Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was a mistake. Applying to work for the company that would happily arrest him was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

And that was saying something.

If Tubbo were still talking to him, Tommy would be getting the lecture of a lifetime, would probably be tied down to a chair in Tubbo’s apartment and threatened until he changed his mind.

It wasn’t Tommy’s fault, he hadn’t exactly expected to get the job. An ‘eighteen’ year old, with no experience, no skills – who would want to hire him to be a personal assistant in the fucking Power Investigation Agency? He certainly wouldn’t hire himself.

It was safe to say he was a personality hire.

If Tommy had any kind of sense, and he didn’t, he’d quit immediately, leave the city and start a new life. For someone like him, any kind of attention from the Power Investigation Agency was bad attention.

But here he was, in his very best hoodie and jeans, battered phone in his back pocket and ratty backpack hanging off his shoulder. There was a weird spattering of green on the inside that he was really hoping wasn’t mould; he’d decided not to investigate for fear of finding out it was, in fact, mould.

“Ayup,” Tommy greeted the receptionist, immediately regretting it. Should he have said ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’ instead? “I’m Tommy, I’m the new personal assistant?”

He probably shouldn’t have phrased that like a question either. He twisted the base of his gloves against his hand before forcing himself to stand still.

“Theseus Innit?” The woman said.

Tommy nodded, “Really, Tommy’s fine.”

“Sorry, yes, of course, it does say that here.” She shook her head and grinned at him. “I’m Niki, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And you,” Tommy replied, only a little awkwardly. Success.

“Now,” Tommy did not like her tone, all serious as it was, “I will warn you that there’s been some shuffling around. Originally, you were going to be Jack’s personal assistant, and his previous one was going to get the promotion, but you’ll be the personal assistant for Phil now – seems he really took a liking to you in that interview.”

Oh God, oh fuck. “Phil? Not Phil Watson?”

Niki smiled knowingly, Tommy hated her a little for it. “The very same.”

“Well, fuck.”

“You’ll be getting a pay rise, of course.” Niki was saying, pointing at various pieces of paperwork.

Did it count as a pay rise if he hadn’t even been paid yet, Tommy thought a little hysterically. “Of course.”

Phil Watson. If working in the underbellies of the institution was a mistake, working for the man who founded it was practically suicide.

His hands shook a little in their gloves and he dug them into his pockets, digging his nails into his thighs. One small setback was fine, he told himself, barely breathing, he needed money and this was likely the best opportunity he’d ever get.

“Whilst your contract is in Phil’s name, you’ll likely be doing tasks for his sons as well, Wilbur and Techno,” Niki added, handing him a pen which he mindlessly used to sign where she pointed. “Is that okay?”

“Sounds great,” Tommy forced through clenched teeth. Did the universe really have it out for him? Fucking Techno Watson?

“You’ll be fine,” Niki said in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring. Tommy did not feel very reassured, he felt like he deserved compensation. “Here’s your badge, you’ll need it to get into some of the more private areas you’ll need access to as Phil’s assistant.”

“Right,” Tommy said, staring at his signature, “thanks.”

He pocketed the badge.

Somehow he ended up in an elevator. If he wasn’t so sure he knew what his power was already, he’d think he’d suddenly learned how to teleport.

Fuck, he’d much prefer to be able to teleport.

Still, when the elevator dinged and it became apparent it was time to step out, he steadied his breathing and stepped forward. If there was one thing he was good at, it was suppressing his fucking emotions.

He hardly had time to think before some fuck pointed at him. “You. I need your help.”

Tommy barely, just barely, resisted pointing at himself. “Me?”

“You’re the new hire, right, Tommy?”

Nodding, Tommy stepped back a little from the man who looked more than a little maniacal. “Uh, yes?”

“Brilliant. I’m Wilbur.” The other introduced. “You’re going to help me prank Techno.”

This was not what he had signed up for. “I’m going to what?”

Wilbur sighed. “There’s no time to explain.”

Tommy felt like there was definitely time to explain, but okay. “Right.”

“I need a few minutes with Techno’s laptop,” Wilbur insisted frantically, glancing over his shoulder. “Distract him and I’ll buy you lunch this week.”

Well, even if the man was mad, Tommy quite liked the idea of free food. “I get to choose the food.”

“Duh,” Wilbur said distractedly. “Quick, he’s coming.”

Oh, Tommy just knew he was going to regret this.

And yet, when pink hair came round the corner, Tommy fell back into the few things he remembered from his drama lessons in school. “Pigs blood, pigs blood everywhere.”

“Uh, what,” Techno asked blankly.

“There’s no time to waste,” Tommy lied, already moving to the elevator. “Come on, quick.”

If there was one thing Tommy was good at, it was wasting people’s time.

“Heh?” But Techno followed, and that was what mattered.

Should he be risking aggravating the Techno Blade Watson? Probably not. But Wilbur had offered him free food, so really, what was he supposed to do, say no?

Tommy pressed a random floor button.

A minute passed by.

“Wait,” Techno said slowly, assessing him and then glancing at the floor number. “Did you say there’s pig blood? In the storage departments?”

It was, possibly, a bad moment to notice the glinting sword strapped to Techno’s side.

“Well, uh, where else would you expect it?” Tommy said, gloved hand already raising back to the elevator buttons.

Realisation seemed to dawn on Techno. “Don’t you dare –“

Tommy pressed all the buttons.

Hopefully, that’d give Wilbur enough time.

Techno sighed. “How much did Wilbur pay you?”

“… Who?”

“Kid,” Techno stared at him. “Don’t try it.”

Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. Tommy was quitting, immediately.

A deep sigh. Tommy held his breath.

“You’re Theseus, right?” Techno asked, with no sign of animosity.

Tommy was not convinced.

“Yeah, I go by Tommy though,” Tommy added, trying not to cower into a corner in fear, or worse, let his emotions get the best of him. “I’m guessing you’re, uh, Mr Blade.”

Techno snorted. “Just Techno, kid.”

“Okay,” Tommy had no idea it was possible for one man to be so accidentally intimidating.

“I’m still calling you Theseus though.” The man smirked. “It fits you.”

It was Tommy’s turn to sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re a Greek nerd too.”

Suddenly, in a world of guns, the sword made sense.

Ranboo had been too, Tommy thought with aching fondness; he’d always been talking about some Greek hero or another.

“You know many Greek nerds?” Techno asked curiously – probably seeking some kind of Greek mythology support group, God knows Tommy had tried to find one for Ranboo.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn’t exactly name myself.”

“Funny,” Techno said dryly, stepping off the elevator on the wrong floor. “I’ll walk the stairs the rest of the way. Have fun.”

Personally, Tommy would not be having fun.

Eventually, after far, far too long, he arrived back at the right floor. He was greeted by Techno staring despondently at his laptop – was that a fucking goose?

Wilbur practically bounced up to him. “That was incredible.”

“Boys,” someone chided, someone that could only be Phil Watson, “are you bullying the new assistant.”

Techno scoffed. “Hardly, if anything, he’s bullying me.”

“Oh,” Phil smiled at Tommy, who tried not to wince at Techno’s words, “that’s fine then.”

Thank fuck, Tommy couldn’t imagine getting fired on his first day for pranking his boss’ son.

Actually, he could definitely imagine that. That would make sense for him.

“Hi mate, Tommy, right?” Tommy nodded – at least Phil respected his name. “I’m Phil, I’ll show you where to get started.”

Smiling his best smile, Tommy followed Phil to a desk absolutely shrouded in piles of papers.

“Right, uh, we may have been putting off filing the paperwork for a little bit.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Phil dared to smile at Tommy.

“A little bit?” Was this normal? Tommy shouldn’t ask, most personal assistants would probably already know.

Phil chuckled. “I see your point. There’s no timescale for this, it’ll probably take you weeks, but if you could make a start that’d be great; everything in the cabinets should be labelled, but if you have any questions feel free to ask any of us.”

“Thanks,” Tommy nodded, he absolutely would not be asking anyone a single question.

With an internal sigh – Tommy didn’t yet dare to sigh out loud – he sat down and got to work.

A few hours passed in relative peace, if you ignored Wilbur and Techno’s near-constant bickering – Tommy was starting to think it was a miracle they’d ever gotten any work done.

“Mate,” Phil called over to him. “Are you feeling cold?”

“Huh?” Tommy answered, not looking away from the piles upon piles of paperwork he’d been presented with. “Cold?”

Wilbur rolled his chair over to Tommy’s. “He means the gloves. We can turn the heating on, if you want.”

“Uh, no, I’m not cold.” It was July. “Thanks, though.”

“Okay,” Wilbur smiled and rolled back away, but not without glancing at Tommy’s gloves with curiosity. “Ready for lunch?”

Blinking, Tommy watched as Wilbur stood and gathered his things, only half surprised the man was pulling through on his promise. “I could eat.”

He could always eat; Tubbo used to call him a vacuum, ignorant to Tommy’s insistence that he was just a growing boy.

“Come on,” Wilbur called over his shoulder. “Have you been to Puffy’s yet?”

Tommy blinked at him. “It’s my first day.”

“Ah, ah,” Wilbur wagged his finger at Tommy as he walked backwards, “no excuses.”

Tommy hoped he tripped.

Letting a small smile grace his face, Tommy followed him to the elevator. “And what’s your excuse for being bald?”

“All I hear is the whining of a child that can’t grow facial hair.”

The audacity. “Do you not see the three hairs under my chin? It’s the new top style, I guess you wouldn’t know, being as old as you are.”

Laughing in shock, Wilbur pressed the ground floor button, narrowing his eyes at Tommy playfully. “Yeah, okay, I see why Phil wanted you here now.”

The thought of Phil personally choosing Tommy as their personal assistant made something build up in his chest, so he pushed it relentlessly to the side. “You don’t think it was for my work ethic? I’m hurt.”

