to. Running away from home at night, getting on a bus all alone, going who knows where. Tommy felt like he was nine again, but this time, his brother wasn’t there to hold onto. 

After five minutes, the bus rolled to a halt at a random stop. Tommy didn’t wait to ask where he was, how to get home, he just stepped off. More than anything, he just wanted to go home.

But he couldn’t go home, Wilbur was there and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he didn’t want to see him. Right now, at least. 

It was still raining when he crossed the street. The stop was just across the street from the beach, and though it was cold and dark, Tommy stepped onto the pier knowing there was no shelter from the downpour. 

The smell of salt water filled his nose and the quiet sound of waves crashing against the shore worked as a peak distraction. He fell into the first bench he spotted, halfway down the pier and facing the sea below.

There was an intangible weight on his chest, crushing his ribs and shattering bone. It wasn’t clear what he thought he would gain from this. Retribution? Complacency? Tommy was sure he felt none of that, he only felt guilty. 

When he had finally opened his eyes after he was done trying to prove his point, Wilbur wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t anything, just shocked. Tommy had half-expected him to bite back, keep fighting until he stormed into the room and left his little brother to sleep on the couch, but he hadn’t. Instead, Tommy was the one to run. 

An effect of the earlier storm, the stars twinkled in the sky above him, the moon giving the only source of light that reflected off the low tide. More times than not, Tommy found himself wondering what it would be like to be a star in the night sky, eyes on him wanting nothing more than to see how bright he shined.

To shake that crushing weight of expectation.

...

Tommy made it until five AM before he was itching to go home, desperate attempts at anything that would work. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have waited for change and used the rest to take the bus home much, much earlier on in the night, but he wasn’t, so now he was stranded.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled to the first contact he could think of, hovering over the call button for a moment and debating if it was worth the hassle–not for him, but for Techno. The repercussions could be dealt with when he got home; he pressed call.

Sometime in the night, the rain had come to a slow stop, but he wasn’t sure when, too focused on not crying. The urge grew stronger as the phone continued to ring, but finally, a hello ? sounded on the other side.

He didn’t waste any time, cutting to the chase before he could even say hi back, “Can you come pick me up? I know it’s late- or early, I guess, but I’m at the pier and I don’t know how to get home and I’m really cold.”

“You’re at the pier? Is Wilbur there? I mean, yeah, yeah of course I can come get you. I’ll- yeah, I’m on my way.” The way Tommy had fumbled over his words, clearly distressed, was enough for Techno to be out of bed and moving in seconds. 

Tommy slumped forwards on himself, digging his chin into his knees. “No, he’s not.”

“Oh, so you’re alone?” He hummed in response, focusing on the sound of keys jingling and a seatbelt clicking into place. “I’m on my way, okay? Just stay where you are.”

A wave of relief let him shut his eyes for a moment and open them just as fast. He was fine, Techno was on his way, and everything would be okay.

“How long have you been out there for?” Tommy could hear the clear worry in the man's voice, not even trying to cover it up at this point.

“Uh- I think it was ten when I got off the bus, so, yeah. Since then.”

He hadn’t really stopped to think about just how long that was, but now that he realised it, the air was suddenly much drier and his chest felt tighter than it had before.

“Jesus Christ, kid! Six hours?” Techno stressed. Tommy didn’t bother responding.

A realistic part of Tommy knew that this wasn’t his fault–or, not entirely–because he was a kid, as much as he hated to admit that, it was the truth. He was afraid and he was stupid, but the reason why wasn’t his fault. That realistic part of him proved to be small though. He blamed himself for everything bad in the world, as irrational as it was.

Neither of the two said anything on either side of the line for the rest of Techno’s drive–there was nothing to say.

Either he was speeding, or- well, he had to have been speeding, because a car pulled up just beside the entrance to the pier not three minutes later, and Techno stepped out. Tommy wasn’t sure he had ever seen the man this worried the entire time he had known him.

“Where’s your jacket?” Techno’s eyes were wide with concern.

“Sorry, I forgot to grab it before I left.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Techno nodded. “That’s okay, that’s fine. Here,” he pulled his own jacket off and wrapped it around the boy before he had a chance to protest it. 

“Are you okay?” Tommy’s hands were shaking too hard to zip the jacket, Techno quickly realised and took over, latching it together at the bottom and pulling the zipper up. “Here, get in the car,” a hand ushered Tommy to the passenger side and opened the door for him, guiding him in and shutting it behind him.

He knew he shouldn’t have called Techno, he should have just til the sun rose to sneak back in, but he hadn’t. Instead, he made Techno come pick him up and give him his own jacket, all because he decided to open his mouth.

Techno shut his own door behind him and hummed quietly, “So, are you gonna tell me why you called me at…” he trailed, looking up at the clock on his dashboard, “five in the morning?” 

