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Lightning flashes and Tommy starts counting.
“One one-thousandths, two one-thousandths, three one-thousandths, four one-thousa—”
BOOM.
Tommy screams, just barely muffling it with his hands. His fingers dig into his cheeks, and saliva covers the insides of his palms. It’s gross, but he’s 13 years old and cowering under his covers.
The storm isn’t even that far away and Tommy’s scared. Storms and him have never mixed well, countless years of jumping into his mom and dad’s bed the standard during thunderstorm watches.
But today was his birthday—or technically it was yesterday, since it’s 2am—and Tommy’s a big kid now.
Wilbur said it himself. “Thunderstorm watch tonight, Tommy, maybe you won’t be a big baby and will stay in your own bed now that you’re a teenager.”
It leads to this, Tommy hiding under his covers with eyes sewn shut, and fingers leaving marks in his cheeks.
I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not scared, Tommy thinks.
FLASH
BOOM
“I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not scared,” Tommy says out loud. Maybe saying it aloud will quell his fears just enough for him to sleep.
It’s silent for a second, and Tommy’s brave enough to peek his head outside of the blankets.
The room is still, the only sounds being Tommy’s ragged breathing and the rain pattering his window. Curse Phil for letting him choose his room layout, now his bed is directly under the window.
The blanket slides off his head, and Tommy takes a deep breath in. Maybe the lightning is over? Maybe Tommy can finally sle—
FLASH.
Tommy gasps, at least it’s not a scream that everyone can hear. The lightning lit up the entire room, bright enough for Tommy to see the marbles on the floor and the closet door wide open.
Even worse, is that the thunder doesn’t happen immediately.
So Tommy waits, blanket over his head again. He’s rocking back and forth, fingers gripping his hair as he tries to calm down his breathing. It’s not working, air is leaving his lungs faster than it’s going in.
The thunder still hasn’t sounded, and Tommy clenches his legs and limbs tight to his body, preparing for when the gun of god goes off.
It still hasn’t gone off, and Tommy’s worried. A few more flashes of lightning light up his blanket, and he’s grateful the red blanket covers most of the light up.
Maybe the lightning didn’t have some follow up thunder? On the off chance it doesn’t, Tommy peeks his eyes out again. He could make a mad dash to Phil’s room while it’s quiet again. But then he proves Wilbur right, that he really is a small—
BOOM.
Tommy screams so loud, he swears the walls shake. But that may have been the thunder with how loud it was. It was like a firecracker, or a jet flying ten feet from the earth, it was so loud.
Yep, Tommy’s a baby. His heartbeat is skyrocketing in his ears as he climbs off his bed onto shaky limbs, using his bed as support. He drags the blanket with him, holding it over his head as some sort of imaginary protection.
The blanket trials him, like a fallen king walking headfirst into his enemy. Said enemy is Wilbur, the door cracked open slightly as if his older brother expects him to slip through.
He does anyways, jumping every time the lightning lights up the hallway and Wilbur’s room, and jumping twice as high when the thunder booms.
“Wil–Wilbur,” Tommy stutters, hands shaking his older brother who is dead asleep on the bed. In another lifetime, Tommy would piss himself at how Wilbur looks like a gaping fish who was left on shore for two days before making his way back into the water, but instead, Tommy’s pissing himself because he’s scared. Not because Wilbur sleeps with his mouth open.
His 17 year old brother shoves his hands away, turning on his side and facing away from Tommy. Lightning flashes and thunder booms and Tommy jumps onto Wilbur’s bed. How could anyone sleep through this?
“T’mmy?” Wilbur mumbles, cracking his eyes open to meet Tommy’s. His eyes are wide and frazzled, and he knows it concerns Wilbur when his older brother immediately sits up in bed, clutching Tommy’s face in his hands.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Wilbur’s eyes search his face, and Tommy almost wants to be a little bitch about it.
He doesn’t get the chance when thunder booms and he flinches, head almost jerking out of Wilbur’s hands.
“Oh,” Wilbur’s voice softens. “It’s storming.” Wilbur lets out a short laugh.
“‘M sorry,” Tommy says, voice small. “You said–I wanted to be,” he hiccups, “a big kid like–like you said. B-but, I got scared.”
Wilbur smiles kindly at him. “It’s okay Toms, I was just teasing earlier. You can always come into my bed.”
Tommy doesn’t respond, instead pulling his face out of Wilbur’s hand and shoving it into Wilbur’s neck, arms coming around for a hug. His brother pulls him in tight, burrowing his face into Tommy’s curls.
FLASH.
Tommy intakes a sharp breath, and brings his hands up to cover his ears. Larger hands cover his own, calluses from guitars soothing enough in themselves.
It’s his older brother, the one who said he would always be there for him, and would never leave him alone. Tommy loves Wilbur so much.
BOOM.
Tommy flinches and swears into Wilbur’s neck. It helps that the sound was muffled, but Tommy can still slightly hear the roaring thunder.
Slowly, Tommy feels Wilbur’s chest vibrating, and bites his lip when Wilbur starts humming. It’s a nonsensical tune, probably one of Wilbur’s songs in the works, but it drowns out the rain beating against the window, the whistling wind, and thunder rattling the walls.
It’s nice, pleasant even.
Wilbur lays them down gently, Tommy on top of his brother, and Wilbur holding Tommy close to his chest. Tommy shifts slightly to rest his ear on Wilbur’s chest, feeling the vibrations and hearing Wilbur’s humming.
The brightest of the lightning lights up the lids of his eyes occasionally, but it’s subtle enough that Tommy’s not too frightened by it. He can't even hear the thunder that follows.
Wilbur’s humming stutter, and he knows he’s trying not to fall asleep before Tommy does, so Tommy quiets his mind.
Falling asleep in Wilbur’s warm embrace and protection from the storm outside, Tommy couldn’t feel more safe.