“Hmm,” Wilbur said, but didn’t elaborate.

Dickhead.

The elevator opened and Wilbur waved at Niki as they passed her – Tommy returned the secret thumbs up she gave him behind Wilbur’s back with a grin.

There was a silence Tommy tried to pretend wasn’t awkward as they walked to the restaurant.

“So,” Tommy started slowly, twisting his hands together, “do you and your brother prank each other often?”

Wilbur laughed, a fond look in his eyes. “Yes, it’s a workplace hazard I’m afraid. Feel free to complain to Phil if it starts to interfere with your work, he’ll sort us out.”

“I’ll take a break from that paperwork any day,” Tommy joked, before glancing at Wilbur nervously – he really needed to not forget that Wilbur was probably one of his bosses, he should stop complaining about anything work-related.

Wincing, Wilbur sent him an apologetic look. “Yeah, I don’t blame you for that one.”

As they entered the restaurant, the conversation paused and a waiter took them to a table, placing two menus in front of them before turning to Wilbur. “I’ll let Puffy know you’re here.”

“Thanks, Foolish,” Wilbur said.

Tommy thought it was rude to call the waiter foolish, he’d been perfectly polite to them.

Wilbur must have seen something in his expression and laughed. “That’s his name, sorry, should have explained that.”

“Ah.” At least Wilbur wasn’t a total dick, probably. “That makes sense.”

He bit his lip as he scanned the menu – Wilbur had said he would pay, but if he didn’t, Tommy didn’t exactly have a bunch of money on him.

“My treat, by the way,” Wilbur reminded him. “Get whatever you want, you deserve it for helping me with Techno earlier.”

“Are you sure?” Tommy didn’t want to ask, but, well, it was polite. And Tommy had been trying to be polite more recently, you know, since this morning.

“Yeah, go for it.”

Grinning, Tommy finally allowed himself to look at the mains on the menu. “You’ll regret that.”

Wilbur laughed, already setting his own menu down. “I recommend literally any of the pasta.”

“Are you just saying that to stop me from getting the,” he quickly scanned for one of the more expensive items, “flat iron sirloin?”

Looking him up and down, Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Hey, if you can manage it, you’re more than welcome to order it.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy said, maybe he didn’t have to be polite all the time, “I can manage anything.”

When Foolish came back, Tommy ordered the carbonara.

They spent the meal in relative silence, but after the light-heartedness of their previous conversation, it was no longer awkward.

Wilbur paid as promised, clapping his hands together as he stood up. “Right then, should we head back, or take the afternoon off?”

Tommy had no idea if he was joking or not. “Uh, I probably shouldn’t skive off on my first day.”

“If you insist.” Sighing in what could very well be fake disappointment, Wilbur took out his phone. “Before I forget, let’s exchange numbers.”

“Alright,” Tommy took the phone from Wilbur, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he tried to remember his phone number. “There, that should be it.”

It could be wrong. It was probably wrong.

Look, it wasn’t like he was giving out his phone number very often.

Pressing the call button, Wilbur grinned as a ringing came from Tommy’s pocket – phew, he’d gotten it right; he didn’t want to be accused of purposefully giving Wilbur the wrong number.

“Brilliant,” Wilbur said, “just message me if you ever need to call in sick or something. Technically you’re supposed to call Niki, but bless her, she has so much on her plate, there’s really no reason you can’t just message me directly.”

That was… nice, Tommy pushed away the natural suspicion that came with encountering human kindness. “Oh, thanks.”

“Obviously, this also means I can bother you as well.”

Ah, there it was.

So caught up in adding Wilbur’s contact to his phone, he noticed Wilbur swinging an arm around his shoulders far too late.

Flinching harshly, Tommy frantically backed up a few steps, breathing quickening without his permission.

In front of him, Wilbur was holding his hands up in defence, shock colouring his expression. “Uh, sorry. Are you okay?”

Tommy avoided his eyes, looked from the discarded crisps packet on the floor across the street, to the graffiti on the wall next to them, to the couple holding hands walking towards them. They passed by them, looking curiously at Wilbur and Tommy as they went.

His breathing was still heavy. “I don’t like touch.”

“Okay,” Wilbur nodded. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Tommy nodded in response, instinct alone guiding his movements as he tried to calm the pure fear surging through his body. Fuck, that could have gone so wrong, if Wilbur had made contact with his skin he might be - fucking hell, Tommy could have –

He forced himself to focus on the tight pinch of his shoes and the way the tag on his shirt was itching against his neck; he pulled his gloves further down his wrist, reassuring himself that they were still secure.

“Sorry,” Tommy said, it felt necessary.

“It’s alright,” Wilbur said softly, “not your fault, I should have asked.”

Shaking his head, Tommy forced himself to take a step closer to Wilbur, even though he wanted to run far, far away. “No, no, it’s not like, I mean, you literally didn’t know.”

“It’s alright,” Wilbur repeated. “Do you want me to tell Phil and Techno? Techno’s not one for casual touch, but Phil’s a bit more like me.”

It was embarrassing; shame crept into every fibre of his being, but realistically he knew it was important.

His own feelings didn’t matter in this situation. “Yes, please.”

“Okay.” Shoving his hands in his pocket, Wilbur gave him a small smile. “Ready to head back, or want to go get a coffee?”

Tommy had already taken up too much of Wilbur’s time. “Let’s go back.”

The confidence in his voice didn’t betray how shaky he still felt, or so he hoped.

When they got back to the office, Wilbur pulled the others into a small room to the side under the guise of talking about a new lead in a case, but Tommy knew the truth and felt his face burn.

He’d almost recovered by the time they all came out, but then Phil gave him some kind of sad, soft look, and he felt himself turn into a tomato once again.

What a first day – he could only hope it would get better from here.

Chapter Text

The three of them were working in relative silence – Phil in an important meeting Tommy would probably have to read about later – when the elevator doors opened.

Tommy didn’t glance up at first, assuming it’d be someone delivering some kind of information to the others.

He did glance up, however, when the sound of a gun cocking echoed throughout the room, fear stiffening his spine.

Wilbur groaned. “Come on, not today.”

He was crazy, an absolute madman. Tommy had been wrong for ever thinking Wilbur was anything other than a fucking weirdo.

“Hide,” Techno growled, pulling out his sword.

Tommy ducked down and crawled under his desk, it wasn’t necessarily the best hiding spot, but it put him out of sight of the gunmen.

He flinched backwards, knocking his head on the underneath of his desk, when Wilbur came crawling around the corner, joining Tommy under his desk.

“It’s okay, Toms,” Wilbur whispered, shifting a little as his leg got dangerously close to touching Tommy’s, “Techno knows what he’s doing, we’re not in danger, not really.”

But Tommy’s power vehemently disagreed. Already his hands were shaking violently, Tommy was sure that if he looked underneath his gloves his veins would be darkening, and he worried it wouldn’t be long before his fingertips burnt through the fabric.

All he could do was focus on his breathing, use the techniques that Ranboo had taught him so many years ago. Except that, Wilbur was the one sitting beside him, and if his power got out of control, he’d be the first one to die.

Tommy didn’t think Wilbur deserved to die – he wasn’t sure anyone did – but Wilbur especially had proven in just a few days how good he was. From paying for Tommy’s food to making sure he felt comfortable at work, just the way he’d been so obviously cautious about getting too close to Tommy because he thought it would upset him.

Even now, Tommy watched as Wilbur hiked his long leg back up against his chest in a way that surely had to be for Tommy’s benefit.

No, he didn’t want Wilbur to die. And that meant he had to get in fucking control of himself.

So he breathed in for four seconds, he held for seven and he breathed out for eight. It didn’t work at first, his stupid lungs not cooperating, but at some point, Wilbur seemed to understand what Tommy was doing, and did his own, ridiculously exaggerated breaths.

It was annoyingly helpful.

God, Ranboo would be so fucking smug right now, knowing his breathing techniques had actually worked.

Tommy let his head fall back against the desk with a gentle thump, pointedly ignoring the sounds of fighting coming from the other side of the room. His hands were still shaking in his lap, but Tommy had long given up hope on restricting his power entirely, so he just balled them into fists and held them tight against his legs.

“I’m quitting,” Tommy muttered to Wilbur.

“Oh,” The idiot sounded fucking disappointed, “really?”

He should, he really should. It had been a week and his control over his power had already been tested twice.

Scowling, Tommy banged his head against the desk again, closing his eyes. “No.”

“That’s a relief,” Wilbur said, having the guts to sound sincere.

Tommy hated it here. He really did. No, he wouldn’t be telling Wilbur that, the idiot wouldn’t be able to handle it – but it was true.

It wasn’t.

Heavy footsteps came closer to their hiding spot, but Wilbur didn’t look worried, so he assumed it was Techno – still, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the flash of pink as he crouched down to stare at them.

“This is a shit hiding place,” Techno said. “Phil would be so disappointed.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, taking Techno’s offered hand out of the space under the desk. “What took you so long?”

Tommy crawled out on his own, eyes dancing over Techno as he looked for any sign of injury, “Did you just take on four guys with guns by yourself and not get a single injury?”

“See,” Pointing to Tommy, Techno smirked at Wilbur, “you should be in awe of me.”

Flushing darkly, Tommy crossed his arms. “I’m not in awe, dickhead, I just didn’t know you could fight.”

They both looked at him, twin gazes of confusion, but it was Wilbur who spoke. “Why, exactly, did you think he carries around a sword?”

Tommy shrugged, holding back a smirk of his own. “Well, he’s a nerd. It makes sense.”

Wilbur burst out laughing, hitting Techno affectionately. “He’s right!”

Without his permission, his gaze lingered on where Wilbur’s hand had made contact with Techno’s shoulder.

Forcing himself to look away, he found himself instead looking at four, possibly dead, bodies – he had known Techno would have stopped them somehow, but he hadn’t stopped to think what that might mean.

