Chapter Text
Thirteen-year-old Tommy kicked open the back door with a huff while running a hand through his blond curls. With one last glance back at his brothers leaning over the kitchen table looking at some stupid book, he jumped down the short flight of stairs, finding himself unable to stop the smile of satisfaction spreading across his face as his red rainboots squelched in the mud. The sky was a dark grey that looked close to rain but hadn’t yet opened the floodgates, and the air was crisp, just beginning to feel like the end of winter. Tommy, however, didn’t feel the cold as he buttoned up his bright yellow raincoat. He walked down the stone path leading to the entrance of the barren garden. Before entering, he reached over and yanked a branch off of a dead bush next to the iron gates and scraped the leaves off. The young boy twirled around with it before holding the stick up in front of him and closing his bright blue eyes and scrunching his eyebrows in concentration. He listened to the wind for just less than a second before snapping his eyes open and pretending the stick was dragging him back down the stone path and around a wooden bridge, he wasn’t quite sure was stable, through the dead garden and up a trail that led toward a hill. Up and up, he went, until the ground levelled out and he was able to catch his breath before once again letting the stick guide him.
The sound of rocks crumbling startled him, and his gaze snapped up the hill to his right at a little collection of boulders nestled into the side of the elevation. A smaller rock rolled down and settled right at his feet. His gaze narrowed as he lowered the stick to his side.
“Hello?” he called. “Who’s there?”
With no answer he frowned and huffed before almost taking a step forward. However, his gaze landed on the stone at his feet. He shot the boulders a quick grin before grabbing the rock and throwing it back where it had come from.
There was a strangled yowl from behind the stones and Tommy felt his heart freeze. Did he just throw a rock at a lion? Or some kind of monster? What the hell?! His eyes went round like coins, and he could feel his heart attempting to break out of his chest. He backed up slightly before bolting down the path in the hopes of outrunning the bitch. He ran through a dead apple orchard that did nothing to calm his fear, and it was only when the creepy trees were no longer surrounding him, and he was positive he didn’t hear anything behind him that he let himself slow down. Turning to look back where he had come from and slowly backing up, he scanned the area for any sign of the demon he had pissed off while holding his stick up in front of him as his only protection.
Rustling startled him to his left and he looked over to see some grass moving and he felt his arms tremble slightly.
“Oh shit.” he muttered under his breath before biting his lip.
“MEOW!” came an annoyed cry behind him and Tommyinnit let out an extremely manly shriek of definitely-not-terror while spinning around and almost landing on his ass.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, wildly brandishing his stick. “You scared me half to death, you mangy little shit!”
Sitting on a stump glaring at him with nothing less than pure annoyance was a skinny black cat with big yellow eyes. A bright gold collar stood out from around its neck with something hanging from it, but Tommy couldn’t tell what it was. It stretched out its claws and attempted to pull apart the rotting wood beneath him. As Tommy took a step closer its eyes narrowed, and it shrunk back.
“Chill out, bitch boy,” Tommy glared right back. “I’m just looking for an old well. Know anything about it?”
Predictably, the cat stayed silent and stared up at the golden haired child with the most patronising look.
“Not talking, eh?” Tommy asked with a shit-eating grin; he shrugged at the distinct lack of a response and straightened up, holding out his stick and closing his eyes, before spinning in a circle. He could feel the wind picking up and he almost laughed at the absurdity of what he was doing. “Magic dowser, magic dowser, show me... the well!”
A loud horn made his eyes fly open and he looked around to see the silhouette of someone on a dirt bike at the apex of the hill behind him. They wore a mask and glasses that were illuminated as lightning shot across the sky. They were also heading straight for Tommy.
The boy let out a yelp and swung the stick at the bike man.
“Get away from me!” he yelled.
The stick hit the bike, but it was going too fast, and it knocked Tommy off balance, and he fell into the mud while the bike tumbled over and the person riding it jumped off and climbed onto the tree trunk next to the cat as another lightning bolt cut across the sky. They leaned down with their hands on their knees, head tilted to the side, and watched as Tommy pushed himself out of the mud. Tommy righted himself before turning to glare at the other person who reached up and pulled their glasses off to reveal a pair of grey eyes.
“Let me guess,” the newcomer said while also pulling off the mask, “You’re from Londen? Maybe Manchester. Big city with not a lot of nature.”
The kid appeared to be a boy around his age with brown-blond hair that probably needed to be cut. He was holding the broken stick in a gloved hand and examining it closely.
