Chapter Text
Wilbur was on the edge of his seat, his feet bouncing anxiously against the bleacher in front of him. His hands gripped the cool metal he was sitting on, the pads of his fingers brushing against the ridges. He had tuned out anything and everything around him, ignoring the slight clapping and bored conversations.
His eyes were set on the ice rink, or rather his brother skating.
Tommy flew across the ice in his practiced routine. Hands outstretched he maintained elegant balance. His jumps and spins were flawless, every move he performed was with ease. His skates carried him so swiftly it was as if he was made of nothing.
He drew every eye in with his beaming smile and determined eyes. A proud look that very well matched Wilbur's.
Wilbur was so fucking proud, maybe the kind that made him want to stand up and shout Tommy's name, and let him know. He wanted everyone in the stands to know that he was his brother, that he loved him and that Tommy deserved better.
But that was best left for late night drives and hushed conversations.
Right now, it was the kind of pride that made Wilbur's heart hurt, not in a bad way. A twisted feeling in his stomach that Wilbur felt when he knew Tommy was better than him, a feeling of glee and guilt, perhaps a bit of possessiveness. Wilbur didn’t want to brag, but he was the one who helped teach Tommy to skate, the one who continues to teach him. The one who got him his first pair of skates, who signed him up because he was too shy, and the one who hypes Tommy up when he gets too in his head.
But it was mostly happiness, that Tommy could be the skater Wilbur never could be. He could go on to be a champion and Wilbur would support him until the end. If Wilbur couldn’t do it, he would make sure his brother was the absolute best. To the people in the stands, he was a ghost, a “angel fallen from grace” the headlines would call him, Wilbur tried to ignore it. The attention he once got was a faint memory.
It didn’t matter, he was here for Tommy, everything he did was for Tommy. He enjoyed the knowledge that the show smile Tommy wore was nothing compared to the one he had when Wilbur joked or ruffled his hair. Because it was Wilbur who Tommy ran to after every one of his games, and Wilbur would meet him on the ice every time because he loved him. He was Tommy's and Tommy was his.
-
Tommy's eyes closed, his eyelashes brushing gently against his cheeks. He exhaled in long breaths as he took a deep bow. Relief and satisfaction bubbled in his chest as he looked up, soaking up the applause. He was quick to exit the rink, into the stands and next to his coach where he would hear the results.
It was the championship game, the end of this season, and Tommy needed to get first. He had practiced this routine for weeks, it was a pain in the ass too, he was so nervous before the competition he might have vomited, and don’t get him started on hit outfit-
His racing thoughts were paused with a hand on his shoulder, Sam leaned down next to him to whisper, “You did great,”
Tommy shot an uneasy stare back at the man. Tommy didn’t want to be great, he wanted to be perfect. He shrugged the man's hand off his shoulder fighting the urge to look for his brother in the stands across the rink, he kept his gaze trained on the judges. He nailed every landing, he swore he reached some sort of record height. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t settle for second or third place. It was either first, or a “better luck next time”. In some fucked up way, or the way that Tommy's brain worked, a undetermined place is better than 2nd or 3rd. This was his city's skating rink, the competitors were his neighbors, suburban kids with too much money, with soccer moms and separated fathers. He wasn’t going to lose to them, he wasn’t.
This was not the fucking olympics. He breathed, his fingers twitching against each other. But if he won, he might make it there one day. He swallowed thickly, his eyes finally flying to find his brother. His lanky self sitting in the stands, alone, eyes set dangerously on the judges. Tommy fought off the giggle in his throat. But, he reminded himself, skating isn’t the most important thing in Tommy’s life.
He turned back to his coach, the judges rambling about another competitor. He pursed his lips, grabbing Sam’s hand, he was used to Tommy's clinginess by now, and his anxiety.
With a reassuring squeeze to his hand, Tommy’s gaze returned to the judges.
His breath hadn’t calmed and he had been off the ice for minutes. He leaned into his coach as the judges announced the 3rd place winner. Not him.
He didn’t win 2nd place either, something churned in his gut. It wasn’t nervousness. Because something in the back of his mind told him he already won 1st place, he was just waiting for the judges to confirm it. Self-fulfilling prophecy, right? That's what that is.
“And coming in first place, because of his astounding performance tonight, we congratulate Tommy Craft!”
It all came so fast. The smile that stretched across his face, the arm around his shoulder stuffing his face into his coach's chest. Applause erupted around him, while the man above him talked of statistics and how proud of him he was.
But then he was giving him a quick thank you, before running off, the coach didn’t flinch, used to it. He sprinted across the ice, the ground simply an obstacle between Tommy and his biggest supporter.
Wilbur was already down from his spot on the bleachers, he would always sit on the highest seat, something about having the best view, Tommy thought it was because it was always empty. It didn’t matter.
A step off the ice and he was in his big brother's arms. His arms wrapped around his middle and his face burried in his stupidly thick coat. Wilbur was quick to pull Tommy against him, Tommy almost missed his admirant smile, almost. Wilbur's head fell into Tommy's golden curls, “You did it,” He said, his smile so evident in his voice that Tommy held him a bit tighter. “I knew you could do it,”
Tommy let out a small laugh, almost in disbelief, as if it was finally coming to him. He had won, it wasn’t his first, and not his last, but it mattered all the same. “I did it,” He whispered, more to himself. He exhaled slowly, finally being able to relax in his brother's arms. Wilbur pulled away at that, examining Tommy’s face with a tilted head.
“C’mon Tommy,” He cracked a smile, and bent down grabbing Tommy by his waist.
Tommy let out a noise, confused and embarrassed but he couldn’t hit Wilbur enough to put him down. Wilbur craned his neck out the way of Tommy’s kicking skates and set Tommy on his shoulders. “Put me down!” Tommy screeched, feeling unstable on top of Wilbur, more than 6 feet off the ground. Accepting defeat much too easily, he gripped the sides of Wilbur's head.
Wilbur laughed, something that Tommy knew was only reserved for him. “You’re fine,” He patted Tommy's leg, “we are celebrating,” Wilbur replied, and walked them into the crowd of competitors, coaches and spectators alike.
-
Tommy and Wilbur stayed long after the crowds left. Some cleaners were still around but they hadn’t kicked them out yet, so they were taking advantage of the rink.
Wilbur skated backwards circling around Tommy in a wide radius, watching Tommy ramble about the gold medal around his neck. It wasn’t uncommon for them to skate after competitions so Wilbur would often bring his skates. Tommy was standing still, holding the medal over his face, “Do you think it's fake?” Tommy asked.
Wilbur shook his head while bringing his hand to drag down his face. Urging himself not to fall into another useless conversation that would get nowhere with Tommy. “No, Tommy, I think it's real gold,” He replied, his voice too flat, Tommy's head flew up to meet his taunting gaze.
“Well,” Tommy began, his smile flattened realizing his mistake, of course it wasn’t real.
Wilbur didn’t like the smile floating away from his brother's face, “But you’ll get a real one, one day, I know it,” He halted his skating. Tommy nodded, hand leaving his medal leaving it swinging around his neck.