Because I’m afraid , Tommy wanted to say. Because my head hurts and Wilbur was yelling and he’s mad–he’s mad, so he hates me now. 

“Got in a fight with my brother. Sorry for scaring you. I could’ve dealt with it on my own,” Instead. 

Techno ran a hand down his face and sighed, saying something about getting dry and not needing to apologise. Tommy was barely listening, zoning himself out the moment his brain deemed it was safe to. 

He couldn’t understand half the words Techno was saying, but it was apparent that he didn’t believe any of Tommy’s lies.

“You gonna tell me what actually happened? I’m not gonna call him- Wilbur, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We got in a fight, that’s it. Just got really bad and we started biting each other's heads off before we could calm down,” Tommy’s mind was running faster than he could follow. 

“You wanna talk about the reason for the fight?” Techno turned in his seat to face the boy patiently. He didn’t have to say it in words for Tommy to know that it meant he was waiting with open arms. 

“I came home with my report card, and I promise I’m trying,” he took a shallow breath out and began to pick at the bed of his thumb.

Techno frowned at that, staying silent for a moment to think, before, “Are you okay, Tommy?”

Tommy didn’t respond. He didn’t dare move, speak, breathe, in fear that he would shatter right in front of Techno. 

He was okay. He was fine and he was alive and that meant there was nothing wrong. At least, nothing that mattered enough.

“It’s okay not to be fine. You know that, right?”

And that broke the seal over his voice. 

“Some days are bad, really bad. Some days the only thing I tell myself is that I'm bad, I'm bad, I’m bad, and I don’t deserve good things because I haven’t earned it. Suddenly I'm back to being seven and my mom is yelling and Wilbur is telling me to stay quiet while my mom just- won’t stop yelling,” He paused to catch his breath, voice wavering dangerously. “I'm back to being seven and seeing the card I made that my mom threw away. I'm back to crying in Wilbur’s arms asking why mom hated me, asking what I did wrong. I'm back to crying myself to sleep and cowering, hoping someone will notice and save us. That's when I realised I would never have a childhood like every other kid, and I don’t- I keep wondering why everyone suddenly hates me. Why no one loves me just because I’m me.”

By the time he had finished rambling, Tommy had both hands over his mouth in an attempt to silence the sobs leaving his mouth unwillingly. This was embarrassing, this was so fucking embarrassing, but he could hardly think about anything other than the overwhelming guilt crawling up his throat.

These were memories he had promised himself to never think about again, to forget about forever because it was in the past and he couldn’t change it now, so there was no point in thinking about it now. Yet, here he was, curled into himself and choking on his own breath because he decided to think.

Techno wasn’t physically affectionate, he didn’t like hugs, he liked his personal space, and he made that very clear. Tommy always respected that. Maybe that’s why it made him cry even harder when Techno moved himself closer and wrapped his arms around the boy tightly, just like Wilbur used to do .

“Tommy, I don’t know what happened between you and your brother, I don’t know what your mom did, but I do know that Wilbur loves you,” Tommy kept the side of his head on Techno’s shoulder, showing no signs of moving anytime soon. 

“You don’t know that, he said it was my fault that we ended up how we did. And I know that- I know it is my fault, but I didn’t want to hear my brother tell me that.”

Tommy was pulled out of the hug and replaced with Techno’s hands on the sides of his face, holding his head to look at him properly. His lip quivered dangerously and he had to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from breaking into sobs again.

“Don’t say that. It’s not your fault for what someone else said to you,” Techno frowned in his direction, not at him, but with him. “The first time I spoke to Wilbur, he only talked about you. How was your day, Wilbur ? He would talk about you, How is work going, Wilbur ? Somehow he would loop you into it.”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably under the attention, despite the fact he was the one who had asked for it in the first place. It was a very serious thing to be alive in this world, especially by his brother. Somehow, he managed to find the bad in everything–not by purpose, not because he liked being negative, but because his life, and himself, was broken, and the world had been the hammer that smashed it to pieces. 

They might not have been best friends, but they were dancing in this world together and doing what they could to glue the pieces back in place.

“I know that he might not show it, but he loves you, Tommy. I don’t have to know him well to see that. It doesn’t make what he said okay, it wasn’t right if it hurt you this bad, and even if he doesn’t show it, it’s okay to be someone that you didn’t think you would be.”

Tommy wrapped his hand around the other wrist and held it to his chest, shutting his eyes and nodding. With time, he had learned to accept that things would be bad forever, that the stars twinkling in the sky would only stay that way for so long and eventually, Wilbur would leave too, but even if he couldn’t see it, Techno was looking at him like he knew every step of the way. Like he knew the pain Tommy felt and thought of him no different because of it. 