“You know,” he continued, swinging around so he was sitting on the trunk instead of squatting, “I’ve heard of water wizards before, but this doesn’t seem like a wand. Maybe just a normal stick?”
“It’s a dowsing rod, dickhead!” Tommy snapped, stomping forward, and snatching it back from the boy who let out a whimper at losing the stick. “And I don’t like being stalked! Not by psycho Americans, or their fucking cats.”
He gestured wildly at the small cat who had wandered over to the new boy and then they both turned to Tommy with their heads tilted to the side.
“He’s not really my cat.” the boy said, reaching over and petting him. “He’s kind of feral. You know, wild,” turning back to Tommy, he waved his hands above his head and the blond-haired boy felt a powerful desire to sock this dramatic kid in the jaw. “I do feed him every night though.” The boy turned back to the cat with a look of adoration that — for some reason — made Tommy’s heart twist painfully. “Oh, and sometimes at night, he’ll come to my window and bring me little dead things.”
Tommy mimed vomiting at the admission, before letting out a growl of frustration.
“Look here, fuckface,” he glared. “I’m from fucking Nottingham. And if I am some sort of fucking water wizard, then where is the secret well?”
The boy’s eyes widened slightly before gesturing at the ground frantically. “If you stomp too hard, you’ll fall in it!” he cried, pointing at Tommy’s feet.
The blond looked down before quickly jumping back, out of the circle of mushrooms he hadn’t even noticed he had been standing in, and watched as the kid stood up and walked over to it and brushed away the mud.
“See?” he announced, proudly, when ancient, mouldy wood emerged from the ground and he knocked on it, the sound echoing around them. He grabbed a stick from the ground and pried it open — not ungracefully; like he had done it many times before. “It’s supposed to be so deep, if you fell to the bottom and looked up, you would see a sky full of stars in the middle of the day.”
“Huh.” Tommy said in response before looking at the well in slight awe and kneeling down to examine it closely.
“I’m surprised he let you move in.” the boy spoke, half to himself and half to Tommy. “My grandfather owns the house you’re staying in. He usually won’t rent to people who have kids.”
“What do you mean?” Tommy asked looking up at the boy, who he had only just realised is super fucking tall. “Also, I’m not a kid. I’m a big man!”
Uncertainty and nervousness flashed across his face, and the boy stepped back a little.
“U-Uh,” he stuttered a little. “I’m… not supposed to talk about it. I’m Ranboo by the way.”
“Ranboo?” Tommy repeated in disbelief, but the boy just shrugged with a smile.
“That’s me.” he grinned moving around to pick up his bike which was lying on the ground. “What about you?”
“I’m Tommy.” he answered, crossing his arms while still gripping the dowsing rod.
“Thomas what?” Ranboo asked with a guileless grin that made Tommy’s anger spike.
“Tommy. Tommy Minecraft.” he snapped.
“You know,” the tall boy said, and you could just hear the joy on his face as he chased the cat around a little. “It’s not very scientific, but I heard that an ordinary name like Thomas can lead people to have ordinary expectations about a person.”
Tommy knew this kid was trying to press all his buttons and that knowledge just seemed to piss him off more. Then, in the distance there was a call from someone.
“I think someone is calling you, Ranboo.” he glared at the boy who was looking around nervously.
“W-what?” he stutters. “I-I didn’t hear anything.”
“Oh, I definitely heard something!” Tommy took a step closer to the boy. “Ranboob!”
Even though he towered over Tommy, Ranboo looked a little sad about the nickname before someone called his name and he looked up the hill.
“Grandad.” he frowned and pulled himself onto his bike and let out a small chuckle. “Well, great to meet the Nottingham Water Wizard.”
Tommy’s jaw set and he started tapping the dowsing rode against his hand as a threat, because if this dick did not leave soon, Tommy would have no choice but to murder him.
“I’d wear gloves next time though.” Ranboo said, looking at it about to put on his mask again.
“Why?” demanded Tommy.
“Because,” Ranboo paused before smiling a little and pulling the fabric across his face, “That dowsing rod of yours? It’s poison oak.”
Tommy let out a yelp of shock and dropped the stick as Ranboo took off away from him leaving him with the cat and covered in mud.
“Asshole.” he growled, wiping his hands on his jacket before looking at the cat who just blinked at him before shaking its head and prancing off.
Tommy clenched his fists in frustration and looked back at the well. Curiosity spiked in his chest, and he glanced around until he found a small pebble. Returning to the rotten wood, being careful not to put any weight on it, Tommy dropped the pebble through a small hole and tilted his head so he could hear it hit the water. It took a second, but when he finally heard the plop, a drop of water landed on the side of his nose, and he turned eyes to the sky which had finally opened up.