Then Wilbur was moving again, this time towards the boy, “You are ridiculous Tommy, get out of your head,” he dragged, hypocrisy eating at his words. He reached Tommy knocking on his head, “Hello?” He turned his ear and pretended to listen, Tommy watching him with a flicker of amusement. “Seems like nothing's up there, weird,” He stated.
Tommy pushed him on his chest, Wilbur sliding comedically backwards, “Stop,” He rolled his eyes, but the smile was back on his face. Then he was gone, an angel on ice, a prodigy, Wilbur followed. He moved with mirroring grace and talent, one could ask why Wilbur himself wasn’t competing and Wilbur wouldn’t have an answer, a good one at least.
“Try and catch me,” Tommy was skating backwards, prepping for a trick.
“I can’t catch you Tommy, I will drop you!” Wilbur tried to reason. “Or I'll fall, you don’t want me to fall do you?”
Tommy shrugged, “Just do it Wil, please,” He begged stomping his skates childishly.
Wilbur skated away, “No, I can’t, “ He laughed. “If you are so good, why don’t you catch me?”
“I will,” Tommy responded, chasing after Will.
“Mhm,” Wilbur hummed, eyeing Tommy on his tail. He picked up pace, Tommy adapting to it easily. “What are you doing?” He eyed him suspiciously as Tommy stuck out his arms.
“I'm coming to pick you up,” Tommy said, making grabby hands towards Wilbur.
“No you aren’t,” Wilbur turned and pushed himself faster on the ice.
“Yes,” Tommy kept up easily with Wilbur's unpracticed technique.
“No,”
“Yes,”
“No”
Yes,”
Tommy was able to reach Wilbur and attack his midriff with his hands. Wilbur pushed Tommy away, he stumbled back but not before grabbing Wilbur’s outstretched hand, pulling Wilbur forward.
Wilbur let out a yelp, almost falling to the ground before Tommy stabilized them both. He giggled against Wilbur's chest, Wilbur shook his hand from Tommy's and flicked the boy’s forehead, stepping back a step. Tommy's laugh was a mix of wheezes and hiccups, the kind of laugh that was undeniably contagious. Wilbur wanted to bottle it up, get drunk on it rather than alcohol.
Wilbur skated to the side of the rink, leaning against the glass just to watch his brother practice. He shouted small critiques on Tommy’s obviously tired and leisurely technique. Tommy would give him a look, but in his next turn or jump, he would have fixed the mistakes.
Tommy eventually slid over to Wilbur, his arms crossed against his chest. “Lets race,” He said, a competitive smile Wilbur was very accustomed to adorned his face.
Wilbur pushed off the side, and Tommy dodged his darkening stare. “But you always lose,” He laughed back, relishing in the amusement flickering in Tommy's eyes from the light banter.
“I do not,” He retorted shortly and frankly, he wasn’t lying. “Just race me, I’ll win this time,” He assured, he nodded while craning his head up to look at Wilbur.
Wilbur pursed his lips, “I don’t feel like it,” And fell back against the glass, wiggling his eyebrows at his younger brother.
“Pussy,” Tommy mumbled, a closed mouth smile playing on his lips as he began to skate backwards.
Wilbur’s spirit faltered at the word, just a dumb swear word he had told Tommy to stop saying. But it made Wilbur want to prove Tommy wrong, he wasn’t a damn pussy and Tommy was getting closer to the other side of the rink as he took the time to think about it.
He shook his head and began to skate closer to his brother who immediately, after seeing Wilbur move, turned around and began to skate at full pace.
“Hey! There and back, there and back!” Wilbur tried to negotiate, as he struggled to keep up with Tommy.
“Bout to get myself my second win of the night!” Tommy shouted back, crossing the center of the rink.
Wilbur was sure he wasn’t going to catch up with Tommy so he did the most reasonable thing.
Be an absolute menace.
He relaxed his pace and watched Tommy reach the end, not once looking behind.
Tommy slowed at the edge of the rink, touched the glass, and turned back skating with his head held high. “You are so slow!”
Then Wilbur bolted forward, creasing his eyebrows, eyes set on Tommy. Tommy's eyes widened and let out a scream that definitely concerned anyone who heard it. Tommy tried to dodge Wilbur, swerving to the right of him, if he could only get past Wilbur and to the other side-
But Wilbur snatched him off the ice, dragging him backwards. “Hey!” Tommy screamed, earning a chuckled shush from Wilbur. “This is cheating! Let me go!” Tommy squirmed in his brother's grip.
“You never specified the rules,” Wilbur quipped, he skated with ease despite the extra weight.
“I didn’t think I needed to, they are pretty simple,” Tommy grumbled.
Wilbur reached the end of the rink, letting Tommy back onto the ice, he shoved himself off, mumbling curses underneath his breath. Then he spoke up while fixing his hair, “Okay fine, here to the other side, we will start at the same time,” He shifted his weight, attempting to convey annoyance.
“Sounds good,” Wilbur responded, “here to there,” he nodded, rubbing his hands together. Then he widened his eyes at something behind Tommy’s head, his breath catching on the cool air.
“What's that?” He pointed, knees bending slightly.
Tommy’s head turned as planned, and Wilbur lightly shoved his shoulder pushing himself forward. He let out a characteristic laugh and had passed a quarter of the rink before Tommy was shouting nonsense at him.
Wilbur really had no idea if he could beat Tommy without cheating, and a part of him was scared to find out.
“Prick! That's not fair!” Tommy yelled.
Wilbur shook his head, throwing a smile back at Tommy. All he saw was a blur of blonde and red before he turned back around, determined to win.
“I'm letting you win! Just so you know!”
Wilbur didn’t respond, a laugh stuck in his throat but all of his senses were taken over by the competition. The sound of his skates slicing the ice, the wind in his hair, between his fingers, he was flying. The smell of the rink, the odd icy metallic smell that sat coldly at the back of his throat. He swallowed a fuzzy feeling spiking his nerves, folding in his gut and spiraling like electricity to the ends of his fingers. He reached out, the bitter air evelopeing his skin, pricking at the sweat on his neck.
The wall was closer than he had thought, his hands caught himself gripping on a ledge on the window. His skates bumping, making a sound Wilbur didn’t hear. His feeling of euphoria quickly dissipated into exhaustion. He panted short breaths, his shoulders pressed to his ears. His knees wobble slightly, but over his struggle he could hear Tommy, somewhere behind him.
“We get it Wilbur, you're the best skater ever,” He began to clap, the sound reverberating stiffly in his ears. “Better than me atleast, beat me in a fair race, oh wait, you didn’t!”
A hand came, hitting in between Wilbur’s ribs, followed by a sarcastic sigh. And all of the sudden Wilbur forgot how to act normal, how to banter back. So he just simply threw a look over his shoulder, one that had Tommy rolling his eyes, so he deemed it good enough. Then he drifted to the ground sitting back against the wall.
Tommy sat down next to him, exhaling through his nose, then his eyes were on Wilbur. Wilbur had leaned his head back, he didn’t mean to ruin the fun.
“Are you okay?” Tommy asked. Wilbur couldn’t stop the guilt that flooded in when he heard the concern in Tommy's voice.
And it wasn’t just a concern, it never was. He wasn’t asking ‘are you okay?’, he never did. He was telling Wilbur he wasn’t okay, he was asking him why he wasn’t okay. But Wilbur supposed Tommy knew that too, Tommy knew Wilbur too well, he probably knew the answer to his question before he even asked it.