“Hey,” Techno moved in front of him, blocking his view, “take the rest of the day off, and tomorrow if you need.”

“I’ll walk you back to yours,” Wilbur said, clapping his hands. “We can talk about how much of a nerd Techno is.”

He had a funny feeling that Wilbur was still trying to comfort him. “I don’t mind staying, there’s shitloads to do, probably more after this.”

“This was not in your job description,” Techno insisted, “go home, Theseus.”

“Alright,” He agreed quietly.

Maybe he was still a little shaken.

“Brilliant!” Wilbur exclaimed, grinning brightly at Tommy – it seemed out of place with four dead bodies on the other side of the room. “Let me grab my shit, one minute.”

Tommy hurried after him. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s like, a forty-minute walk home, don’t worry about it.”

“Nah, it’ll be nice to hang out,” Wilbur said, still grinning – one of these days Tommy would tell him how much it made him look like an idiot.

Biting his lip, Tommy ran his gloved hand through his hair. “If you’re sure.”

Techno groaned. “Leave, both of you, before Wilbur decides to just stalk you home.”

Wilbur was quiet as they left the building, and Tommy was about to applaud him for it when he ruined it. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said with a roll of his eyes.

It was mostly true as well, he didn’t particularly care that he might have died – that had happened plenty of times before – and his hands were finally starting to stop shaking. Of course, he wasn’t exactly a fan of how close he’d come to revealing himself – read, he was very much panicking about it quite a lot.

“You’re lucky Phil wasn’t there,” Wilbur warned, “I think he might have forced you to come back to ours instead, just so he could mother hen you for a little longer.”

“You Watsons are a strange lot,” Tommy decided, walking around a puddle and back to Wilbur only to be greeted with a deeply offended expression. “Oh come on, you know it’s true.”

The fake expression fell rather quickly. “You might be right, but don’t tell Techno I told you, he’s been trying to get me to admit it for years.”

“What’s the deal with you guys anyway?” Tommy asked thoughtlessly. “None of you look even distantly related.”

Shit, Tommy thought, you can’t just ask someone what the deal is with their family.

Luckily, Wilbur laughed. “Yeah, we’re definitely not your average nuclear family.”

“No shit.” He absolutely refused to push any further. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Hands in his pockets, Wilbur continued anyway. “Phil and his late wife adopted us when we were kids – from the stories it sounds like we refused to be adopted without the other, even though we weren’t actually related.”

That was kind of sweet. “Cringe.”

“Yeah,” Wilbur chuckled, lost in thought, “I used to claim we were twins, I’m sure you can imagine how well that went down.”

“Not very?”

“Yeah, Techno certainly wasn’t too impressed, he’s never been a fan of lies, even white ones like that.”

Tommy’s mood plummeted but he almost appreciated the reminder – he couldn’t be doing this, getting so close to Wilbur, not when Tommy was lying to him about an integral part of himself, when Wilbur would arrest him if he knew the truth.

But fuck, if he was already in this deep, what would one afternoon hurt?

And maybe, just maybe, it might even help the painful loneliness he felt most days, staring at the bare walls of his apartment in silence, with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

“Come on,” Tommy said, forcing a bounce to his step, “I know a shortcut.”

“Interesting place you have,” Wilbur didn’t even try to hide the disdain in his voice as he stepped through the front door, but Tommy couldn’t find it within himself to be offended.

Glancing around, Tommy tried to imagine seeing his shitty apartment for the first time: his living room was joined with his kitchen, all seen appliances so rusted you couldn’t tell what their original colour was, his couch was threadbare, and Tommy knew there was just one spot where you wouldn’t have something sharp and hard digging into your back.

But it kept him warm and dry, and that wasn’t a luxury Tommy had always had.

He chuckled, hovering awkwardly by the microwave. “Interesting is one word for it.”

“Shithole is another,” Wilbur muttered under his breath, nudging the edge of the coffee table with his foot. “Is this rotting?”

Tommy brightened. “You think so too? I wasn’t sure.”

“You are so lucky Phil isn’t here.” The table received another cautious nudge.

“Okay, asshole.”

Over the last few days he’d gotten perhaps too comfortable insulting Wilbur, Tommy couldn’t help it though, the man was just so… deserving of it.

Tommy clapped his hands together. “While you’re here, can you look at my bathroom? I’m not sure if I’ve got black mould or just regular old mould.”

Wilbur groaned but followed behind him; Tommy felt the warmth of something spark in his heart.

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.

“Lunch?”

Tommy was halfway out of his chair before he caught himself. “Ah, actually, it’s been a week now, you don’t owe me anymore.”

It was a shame, he’d come to enjoy his lunches with Wilbur, they were a welcome break from the seriousness and often tragedy of his work day – it turned out working for detectives that regularly investigated the misuse of powers was not necessarily a joyful job.

But Tommy had long learnt how to give things up.

Wilbur scrunched his nose up at Tommy. “Fuck that, I’ll just buy you lunch because you’re my friend instead, there’s still so many places I haven’t shown you.”

Biting his lip, Tommy considered his options – either he got an indefinite more amount of food, or he didn’t and he starved, probably.

In the end, it was simple.

“Lead the way, bitch boy.”

“I’m sick of having nothing to eat at your house,” Wilbur said, lounging on Tommy’s couch a couple of weeks later, which was rude – Tommy had plenty of out-of-date cereal and mouldy bread, there wasn’t much else a man needed.

“Maybe you should stop coming over, then,” Tommy retorted, crossing his arms.

Not that Tommy wanted that, exactly; it was nice to have someone around again, to hear laughter that wasn’t his own in his home, strange, of course, but nice all the same.

Rolling his eyes, Wilbur poked through Tommy’s cupboards. “Oh shush, it’s not like you’ll come over to mine.”

With no arguments left, and maybe a little desperate to convince Wilbur to keep coming over, they ended up at the grocery store, Tommy pushing the cart as Wilbur danced around the aisles.

Four kinds of biscuits seemed a little much, but Tommy had already ensured that Wilbur would be the one paying for his snacks, so he found he didn’t really care.

He did intervene when Wilbur went to pick up steak. “I’m not having that fancy shit in my apartment, besides, who has a fucking steak as a snack, you posh prick.”

Wilbur frowned. “Come on, just a little one?”

Tommy absolutely refused to budge. “That thing in your hand is the size of my head.”

“Whatever,” Luckily Wilbur didn’t seem too put out – he’d probably expected resistance. “I’m getting bruschetta though.”

“That’s not a real word.” He struggled to hold back his grin at Wilbur’s outraged face.

Mouth wide open, Wilbur looked a little like a fish; Tommy decided he’d have to tell him one day. “You’ve never had bruschetta.”

“Will,” Tommy gave up on the gaslighting – another day, he promised himself, “you’ve seen my apartment, does it look like I’ve ever had bruschetta?”

“Being poor is no excuse,” Wilbur responded, then paused, backtracking. “Actually it probably is, never mind.”

“You’re not acting very based,” Tommy said, eyeing him critically. “Do I need to talk to Phil?”

Now that would be a fun conversation. “Fuck you, gremlin.”

“Oh, so now you hate me just because I’m poor?” He turned away innocently, looking at the wall of cereal – why the fuck were there so many options? “That’s fucked up, I thought you were better than that.”

“Aww, you thought I wasn’t a terrible person?” Wilbur teased.

Tommy scowled. “Not anymore.”

“Besides,” Wilbur’s voice softened, coming to stand by his side, “I doubt I could ever truly hate you.”

That wasn’t allowed.

Tommy absolutely refused to feel emotional, that was against the rules of grocery shopping; in no universe did he want to be the person crying in the cereal aisle. “I actually hate you.”

“Whatever you say, Toms.”

Prick.

A weird amount of actual meals ended up in Tommy’s cart, and he glanced suspiciously at Wilbur – he’s not above taking free food, that was how their friendship started after all, but it wasn’t normally this easy.

But when he asked, Wilbur’s ears turned pink and he muttered something about how they may as well do Tommy’s meal shop while they were at the store.

Ugh, Tommy hated him.

(He didn’t.)

Tommy was on his way to meet Wilbur at the coffee shop in between their homes when he saw a newspaper clipping fall out of the bin.

Naturally, being the good citizen he was, he was about to put it safely back in the bin when he saw the headline.

Wilbur Watson refuses interview to address recent power controversy.

Wilbur Watson, like, his Wilbur Watson? Sometimes he forgot just how popular – or, he thought, glancing through the article, unpopular – the people he worked with were.

Perhaps it was slightly gross to bring his bin-found newspaper to their meeting, but Wilbur didn’t have to know where he’d found it, necessarily.

Still, when he took his seat opposite Wilbur, he slammed it down on the table. “Why are you in my newspaper?”

“You read the newspaper?” Wilbur leant back, still recovering from Tommy’s incredibly dramatic entrance. “Ew, what is that covered in?”

Bin juice would likely not be a well-received answer. “Of course I read, I like to keep up on current events.”

They stared at each other. Tommy refused to break.

“Okay…” Wilbur sat back, sipping on the coffee he’d ordered before Tommy had arrived. “I was asked to give an interview and I said no, that’s pretty much it.”

“Power controversy?” Tommy prompted further.

Itching at his cheek, Wilbur stared at him for a minute; Tommy’s confidence slowly faded away as he gave into his nerves – who was he to question Wilbur on something he clearly didn’t want to talk to the public about?

Time and time again Tommy messed up; sometimes it felt like he’d never fucking learn how to do this, how to keep friends and not constantly piss them off.

But then Wilbur smiled, soft and nervous. “People don’t like my power and they don’t trust me to use it.”

Tommy hesitated. “Your power?”

“I can make people do whatever I ask of them.” Serious now, Wilbur leant forward, arms crossed on the table. “But I swear, I would never use it on you, not without your permission.”

Taken aback, Tommy studied Wilbur intensely.

