Work Text:
Wilbur really should not be this pleased to be left "in charge" of the cottage by basically a child.
It was such a stupid, simple feeling of pleasure, one that was almost laughable. By default, he should be in charge anyways; he was literally the oldest person here, at least until Technoblade's room was finished. But until then? Wilbur was the oldest so technically he should be in charge, like, constantly, right? Right. And yet, despite this, he realized, he was more than content allowing this enderman hybrid child and Puffy take the lead. Nobody was really "in charge" here, he supposed, but if there was anyone Wilbur actually looked to as the "authority" in the household by default, it would have to be Ranboo. Don't ask him why, he couldn't explain it if he tried, if he was being fucking tortured for that information he wouldn't be able to figure out how to explain it - but that was just how it was, how he thought, and Wilbur had long accepted it.
So when Ranboo said that he was going out for the day and Wilbur was "in charge of making sure the cottage didn't burn down" (which basically just meant please, please, please, do not put one fucking pinkie toe in the kitchen, I'm begging you Wilbur), he was a startling mixture of amused and ecstatic. He really shouldn't have taken such a goddamn power trip over a twenty-year old kid leaving him in charge, especially considering the options were rather limited considering that it was only him and Tommy home right now, but- fuck it, really, let him have this.
What did he intend to do with this newfound power, you might ask? Annoy the fuck out of his little brother, that's what. Wilbur had fallen into the habit of pushing Tommy's buttons - lightly - in the hopes of reigniting that once-beautiful, brilliant flame the blond used to carry around with him. And you know what he was seeing? He was seeing progress, genuine progress. And yes, it was slow, and frustrating at times, discouraging at others. But then there were those little moments, moments Wilbur could see a spark of something erupt in those beautiful bright blue eyes, and he would think there it is, there he is, there's my sunshine. Tommy would look at him the way he used to, with that amused but exasperated glare. He would smirk mischievously and mumble some snarky comment under his breath when Wilbur teased him just enough, and he would light up when Wilbur laughed at the hesitant, tentative jokes he had begun to crack lately.
So today, Wilbur intended to make as much progress with Tommy as he could in the several hours Ranboo said he would be gone. It was just the two of them, maybe his little brother would be more inclined to open himself up to someone one-on-one. He had no idea how Tommy's sessions with Puffy went, and Wilbur was far from a therapist, but he was an older brother, and older brothers were very good at pissing off their little siblings, and that was what Wilbur wanted.
What he wanted, he decided - he didn't fucking care if it got to the point where Tommy was stood there screaming curses at him, Wilbur would take it, because what he wanted? He wanted to set Tommy's soul ablaze again, he wanted to watch him burn as brightly as he used to, even if it came with the risk of hurting himself in the process. Wilbur would take anything, at that point, to get a glimpse of the Tommy he used to know. To let Tommy know that he was okay, that he could be himself again without fear of being hurt, or belittled, or yelled at, or punished. Wilbur was already so proud of him, for everything he had overcome. The kid was fucking brave. Braver than Wilbur thought he would be in his situation; he didn't think he'd last this long.
But Tommy Innit never ceased to amaze him, Wilbur mused.
"Oh, Tommyyyyy," he sang as he headed back toward the hall, making his way to Tommy's room. The boy had left his door open, so Wilbur didn't hesitate to poke his head in, grinning at his little brother as he settled his weight against the doorframe. "Folks are gone. It's just the two of us, home alone, and Ranboo has formally requested that I do not burn the kitchen down - again - so frankly I'm a little more inclined to try my hand at cooking again. You wanna help this time?" Tommy looked up at that, a flicker of alarm crossing his face as he turned to glare at him. And there he was, for just a moment. There he was, in those skeptical, critical, bright blue eyes.
"Why must you do the opposite of what you're told, Wil?" Tommy questioned. "Be more like me."