It was a stupid question, and Wilbur wished Tommy never asked it, but Tommy was Tommy. And everytime the question was asked, it hurt Wilbur more than he could stomach, more than he could explain. He wanted to go back to the day Tommy asked him the question for the first time, and keep him away, protect him, because it only got worse from there.
But the question that Tommy was asking now, had nothing to do with Tommy, and everything to do with the regret and agony that constantly overcasted Wilbur, to a point where Tommy had to ask “Are you okay?”.
Nothing to do with the question itself, but everything to do with the ice underneath his feet and the exhaustion in his lungs. Everything to do with the blur in Wilbur's eyes when he looked at his brother, the medal around his neck and the champion winning skates Wilbur had worn just years ago.
Wilbur would admit it, it was jealousy.
Nothing someone should have for their own blood, but Wilbur wasn’t a good person, nor a good brother. But Wilbur suppressed it, all his feelings, because he was trying so hard to be good, for Tommy, all for him.
It was just so horribly difficult because every single competition he attended, every step on the ice, every glance at Tommy's costumes, reminded him of what he could have been.
What he could have been, if he didn’t give up.
It was three years ago. Wilbur was fourteen, and the roles were reversed. Tommy sat on the bleachers, watching from the stands, big blue eyes that desired to be everything his brother was.
Wilbur had trained for weeks for the championship, he spent every minute he didn’t spend at school at the ice rink. He was missing dinners to be with his coach, and missing breakfasts to go to the frozen lake to practice before school. He was trying so hard to perfect his jumps, too hard.
When the day of the championship came, he got his father to get off work, and Tommy practically begged to come watch. He had started the latest in the group of kids he was competing with, but his coach insisted he was the most talented, a prodigy. And he took the praise greedily, it was the only thing that would get him through competitions, his self-motivation was obsolete. And that was his downfall.
It was a minute into his performance, (he knows the time because he had the recording on repeat for the rest of the night.) He landed his jump, but something went wrong, a sharp pain in his ankle. His foot sliding from beneath him, teeth grinding in pain as he fell. He stuck out his hands and caught himself on the ice, the cold biting at his palms. And when he looked up, one looked at the disapproving faces in the crowds, and he was looking back down, his eyes screwed shut. His song continues without him, a song without a dancer functions fine, but a dancer without a song is a facade. No applause came. It was quiet for the first time in forever, people were afraid to speak, and Wilbur was afraid to move. He sat there for what felt like minutes, but surely was a couple of seconds, before his coach called out. A stream of words, sentences that had no meaning, or the wrong one.
But all Wilbur could do is stay there, frozen in place, the heat of his ankle forcing sweat onto his hairline. Deep breaths as he was helped off the ice and into the bleachers. Stares lingered, hushed whispers. fascination, perhaps, enjoyment was replaced with pity. Wilbur was crying, tears slipping off his red face as he leaned against something. People around him were yelling at him, asking questions, but Wilbur had just messed up, he had humiliated himself. And the attention he craved was ripped away, the people's stares were forced off him and captivated with the next performance.
His father arrived at some point, Tommy stood behind his leg holding his hand. Wilbur looked away from them, from his father, who looked at Wilbur like he was a joke. Like he was angry at Wilbur, for stealing him away from his job to witness this. Not an ounce of pity in his fathers eyes, just wavering indifference accompanied by disapproving sighs.
Tommy on the other hand, scrambled to get to Wilbur's side, giving him a hug. Tommy rested his head on Wilbur's chest, awaiting an arm around him that Wilbur never gave. “Are you okay?” He asked under his breath, just so Wilbur could hear it, and no one else. It almost sounded like Tommy was crying, maybe he was, Wilbur couldn’t remember. Wilbur just shook his head.
Now a stress fracture would have healed rather quickly, a couple of months and he could start training again. Yet, Wilbur was desperate, he skated along the lake, ignoring the burning pain in his ankle. He convinced the doctors who were saying it was getting worse were lying, because it felt like it was getting better. Kinda. If he took enough pain meds it didn’t hurt anymore, nothing hurt anymore.
His father scolded him when he found out he was skating while the fracture was healing. And that pushed a wedge further into their relationship. Wilbur would take Tommy with him to the lake, avoiding the house at all costs, and if he could just skate he would be fine.
Eventually the meds didn’t work anymore. He was tired and dizzy and his skating was getting worse, wobbly. More importantly, his coach said he couldn’t participate in the season because he wasn’t cleared by his doctors.
So Wilbur stayed inside. He healed. But when it was time to skate again, he didn’t. It wasn’t because it hurt, or because he forgot, or the fracture impacted his abilities.
It was because he was scared.
But he couldn’t tell Tommy that, he couldn’t tell Tommy he was too much of a nervous coward to go on the ice again and thankfully, Tommy was too young to piece that together. Of course it was different now, but it was unspoken.
Sometime while Wilbur was grieving his own mistakes like they were death itself, escaping with distractions that were no good. He was dragged along by Tommy to go to the lake. He wouldn’t skate, he wouldn’t talk that much either, but instead he taught. And when Tommy turned 7 and he asked if he could be a figure skater like his big brother, Wilbur couldn’t say no.
And that brought the brothers to the present. Wilbur was selfish and broken. And Tommy, although his successes and accomplishments were all his own, he was influenced by Wilbur.
Wilbur was sure that wasn’t a good thing. Because in every tremble of Tommy's fingers, in the shaky breaths he let out in the darkest nights, they were because of Wilbur. So every time Wilbur looked at his brother he only saw the pain he brought him, guilt pulled at his stomach, he choked on regret, and felt the need to cry, to scream.
He could almost see himself, but that was wrong, because Tommy was better than him, in every way.
But of course he couldn’t do anything, because no matter what, Tommy was his brother. And he had already messed up at being a brother once, and dear god he couldn’t do it again.
He clung onto his brother's blue eyes like a life-line, the only thing between them that was different. The only thing that kept Wilbur’s head above the water, Tommy was the one that saved him, that keeps him here.
So when his brother asks “are you okay?”
Wilbur looks away.
And says “yes,”
Then he ignores the look in Tommy's eyes that gets blinked away. Tommy understands that he doesn’t want to talk about it right now. But there is really never a good time to talk about it.
Wilbur sighed, the last of his memories fading away, the ice was melting through his pants.
“Really i'm fine Toms, just not feeling the best,” He managed a small smile looking over to Tommy who was fiddling with his medal.
“Are you sick?” Tommy asked, not looking up.
“No, not just tired, I got a little dizzy,” Wilbur responded.
Tommy nodded, and began to remove his medal from his neck. He lifted it over his curls, then wrapped it around his hand. He looked at Wilbur, a closed lip smile forming on his face.
“Tommy…” Wilbur started, he was frowning and slowly scooting away.
“Stop, I want you to have it,” He shifted his sitting position to be on his knees. Holding the medal close to his chest.
“No Tommy, you won, it's yours,” He pushed Tommy's hands to his chest. Raising his eyebrows, “I'm proud of you, be proud of yourself and keep it,”
“I am proud of myself Wil, but I'm giving it to you, I don’t need it,” Tommy said, Wilbur pondered if Tommy meant to imply that Wilbur did need it.