This was important to him – he might have only known Wilbur for a few weeks, but it was obvious in the way his fingers clenched around each other, turning red, then white, then red again.

“Wilbur,” Smiling, Tommy let himself be serious in return, just this once, “anyone who thinks you’d misuse your power is a fucking idiot. You’re like, the most morally responsible person I know.”

“Still –“

Wilbur was so lucky Tommy was there to stop him from being a dumbass. “Literally shut up and listen to me, no one gets to control your power but you. I trust your judgement.”

I trust you, he didn’t say.

“Oh, Toms,” Tommy didn’t interrupt him this time, but he watched with narrowed eyes as Wilbur spoke: if he even dared to try and say one more stupid thing Tommy would have to put him back in his place, “thank you, I trust your judgement too.”

He wondered if it meant what he hoped it meant.

Sensing his time for being serious was over, Tommy leant back and shrugged. “Duh, I’m fucking awesome.”

“And you?” Wilbur said casually. “Do you have a power?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said with barely contained laughter, itching to break the solemn atmosphere his questioning had created, stretching his arms above his head. “Putting up with you.”

Spluttering, Wilbur looked seconds away from attacking Tommy. “You are ridiculous.”

“Ah, there it goes again,” Breathless with laughter now, Tommy dodged the napkin thrown at him. “Hey! That’s assault, I’ll tell Phil on you.”

“You can’t threaten me with my dad,” Wilbur said, looking slightly put out.

Tommy scrunched up his nose. “Uh, yes I can, you literally told me I could on like, my first day. So fuck you.”

Wilbur just sighed and threw another napkin at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Tommy called over his shoulder, struggling with the zip on the coat he’d bought a couple of days ago. Seasons were changing and it was finally starting to be cold enough that his gloves didn’t seem so out of place.

“Bye, Toms!” Wilbur shouted back, sending him a bright grin. “Walk safe.”

Techno grunted. Phil sent him a quick smile, before refocusing on the big whiteboard in front of him.

Most of the walk home was fairly safe, but the closer Tommy got to his apartment, and the sketchy area it resided in, the more the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

It was only when he was grabbed by the hood of his coat and pulled into an alley that he realised the cause of his anxiety, fear clogging his throat as he struggled against the grip.

“Dude,” Tommy pleaded, “let me go, I swear you don’t want to do this, fucking trust me.”

The guy wasn’t even wearing a mask. “Shut up.”

He could feel his hands shaking, felt his chest turn tight as something filled his blood, flowing straight to his hands and leaving his feet tingling.

Breathing deeply, he tried to reign it in. “What do you want? Money? I have like, ten quid, and it’s all in change, do you really want it?”

“Money?” The guy laughed, something bitter and unhinged lingering in the air. “Money’s not going to save you.”

Fuck, fuck. Tommy could handle being mugged, he absolutely could not handle being murdered, kidnapped, or whatever else the fuck was happening.

“I work for the Power Investigation Agency,” Tommy said hurriedly. “I am possibly the worst person you could have chosen for this bullshit.”

“Prove it.” The guy was hesitating, there was hope.

Tommy couldn’t deal with another death on his conscience.

He pulled the badge out from his pocket with shaking hands, turning it to show the man in front of him, who studied it with increased doubt. “See? Bad idea.”

Something flickered in the man’s eyes and then he was moving, too quick for Tommy to react, grabbing the badge from Tommy’s hand and catching the glove with it, tearing it off.

Tommy swore, moving his hand behind his back and using his other hand to try and snatch the badge back. “Asshole, give it back.”

He missed.

“I don’t think I will,” The man smirked, turning the badge over in his hands before pocketing it and pulling out a knife from fuck knows where. “Now, where were we?”

Tommy scrambled away from the first swipe but was too slow to miss the second as it nicked his arm. Swearing, he clumsily tried to punch his attacker with his gloved hand, missing and stumbling forward.

He heard the clatter of the knife falling to the ground, clearly, the fucker had decided Tommy was too good for it.

Turning frantically to block himself from the next attack, he realised far too late he’d done so with his uncovered hand, watching in mute terror as the guy’s closed fist met his hand.

Tommy reeled back, horror filling his body as he watched his power work, tearing through the stranger’s body and leaving him to fall on the floor, dead.

He couldn’t throw up, not here. He barely had the mind to fumble through the man’s pockets to find his badge and search the floor for the knife and his torn glove before he ran away, not checking to see if he was running in the right direction, just needing to get away now.

His hands were slowly turning cold now, his power satisfied with what he had done; stumbling to a dumpster, Tommy could no longer hold back his nausea, throwing up and clutching his stomach, gasping for air.

He’d killed a man, again.

Tubbo wasn’t here to tell him it wasn’t his fault this time and Tommy was almost grateful for it – this guilt, this utter self-hatred, it was what he deserved. Fuck, he was a murderer.

He’d tried for so long to pretend to be someone else: he’d tricked everyone, Tubbo, Ranboo, Techno, Phil, Wilbur, even himself. Fuck, what was he thinking, he’d never be better than he was, he’d always revert to his true nature – a murderer.

He threw up again.

Sinking to his knees, Tommy stared blankly at the puddle of vomit in front of him. How was he supposed to face Wilbur in the morning, knowing what he’d done?

What, he was just supposed to smile and pretend like everything was fine? Like he didn’t deserve to go to prison?

Because he was too fucking selfish to turn himself in, too fucking selfish to do the right thing, get that man’s, and countless others, family some kind of relief knowing the murderer had been caught.

It was that pure selfish desire that had him shakily rise to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He didn’t recognise his surroundings, but he walked in the general direction he thought his apartment might be in, breathing in a sigh of relief when he saw a corner shop he was familiar with.

Limbs stiff, Tommy found himself gasping for air but didn’t dare to pause, instead quickening his pace until he was safely inside his apartment. It was only then that he let himself fall to the floor again, knife clattering beside him as he hugged his knees against his chest and his breathing stuttered in his chest.

He fell asleep like that, hours or minutes later, with tears streaming down his face and dripping onto his coat, hands aching and heart torn. Miraculously, for once, he didn’t dream.

He woke up at some point, in the early hours of the morning when the world felt too quiet and too loud all at once.

Knowing himself, Tommy sent Wilbur a message, excusing himself from work for the day. He was probably allowed sick leave, and if he wasn’t, well, it was for the best that he got fired, anyway.

Think I ate something bad, can’t come in today. Sorry.

He didn’t have the energy to worry when Wilbur texted back almost immediately.

No problem! Do you want me to come over? I can bring soup and pain relief.

If Tommy really was ill, he’d have felt some kind of warmth from Wilbur’s message, as it was, he only felt guilty.

He stared blankly at the knife on the floor, dried blood coating the tip from where it had cut his arm. Tommy poked at his arm warily, wincing a little at the pain but relieved when it wasn’t debilitating, honestly, the residual ache in his body from using his power was far worse.

Silently, he stood up and washed the knife in his kitchen sink, pausing to lean and rest his head on the counter.

He was exhausted.

No thanks, just gonna sleep it off.

He got changed into pyjamas and put his phone on charge while he waited for Wilbur’s response, brushing his teeth to get rid of the disgusting taste in his mouth.

Finally, his phone beeped. Alright, feel better soon <3

Guilt made nausea rise in his throat again, but he forced it down.

For now, he’d go to bed, and in the morning, he’d deal with the consequences of his actions.

He woke up.

He closed his eyes until he could fall asleep again. This time, he was not so lucky as to escape the nightmares.

Chapter Text

A knock on his front door woke him up.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed, rubbing at his eyes as he hobbled out of his room and to the door, not bothering to peek at who it was before opening it.

“Hello?” He blinked dumbly at Wilbur, who was grinning like an idiot at him.

“I know you said not to come over,” Wilbur started, not sounding at all apologetic, “but, well, I changed your mind.”

Tommy blinked again, then once more. “You changed my mind?”

“See, told you.” Wilbur gently moved past him into Tommy’s apartment.

“Huh?” Perhaps Tommy was having hallucinations, it hadn’t happened after using his powers before, but there was a first time for everything. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Potato, potato.”

If not hallucinations, maybe he was still dreaming. “You just said it the same way twice, that’s not, you’re meant to –“

Wilbur cut him off. Rude dickhead. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said, only a little hesitantly. “I’m actually busy though, so if you could leave…”

He let his words hang in there, but Wilbur just studied him, sudden silence more than a little unsettling.

Wilbur hummed. “You’ve been crying?”

Scowling, Tommy turned away and walked to his kitchen, not caring if it confirmed Wilbur’s accusation.

“Talk to me, Toms,” Wilbur insisted softly, following behind him, fingers twitching like he ached to reach out to him. Tommy was grateful he didn’t, he wasn’t sure how in control he was right then. “What’s going on?”

Itching at the point where his gloves would usually meet his sleeves, Tommy panicked as he realised he wasn’t wearing his gloves. It felt like he was drowning sometimes, in all the secrets he had kept from Wilbur, in all the pain he’d caused and felt.

Fuck, a better person than him would have left the city a long time ago, would’ve found some kind of way to isolate themselves from the world. Not Tommy though, Tommy had to put the one person he loved at risk just by being near him.

He laughed bitterly, leaning back against the counter and twisting his hands together anxiously. “Don’t worry about it, Will, there’s nothing you can do.”

After all, there was really no point in telling him that there was nothing wrong: Wilbur could read him too well.

“If you need to talk,” Wilbur drew out.

“Don’t go to you?” Tommy joked.

“Fuck that, Tommy,” Wilbur didn’t smile, face serious as his gaze bore into Tommy. “You can always talk to me.”

“Will –“

“No,” Wilbur interrupted, not even looking sorry about it, “I know you, and I know you’ve been through some shit, even if I don’t know what half that shit is. I care about you, and if I can help, then I want to, no matter what.”