Wilbur tutted at him in response, a flicker of glee churning in his gut. That was something, at least. "No, no no, Tommy, you should be more like me… and help me commit arson. It'll be fun!" He grinned at his younger brother, and Tommy just stared back at him for a long moment before turning back to whatever the fuck he was doing. He seemed to be writing something, but considering he had just sent out another letter to Dream recently, Wilbur didn't think that was what it was. He swallowed down the instinctive swell of curiosity - he did have lines he wasn't willing or ready to cross yet, and giving Tommy his space and respecting his boundaries was important regardless of whatever reactions he was trying to get out of the boy - and continued to press. "Tommyyy, c'mon, I'm going to make a golden apple pie. With cinnamon. Come help me."
Now Tommy looked a little tempted. Wilbur had his attention, the blond shifting slowly in his seat to face him again, abandoning the papers and his pencil on his desk as he gazed up at Wilbur. He was quiet, contemplative. "I don't want to make Ranboo upset, though," he finally mumbled. "Also, the last time you tried to cook didn't go well. Part of the table is still burnt," he added, taking a deep breath and finally turning completely in his chair so that he was facing the door, stretching his arms out over his desk a bit. "Why are you always trying to piss him off, anyway?"
"I'm not," Wilbur objected. "I just don't like being told what to do, Tommy. Naturally, when someone tells me to do something, I want to do the opposite. You know how I operate by now," he teased, and Tommy's eyebrows raised a little at that, exasperation and fondness flitting across his face in equal measure. Wilbur grinned at him, straightening up from the doorframe. "But, fine, if it really worries you, then I won't force you to commit arson with me. We can do something else instead." Wilbur finally let his gaze slip back toward the papers and pencil on the desk for a moment, staring, before continuing, "I mean, unless you're busy with whatever you'r-"
"I'm not busy," Tommy said quickly, grabbing at the papers abruptly as if he had only just remembered they were there. Daunted though he was by the apprehension that had darkened Tommy's features, Wilbur kept his smile up as the boy stuffed the papers into a drawer in his desk, closing it quickly and getting up. "I'm never too busy to spend time with you, anyway, Wil."
"D'awwwwh." Wilbur couldn't fight his grin. That was actually really sweet, and really touching. He was officially distracted from the paper now. "Well, what would you like to do today, Tommy?"
"Not burn down the kitchen," Tommy replied automatically.
Wilbur nodded, pulling away from the doorframe and leaving the room. "The living room, then!"
"Wait- WILBUR-"
So far so good. Wilbur smirked to himself. Piece of fucking cake.
Or not.
Or not.
Wilbur was, quite frankly, appalled by how quickly things went downhill. For like, an hour or two, everything was okay. He and Tommy shared some lighthearted teasing and banter, and Wilbur once again threatened the safety of the kitchen when he ultimately decided he actually was hungry and wanted to try and cook something to eat. Tommy offered to make him a sandwich instead, which only sparked the amazing idea from Wilbur to add actual sand to said sandwiches, to which at this point Tommy was ready to hole back up in his room again. Once that was over, though, his brother had abruptly insisted on staying in the kitchen to wash the dishes, and Wilbur had retreated to the living room with his sand and sandwich, crunching away. Very texture. Very good. The look on Tommy's face was almost as satisfying as the crunching.
"That shit is going to kill you," Tommy was complaining, and for a moment Wilbur could pretend that everything was okay, that things were back to normal. He smirked around a mouthful of sand, but took his time to chew and swallow properly before he opened his mouth to respond- Tommy was already continuing before he could, "actually, I don't know how you didn't die from eating that stuff when we were younger. Didn't you used to keep fucking jars of it in your room?"
"I did," Wilbur replied gleefully. "Philza never found out. I also kept clay as well- you know clay actually has a very nice texture, it's not as crunchy as the sand, it's more like a crumbly kind of-"
"I know, Wilbur." Tommy sighed. "You've made me eat clay before as well."
He sounded one-hundred percent fed up with Wilbur's shit and Wilbur absolutely loved it. "Glass, that's another thing, I used to love eating glass so much that Phil had to put bars on my fucking windows so that I couldn't break them and just start crunching on the glass. This was like when I was seven or eight by the way, before I found you," he added quickly, continuing on while Tommy abruptly stopped scrubbing the dishes and turned around to stare at him incredulously. "I don't actually remember why or how I started eating the glass, but like… that shit is crunchy as fuck, right? Like once I got over the whole pain aspect of it, it was very satisfying. But Phil found me with like a mouthful of glass and blood everywhere and he was very upset, he literally removed anything breakable in the house after that for like eight months."