Tommy slipped the award over Wilbur's head that he hung low. It wasn’t an honor, more like a sign of inferiority. He despised it, but he didn’t dare show it. “I'm giving it to you because I'm proud of you, I don’t think you get thanked enough for taking care of me,” He added.
Wilbur shook his head, a smile of disbelief on his lips. He wouldn’t scold Tommy for giving him his award, but he wished Tommy would just keep it. When Wilbur lifted his head he pulled Tommy against him, saying, “I don’t need thanking,”.
Tommy's hair tickled Wilbur's jaw when he replied, “you’re wrong,” He croaked, “please just take it,”. He begged, and Wilbur shut his eyes.
Wilbur didn’t reply, he held his brother tightly, an unsettling feeling in his stomach. After a moment he mumbled a short, “I love you,” They were the only words that felt right coming out of his mouth.
“I know,” Tommy whispered back, “I love you too,”
-
Tommy had always had a problem with his anxiety, on a daily basis it wasn’t more than bouncing his leg and chewing on his fingernails, but other days it was worse. Especially competition days, and days where Wilbur didn’t talk, which usually went hand in hand.
He was getting hot in his outfit, his jacket was chafing his neck and his pants were sticking awkwadly to his legs. Despite the ice below him, there was a burning sensation in his throat, a tightness in his chest. He was replaying the conversations between him and Wilbur, slightly concerned by Wilbur refusing to tell him what was wrong. Wilbur always told him what was wrong...usually. But he had to respect that.
He had tried to continue the conversation but Wilbur wasn’t showing interest, so Tommy stopped his peeving and comments. He leaned against his brother’s shoulder and stared across the rink. He was tapping his fingers across his chest, he could still feel the medal around his neck, a ghost of the weight.
He didn’t care if Wilbur thought he should keep it, he wouldn’t, he didn’t need it. He knew his own worth and it didn’t rely on a shiny piece of metal. Everyone saw him receive it, but then it didn’t matter after that moment.
Wilbur deserved it. A medal, it didn’t matter the meaning. Tommy personally gave it to him because he was proud of him for hanging on when it was hard. Tommy knew that medals wouldn’t erase the look in Wilbur's eyes when he looked at him, or the long minutes of silence, but that wasn’t the point.
He just wanted Wilbur to know that he was thankful for him, that he wouldn’t be who he was without him. That he didn’t care about Wilbur's past, he just wanted him to be okay.
Tommy pulled away from Wilbur's side, which caused Wilbur to look at him. Worry and concern dotted Wilbur's brown eyes, like Tommy laying against him was the thing keeping him grounded.
“Tired?” Wilbur asked, it was light and careful like a parent's voice. Wilbur was practically a parent, forced to take the role because their father was mostly absent. Their father never helped out, never cared for him, never loved him, not like Wilbur did.
He did care a long time ago, if Tommy remembers correctly, but as he got older, as Wilbur got older, he stopped coming around.
After that, Wilbur was the person who did everything with him, who taught him to skate, who took him to school. He fed him and put him to sleep. He was always the one who was there for him.
Although, not always. At least he tried. But Wilbur would have bad days. He would leave for periods of time, he would be quiet and lock himself away- and he had a really hard time. But that didn’t stop him from taking care of Tommy. And at the end of the day Tommy did his best to take care of him.
And at least he came back. He came back and he promised he wouldn’t leave again.
Tommy’s hands were shaking slightly, but then Wilbur took his hand, pulling him up off the ice. He didn’t remember responding to Wilbur's question but it seems like he did.
The pair shuffled off the ice, they found their way to Wilbur's seat and retrieved their things. Everyone had left by now, spare a few workers. Tommy sat on the bleacher, hands gripping the metal, satisfied by the sound of his nails tapping it. He took a few breaths, the constricting feeling in his chest subsiding.
Tommy stuck out his feet for Wilbur to remove his skates, after he did his own. Wilbur sat down, talking while he undid Tommy's skates. “So we could go get food before we go home, how does that sound?”
“Sure,” Tommy nodded, eating food sounded nice, he hadn’t eaten since this morning. “Can we go to mcdonalds, I want happy meal,”
“Didn’t we have McDonalds like two days ago,” Wilbur scoffed, but something in his voice told Tommy he could be persuaded. Wilbur pulled off Tommy's left skate, setting it in his bag.
“Yeah, but I want another toy,” Tommy paused to bite on his nail, “To add to my collection!”. Tommy did have a collection, it was just the weird thing he liked to keep.
“Yeah? I've never seen this so-called collection,” Wilbur looked up after pulling his second skate off. He grinned and then began to tickle the bottoms of Tommy's feet.
“Stop!” Tommy pulled his knees to his chest, shooting Wilbur a tired glare. “I can show you my collection if you want,” He shrugged, looking at his sports bag and grabbing his shoes. “But, only if you get me McDonalds,” He offered.
Tommy slid on his sneakers, tying the laces sloppily. He could feel Wilbur's pondering gaze on him, “fine, but we are getting milkshakes,”
“Okay!” Tommy exclaimed, jumping off the bench. Wilbur grabbed Tommy's coat and held it out for him, helping him put his arms through the sleeves. Wilbur then picked up Tommy's bag and swung it over his shoulder..
Tommy jumped down the bleachers ignoring Wilbur's overprotective comments about if he slipped. Wilbur followed slowly, stopping Tommy at the bottom of the seats.
“Hey Toms,” Wilbur started, a far off look in his eyes, one that didn’t sit right with Tommy.
Tommy just raised his eyebrows, hoping Wilbur would continue.
Wilbur didn’t respond at first, he looked away and Tommy could see the way his jaw tensed. Something was bothering him, it was now bothering Tommy too. Wilbur looked back, shaking his head slightly, “never mind, it was nothing,”.
Even if he was bothered, Tommy wouldn’t push. He partly didn’t want to ruin the night.
Tommy took Wilbur's hand in his, squeezing it, and gave him a reassuring smile. Wilbur’s hold was firm, protective, Tommy adored it.
Wilbur opened the door for them, Tommy swinging their hands back and forth between the two.
They made it out into the night air, it was snowing, the sky absent of stars, only a thick blanket of clouds. The wind is brisk, snow swirling in the air before falling into Tommy's hair and tickling his face.
Snow piled on the pavement, it crunched under Tommy's steps, he kicked it up and watched it fall into the wind. It wasn’t a long walk to the car but Tommy was getting cold, the bitter air surely reddening his cheeks. His fingers grew cold, although his palm stayed warm against his brothers.
Tommy stuck out his tongue and looked up to the sky, catching snowflakes that would melt in his mouth. He heard Wilbur chuckle from next to him. It was all too clear in the deafening atmosphere where all he could hear was his own steps, his heartbeat and Wilbur’s encouraging laughs. Tommy loved the snow, he would stay in it all day if he could.
The spared silence was cut away with the jingle of car keys and the beep of their car, a flash of red lights.
“Shit,” Wilbur mumbled. Tommy's attention flicked to the car, heavily covered in freshly fallen snow. He wrinkled his nose and looked to Wilbur, “hold on,” He said and then walked off, retrieving something from the car. Tommy shivered, all of the sudden colder without Wilbur next to him.