Sighing to himself, Tommy climbed to his feet and took off back home. With the rain and the time, he was hoping there would be a warm meal waiting for him at home with his brothers and dad to share together.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The rain continued into the next day and Tommy watched from the leaky kitchen window, absentmindedly scratching at the rash which had broken out on his left hand from the stupid poison oak. Apart from the sound of water hitting the windows, the room was filled with the clicking of the laptop belonging to his older brother, Wilbur, who was sitting at the table. The young man had his round glasses perched on his nose and a frown etched into his features as he stared intensely at the word document open in front of him.
Tommy sighed a little before setting up the packages of garden seeds he had just unboxed across the windowsill.
“I almost fell down a well yesterday, Wil,” the younger of the two spoke up, looking back slightly at the other.
“Uh huh.” Wilbur answered with his focus clearly elsewhere.
“I would have died,” Tommy tried again, before clenching his teeth and glaring at the package of pepper seeds in front of him.
“That’s nice, Toms,” his brother said in an apathetic tone, causing Tommy’s breath to feel heavy in his lungs.
The young boy shook his head before pushing himself off of the counter and spinning around, looking at Wilbur, who was running a tired hand through his droopy brown hair.
“So… Can I go out?” Tommy asked, walking over to the other side of the dirty square kitchen table and flashing his angelic smile. “I think it’s perfect weather for gardening.”
Wilbur didn’t even look up.
“No Tommy. Rain makes mud, mud makes a mess which you will not clean up and either I‘ll have to, or Phil will get mad.”
“Wilbur!” Tommy groaned, collapsing into the chair opposite him and frowning. “I want a stupid garden to be growing when my mates come to visit! Instead, all we have right now are those dead weeds. Didn’t we move here to have nature and countryside or whatever?”
“Yeah Toms,” Wilbur’s eyes met Tommy’s with annoyance and a little bit of anger that made Tommy want to flinch away. “But then we had The Accident.”
“It wasn’t my fault Techno hit that truck!” Tommy cried, pushing away from the table and crossing his arms around his middle.
“I never said it was,” Wilbur said, placing his hands on the sides of his laptop, his eyes narrowing as he studied his brother.
Silence stretched between them before Wilbur went back to his work and Tommy exhaled deeply while leaning forward, scratching his hand.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “You and Phil get paid to write about plants and you hate dirt.”
“Tommy,” Wilbur groaned, rolling his eyes. “I do not have time for you right now.” Tommy’s fists clenched at his brother’s words. “And you still have unpacking to do! Lots of unpacking.”
“That sounds exciting,” Tommy snapped back, his tone practically dripping with sarcasm. As he stood up, he made a move to walk past Wilbur — who then straightened in his seat and grabbed his brother’s arm. Tommy froze at the contact.
“Oh, I forgot,” Wil leaned down on the other side of his seat and pulled up a small package that had been placed on the floor. “Some kid left this on the front porch.”
He handed the bundle of old newspapers to Tommy before letting go and returning to his laptop. The younger boy ignored the tingling in his arm and unwrapped the paper. A note was taped to the inside, covered in beautiful calligraphy.
Hey Thomas,
Look what I found in my grandfather’s trunk!
Look familiar?
-Ranboo
Tommy groaned at the thought of the stupidly tall boy from yesterday before pulling the newspaper all the way off to reveal a cloth doll that looked remarkably like him. With blonde hair made of yarn, black buttons for eyes, and a red and white shirt underneath a yellow raincoat with red boots.
“Huh?” he frowned at it. “A mini me? That is weird. Look Wil.”
He held it out to brother who had turned his attention back to the laptop but glanced up. His brow furrowed behind his glasses as he studied the doll.
“Weird,” he frowned, and Tommy was almost elated to get an actual reaction from his elder. “What is his name anyway? The boy who dropped it off?”
“Ranboo.” Tommy pulled a disgusted face and threw the wrappings over his shoulder, holding the doll by its arm. “And I’m far too old and manly for dolls.”
He turned away and left the room without seeing the small smile on Wilbur’s face. The young boy walked down the hall to the office door and opened it without knocking. The room was piled with unpacked boxes that loomed ominously around the desk where a PC was set up and two people sat looking at the screen.
“Hey Phil,” Tommy called. “Techno, how’s the work going?”
His eldest brother glanced over his left shoulder which still had the straps of a sling around it, and Tommy saw tired eyes meeting his through rectangular glasses, strands of his pink hair escaped his braid and fell into his face. Tommy’s father didn’t even turn to look at the door.