"Wil." Tommy's voice was very quiet. "Why the fuck would you willingly eat glass. What is wrong with you." And oh, the absolute glee that shot through him at that! Wilbur couldn't help but burst into laughter, but Tommy wasn't laughing; he was just staring, incredibly concerned and extremely put-off, while Wilbur fucking cackled. "Wilbur, that is not- that is not a normal thing. Nobody fucking eats glass willingly, Wil. It gets all stuck between your teeth and it fuckin' hurts."
Wilbur snickered, raising his eyebrows. "What, you've eaten glass before? So I'm not the only-"
"Not willingly," Tommy sputtered. "Fuck, no."
"I…" Wilbur tilted his head. "I don't follow. I mean, yeah, I've definitely made you eat sand and clay before but I've never forced you to eat glass. I mean I would never force anyone to eat-" And… fuck. Fuck. The realization set in a little too late, and with it, the most horrifying, icy feeling flushed through Wilbur's veins, effectively washing away his amusement and replacing it with a bone-deep terror and a deep, primal sense of rage that he couldn't stifle. Thankfully, Tommy was no longer looking at him, studiously focused on the dishes while Wilbur struggled to clear his mind and get his thoughts in order. He prayed he was wrong, and he wasn't going to say anything, he wasn't going to ask because he knew he wouldn't like the answer- so he didn't. He shut his mouth, instead, and just sat there listening to the sound of the water running, quietly.
But it was still fine after that. It was a little tense, and much more quiet, but it was fine. Wilbur was brainstorming ways to ease the tension a bit, something to joke about that hopefully wouldn't… well, something that wouldn't annoy Tommy as much as it would amuse him instead. Tommy already seemed fed up, as it was; and Wilbur was steadily backtracking on his "he'd take anything" stance. He didn't want Tommy to be upset with him, he didn't like this annoyance, he didn't like this cold feeling settling in his gut, and he didn't like the silence that he had invited.
Wilbur exhaled, ready to cave and apologize - it was good to apologize, to admit what he'd done wrong and clear the air - but just before he could even spit the words out, before he could even make a noise… a familiar pale purple streak dashed through the room from outside; the sliding glass door had been left open, Wilbur knew Bloom liked to venture in and out of her own free will and despite not being at all pleased by the bugs this allowed in as well, he was sure to leave the door open for her so that she could go back and forth whenever she pleased. He watched as she made a mad dash across the kitchen area, skidding right past Tommy - and he wasn't sure what happened, he wasn't sure whether Bloom had startled him, or actually bumped him hard enough to make him stumble, but in the very next moment, as soon as the calf had touched him, Tommy sucked in a loud gasp, jumped, and reeled backwards, away from the sink.
The sound of glass shattering made them all flinch; even Bloom came to an abrupt stop, staring with wide eyes and her ears angled forward. Wilbur struggled to calm his racing heart, shaking his head slightly - it was fine, they were fine, it was just a broken plate, nothing to worry about. And yet, he found his hands shaking as he pushed himself to stand, unsteadily straightening up.
He made his way over, grimacing at the glass shards strewn across the floor. "Tommy, are-"
"Fuck," the blond cut him off with another sudden gasp, and then he was on his knees before Wilbur could process a single thing, grabbing for the glass shards with his bare hands. "I'm so- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- I- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm so sorry-" Wilbur was frozen in place at that point, unable to do little more than stare. This didn't last very long, though; a few seconds at most, before the shock slowly began to fade, and he once again registered the fact that his baby brother was picking up shards of glass with his bare hands, fucking cutting himself.