He drew some questionable things in the snow on the hood of the car to entertain himself. The snow had to be at least 4 inches deep. He debated helping by scooping the snow off the hood, but his fingers were already stinging.
Wilbur returned with the snow brush, and began to shovel the snow off, and the red paint of the car became visible. “Tommy, you can get in, warm up the car yeah?”
“Okay!” Tommy nodded characteristically and took his athletic bag and the car keys from Wilbur's hands. Reaching the door handle he pulled his sleeve over his hand to brush the snow off, then opened it.
The car was freezing inside, though it was still warmer than outside so he slid into the passenger's seat. He closed the door, for a minute everything was silent, the wind was gone, but it was scary to be in a car with its windows blocked, almost suffocating. He leaned over, putting the car keys in the ignition and turned on the car.
Tommy turned up the heat all the way and turned on his seat warmer, anything to get rid of the shiver in his arms. Wilbur brushed away the snow on the windshield, waving at Tommy, he sent a middle finger back. It looked like most of the car was cleaned off, but Wilbur was still hacking at some ice stuck to his side of the windshield.
Tommy was beginning to feel a lot warmer, his seat burning his thighs but in a good way. He picked the heavy bag off his lap and tossed it into the back seat. His hold wavered for a moment, but the bag still fell, making a muffled clinking noise. He was quick to reach backwards, his back bending awkwardly, and shoved his bag off the seat.
His heartbeat quickened, nerves spiking as he eyed two bottles of alcohol, empty but present nonetheless. He slowly sat back, swallowing to get rid of an uncomfortable feeling in his throat but it didn’t go away.
He couldn’t pull his eyes from the bottles. Wilbur had promised, he promised he was sober. He said he was getting better, Tommy knew he was getting better and drinking had no part in it.
Wilbur couldn’t do this again, not again, never again. Bile churned in Tommy's stomach, memories accompanied the repeating questions in his head. Somewhere, off to the side of his panic, was Wilbur's voice.
“Tommy its a fucking sauna in here, oh my god,”. He shut the door with a slam, the cold air being swept out easily. He regretted turning up the heat, an odd warmth wrapped around him heating up his cheeks, plundering all clear thoughts.
Tommy paid no attention to his words, but his tone was happy. Wilbur was happy and, and,
“Tommy?” Wilbur was holding his hands, both of them. Tommy turned his head, focusing on Wilbur's voice. “You’re shaking,”
Shaking? He looked at his hands but his vision was blurry. His confusion brought his gaze back to the glass bottles in the back, he swallowed thickly, “Why do you have those?”
It was quiet for a moment, or two, there was a tight feeling in his chest, one that was too familiar and too constricting. There was an exhale that wasn’t his, it sounded like a ‘oh’ but Tommy couldn’t be sure. His head was above him, eyes burning from forgetting to blink.
“Tommy,” Wilbur touched his face slowly guiding his gaze from the back seat, his fingers were gentle, rubbing circles on his jaw. “Look at me,”
Tommy's breath was rapidly increasing, looking at Wilbur he didn’t see the red-rimmed or glassy stare he once saw, it was clear and worried and sad. But he was seeing and thinking two different things. “Are you drinking again?” He asked, it was slow, he didn’t want to come off patronizing.
“No,” He said sternly, “no,” he said again like he was assuring himself. “I'm sober, you know that,” Tommy did know that. He knows he will be told by Wilbur if he messed up. “I've been sober for three months and,”
“And eighteen days, I know” Tommy finished, closing his eyes, he’s been counting. Ever since Wilbur started caring for him, he felt like he should take care of Wilbur too.
But something was odd, he knew everything about Wilbur and his drinking problems. He was there when Wilbur was going through withdrawals, when he relapsed, when he went sober, so it's odd that he never ever saw those bottles before. “Then why do you have them?” He asked, his voice small. He eyed them like they were threatening Wilbur, he would protect Wilbur with his own life.
Wilbur didn’t answer for a moment, when Tommy looked back, Wilbur looked nervous. He couldn’t stop himself as he leaned back from Wilbur's touch, he might have choked on his own breath because a hurt noise escaped his lips.
He watched as Wilbur's eyes filled with panic, Wilbur's hands seized Tommy's own, pulling him closer, back within reach. “No,” He begged, Tommy was afraid of what was left unspoken, had Wilbur done something? “I promise Tommy, I didn’t drink,” He said, he promised.
“The bottles, its stupid really,” he was stammering, vulnerable, broken. “Its just a stupid coping mechanism, I don’t know, its like i have them there but, but im not drinking,” Wilbur was spiraling, unraveling, but his eyes stayed locked onto Tommy’s, “Their empty, they’ve always been empty, god Tommy I promise,”
There was always one constant in Tommy’s life, and that was that Wilbur never breaks his promises to him, so Tommy believed him. Tommy trusts his older brother, and that would never change.
So as Wilbur concluded his rambling, Tommy nodded in understanding, managing a small smile he leaned over the console to give his brother a hug. Wilbur grabbed him by his middle squeezing him with all his might, Tommy let out a huff of laughter. Tommy still trembled against him, hands shaking where they clasped behind Wilbur's neck.
He didn’t want to tell himself he was overreacting or anything, maybe he was, but he had anxiety especially over anything concerning Wilbur. Wilbur always seems to apologize for it like its fault, maybe it is, but he's lived with it for two years. Sadly, he doesn’t get treated for it, his father doesn’t believe it's that big of a deal, who would think a 10 year old needs therapy anyway? For Tommy anxiety is part of who he is, it's the constant weight in his chest and the worrying, and the panic attacks, it's just routine. He doesn’t do well conveying his feelings, but he and Wilbur were working on that.
Wilbur pulled away, smiling sadly at Tommy as he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. Tommy didn’t even know he was crying, he couldn’t focus on anything past his unevenly falling chest, the sound of his heart in his head.
“Are you okay?” Wilbur's hand drifted to Tommy's hair, scratching the top of his head.
“Yeah, I'm okay,” He said, forcing his voice to be normal, calm. He leaned into Wilbur touch, all at once feeling at peace. “Can we get food now?”
“Yeah we can,” Wilbur smiled, “do you want a chocolate or vanilla shake?”
Tommy smiled back, Wilbur pulled out of the parking lot, they were always the last to leave, you could say it was a tradition. Snow fell silently on the ground around them, street lights illuminating the black pavement glossed with melting ice. As they drove away from the ice rink Tommy wished it a farewell until next season.
“Definitely chocolate,”
Tommy opened the door to the car and jumped out before Wilbur had turned the car off. He was really hungry for McDonalds, he was just really hungry. But he quickly remembered Wilbur takes forever in the car so now he was rocking back and forth in the cold waiting for Wilbur to get out.
His sneakers weren’t holding up well in the deep snow, they didn’t know it was going to snow tonight. He could feel his socks getting wet, and then his feet would be cold. “Will!” He shouted from the sidewalk. “Let's go!” He creased his eyebrows while looking into the dark windshield, he couldn’t see his brother but he knew that Wilbur could see him.
The door flew open, and out came his too tall of a brother. He closed the door and with a beep indicating the car locked Wilbur was by his side. Tommy was the one to grab Wilbur's hand, he was clingy and no matter how many times Wilbur complained Tommy knew he loved it.