“You ready to go home?” Techno removed his hands from the sides of Tommy’s face and turned to pull his seatbelt down instead. 

“Yeah. Yes please.”

…

Techno pulled into the parking lot of Tommy’s apartment and moved the gear into park, letting the younger take a breath before removing his head from where it rested against the window.

It must have been obvious how anxious he was, because Techno put a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly, “It’ll be fine. And if it’s not, you call me and I’ll come pick you up.”

Swiping the back of his wrist under his nose and sniffling quietly, Tommy nodded. He let Techno unlock the car and stepped, turning to take the jacket off and hand it back, “Just keep it for now, give it back to me on Wednesday, yeah?”

Tommy paused, opening his mouth to decline, but gave up midway through. That took too much effort and he was exhausted, he just wanted to go inside and see his brother.

“Thank you,” he smiled just barely, wrapping his arms around himself again.

Techno smiled back. “No problem, kid. I gave you my number for a reason.”

Feeling wanted was nice, especially when it was by someone who was just meant to stick around until their job was done. Tommy’s grades had been C’s since the second month of being tutored by Techno, so that was enough proof that he had stayed for Tommy, only that.

He turned around, stopped himself from turning back and apologising for the fiftieth time, and climbed the stairs to his and Wilbur’s apartment. When he reached the top, he walked as slow as he could. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding the door to his apartment, he was just afraid.

It was odd that he had known Wilbur his entire life–brothers by blood, and even if not by that, Tommy was sure they would still be brothers in their own way–and he still found himself afraid of what might happen when he opened that door. He didn’t mean it when he said he hated him. Not at all.

But they had been through this before, maybe not as bad and certainly not involving Tommy running away, but they had still fought and made up afterwards. This time would be no different.

He hadn’t even been given the chance to knock on the door a second time before it was swung open to reveal a terrible looking Wilbur; eyes red from crying, hair tousled wildly, and chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon and back.

Tommy stared at him for a moment in silence, half because he didn’t know what to say and half because he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. It didn’t much longer, however, before Wilbur was pulling him inside and shutting the door behind them. He still didn’t speak as he collapsed onto the couch, bending forwards to rest his head in his hands. Tommy didn’t have much of a choice other than to sit beside him.

“You’re an idiot. You are such a fucking idiot.”

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t forgive Wilbur for what he said, that wasn’t something he could just forget about, but he had also compared him to their mother, so it seemed fair that Wilbur was equally as upset, he just didn’t expect him to be this blunt about it. Maybe it was stupid to believe that they could up and move on from that fight like it was nothing, and maybe it was stupid to believe his brother still cared that much-

Wilbur leaned forwards and engulfed the boy into a hug, not too tight and not too loose, just right. It didn’t matter if he had a hug from every person in the world, not one would compare to his brother. There was that same bond that had been apparent when they first escaped their mother’s house, with shared glances saying more than words could to each other. That was something they’d always have, no matter how bad things got, because they were brothers, and if it came down to it, they would always have each other's backs.

“Fuck you,” Tommy grumbled into his brother’s shoulder, digging his nose into the fabric and relishing in it. His throat had already started to burn and his head was a little foggy, he was definitely sick, but he could ignore that for now. There was no heat behind his words.

There’s a constant tension in that apartment. When he first noticed it, Tommy blamed the building itself, claiming it had been haunted long before they ever stepped foot inside it, but as time went on and arguments grew heavier, the tension did as well. 

There’s a constant tension in that apartment, but right now it was a little more bearable. Maybe Techno was right, because a blanket of peace fell over them.

“I’m sorry,” finally, Wilbur whispered, his voice cracking down the centre. 

“I know you are, I’m sorry too.”

“Do you forgive me?” 

Tommy only clung to his brother tighter, pulling himself closer so their chests were pressed together. He let the thought run in his mind, turning it over and scanning each word carefully. Because he didn’t have a reason to forgive Wilbur, he hadn’t blamed him in the first place. He knew that Wilbur was seventeen when he had to learn how to care for two people when he hadn’t even learned to take care of himself. He knew that Wilbur tried the best he could, working late and, for the first two years, apologising every night he came home even a minute late. He knew that Wilbur loved him, even if he didn’t like him, he loved him.

“I don’t think so. Not yet, at least,” he did forgive Wilbur, but he still felt betrayed.

Digging his chin into the top of Tommy’s hair, Wilbur smiled. “That’s okay, I forgive you ,” 

They weren’t perfect, Tommy was still–though very small compared to the night before–angry at his brother, Wilbur was definitely going to ground him for running off the entire night, but they hadn’t let go of each other since they sat on the couch. Tommy realised that he could still love his brother, still see him as nothing more than that when he poked and prodded at his every move. The past on their tails, enemies in the mirror, Tommy could still love him.