Honestly fuck Wilbur and his stupid little words. “Thanks, Will, I appreciate it.”

Nodding, Wilbur uncrossed his arms. “So –“

But Tommy wasn’t done. “You know, this is kind of brotherly of you.”

“Stop,” Wilbur threatened, “I will cry.”

“You’re such an older brother, Wilbur,” Tommy grinned, drawing out his name, “you remind me of an older me.”

That would serve the fucker right for messing with Tommy’s emotions. “You don’t even make sense.”

Pulling a face, Tommy mocked Wilbur. “You don’t even make sense.”

“I don’t sound like that!”

“Uh,” Tommy looked at the sky, feigning innocence, “if you say so.”

Wilbur looked like he very much wanted to attack Tommy; luckily, that was against Tommy’s boundaries.

“Any chance you bought a TV?” He asked instead.

Tommy gestured around him, from the stained countertops to the microwave that looked like it might blow up at any moment. “What do you think?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “I just thought we could watch this new show I saw, but I guess we can like, talk or something.”

Shaking his head, Tommy gestured to the couch. “How are you more of a teenager than I am?”

“It’s my youthful spirit,” Wilbur said brightly, watching as Tommy reached for his spare pair of gloves. “You don’t have to put them on, you know.”

Tommy hesitated; after last night he shouldn’t be taking any risks. Then again, his power was oddly calm right now, a still lake instead of the raging river it had been just a few hours ago. “I don’t know.”

Wilbur shrugged. “If you’re not comfortable without them, go ahead, but I promise I won’t try and hold your hand or something.”

Scrunching his nose up, Tommy settled on the couch, leaving the gloves behind. If he needed them he’d put them on, but his power had never really acted up in front of Wilbur before anyway, so he imagined it would be fine.

Not that he’d be making a habit of this, mind you, it was only because he was at home, and tired, and very possibly feeling like crying again.

It was fine.

The evening passed in laughter and soft looks, and all too soon Wilbur was standing up to leave, saying something about Phil worrying if he was out too late.

“You can come back with me, if you want.” Wilbur offered quietly, standing just out of reach. “No one will mind.”

Tommy shook his head. “No thanks, Will, I’ve got house shit to do.”

He had no real reason to decline. Hell, he wanted to go, to be able to relax in Wilbur’s presence for just a little longer, but deep down he knew he didn’t deserve that comfort.

“Alright then,” Wilbur lingered by the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Tomorrow, right. “Yeah, sure.”

His house felt too empty without Wilbur occupying space on his couch or searching through his cupboards with barely hidden disgust, but that was the way it was supposed to be, so Tommy pushed the feeling to the side and pulled on his spare gloves. They were a little itchy, but they’d have to do, at least until he had the energy to go and buy some more – after all, it wasn’t like money was a problem anymore, not with his new job.

Well, new was a relative term, he’d already been working there for months, Tommy only hoped he’d stay a free man long enough to work there for many more.

Somehow, he was sleepy enough to fall asleep again that night, and still felt tired when he woke up at six in the morning, anxiety burning deep in the pit of his stomach.

He got dressed mindlessly, frowning as he put his gloves back on – as nice as it had been to hang out with Wilbur without them yesterday, it had ultimately been just another stupid, selfish thing he’d done.

The walk to work took longer than usual, avoiding the route he’d normally take, and he was almost late as he walked out the elevator doors and towards his desk.

His shoulders went taut, though, when he noticed just how tense the atmosphere was.

Wilbur walked over to him, footsteps silent on the carpeted floor. “There’s been a murder, we think it’s the work of a serial killer.”

Murders were nothing new for their little group, but serial killers, serial killers were bad news.

“Shit,” Tommy breathed out, he could only imagine how stressed Phil was, knowing the kind of pressure he’d be under. “What can I do?”

Shaking his head, Wilbur’s gaze flicked to the big screen at the end of the room. “There’s some security footage, but it’s dark. I know you mentioned you enjoyed video editing at school, if you could try and, I don’t know, up the brightness or something?”

A small part of his heart sang at the proof that Wilbur had been paying attention to Tommy’s ramblings.

Steeling himself, Tommy nodded, “Yeah sure, send the footage to my email and I’ll get on it.”

“Thanks, Toms,” Wilbur breathed a sigh of quiet relief. “I wouldn’t ask, but the team downstairs has so much else to do…”

Tommy smiled. “It’s literally my job Will.”

“Still.”

Fondness aching his every limb, Tommy rolled his eyes and sat down at his desk, logging on to the computer and pulling up the editing software.

It took the old system at least a full minute to load his emails, and another to download the video, but when it finally, finally loaded into the software, Tommy stopped breathing altogether.

At the top right corner, was the date and time; this footage, this was from two days ago, just before seven in the evening.

Maybe, maybe it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Deep down, Tommy knew his luck wouldn’t allow that.

He watched it through once, then twice more, fingers tapping against the desk – it was hard to make out the figures, and the tape was in black and white, the quality just as bad as you expected a rundown shop’s security to be. But, when he placed the footage against his own memories of that night – and fuck, he had tried so hard to forget, to push it down and down and down – it matched up.

He edited the video frantically, constantly glancing between his screen and the other three, looking for suspicion where there was none. Wilbur had said himself that the footage had been too dark to see anything of substance.

Playing around with the settings, upping the contrast, cutting away the end of the footage where it had run on too long and nothing was happening: it all came back to him naturally and he thought he might be enjoying it, had he not been watching himself murder someone, over and over.

A part of him knew this was suicide; editing the video of his own crime to show the detectives investigating was beyond stupid, but if he half-assed it, or purposefully fucked it up, surely that would only cast suspicion on him.

Besides, Wilbur had asked Tommy to do it, and there wasn’t much Tommy wouldn’t do if it was Wilbur asking.

It was done, finally, and he pressed play, dreading what he’d see.

He hadn’t been able to do anything for the quality, but now you could make out the figures much better, and Tommy could only watch in horror as the man dropped to the floor.

At least, Tommy thought distantly, not quite feeling real, at least his back was to the camera – as far as Tommy could tell, there were no clear identifiers that would give him away.

He emailed the footage to Wilbur, then stood up, knowing Wilbur never actually checked his emails.

“Will,” He called out, leaning on his desk when he realised he was feeling a little faint, “I’ve sent you the footage. It’s not great, but it’s the best I could do.”

Warmth flowed through his body as Wilbur’s head popped up from behind his computer. “That’s brilliant, thanks, Toms.”

“No problem,” He answered Wilbur’s grin with a weak smile.

“You alright?” Wilbur asked, tilting his head as he studied Tommy. “You look a little peaky.”

His smile dropped. “Yeah, just, not exactly fun to watch over and over again.”

A lie. Another fucking lie.

Nausea rose in his stomach as concern painted Wilbur’s face, dancing across his features as he made three quick strides to Tommy’s side. “Shit, Tommy, sorry, I forget you’re not used to this, it feels like you’ve been here forever.”

“It’s alright, Will,” Tommy reassured, trying to stand a little straighter. “I’m a big man, I can handle it.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to,” Wilbur said softly, staring at Tommy like he was the only important thing in the whole universe.

Fucking dickhead, Tommy thought emotionally, blinking back tears.

It shouldn’t mean as much as it did: Wilbur knew Tommy could handle it, would ultimately be fine, but he didn’t want Tommy to suffer needlessly.

Tommy might have low standards, but Wilbur flew above them in every case. He thought, privately, that there wasn’t a single universe in which Tommy wouldn’t love and admire Wilbur – he was everything Tommy wished he could be.

Sniffing, Tommy pulled himself together. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Wilbur chuckled, still giving him that stupid soft look, “I know.”

“Lunch later?” He was starving already.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

They had just come back from lunch when Phil pulled them all over to the big screen by his desk. “Right, so, Thanatos murdered another victim two days ago.”

“Thanatos?” Tommy felt a little embarrassed interrupting, but, well, he needed to know.

Wilbur gave him a pained smile. “The serial killer in the footage.”

Stupidly, Tommy had forgotten that Wilbur had called him a serial killer earlier, however indirectly. That was, shit, how did they know?

“Serial killer? This is the first I’ve heard of him.” He could only hope his voice was casual enough to fool the three of them.

“The public doesn’t know about him,” Phil said with a sigh, “every person he kills dies suddenly, with no kind of trace, their hearts just stop.”

“How do you know it’s connected then?” How long had they been tracking him? How had Tommy not known?

Shit, he should have suspected, at least.

Oddly serious, Wilbur turned to Tommy. “We don’t, not really, but we have footage from three of the scenes now, and as far as we can tell, it’s the same person.”

Tommy couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing he was here – what if he’d never known they were looking for him until it was too late and he was trapped in a prison cell?

Techno grunted. “Thanatos went months without killing, I still doubt it’s the same person.”

Right, because his serial killer name was Thanatos; Tommy would bet his freedom on Techno being the one who named him.

“You know better than to rule it out, Tech,” Phil chided lightly.

Wilbur cocked his hip, leaning back on Phil’s desk. “What did Sam find, anyway?”

Crossing his arms, Phil sighed again. “Sam analysed the few recordings we do have of Thanatos, it looks like the victims only die when he touches them.”

“So he needs contact with them to kill them, as we suspected?” Techno asked, rolling back on his heels.

“So it would seem,” Phil answered. “This could be a good thing.”

Techno huffed, unamused. “Or a really bad thing.”

“The question is if he can control it,” Phil said, and Tommy tried very hard not to react. “From what we saw, he wasn’t the one initiating the conflict, it could be an accident on his part.”

“Hate it when I accidentally kill five people,” Techno said dryly. “Come on Phil, one, maybe two is an accident, after that it’s got to be on purpose.”

Five. They knew about five of them. Tommy supposed it could be worse.

“It sounds lonely,” Wilbur said quietly, ignoring the looks it got him from Techno and Phil, gaze terrifyingly focused on Tommy.