The restaurant wasn’t very warm inside, which made Tommy pull his coat tighter around him. But it smelled of food and god Tommy was starving, he hurried Wilbur to the register, which thankfully no one was in line.
“Hello, welcome to McDonalds, what can I get you?” The register guy said, looking between Wilbur and his screen.
“I'll have a big mac with fries and a chocolate shake,” Wilbur said, he removed his hand from Tommy's to search for his wallet.
“Alright, and what about the kid,” The worker asked Wilbur, which was odd because he was standing right here.
“Uh-” Wilbur started but Tommy cut in, marching closer to the counter.
“First of all i'm not a kid, i’m 10,” He planted his hands on his hips, the man seemed to cringe, which didn’t do any damage to Tommy's charisma.. “And second of all, I can order for myself,” He flashed a smile, mocking, sarcastic, something he’s seen Wilbur do before.
“Sorry,” He sighed tiredly, “What can I get you?”
Tommy pointed to the menu above the man’s head, which was entirely unnecessary but it helped Tommy think. “Can i have a happy meal with chicken nuggets and can i also have a chocolate shake,” The man clicked away at the screen, “And with the toy can you give me the spiderman one because i don't have that one, not the batman one because i don’t like batman and plus I already got that one, Oh wait can I-” Tommy thought, disregarding the entirely annoyed expression on the host’s face. “Can I get two toys!? Please,”
The man looked from Tommy to Wilbur, “Uh, we can’t really do that-”
“Come on!” Wilbur insisted, “give the kid two toys, he’s a winner today, and what? we’re like your last customers,” Wilbur shifted his weight, eyeing the man with a predatory look.
Tommy braced his hands on the counter, looking up to the man at the register, pleading with his eyes.
“You know what fine,” The man gave in, “But i can’t promise what toys you will get,” Tommy cheered, thanking the cashier. He printed the receipt, gave it to Wilbur and he stepped away from the counter a long sigh in his wake.
-
Wilbur was sipping on his chocolate shake, sitting back against the car door, it was cool but comfortable. He watched Tommy sit down crisscrossed on his seat, it was odd, sometimes he forgot how young he was, they just got along so well.
Wilbur parked the car in an empty parking lot, he didn’t want to go home just yet, neither did Tommy. So they ate their food in the car, basking in each other's presence because that's what they liked to do, no one could stop them.
“You are gonna get a brain freeze,” He commented on the way Tommy was drinking his shake. “And then you are gonna complain about it,”
“No I'm not,” He shook his head, but continued to drink through the straw too quickly. This continued for a few seconds before Tommy snapped his head up. Failing to turn his head away so Wilbur couldn’t see, his face bunched up and his eyes screwed shut.
Wilbur threw his head back and let out a laugh, “I told you,” He laughed, Tommy scowled at him but the baby fat in his cheeks made him look nothing less than adorable.
“Shut up,” Tommy said, then promptly continued to drink from his shake until the straw made scratching noises against the plastic on the bottom of the cup.
Tommy had told him before that the only way to eat McDonalds is in a specific order, and he would always do it like that. First he would drink his shake, then eat his nuggets, then his fries, and then he would open his toys. Wilbur had once said it was an awful process, but that got him a punch in the gut.
Wilbur hadn’t been hungry all day but he did eat his burger because he was beginning to feel a little nauseous. He watched the streetlight positioned in front of his car flicker while Tommy ate his McDonalds. Wilbur would go into periods of time where he didn’t talk much, he wished he didn’t but it feels physically tiring to talk, and sometimes he’d rather stay quiet. He had told Tommy this before, and of course he understood, so when Wilbur was quiet Tommy wouldn’t try to get him to talk, he knew he would come back around. Tommy would just stay around, he would give Wilbur company, and Wilbur appreciated it in ways he couldn’t express.
Apparently Wilbur had been staring off for so long Tommy had finished his meal and was rambling on about his toys. He opened the first one which was some sort of key chain, Wilbur couldn’t even get a good look at it before Tommy set it down to rip open his bag to look for the other toy.
“If this moody cashier didn’t give me spider-man-” He grumbled. He picked out the other toy, opening the package and Wilbur leaned his head against his seat. “Yes!” Tommy held up the red and blue suited figure. “I got it, i got it!” He looked at it in his hands and then held it up to show Wilbur. “Look Will!”
“Mhm, I see it,” Wilbur responded, he couldn’t care less about the toy but if it brought joy to his brother's face then it was very well a superhero.
“Spider-man is the coolest superhero, and he had the coolest suit, don’t you think Will?” He bounced the small figure against the console.
“Yup,” He supplied, but he was sure Tommy wasn’t even listening to him.
“Will, can we watch the spider-man movie when we get home please?!” He begged, flicking his eyes up to Wilbur's, pulling on a faux frown.
“Tommy it's midnight, you can’t stay up that late,” Wilbur reasoned.
“Yes, I can!” Tommy slid back in his chair.
“We will see, we can always watch the movie tomorrow,”
“Fine,” He blew out, “did you still want to see my collection of toys?”
“Yep, I’d love to,” Wilbur mused. Expecting to see it when they got home, Wilbur moved his hands to the steering wheel, but Tommy opened the glove department.
Inside was an alarming amount of toys, he had no idea how long they had been there. “You keep your collection in my car?” He asked Tommy whose eyes were lighting up like stars.
“Yeah, where do you think I get my toys from on car trips?” Tommy said, and it all made sense now. “I spend most of my time in your car anyway so it's the most predictable place to put them,”
“Practical, the most practical place,” Wilbur corrected, but with no harsh tones in his voice.
“Right,” He nodded, “practical,” He tested the word on his tongue. He put his toys in the department and closed it back up, Wilbur watched silently from his slacken position. Yet, Wilbur could tell by the way Tommy was rubbing his eyes that he wasn’t the only one getting tired.
“Can we go home now? I want to watch spider-man?” But man the kid was good at keeping up an act, he bounced in his seat, his smile all too big.
“Sure Toms let's go home,” So Wilbur pulled out from the empty parking lot and they headed home.
Wilbur debated parking on the street so he wouldn’t have to deal with packed ice on the driveway but he wasn’t going to shovel it anyway so it didn’t matter. He pulled into the driveway that was piled with inches of snow. The car was silent except for Tommy's slow breaths as he slept, neck bent awkwardly towards the window. The radio was on just enough to hear the notes of the songs that were frequently interrupted by ads. The car was heated to the perfect amount where it was cozy but not too hot. Snow still fell outside, swirling in the quiet wind.
He was dreading going inside and seeing his father, but that was everyday, he told himself he had to get used to it, or find a way to avoid it. Nonetheless, he had to get Tommy to bed, he did not want Tommy to be cranky tomorrow.
Wilbur got out of the vehicle, wet snow filling his shoes and crunching under his feet. He shut his door and walked around to grab Tommy. He was a light sleeper, but he was stubborn, so even if he was awake he would act like he was asleep. Wilbur picked him up, hearing his breath hitch awake, but he didn’t say anything else, too lazy to walk himself up the stairs. Yet somehow not lazy enough to wrap his arms around Wilbur’s neck, nuzzling himself into his chest, Wilbur wouldn’t comment.