He moved forward quickly, too horrified to register what he was doing completely; he just knew he needed to get Tommy away from the fucking glass. So he didn't think, as he seized the boy by the wrists and forced his hands still, prying his fingers apart and forcing his hands to uncurl so that he would drop whatever shards he was holding. Blood was already oozing down his hands and it was not, by any means, the most horrifying thing Wilbur Soot had ever seen - but at that moment, with the way his stomach churned and his heart leaped up to his throat, he figured it might as well have been. "What the fuck- what the fuck, Tommy? What are you doing?"
Tommy was frozen in his grip, blue eyes wide with terror. Somehow, this didn't quite register yet. Wilbur resisted the urge to shake him until he got a proper answer, and took a few seconds longer to make sure that he was no longer holding any glass before hauling his little brother up and to his feet, moving him back to the other side of the counter. "G- go- go sit the fuck down-" He didn't mean to sound harsh, and he really didn't - his voice came out a lot more shakier than he had intended, not at all as stern as he wanted it to. Tommy flinched regardless, sucking in a shuddering breath and reeling away from him the very moment Wilbur had let go of his hands. He wasted no time scrambling over to the living room area, and Wilbur turned back to the glass.
Despite every instinct screaming at him to do what Tommy had just done and start picking up the glass with his bare hands, as it was the quickest way - he knew he had to set a good example, so he retrieved a broom and dustpan from the other side of the kitchen instead, and set to work. To tell you the truth, he couldn't fucking explain why he had just freaked out like that. But just- the fucking glass shattering, Tommy trying to clean it up with his bare fucking hands, cutting himself and bleeding… coupled with their earlier conversation, it put him on edge.
Tommy hadn't even hesitated, he hadn't even flinched as he grasped at the shards, as they dug into his palm and blood started welling up and streaming from the cuts. Wilbur wanted to scream. He wanted to fucking scream, he wanted to leave and march up into that damn prison and beat the shit out of Dream. He wanted to wrap his arms around his brother, curl up with him on the couch and cry until he was breathless and hoarse and couldn't make another sound. He wanted to keep him close and wrap his wings around him, keep him secure and safe. He wanted to wrap his whole hand around Dream's throat, and lift him high into the air above him, and then slam him down into the ground, repeatedly, again, and again, and again, until he was-
Something soft and warm pressed against his hand, teeth nipping at his fingertips. Wilbur flinched a little at first, but he was quick to look down, dumping some of the glass shards into the trash bin. Bloom was at his side, hooves pressed against his leg as she nipped at his hand again; Wilbur tried in vain to push her away, but she continued persistently until he finally stopped what he was doing to turn his full attention back to her, frustrated and confused. "What."
Bloom bleated back at him loudly in response, gnashing her teeth at him. He swore the damned cow narrowed her eyes at him. Wilbur was about to tell her, for some reason he couldn't quite place, not to speak to her uncle that way (despite having absolutely no idea what she had said), but the calf didn't give him the chance. She jumped up again and nipped at his fingertips once more, and then finally let herself fall back onto all four hooves and whipped around with another loud moo, jerking her head toward the living room area and then looking back at him pointedly. It took her doing this at least twice more before Wilbur figured it out and turned to look behind him.
Tommy was sitting on the floor in front of one of the couches, curled up with his hands buried into his hair and his head between his knees. He was breathing shakily, loudly; every inch of him was trembling, jerking with tiny shudders and quiet, muffled sobs. Wilbur froze at the sight, having barely a moment to think goddamn this fucking cow is actually a genius before instinct kicked in again once more, and he dropped the broom and dustpan and quickly made his way back over to Tommy with Bloom trotting at his heels, still making loud bleats and moo-ing at him. Wilbur paid her no more mind, to be honest; whatever she was trying to tell him fell on ears that couldn't understand her even if he actually stopped and tried, and Tommy was his priority now. "Tommy- hey, hey, Tommy… are you- do you need something to heal- how badly are you hurt?"
He tried to come across as soothing, but the split second Tommy heard his voice, the blond seized up. The shaking stopped, but the tension that rippled through his muscles instead wasn't any better, the way Wilbur could fucking see every inch of him pull taut as Tommy's gaze swung up towards him, blue eyes wide with terror. The sight made Wilbur's breath catch, the air rattling uselessly in his lungs as he held it there, staring, as Tommy shied away from him. "I- I'm sorry-!"