He couldn’t blink, he could hardly breathe, hands shaking where they sat in his lap. Did Wilbur know? Surely not, Tommy had been so careful, just to avoid this, to avoid the one person he cared about knowing. He couldn't handle it if Wilbur hated him – Phil, Techno, it would suck, sure, but Tommy was no one without Wilbur.

He didn’t want to be no one again.

“Maybe he should stop killing people then,” Tommy snapped, digging his nails into the palms of his hands.

“See,” Techno smirked at Wilbur and Phil, “Tommy gets it.”

Oh, Tommy definitely got it.

Wilbur stood to his full height, anger bright in his eyes. “Did we watch the same video? It’s obvious that Thanatos is the one being attacked, anything from then on is just self-defence.”

Tommy was grateful Wilbur’s words were directed at Techno, for he feared he wouldn’t have been able to hide his disagreement. It just wasn’t that simple – Wilbur was too good of a man to understand.

“Oh, and the other four murders?” Techno asked, baiting Wilbur. “What’s your excuse for those?”

A glance at Phil revealed he was going to do absolutely nothing to intervene, so Tommy followed his lead.

Wilbur snarled; after months of knowing the guy, it was the meanest look Tommy had seen him give. “Where’s your proof it wasn’t the same thing?”

“God, don’t be so naïve, Wilbur.” Techno dismissed him, and even Tommy knew that was a mistake.

“Don’t be so cruel then.” Voice low and dangerous, Wilbur took a small step closer to Techno. “I thought we were investigators so we could help people, not so we could go around assuming the worst of every possible suspect.”

“This is a serial killer, Wilbur, or have you forgotten that?”

Wilbur shook his head, looking at Techno with thinly veiled disgust. “There is someone out there, terrified because they can’t control their power, stuck with no way to help because people like you want to put them in the nearest prison without listening to a word they say.”

“You truly are brainless if you’re going to so easily dismiss the very idea of us having a cold-hearted murderer on our hands.” Shoulders tense, Techno took his own step forward. “Maybe you’re not fit for this job, after all, if you can’t think rationally.”

“Alright,” Phil’s voice cut in, quiet but sharp. “That’s enough.”

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief; as much as he wanted to agree with Techno, he wouldn’t have been able to if he kept insulting Wilbur, easily the smartest amongst them, in front of him.

Wilbur snarled wordlessly but stepped back again, standing closer to Tommy than he was before.

Phil looked over the three of them. “You both have good points and we can’t ignore either side, it’s important we consider every option in a case like this, and I’m disappointed in both of you if you can't see that.”

Techno shrunk back, shame tinting his ears pink at Phil’s admonishment, but Wilbur seemed unbothered.

They were dismissed shortly after, Phil agreeing with Tommy in thinking the other two needed some time to cool off.

Wilbur sighed as he followed Tommy to his desk. “Sorry Toms, you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Tommy shrugged, a little uncomfortable – after all, it had been him Wilbur had been defending, however unknowingly. “It’s alright, I get it. Siblings argue.”

His spats with Tubbo had had the neighbours constantly upset, it was often only the threat of eviction that had them quieting; the memory felt bittersweet.

“Not me and you though,” Sending him a big grin, Wilbur walked back to his desk like the asshole he was, leaving Tommy confused out of his mind.

Maybe Wilbur hadn’t slept last night, or something. That would explain everything.

He didn’t let himself think about the alternative. Hope was a powerful, destructive thing.

They were walking back to Tommy’s apartment; it was late, the crescent moon high in the sky, providing more illumination than the flickering street lights. There was faint music coming from a nearby apartment block, some students no doubt taking the opportunity of the winter holidays to relax.

Tommy tapped his fingers against his leg to the beat of the music and hummed. “Come on Wilbur, take me clubbing.”

He was joking, of course: even ignoring his age, he was far too tired to consider dancing and drinking with strangers. He’d much rather fall asleep with Wilbur on his couch talking late into the night.

Not that he’d be telling Wilbur that.

“Ugh, I do not feel like having a hangover tomorrow,” Wilbur groaned, stretching his arms high above his head.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “You’re such an old man.”

“You’re only like,” The face as he did the mental maths was highly amusing, “6 years younger than me.”

Snorting, Tommy raised an eyebrow – who knew Wilbur was so bad at maths? “Nice maths, idiot. It’s eight years, you’re practically ancient.”

“I’m only twenty-four!” Wilbur protested, making a face at him.

Tommy made an even worse face. “Uh, yeah, I know. That’s eight years.”

“It’s six!” Wilbur insisted. “Twenty-four minus eighteen is six.”

Well, that’s where Wilbur had gone wrong. “I’m not eighteen, dumbass.”

He froze. Shit.

Beside him, Wilbur had also stopped walking, looking at him like he’d just said something outrageous. He guessed he had.

Tommy blinked harshly, God, he was such a fucking idiot, always ruining everything. “I didn’t, fuck, you need to forget I said that.”

He’d gotten far too comfortable in Wilbur’s presence if he was going to be spilling his secrets so easily.

“Tommy, sunshine,” And oh, how the term of endearment gripped at his heart. “You really think I care?”

Unsure now, Tommy shrugged. “Well, if you found out I wasn’t eighteen, then you fired me, well, I’d never really see you around anymore.”

He left out just how fucking awful that’d feel, how Tommy would feel the pain in his heart for the rest of his life and how he’d never survive another day without thinking of the man who had become a brother to him, no matter how one-sided that might be.

Wilbur hugged himself, tucking his hands under his armpits. “Sweetheart, we’re not, we’re not work friends, I mean, you’re family.”

Sudden anger rose in Tommy's chest. “Don’t lie to me to make me feel better.”

“Tommy,” Hurt crept into Wilbur’s voice, just another pain Tommy had caused, “surely you don’t believe I think so little of you?”

Tommy didn’t let himself give in, something dark and poisonous twisting his emotions. “How am I supposed to know?”

Wilbur sighed, hurt still lingering in his voice – this was all Tommy did, hurt and hurt and hurt people. “I guess you’re right.”

He refused to back down. “Fuck you, Wilbur.”

He didn’t even know why he was angry, he wasn’t really, but he was scared, still, that Wilbur was going to leave. It was better if he left because Tommy pushed him away, instead of by his own choice, maybe then Tommy would be able to cope.

Or at least that was what Tommy told himself.

“Tommy,” Wilbur said cautiously, stepping forward, “I need you to listen to me for a minute, okay?”

Tommy just stared at him, silent. It was as much of an agreement as Wilbur was going to get.

Another step forward, another step closer to Tommy. “I care about you, so much. If you left the city today I’d be on the next plane to wherever you went. You wormed your way into my life and now it would be incomplete without you, you really are like my little brother.”

Frustrated tears gathered in Tommy’s eyes, who’s to say Wilbur wasn’t just lying to make him feel better? How was Tommy supposed to trust him, to trust anyone?

But, if Tommy were to take that leap of faith with anyone, it would always have been Wilbur he trusted to catch him; he was so tired of being lonely, of keeping so many secrets inside him that they bubbled up and threatened to come out at every opportunity.

He steadied himself. “I’m sixteen.”

Wilbur laughed, but it sounded sad. “Fuck, I really want to hug you right now.”

Tommy wished he could allow it; despite his best efforts, his tears overflowed and trailed down his cheeks.

He blinked frantically, ducking his head away from Wilbur’s concerned gaze. “Fuck you, Will.”

This time though there was no anger in his words, fake or not.

“Fuck you too,” Wilbur said softly, as if the words meant something far more meaningful.

Tommy ached, deep within himself, to reach out to Wilbur, to curl up in his arms, duck his head under Wilbur’s chin, and feel truly safe for the first time in years.

But he wouldn’t – couldn’t risk Wilbur like that.

Tommy wasn’t worth it.

Tommy never did notice that his hands hadn’t once started to shake in his conversation with Wilbur, no matter how worked up either of them got.

Eyes narrowed, he pressed the play button one more time.

There, a glimpse, but an undeniable one – frame by frame he slowed the video, leaning back in his chair and smiling grimly as the truth of the matter caught up to him.

Finally, a lead.

For the first time in his career, Techno was scared at what he’d find when he pulled this particular thread.

Chapter Text

Tommy had been staring aimlessly at the paperwork he’d taken home when his phone pinged – he had a message from Techno.

That was weird, he didn’t often get messages from Techno. Curiosity got too much and he tore his attention away from the paperwork in front of him and opened the message.

Meet me at the attached address. We need to talk. It’s about Wilbur.

Definitely weird. Maybe Techno wanted help pranking Wilbur? Tommy was more than up for that, especially since maybe it’d ease the awkwardness between the three of them.

Things had been strangely cold with Techno recently – not that they’d ever been particularly warm, but, well, there just seemed to be something off.

On my way!

Tommy messaged back, hoping he didn’t sound too enthusiastic; his paperwork would have to wait, he was sure Phil would understand.

He pulled his hoodie on, followed quickly by his gloves; he didn’t bother with a coat, the address hadn’t seemed too far away.

Still, he regretted it a little bit when he opened his front door, frigid air seeping through his hoodie and into his skin. He didn’t turn back though and set forward with a hurried pace to the address.

He ended up outside a warehouse, slightly broken down – the most surprising thing, though, was that Wilbur was there too, looking just as confused as Tommy felt.

“You get an ominous message from Techno too?” Wilbur asked in place of a greeting.

“Yeah,” Tommy rubbed his hands together, trying to inspire some kind of warmth. “Honestly, I thought he wanted help pranking you, but I guess not.”

Gasping, Wilbur held a hand to his heart. “And you would have helped him? The utter betrayal.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, pushing the door to the warehouse open. “As if you wouldn’t do the same.”