“Hey, Theseus,” Techno gave a nod of acknowledgement before going back to work.
Tommy frowned at the decidedly lacklustre answer to his question and absolutely no recognition from his father, so he crossed his arms, the stupid doll still swinging from his hands.
“Dad!” he called and watched as Phil’s eyes widened in surprise before looking at Tommy’s reflection on the screen.
“Hello, Tommy,” the eldest answered, every syllable dripping with exhaustion. Tommy watched his eyes narrow, and he leaned closer to the reflection. “And- little Tommy?” he turned to look at the doll. “Huh?”
There was a pause as both older men stared at the little doll before returning to work, much to Tommy’s disappointment.
“Do you know where the gardening tools are?” Tommy asked, slumping against the doorframe.
“It’s uh,” Phil muttered. “It’s pouring out there, innit?”
Tommy let out a huff of annoyance, “It’s just raining.”
“What’d your brother say?” Phil asked, handing Techno another paper.
“Do not even think about going out in this weather, Tommyinnit!” he shouted, in his best Wilbur impression while shaking the doll in front of him as if it were him and he was Wilbur.
“I don’t sound like that!” Wilbur called from the kitchen.
“Well, then you won’t need the tools,” Techno deadpanned, and Tommy let out a groan of frustration.
He was about to pull the door closed when it made an obnoxious creaking noise and really, Tommy just couldn’t stop himself from swinging back and forth on it until both men turned to look at him in annoyance.
“You know,” Phil plastered a fake smile on his face, turning his chair, so he was fully facing his youngest son. “This house is one-hundred and fifty years old.”
“So?” Tommy asked, crossing his arms, knowing that his father is about to spout some bullshit at him.
“So,” Phil reached behind him and grabbed a small notebook and pen before pressing it into Tommy’s chest. “Explore it! Go out and count all the doors and windows and write that down.”
“List everything blue,” chimed Techno, as he massaged his upper left arm.
“Great idea!” Phil pointed at his eldest before turning back to Tommy. “I’m sorry, Tom, but please just let us work.”
He turned away and left Tommy holding the paper and the stupid doll. The boy clenched his jaw in annoyance before turning on his heel and yanking off the yellow rain jacket he had been wearing in the hopes of being allowed outside. As he walked out the door, he tossed the jacket onto the floor and headed out into the main hall between the living room and the stairs leading to the second floor. As he walked, he almost fell on his face at a wrinkle in the ugly greenish rug beneath him. The young boy stomped on it in annoyance in the hope of it straightening out. Instead, it dispersed before reappearing behind him and Tommy felt irritation take root in his chest. Never one to back down from a challenge he slams down his other foot on top of it and it relocates itself to in-between his legs. The boy jumps onto it with both legs and the fold multiplies to either side of him. Tommy groaned and did the only manly thing he could think of: he walked away.
Moving into the dining room, he spotted the wall of windows that faced the front yard and he walked over and wiped away some moisture in a small circle for the doll to look out of before making a larger one for himself to see from. He gazed out at the downpour and sighed, the brightness fading a little from his eyes. Stepping back and pulling out the notebook from his father, he flipped to an empty page, bestowing upon it his decidedly immaculate handwriting — Twelve Leaky Windows.
A drop of water fell from the ceiling and landed on the paper, smearing the letters, and Tommy looked up and flipped the ceiling the bird. Moving away and up the creaky stairs, he wandered down the corridor to the room with the chalkboard sign hanging from the door. It looked like the normal “Fuck off” had been wiped away in the move leaving just a smear of what had once been letters. Tommy pushed open a door to reveal Wilbur’s room.
It was rich of the man to get on Tommy’s back about not unpacking when he hadn’t touched more than two boxes. His bed had a blue duvet thrown over it, and a box of clothes opened but not put away resting on the ground. His guitar case leaned against the wall next to the door to the bathroom that connected his room to Techno’s. While still in need of being decorated, the room was just beginning to smell like Wilbur. The cleanliness of linen and sandalwood mixing with the faint sweet scent of vanilla invaded Tommy’s senses as he moved into the room. It was familiar and comforting. Tommy ran a hand over the blanket before heading to the bathroom to continue his exploration in the hopes of finding something cool.
Instead, he finds bugs in the bathtub and a broken faucet, as the shower head immediately soaks him when he turns the tap. Letting out a shout of frustration, he slammed the water off and shook his head like a dog in a futile attempt to dry himself.