"What?" Wilbur stared at him, uncomprehending. "What do you mean you're- wh- hey, Tommy?"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" Tommy sucked in a sudden gasp, chest heaving as he fought for air. Wilbur echoed the sentiment, breathing in sharply through his teeth as he stared at his little brother. "I- I didn't mean to break it and- and I didn't mean to make you mad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Wilbur, I- I'm- I'm really sorry," the blond breathed, curling up and gripping at his hair again. His eyes didn't move from Wilbur, but they didn't quite meet his gaze either, resting somewhere near his temple instead. They were wide with fear, and his hands shook violently, the rest of him tense and curled up about as tight as he could in a sitting position. "I'm-"
"Tommy- Tommy- hey…" Wilbur slowly knelt down and Tommy flinched back, pressing himself back against the couch and curling up again. Wilbur cringed a little, and Bloom eased past him, making her way over to Tommy quickly. "Tommy, you're… I'm not… you didn't make me mad, I'm not mad," he finally managed to spit the words out, hoping that he didn't sound as shaky as he felt right then. Tommy said nothing, chest heaving through shaky breaths and stifled sobs as he stared at Wilbur, but he did spare a quick second to wrap his arms around Bloom - pulling her close to him almost protectively - before he turned his full attention back to Wilbur once again. Wilbur hesitated, debating on easing in closer, but decided against it. "It's… you're okay. You're okay," he finally spoke, keeping his voice as soft as possible. "I'm not mad, alright?"
He watched Tommy swallow, panic flickering through his eyes. "S- So you- you won't hurt me?" His gaze darted downwards, and his arms seemed to tighten around Bloom. "O- Or- or Bloom?"
Wilbur felt fucking sick. "No… no, I'm not going to hurt you, Tommy…"
The tension didn't quite drain, and Tommy didn't stop shaking, but something did unravel in his shoulders, and some relief did dawn across his face as he curled up more - this time curling around Bloom - and pressed himself back again, mumbling something that Wilbur didn't quite catch into the calf's fur while she licked at his face and nuzzled closer. Wilbur watched them for a moment, desperately wanting to pull his brother into his arms but not knowing if that would be… if any touch at that moment would be welcome, or if he would just make the situation worse. It felt like he would, if he even tried to get a little bit closer. He always made things worse. He always broke everything he fucking touched. Today was supposed to be a good day. Today was supposed to be a progress-making day - instead it felt like all the progress he had made with Tommy had just fucking unraveled before his very eyes, and it was all his fault. Wilbur struggled to tamp down the frustration and self-loathing and fear that built up within him.
"I'm sorry," Tommy whispered again. "I'm really sorry, Wilbur. I'm- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Tommy." Wilbur struggled for a moment to find the words, dismayed. He couldn't. He genuinely didn't know what to fucking say to this, he didn't know what to do, how to make this any better. He wasn't good at making things better, never was; and this was just a vicious reminder of that. "Tommy, I…" He tried anyway. He tried, and tried, and tried, but the right words wouldn't come. He just despaired, watching his sunshine fall apart in front of him. It was painful, it was terrifying.
He just sat there and breathed for a moment, as he struggled to force his brain to work again. He wished Ranboo would come home, he didn't know what to do, he was so out of his depth. He'd never dealt with something like this before, not on his own. He didn't know how to fix this.
"Okay." He whispered. "Okay, um…" He swallowed hard and it hurt, his throat was too tight, his eyes were stinging. He couldn't breathe, taking a single breath felt like a monumental fucking effort. He shifted his focus to just speaking, slowly, carefully picking and choosing his next words. "Tommy," he began, hesitating again in his desire to move closer, but ultimately deciding against it. "You're- you're operating logically based off of past experience, right?" At this, Bloom whipped her head around to stare at him, and Wilbur could practically hear her saying what the fuck. He spared her an exasperated, desperate look in response, then focused on Tommy again. "Dream-" The way he stumbled over the word, stuttering, so hesitant to even utter the fucking name. Tommy didn't react. "Dream hurt you so much-" This time Tommy did react, ducking his head a little further and letting out a strangled whine. Wilbur winced. "And- and now you expect everyone else to do the same. But- Tommy- Tommy look at me, sunshine, please…"
And he did, after several moments of hesitation. Blue eyes peered back up at him, uncertain and confused, and Wilbur took a moment to breathe, to steady himself, before he continued on.