Wilbur laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

The warehouse seemed to be just one big room, empty and desolate; layers of history covered every surface in dust, thin support beams holding up the tall ceiling. Darkness seeped into the corners, only the full moon lighting the room through the cracks in the ceiling and the open front door. There, in the middle of the room, stood Phil and Techno, eerie silhouettes in the backdrop of shadows.

Wilbur quietened as they entered the room. “What’s going on?”

Techno gestured them inside further, not satisfied until he and Wilbur were stood against the back wall. “Wilbur, come here.”

He did so, and Tommy went to follow, but was stopped in his tracks by Techno’s dark glare. “Stay there, Theseus.”

“Uh,” Tommy exchanged a glance with Wilbur, uneasiness creeping up his spine, “okay.”

“I was watching the recordings back, particularly of the most recent attack,” Techno’s voice was unnaturally cold, “and I saw something I hadn’t caught before.”

Tommy’s heart froze in his chest. “Oh?”

“Come on Techno,” Wilbur rolled his eyes, “surely this could have waited till the morning.”

Shaking his head, Phil gave Wilbur a look. “Let him talk.”

“He pulls out a badge, a badge for the Power Investigation Agency,” Uncrossing his arms, Techno pulled out his phone, a screenshot ready of the moment he was talking about. “We assumed it was a phone, we were wrong.”

“Shit,” Wilbur said, but there was something wrong with his voice. “Is that why we’re here, you think there’s a risk someone’s bugged the office?”

A growl came from Techno, and Phil stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t act oblivious Wilbur, I think we all know what Techno’s saying.”

Techno shook off the hand on his shoulder, Tommy felt frozen in place. “A touch-activated power? Who do we know that works in our office that avoids touch like its poison?”

His hands were shaking, Tommy forced a deep breath and took the bait. “Come on man, surely you don’t think it’s me?”

Phil sighed. “I liked you Theseus, I really did. I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to be so conniving as to spy on us, but I guess everything about you was just a fucking lie.”

Flinching back at the swear, Tommy abandoned all sense of pretence, not daring to look at Wilbur. “The deaths were all accidents, I swear, it’s, I can’t control it.”

Just because Wilbur had defended him in front of Techno before, it didn’t mean he would again, not now he knew Tommy had lied to him from the very beginning.

Techno’s hand inched closer to the sword at his side. “That makes you even more dangerous.”

“Techno,” Wilbur’s voice shocked Tommy out of his fear, “come on, just listen to him. He’s just a kid.”

“He’s eighteen, Wilbur,” Phil said emotionlessly.

I’m not, Tommy wanted to scream, I’m just a kid, I didn’t mean to, please, please.

Did he mean so little to them?

What was he thinking – of course, he did. He was their employee, not their fucking brother, or child, and he’d betrayed their trust. It was no wonder that Phil was narrowing his eyes at Tommy the same way he did when he was assessing a threat, or that Techno’s hand was on his sword now, or that Wilbur –

Why was Wilbur standing between them?

“Wilbur,” Tommy whispered softly, “they’re right, I’m sorry.”

Wilbur glanced back at him, frustration clear on his face. “I need you to stop talking.”

Tommy’s mouth shut on instinct, hurt curling in his chest, but he knew it was only what he deserved.

Their entire friendship had been based on a web of lies, and now the lies were unravelling, the friendship would have no choice but to collapse, to crumble to distorted pieces of what it once was. No longer would Wilbur text him at two in the morning asking if he wanted to go and get hot chocolate, or smile at him like he actually enjoyed Tommy’s company, or offer his shoulder if Tommy needed someone to cry on.

And that, that hurt.

It hurt more than when he’d lost Tubbo and Ranboo, because at least that had been his own choice, it hurt more than seeing Techno and Phil stare at him like he was their enemy, because maybe he was.

But Wilbur, he’d never wanted to stand on the opposite side of the battlefield to Wilbur, he’d wanted to spend his life one step away, close enough to touch with the trust that Wilbur wouldn’t without his permission, simply because Tommy had asked him not to.

By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late.

Under his gloves, he had no doubt his veins had turned to black with his power, ready to defend, ready to hurt.

The pads of his fingers were burning, and already Tommy could feel the gloves burning too, disintegrating like they had never been there at all.

But he wouldn’t. He refused to become that person, the person they now believed him to be. Maybe he could still prove to them that he was still Tommy, the same as he had been just hours before.

Phil’s eyes widened as Tommy looked up. “Mate, you know our processes inside out, we don’t want to hurt you.”

Tommy scoffed, tears in his eyes. “No, just imprison me because I have something I can’t control.”

“There’s no point trying to convince him Phil,” The hate in Techno’s voice was probably the strongest emotion he’d ever felt towards Tommy. “If he had any sense of morality he’d have turned himself in a long time ago.”

“Come on, Techno,” Wilbur insisted, still stupidly in between them. “Put the fucking sword down.”

“Wilbur,” Phil said quietly, “stand aside.”

Techno brushed past Wilbur harshly, leaving Wilbur stumbling into Phil’s arms, who held him back as he struggled fruitlessly. “Let me go!”

Tommy watched as the sword twirled in Techno’s hand – he’d used to admire his skill, but he’d never expected to be on this side of the blade.

“Please,” It came out as a whisper. “Please don’t.”

“Will you come with us willingly?” Techno asked over the sounds of Wilbur’s cries.

Silent, Tommy shook his head. He wouldn’t subject himself to a lifetime of imprisonment in some government facility while they tried to figure out his fucking power. He refused.

A sigh. “Then I have no choice.”

The sword came swinging up, Tommy scrambled to the side, instinct moving him out of the way of the blade as it struck the wall instead.

That, that could have killed him. That was aimed at his chest.

He knew Techno hated him now, but to try and kill him? Looking up, he saw his own shock mirrored in Techno’s eyes.

“Theseus –“

His power thrummed loudly in his ears, drowning out the rest of whatever Techno was saying; his hands felt like they were on fire.

He yelled, a release of pain, and his power fuelled him, a shockwave pushing Techno across the room and disrupting Phil enough to release Wilbur.

It didn’t help the pain in his hands, but it certainly helped the aching in his chest, so he screamed, paying no attention to the way the roof started to shake, caring only about relieving some of the build-up of his power.

He’d tried. He’d tried so hard.

And it had gotten him nowhere.

No – it had gotten him here, face to face with the people he might have one day loved, and the person he already did; he was nothing but a traitor to them.

He screamed again, but this time it left something in the air, made the very air dense and thick like tar, a transparent barrier between him and the people that now wanted him dead.

“Tommy!” Wilbur shouted, making Tommy realise the drumming was no longer just in his ears, but all around them, rising from the ground and surrounding them. “I don’t care about your fucking power!”

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Tommy had killed people with his power, he was responsible for the deaths of so many people, more than just the five they knew about, for the destruction of countless lives, Wilbur was too good of a person to not care about all of that.

But Tommy still cared about Wilbur, he suspected he always would, even if one day it was Wilbur raising a sword against him. “Get out, before the roof collapses or I kill you myself.”

He didn’t mean it as a threat, but Techno took it as one, if the way his face was taken over by pure rage was any indication.

“Not without you,” Wilbur insisted, the fucking idiot. “I promised you no matter what, I meant it.”

Tommy shuddered. Even if Wilbur did still care about him, Tommy had no control over his power anymore, Wilbur was at just as much risk as anyone else.

Deep breaths weren’t going to help, not anymore, the dam had been broken, and there was no stopping it.

“Wilbur!” Phil screamed over the rumbling in the room. “Get away from him, it’s too late! We need to go!”

Wilbur didn’t pause his fight through the air for a second, tears streaming down his face as he pushed against the resistance of Tommy’s pure power. “I’m not abandoning him.”

There was a cut bleeding on his forehead, was that Tommy’s fault?

“He’s going to kill you!” Rare fear touched Techno’s voice. “He’s the one behind the murders!”

Wilbur snarled. “I don’t give a shit, he’s my brother and he needs me. Run if you want, but don’t expect me to follow.”

Tommy saw the look that Techno and Phil exchanged, even if Wilbur was too concentrated on getting to Tommy to notice: they didn’t think Tommy was worth this effort. Why would they – some criminal was nothing compared to Wilbur. Kind, smart, talented: Wilbur was everything Tommy would never be.

And Tommy was a murderer, something no version of Wilbur would ever become.

Barely able to speak through the pain of denying his power what it wanted, Tommy clenched his eyes shut and shouted at Wilbur. “Leave, I’ll be fine!”

A lie. Tommy knew, deep within himself, that he would not survive, not this time. Already he felt his knees weakening as his power drew on his strength, his heartbeat beginning to slow as every last part of him was drained into the vacuum and forced to become a danger to the only person in the world he actually cared about.

“Fuck you!” Wilbur cried, breaking Tommy’s heart in two. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I can’t control it, Will!” Tommy’s voice broke, sobs tearing through him as he fell to his knees. “I could never live with myself if I hurt you.”

And yet, still, there was no fear on Wilbur’s face. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

He was close now, too close, just a few feet away. “Didn’t you fucking hear me? I can’t control it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Conviction poured from Wilbur’s words, no hint of doubt was to be found. “Your power is a part of you Tommy, it loves me just as you do.”

His power was a curse, a parasite; it wasn’t capable of love. Tommy didn’t have the heart to tell Wilbur that, to tell him that there was a part of Tommy, no matter how uncontrollable, that didn’t love Wilbur as much as the rest of him did. Not when it might just be some of his last words to the man, his brother.

“Fuck you, Wilbur,” Tommy cried. “Fuck off, fuck you.”

Unexpectedly, Wilbur laughed, a short, terrible thing, choked with his own tears. “Yeah, fuck you too.”

He was close enough to touch now, not that Tommy would ever dare, not when he was a bomb, one wrong move from exploding. It was already taking everything he had not to just let go, for the manifestation of his pain to sweep outward and take, take, take from anyone it could find, until they were left dead, hearts still in their chests.