Slamming the door closed behind him, he travelled back downstairs, jumping down the stairs two at a time before leaping the last three to land on the wrinkle in the rug which finally vanished, and Tommy let out a grin of satisfaction. The force of his landing caused a door to open and when Tommy wandered in, he found the water heater, with a sign taped on it, reading Hot — look out. Pulling out the notebook he took another note: One rusty old water heater.
Turning around and heading out of the room, he hit the light switch, which caused the lights in the hallway outside to flicker dramatically before going out and Tommy could hear his father and Techno yelling in the other room (something sounding suspiciously like “NO!”, but really, who’s to say? Maybe they were screaming “GO!” as in “go outside, Tommy, enjoy yourself, have some fun for once in this dreary, ancient house we’re in!”), and the boy flinched before running back and turning the switch back on and fixing the taped sign that had been placed above it with “Don’t Push” written on it. Tommy closed the door, walking away, whistling very innocently. He walked into the front room which was empty — aside from an old wardrobe, a single chair, a couch, and a round wooden table with a box set atop it.
Tommy put the notebook down along with the doll next to the box and pulled it towards him. Inside were all of Techno’s snow globes from all the trips they had taken as a family. Tommy pulled out his favourite, the one with Brighton written across the bottom, and shook it so the glitter fell through the water. Taking out the others, Tommy walked over to the fireplace and lined them up on the mantel. He smiled at the globes before his gaze rose to see the painting above the fireplace. It depicted a boy crying about his ice cream, which had fallen to the ground before him.
Tommy grabbed the notebook off the table and opened it back up.
“One boring blue boy,” he narrated as he wrote, “in a painfully boring painting.” His eyes scanned the room before he continued. “Four incredibly boring windows. And no more doors.”
He reached out to the table to grab the doll before moving on, but his hand found nothing. Looking down at the table, he found it empty, and he frowned. Crouching down, Tommy stuck his head under the table.
“Alright, little me,” he muttered. “Where are you?”
Turning around, he saw the doll on the other side of the room, hidden behind a very tall box which he assumed had a picture in it. Frowning in confusion, the boy wandered over to the doll and knelt to grab it but caught sight of something strange behind the box. Moving the box out of the way, and kneeling down on the floor, Tommy found a small door. Like the ones that usually lead to crawl spaces on second floors. This one had wallpaper put over it, but you could still see the indents of the frame and keyhole.
Tommy reached out and ran a hand over the paper before looking over his shoulder. “Hey, Wilbur!” he called. “Where does this door go?”
“I am really, really busy!” the older boy shouted back from the kitchen.
Tommy ignored the annoyance in his tone and leaned closer to the keyhole and poked it with his finger. “I think it’s locked!” he yelled. With no immediate response he pushed back and faced the doorway. “PLEASE!”
There was a groan from the kitchen before footsteps could be heard and Tommy grinned as Will came into view. The man crossed his arms and turned his eyes from Tommy to the door, before looking back at Tommy.
“Will you stop pestering me if I do this for you?” he asked, his fingers tapping against his arm.
Tommy folded his hands together and looked up at Wilbur, pouting, his eyes big and pleading. He even let out a little whimpering sound. “Please, Wilby,” he tacked on for good measure.
A pause before Wilbur’s shoulders sagged in defeat, eyes softening as they always would at the childhood nickname. “Fine,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair before twisting around to return to the kitchen, where Tommy heard a drawer open and metal jingle together. His brother returned shortly with a black key clutched in his hand.
“Move out of the way,” he said, as he knelt down and used a knife to cut away the wallpaper and free the door so they would be able to open it.
Tommy held his breath in anticipation as Wilbur inserted the key and twisted it. The younger leaned forward, grinning with excitement which quickly vanished as the door was opened to reveal a brick wall.
“Bricks!” he cried incredulously. “I don’t get it!”
He turned to Wilbur who had a genuine expression of pity on his face.
“Sorry, Sunshine. They must have closed this off when they divided up the house.” he shrugged before getting to his feet and heading to the door. “Even if it led to a tiny room, I don’t know how much you would have liked it. You hate small spaces.”
“Yeah, I know.” Tommy frowned. “I just don’t get it. And why is the door so small?”
“We made a deal Tommy!” Wilbur rounded on him, all sympathy gone, replaced with a familiar annoyance. “Zip it!”
Tommy waited until he heard the chair in the kitchen scrape across the floor and the clicking resumed before he shouted, “You didn’t lock it!”
Wilbur let out a cry of frustration and Tommy turned back to the wall of bricks with disappointment written all over his features. Sighing, he slammed the door closed and got up to leave.