Wilbur easily unlocked the front door with his key and walked inside, shutting the door behind him quietly. It was nice to be surrounded by warmth again, basking in it for a moment before moving towards the stairs. The house lights were dimly lit, he hoped his father was already asleep. He took Tommy upstairs, he was relatively light to hold, even if there was a slight strain in his back he didn’t mind it.
Arriving in Tommy's room, He took Tommy out of his damp shoes and coat. Snow flakes still stuck to his hair, melting rapidly, Wilbur threaded his fingers through the blonde locks. Tommy stood wobbly, wiping his eyes which glistened brightly in the rays of the bathroom lighting. Then picking up Tommy swiftly by his armpits he laid him in bed, pulling his blankets on top of him. Tommy, in his sleep-ridden state, took them with gratitude, stuffing his face in the soft fabric.
Wilbur stood there for a moment watching over his younger brother as he stirs. His heart is waiting for the inevitable unspoken question, but his mind is telling him to run away before its asked, dread and terror pulsing through his blood all for the opening of Tommy’s eyes. Someday, he wishes, the question never has to be asked.
But not today.
Because Tommy opened his eyes, blinking slowly but consciously. Exhaustion is more than apparent, but if he said there was also concern in his gaze, Wilbur wouldn't be lying. But, he wouldn’t ever admit that there under it was unease, he was too ashamed that it was because of him.
“Wilbur?” It was real and serious, a voice that he never thought suited Tommy. Too vulnerable and open, too condescending and knowing.
It was stupid, Wilbur knows the question before it comes but he can never seem to tell Tommy the answer on his own without Tommy asking first.
It was painful, the way his heart gets stabbed by the icicles in Tommy's eyes. Fresh fallen snow had turned to ice, Wilbur was slipping and falling and his whole body hurt. It wasn’t Tommy's fault, it was his own, and he had to live with the burden.
He kneeled down, responding with closed eyes and a hushed voice,
“I promise, i'll be here,”
Tommy nodded with hopeful eyes, closing them soon after, turning peaceful at Wilbur's response. And Wilbur picked himself up off the floor, guilt was rocks in his lungs, he walked out of Tommy’s room and shut the door.
Nothing would pleasure him more than ripping open his chest and letting the weight out, letting the burdens and memories and mistakes flow away. It would never work of course, because it all returns at the sight of his brother, the living creation of what his actions produced.
Six year old Tommy had to see Wilbur quit his sport, had to watch him fail and give up. It wasn’t all bad back then, six year old Tommy practiced skating with Wilbur. Bright smiles and jokes, Wilbur hid his despair. But six year old Tommy was dragged away from their dad by Wilbur, six year old Tommy got a new protector and caretaker, he got a new role model. Unfortunately, Wilbur was too sick to know that wrong, all wrong.
Seven year old Tommy became a figure skater, he fell in love with the sport as much as Wilbur did. But seven year old Tommy had to watch Wilbur fall into despair, depression overtook his life, Tommy was pushed away. Tommy was pushed away but that didn’t mean he stayed away, he remained close looking out for Wilbur before the worst of it came.
Eight year old Tommy was beginning to hate his father, constantly in the middle of Wilbur and his fights, always taking Wilbur's side. Eight year old Tommy followed Wilbur everywhere, Wilbur ignored him, yelled at him, and Tommy stopped talking to him. Tommy stayed in his room, away from Wilbur's whose own room smelt like alcohol and vomit. Even through everything, Wilbur was Tommy's parent-figure, while his dad spent days working, Wilbur would still drive Tommy to school even if his head was heavy and his eyes blurry. Even if the drives were silent, and Tommy’s hands were in his lap, shoulders tensed, and Wilbur had a cigarette out the window. They were brothers, they were all each other had, Wilbur failed to see this at the time, he hadn’t seen that without Tommy taking him to go skating, without Tommy playing untuned songs on his guitar, without Tommy bringing him food everyday, he was utterly miserable, alone. Failing to see Tommy was the only good person in his life, that Tommy cared about him, that Tommy was his sun and without him grew pale, and ill, and ultimately dead. Wilbur was too drunk and selfish to see that the same way Wilbur needed Tommy, Tommy needed him.
Nine year old Tommy was hope filled, he always told Wilbur that he would get better.
Nine year old Tommy was left alone in the world for twelve seconds.
Now Wilbur wasn’t thinking about Tommy when he tried to kill himself, he just saw an escape, a solution to his problems. He wasn’t thinking he might survive and he certainly never thought that Tommy would be the one to find his body. One morning, nine year old Tommy found Wilbur on his bedroom floor sprawled out, vomit puddled around him, his chest rising and falling all too slowly. Nine year old Tommy was the one to call the emergency number, bawling in an empty house and shouting at his unresponsive brother. That's when he was plagued by his anxiety, that’s when Tommy decided Wilbur would be the most important thing in his life. When Wilbur returned from the hospital, he avoided the looks and angry arguments with his father, but maybe that would have been better than finding Tommy curled up in his bed sobbing, fists clenched around nothing, rolled up in a ball. He decided that anything was better than finding out his brother hadn’t slept since Wilbur was taken to the hospital, Tommy wouldn’t sleep, he was afraid to.
So that's when Wilbur had to begin to promise him that he would be here and alive when he woke up. Tommy would wake up with wide eyes and fast breaths every morning, it took a while, but Tommy began to trust him, to believe him. And since then Tommy hadn’t gone to sleep a night without Wilbur’s promise.
And it became the reason Wilbur stayed alive.
He kept true to the promise, he would do it for Tommy, he would never leave his brother alone again. Not if he knew what it did, he knew now it was a selfish decision, he knew now what it did Tommy. He wouldn’t kill himself because Tommy had asked him, because he himself promised.
He was saying it to Tommy, but he was also saying it to himself, and he wouldn’t ever kill himself, he wouldn’t try to do that ever again.
Wilbur hurried down the stairs, he went to sleep late last night practicing with Tommy, and woke up early to practice with Tommy, they did a lot of practicing. But it paid off at least, he was really proud of Tommy.
Wilbur just had to make it to the front door, but while passing the living room, he spotted that the kitchen lights were on. Fuck.
“Wilbur?” His dad called, Wilbur leaned against the door debating pulling it open and running out. His father came around the corner, a cup of coffee in his hands. His face was tight, the shadows of the room doing nothing good for the wrinkles in his face.
“Yeah?” Wilbur responded trying to convey urgency but really he had nowhere to be. Closing his eyes to physically stop him from rolling them. It was like talking to his father was a chore.
“You guys are home late,” He noted steadily, sipping noisily from his mug.
“Yep, we got food if that's alright,” There was already impertinence in his tone, there always was when talking to his dad. Wilbur personally didn’t think he deserved respect.
“Yeah, yeah,” He agreed, his tone was soft and gentle, like he was trying to rub it into Wilbur’s face. “How was the competition?”
Wilbur's hand was gripped so hard around the doorknob it began to hurt, he let go of it, flexing his fingers and taking a breath. “Good,” he unzipped his jacket half-way down, and pulled out the medal. “Tommy won,” he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he said that. But it quickly dropped when he looked up. His father had come to the competition, late but he was there. Wilbur almost thought he was interested, that he came to support Tommy, but he had to leave because “something came up”, he didn’t even get to see Tommy’s performance.
