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Tommy picks at his fingernails, closing his eyes and sighing. He hasn’t added any new tally marks to the walls of his prison cell in the past few weeks, it seems pointless to count the days. Time is nothing here, it’s useless. The only measurement of time Tommy can comprehend is before and after, he thinks this has been true for a while. Before and after prison. Before and after exile. Before and after he started forgetting things. Honestly he just wants to rest.
He looks at the lava bubbling outside of his cell. He scoots closer and reaches out his hand to touch the glass wall between him and rest. There was a time when there was no wall, but then he tried to jump. Now there is a wall.
Maybe Tubbo will visit today, that sounds like fun. Tommy doesn’t really remember Tubbo, but Ranboo says they were good friends. When Tubbo visits he tells him nice things. Things about his life in Snowchester and his son Michael. He says Michael is his nephew, but that doesn’t make sense to Tommy because he and Tubbo aren’t brothers.
Tubbo tells him he had a brother a long time ago. His brother's name was Wilbur and he could play guitar. Tommy thinks he would like to hear someone play the guitar. He doesn’t understand what happened to Wilbur, and he doesn’t remember him either. It’s frustrating how little he remembers. Tubbo thinks if he was allowed outside they would be able to jog more memories but Sam said no.
He decides to pull out the book Tubbo gave him. It’s a leather-bound journal and it has lots of things about Tommy’s life written down in it. Most of it hurts too much for him to read, and today he opens up to the only bookmarked page. The page is just a list of names, but it means a lot to Tommy. Tubbo said it was a list of his friends.
He drops the book in surprise when his communicator buzzes. His only contacts are Sam, Tubbo and Ranboo. Tubbo had to force Sam to put their contacts in. This message is from Sam and it reads, ‘you have a visitor’.
Tommy’s eyebrows furrow. That’s weird. The only visitors he’s gotten so far have been Tubbo and Ranboo, and Sam never needs to tell him before they come in. Once, he remembers, two achingly familiar men visited him. One had blonde hair, black crow’s wings and was rather short, the other had pink hair and a mask resembling the skull of a pig. They both wore warm, fluffy clothing as if they’d come from somewhere cold. They didn’t stay long, but they were kind enough. Tommy wishes he knew who they were, but they haven’t come back since and Tubbo refuses to tell him about them.
He pulls himself back into the present, typing a quick message to Sam. He tells him to send the person over, knowing if he asked who it was the Warden would probably give a cryptic reply that would tell him nothing.
Soon Sam tells him they’re coming and then the wall of lava descends and the visitor steps onto the path to his cell. As he comes closer Tommy can see that the man wears a large trench coat and has a slightly bloodied bandage on one of his arms. His hair is brown, save for a single streak of gray tucked behind his ear, and he wears wire-framed spectacles with red lenses.
Wilbur, his mind whispers, and his heart skips a beat. He’s not sure how he knows that, but it seems so clear, so true. That’s Wilbur. That’s his brother. He doesn’t have a guitar strapped to his back like Tommy imagined he would, but he does have long slender hands that look like they would be good at strumming one.
Wilbur reaches the end of the pathway and steps onto the little strip of obsidian before the glass wall. Tommy wants to smash the glass, to reach out and hug his brother but he can’t. The man on the other side of the glass kneels and stretches out both of his hands to rest on the glass. Tommy does the same and it’s almost, almost like they’re really touching.
He whispers something Tommy can’t quite hear through the barrier, but his breath fogs up the glass and suddenly a memory crashes into him with the full force of a freight train.
Tommy is six years old, covered in brightly colored bandaids and missing half of his front teeth. He stands in the kitchen, jumping up and down excitedly and fiddling his fingers wildly at his sides. Through the partly frosted window Tommy can see snow falling outside, landing on trees and decorating them with a beautiful sparkling white.
“Stop that,” Wilbur chides, reaching over from his place at the stove to swat at Tommy’s fidgety hands. He giggles, but stops and clasps his hands behind his back, standing up on tiptoe to see in the pot his brother is stirring.
He leans a little too far forward and without his hands to stable him, he falls right into Wilbur’s back with a small oof! and an affronted grunt from the older. He steps back, rubbing his neck and holding back a laugh.
“Gremlin!” his older brother cries, turning around and pushing him out of the room forcefully. “Out of my kitchen with you,” a beat of silence, then: “or else!”
Tommy’s face breaks into a grin and he turns on his heels and runs for stairs, Wilbur catching him swiftly and scooping him up. He begins giggling uncontrollably as his brother tickles while simultaneously peppering a trail of kisses onto his forehead and cheeks.
“Stop, stop! Wilby I-I can’t breathe!” Tommy laughs, shoving at his older brother’s face and messing up his hair. Wilbur sits down on the steps and stops ticking and kissing him, but keeps him cradled in his lap.
Gently, Wilbur runs a hand through Tommy’s hair and he closes his eyes and leans into the touch.
Tommy, still engulfed in the memory, leans forward till his forehead is pressed up against the glass wall in between them. Wilbur, all-knowing as ever, smiles as if he knows exactly what Tommy is doing. He reaches out a hand and attempts to smooth his baby brother's hair.
Of course he can’t, there’s still a wall between them after all, but Wilbur doesn’t seem to care. He strokes the glass between him and his brother as if they really were touching. As if there was nothing stopping Wilbur from scooping Tommy up into his lap, just like in the memory, despite them being almost the same size.
And they stay like this, Tommy pressing his head against the wall, eyes shut, and Wilbur, comforting a brother he can’t touch, might not ever touch again. They stay like this, and at some point Tommy blows on the glass by accident and it fogs up again. Wilbur grins and blows back. So they sit on separate sides and breath huffs of air at each other and fog up the glass and soon they are both a laughing mess, smiling and making silly faces. Tommy licks the glass and Wilbur makes an expression of absolute disgust which makes them both laugh harder.
Mind fuzzy with serotonin Tommy thinks, if only in this moment, things are okay.