"Have I ever hurt you?" He blurted out, and cringed. "Physically, I mean, have I ever hurt you?"
Silence followed, but Tommy shook his head with little hesitation. Never once. Wilbur hated the fact that he actually hadn't been certain of that answer himself; Pogtopia was still a bitter haze, something that Wilbur tried valiantly not to think about and remember. After all these years, Wilbur could never really be sure what he did back then, how far his broken mind made him go. So to be honest, it was relieving to hear this, and it soothed some of his frayed nerves just a bit.
"Exactly," he whispered. "I have never hurt you. I have never, ever hurt you, and Tommy, I promise, I don't intend to start now." He swallowed again, and breathed in, a little steadier now. "So as long as you're operating off of past experiences, please consider that. I'll never hurt you."
Tears flooded Tommy's eyes abruptly at that, and Wilbur stiffened, terrified. He'd made it worse. Again. He'd made it worse, again, why was he so bad at that? Why was he such a shit brother? Why couldn't he do anything right? He couldn't do one thing, he couldn't do one thing right for the baby brother that had always been there for him, the kid who stayed by his side through the worst time in Wilbur's life, even though it had cost him so much. Wilbur's eyes stung with the threat of tears, but they didn't come. His pride wouldn't allow that, especially not in front of Tommy. But he felt them all the same, this horrible feeling twisting him apart from the inside out. His throat constricted and his chest ached and Wilbur just wanted to curl up and break down.
But then Tommy reached out for him, leaning forward, and every thought flew right out of his head. He moved forward at once, grabbing Tommy by the sleeves and pulling him up into his arms. Bloom, as well, by extension; her fur tickled his chin as he curled himself around them both, and he couldn't help but huff out a quiet, airy laugh when he felt her tongue rasp over his cheek briefly before she turned her attention back to Tommy, nuzzling her head under his chin. Tommy, meanwhile, curled up and practically melted into Wilbur's arms, chest shuddering through shaky breaths as he turned and buried his face into his shoulder. Wilbur held him close, and he fucking ached as he did so. He couldn't remember the last time he had just held him like this. In more than just a painfully short hug. Unconsciously, he shifted to unfurl his wings and tucked them both around the blond as well, cocooning him in trembling, ruffled brown feathers. Tommy let out a sigh, nuzzling even closer, and Wilbur's shoulders sagged slightly with relief.
He was okay. He had fixed it. This was fine. This is fine.
Wilbur tucked his chin over Tommy's head and closed his eyes, murmuring. "Sorry for scaring you. I didn't- I was- I don't know what I was thinking, when I saw you… it fucking startled me." He managed to choke out a laugh. "It's- not an excuse, but I didn't… I didn't mean to scare you."
"It's okay," Tommy mumbled into his shoulder. "You didn't fucking eat it, though, did you?"
Wilbur choked out a laugh, and held him closer. "No, Tommy."
"Good." Tommy released a trembling sigh, and fell silent. He was still shaking, calming down but not quite there. Wilbur shifted and sank back against the couch behind them, pulling him closer. With the worst of it out of the way, he fell back on an old tactic of his. Something he used to do when Tommy was much smaller and much younger, when Wilbur could sweep him up with his wings, hold him in one arm and twirl them around. When Tommy was having a fit, or a tantrum, or when he was afraid of the thunder booming outside or hiding behind him from a zombie. Whenever tears were running down his brother's face that needed drying immediately.
He did one of few things he did best, and he sang.
"You are my sunshine… my only sunshine… you make me happy, when skies are gray…"
And when Tommy relaxed, Wilbur thought, maybe he wasn't so bad at fixing things.
"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you…"
Maybe he wasn't such a shit brother.
"Please don't take my sunshine away…"