“Really?” A smile stretched across his face, Wilbur grimaced. On his fathers face he could only see mockery and disappointment, the smile didn’t fit, it looked awkward, twisted. “I'm proud of him,” His father said, Wilbur's browns creased, his anger surfacing, burning its way across his skin. Then his father walked off, he started towards the kitchen.
And this was the game he liked to play. Playing with Wilbur and his feelings, igniting a pile of paper, hot flames and quick to burn. Swiping a match and testing if it will light. He proposed a statement and walked off, leaving Wilbur with the option to take the bait or continue with his day.
Of course Wilbur was weak, his aggravation was stronger. So his fingers grazed the doorknob as he stepped away from it and followed his father into the kitchen.
“Why did you leave? You could have stayed to watch Tommy,” He huffed, eyeing the back of his fathers short stature. “You haven’t watched him skate in months,”
“I told you something came up,” was all the old man had to offer in excuse, he leaned against one of the counters, watching Wilbur with a feigned oblivious gaze.
“Just say you didn’t want to be there, god,” Wilbur paced but his eyes trailed every tick in his fathers jaw. “Where were you this time? Hanging out with your new friend who happens to be more important than your children? What’s his name? Technoblade?”
His dad set down his mug quietly on the marble counter. “Yes, i was with him but I never said he was more important than you guys,” you guys
“You didn’t have to,” Wilbur reasoned, his fathers eyes had grown darker after the mention of his friend.
“Wilbur you are impossible, you don’t even want me at Tommy’s competitions, you’ve said it yourself,” His fathers caring parent act dropped, his voice was harsh, scowl condescending, much like Wilbur's own.
Wilbur clenched his jaw, he did say that, “Don’t make me the bad guy by telling me i don’t support Tommy when you keep me away from him,” His father snapped.
“You are the bad guy!” He shouted in response, stopping his insensible father from speaking much more. “I keep you away from Tommy because you are a horrible father,”
“Don’t start,” He scowled, “I'm trying my best,”
“Shut the fuck up,” Wilbur said walking forward so he was in his fathers face, “don’t act like you are trying because you aren’t,” He spit, venom dripping from his words. “You aren’t home most of the day, you are out playing pity party with your friends, when you should be working,”
“Wilbur,” He grumbled, “I do work, I'm the one paying bills in this house because you can’t do shit for some reason, sorry if I want to hang out with some friends once in a while,” He finished harshly, their stares locking.
“Stop blaming me for everything, when was the last time you made a meal for us or said fucking goodnight?!” Wilbur was loud, he was going to be loud because his father never seemed to absorb his arguments. Maybe if he could say it loud enough it could get through his thick skull.
“Since you forcibly removed yourself and Tommy from my life,” His father pushed on his chest, Wilbur wobbled back a step, mouth slack because what the hell was his dad saying.
“You. Are. Insane.” He said slowly, “Life is better without you and your attitude, Phil, we don’t need you. I'm taking care of Tommy just fine by myself,” He shoved a finger in his fathers face before he swatted it away.
His dad snorted and Wilbur was taken aback. “Don’t kid yourself Wilbur, you aren’t taking care of him,”
“What do you mean?! I'm doing a better job than you ever did!”
“How can you take care of him when you can’t take care of yourself?!” HIs fathers voice raised to a shout to overtake Wilbur's. His father usually kept his cool, but looks like tonight was the night he had truly gone crazy.
Sometimes he would pretend his father was concerned about him, but when he said stuff like that there was no going back. “I'm getting better,” He lifted a hand to his chest sincerely.
“Wilbur you haven’t gotten better in years, and when you mess up again the only person who gets hurt is Tommy, think about that,” His father said, eyes staring into his own, overriding Wilbur's confidence.
“I’m not going to fucking mess up, I think you are just scared Tommy's too much like me,”
His dad didn’t respond. Eyes darting away for a moment before they were back.
“Well guess fucking what?! It's not that bad!” Wilbur was lying. He was panicking and he was lying.
“I'm concerned for Tommy.”
“Are you concerned that he will get traumatized?” There was a sarcastic undertone in his voice, light and airy, but there was nothing fake about his words, he couldn’t stop himself. “Because he already is!”
“Whose fucking fault is that Wilbur?” Phil stated, short and sharp.
Wilbur walked up to his father again, breathing in his face. “That's it right? You can’t handle it, having two fuck-ups as sons,” he laughs, “so you leave and you go pretend we don’t exist,”
His dad was silent. Wilbur's fists balled at his sides. “Answer me!” He yelled, his fathers eyes closing with a flinch.
“I love Tommy,” He breathed. Wilbur's heart was loud, drumming against his rib cage. “And you are not good for him,” He talked infuriatingly, slowly and steadily.
“Shut up!” Wilbur shouted.
But his father continued, leaning forward into Wilbur's space. “You are selfish and unstable, and you are only leading Tommy down a bad route,”
“Shut up,” His voice cracked.
“Tommy isn’t anything like you, he has potential, he would be better off without you and you need to recognize that!” He demanded, dangerously kicking Wilbur when he’s already down. Wilbur's cheeks burned with frustration and anger.
“Atleast im there for him,” He tried, “At Least I care,” Wilbur spoke, trying to clear his head. “if i wasn’t here-”
His dad yelled back, “If you weren’t here.” He barked a laugh that ran up Wilbur's spine. “You should've just stayed-” His dad cut himself off, the house fell silent, realization and awareness plummeting back into the situation.
“Stayed dead?” Wilbur tilted his head and walked backwards a couple steps. His dad’s eyes flicked to the ground. “Go on, tell me I should of died,”
His father stayed quiet, his eyes unable to meet Wilbur's. He almost wanted to laugh, his father was undeniably dreadful, horrible, whatever word fit, but it was certainly not “dad”.
“Tell me everything would have been okay! Tommy would be happy, that you would stay home more, you guys would be best fucking friends! Maybe Technoblade could come over and you guys would have family dinners, maybe you would laugh and smile. Tell me you would support Tommy and go to his competitions, you would tell him how proud you are of him. Tell me you would love him as much as I do.
Tell me everything would be perfect.
Tell me I should have died!”
Wilbur's voice was raw from yelling. There was a sorry-excuse of a smile on his face just to taunt his father. He held his breath in the silence, chest growing tight.
His father looked up slowly, his face neutral and calm.
And said nothing.
Wilbur's throat closed in a stifled gasp. Not a confirmation, but certainly not a denial. He’d taught himself to be unaffected by his fathers actions but that felt like a stab to his stomach. His eyes dropped from his fathers, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Many seconds passed where he basked in his fathers words that he left unsaid. His father had picked up his mug, which surely held cold contents by now, but continued to drink from it. Seemingly unbothered and uncaring for the conversation that came to an abrupt stop. Wilbur retreated from the kitchen but before he crossed the threshold, he said,
“Sometimes I wish I died, so that I would never have to talk to you again,” He remarked, he wouldn’t let his father have the last laugh. He tried to make it more hateful, more emotionless, but he couldn’t manage it past the knot in his throat. He didn’t get a response as he left, the kitchen lights turned off as he opened the front door. He slammed it as hard as he could.