Get revenge, it was saying, make them hurt as you do.

Shut up, Tommy replied, he’s my brother.

Fuck Wilbur and his fucking loving Tommy bullshit.

“Leave,” Tommy pleaded, almost whispering now.

Wilbur crouched down. “Never.”

Holding his bare hands tight to his chest, Tommy tried to scoot backwards, but it was hopeless, legs too weak to even move. “I don’t want to hurt you, please.”

“Then you won’t,” Wilbur said, like it was that simple. “Give me your hands.”

“Are you fucking stupid?” He was running out of time. “You’ve seen the videos, don’t act oblivious Wilbur.”

Wilbur smiled, cheeks wet from flowing tears. “Trust me, Tommy, just this once.”

If there was one person in the world Tommy could trust, it would be Wilbur, but Tommy didn’t know if he could take this leap. Not this time.

But – if he was going to die, if he was going to kill Wilbur, there was a selfish part of him that wanted to do it in the warmth of his brother’s arms.

“Please,” Tommy begged, but this time, he didn’t know what for. “Please, Will.”

“Shh,” Hands reached towards his own, closer and closer and closer until Tommy could almost imagine the heat coming off them. “It’s going to be okay, I love you.”

“I love you,” Tommy promised in turn.

Wilbur grabbed his hands and –

It was like breathing for the first time, like he’d been drowning for years and finally his head was above water.

Gasping, Tommy desperately clutched at Wilbur’s hands, fingers intertwining with his own and he could feel the pulse against his, fast but steady as he heaved a deep breath, not daring to look at Wilbur.

He didn’t realise it, not at first, but gone was the raging storm of his emotions, no longer was there any resistance holding back Phil and Techno from getting to Wilbur, but they didn’t dare move, open-mouthed in shock.

He didn’t, he didn’t understand.

“Will?” His words came out croaked and ragged, but still, Wilbur turned to him like he was the only person in the whole world, like nothing else mattered.

Wilbur laughed, brilliant and bright and ever so fond. “Your love Tommy, it’s far stronger than any hate or pain you have.”

The cut above Wilbur’s eyebrow was gone now, Tommy noticed distantly, staring at the man in awe. “How, how did you know?”

“Oh sunshine,” A warm hand disentangled with his own, and Tommy would have cried out, but it only moved to cup his cheek, brushing away the remnants of tears that remained, “you’re not nearly as mysterious as you like to think, not to me.”

Then carefully, like he was afraid Tommy would fall apart into a million pieces, Wilbur shuffled forward, touching their foreheads together.

Tommy could hardly think. “Will.”

There was no need for words anymore, not when Wilbur wrapped his arms tight around Tommy in a hug that felt so familiar, like a long-lost friend. He was crying again, they both were.

They’d survived.

Tommy sobbed openly, then threw his arms back around Wilbur, clutching desperately to the back of his shirt. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I know, sunshine,” Wilbur didn’t sound nearly as frantic as Tommy. “I love you too, so much.”

Wilbur’s love had saved him, Tommy wouldn’t forget that, hell, he doubted that he could if he tried.

Suddenly, Wilbur’s head snapped up, glaring at something behind Tommy; Tommy tried to move to see what it was but Wilbur wouldn’t let him budge, holding him closer against his chest, so tight it was almost painful.

Not that Tommy was going to complain.

“Leave,” Wilbur demanded, something powerful and resonant in his voice. “Don’t bother either of us until I ask you to.”

Footsteps walked away, further and further until Wilbur heard the warehouse door shut behind them.

Tommy gasped against Wilbur’s shoulder, it finally sinking in that Wilbur had chosen Tommy over his real family, was still choosing Tommy over Phil and Techno.

Fuck, Wilbur had used his power.

He didn’t deserve it, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to make Wilbur question his decision, not wrapped up in his arms as he was.

Because this was a safety like he had never felt before, resounding and intense as it cradled Tommy in its grasp, a promise to never let him go, to ensure no harm came to him.

Somewhere, a part of him grieved that he’d gone fifteen years without ever experiencing this – it didn’t feel fair, nothing about this did.

“We have to go,” Wilbur whispered, urgency coating his voice but none of that earlier power present. “This place could collapse at any moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy cried, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, you’re alright.” A hand cupped the back of his neck. “I don’t blame you one bit.”

That was impossible. It had to be. “You should.”

“I promise we’ll talk about this later.” Regret coated Wilbur’s words. “But for now, I need you to stand up, I’m not strong enough to carry you alone.”

And alone was what they were, because Tommy had driven away the family that Wilbur deserved.

“Okay,” he whispered.

His first attempt at standing left him collapsing, knees giving way beneath him, but the second time he had Wilbur’s arm supporting him around his waist and he managed to stumble to his feet. They took slow, careful steps towards the exit, Tommy wincing at each piece of debris he walked past, all evidence of the destruction he’d caused.

“You’re doing so well, Toms,” Wilbur would whisper occasionally. Tommy’s tears wouldn’t seem to dry.

Much, much later, when Tommy felt like he might just pass out, they got past the door, an ominous creaking coming from the support beams above them.

“Where?” Tommy croaked out, hoping it would convey all he wanted to say.

Wilbur had always understood him more than anyone else. “Your apartment, for now. I’ll figure something else out later, but you need rest.”

The brisk walk from earlier felt like agony now, each step sending shooting pains throughout his whole body, but each time Wilbur readjusted his hold on Tommy or paused to hold him close like he was afraid Tommy would disappear, the pain was momentarily forgotten.

Once in his apartment, Tommy couldn’t help staring fearfully at Wilbur. What if he left now? Now Wilbur had completed his moral obligation of getting the injured child back home? What if that was all Tommy was to Wilbur, really?

He should never have questioned Wilbur, he realised, as the other hauled Tommy to the bedroom, setting him on the bed and crouching down to help Tommy take off his shoes.

Tommy clung onto Wilbur’s shirt, not having it in him to let go, not yet.

It all felt like too much; Tommy was a murderer and that was something no amount of Wilbur’s kindness would change.

“You’re too good for this, Will,” Tommy said quietly, his grasp on Wilbur’s shirt betraying his true desire – to stay, he just wanted Wilbur to stay. “Too good for me.”

“Either I’m not as good as you think I am,” Rising from his crouched position, Wilbur carded a gentle hand through Tommy’s hair, “or you need to change your definition of the word.”

One of those, Tommy knew to be impossible.

Silence took over the room as they let the night speak for itself, Wilbur taking Tommy’s hand in his own and sitting beside him, exhaustion poisoning every thought.

And yet, hours later, neither of them had been able to fall asleep.

“How does it work?” Wilbur asked, deep into the night, when they were lying side by side on Tommy’s bed, both finding sleep to be miles away despite the pain of the day. “Your power?”

He owed Wilbur this much. “Any kind of strong negative emotion makes my skin deadly to the touch.”

“How strong?” Frowning, Wilbur turned onto his side so he could look at Tommy properly.

“It’s hard to explain,” Frustration built in his chest, but Tommy pushed it down with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. “Anything can be strong enough if I let it.”

“If you let it?”

Tommy smiled weakly, proud that, at least, he could tell Wilbur he’d found some kind of solution to stop him from being so dangerous. “Yeah, if I just like, ignore it and push it away, and focus on other shit, it’ll go away. If it doesn’t work, I just make sure I’m alone so I can’t hurt anyone.”

“You mean,” Wilbur did not look as happy about this as Tommy had hoped, “any time you felt any kind of sadness or fear, you would force yourself into isolation?”

There was something in Wilbur’s voice that told Tommy he was making a mistake – he ignored it. “Well, yeah, can’t hurt anyone if no one’s around.”

Tommy panicked as he saw tears gathering in Wilbur’s eyes, wanting to reach out to comfort him but not knowing if had permission.

“Oh Tommy,” Wilbur breathed out, “never again, okay?”

Confused, Tommy shook his head. “Huh?”

“Next time you feel scared, or alone, or upset, you come to me instead.” Reaching out slowly like Tommy would flinch away, Wilbur wrapped his arms around Tommy, breathing deeply. “Promise me, please?”

He would do anything for Wilbur. Anything. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Wilbur didn’t let him go but Tommy wasn’t complaining. Tommy hadn’t realised he was burning, but he knew he must have been as every hand around his shoulder, or fingers through his hair, or full body hug felt like water on an open flame, cooling him and giving him a breath of fresh air free of smoke.

“Will,” Tommy said hesitantly, hating himself for what he was about to say, “what if this freedom from my power is only temporary? What if I wake up tomorrow and you’re dead beside me because I killed you in our sleep?”

He had had a little sister, once, before his power had manifested. Before his parents sent him out of the house, his father screaming about calling the police while his mother sobbed into his shoulder. He missed Clementine.

Wilbur sighed and pulled back, just enough to look Tommy in the eyes. “Sunshine, you said you trusted me, once, do you remember?”

He remembered. It hadn’t been a lie.

Tommy nodded. “I do.”

“Then all I ask of you is to find that same trust in me, once more,” Wilbur stroked a gentle thumb to his cheek and Tommy couldn’t help closing his eyes at the touch. “If you cannot believe in yourself, let me.”

“Will,” Tommy’s eyes were filling with tears again, fuck, he’d cried so much today, he was sick of it. “I trust you.”

“Then sleep, and we will deal with tomorrow when it comes.” Wilbur leaned forward, just a little, and pressed a kiss to the crown of Tommy’s forehead, holding there for a second before returning to his position by Tommy’s side.

“I love you.” He’d said it once and hadn’t been able to stop saying it since.

And yet, Wilbur didn’t seem to tire of it either. “I love you too.”

Something had changed, deep within Tommy, he could feel it.

Tomorrow could bring many things, but Tommy was certain that this time, he wouldn’t be facing them alone.