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“Something up?” Wilbur asked, twirling the stick between his fingers slightly. The charred fish, stuck to the withering stick, shifted from its position, teetering dangerously off the side of the wood before Wilbur quickly shoved a piece into his mouth to attempt to stabilise the meat. Bits of fish were still hanging off of the main body though, so Wilbur just tore them off and popped them in his mouth.
Tommy watched it all occur with faint amusement tilting up his lips. He did his best to avoid directly looking at the fire that cracked in front of him, but it was pretty hard to ignore, seeing as he was sitting directly in front of it while it bounced off of Wilbur’s eyes, making them look gold as firebugs flickered in his pupils.
The boy shrugged, prodding his own fish with a bandaged hand. Crisp flakes flittered onto his ripped jeans and stuck to his yellowish bandages, but Tommy ignored it and just licked the char from his finger, spitting out a bit of wool, “I’m just wondering why you’re such an idiot.”
Wilbur cackled, before shoving Tommy’s arm lightly. He had a smile on his face though, so Tommy shrugged it off, “Says the one who drank from a puddle.”
Tommy threw his arms in the air, careful to not lose his dinner, “It looked clean!”
“Mhm,” Wilbur narrowed his eyes, sceptical. He leaned his head on his fist, elbow digging into his knee. Tommy wanted to punch him, “there was a dead cockroach in it.”
“Bugs are nutritious.”
“Not when they are decaying.”
Tommy stuck his tongue out at him and Wilbur quickly copied the boy.
“But seriously, you alright?” Wilbur asked, voice now softer than it had been before. His head was tilted to the side slightly and his mouth was tugged up in a concerned grin.
He didn’t look dangerous, not like the nights the two spent huddled together, not like the bug-infested water surrounding them. Not like the fire that lit up their eyes. He looked safe, as he always did, as he always would. He looked like Wilbur, and for that Tommy relented.
“Just wondering,” Tommy said as casually as he could, “ ‘bout you.”
Wilbur raised an eyebrow, “And what could you ever have to wonder about?” Wilbur chuckled slightly, but something like worry flickered in his eyes, “Sorry to break it to you, Tom, but you’re literally my brother. If there’s anyone that doesn’t need to ponder over lil’ old me, it’s you.”
“I know you too well, what can I say?” Tommy smiled, but it fell when Wilbur didn’t even nod back. The boy cleared his throat, “No, but- I was just thinking…” he floundered for a lighter way to put this, “What were you doin’ before, well, me?”
Wilbur stilled, “Hm?”
Tommy had sensed he touched a nerve, and quickly backtracked, “You don’t have to tell me, I was just thinking, I-“
“Tommy, calm down,” Wilbur reassured, biting off the rest of his fish and throwing the stick into the fire. The flames crackled and popped, and Tommy was made vaguely aware that he hadn’t even taken a bite of his own meal, “You’re fine, I promise. And, to answer your question, I was doing the same thing I’ve always been,” he gestured vaguely with his hand, looking to the stars. Avoiding eye contact, “Just going wherever. Then I stumbled upon this dumb kid lookin’ to run away from his desolate city and suddenly I had a tiny racoon sticking to me wherever I went.”
The attempt to lighten the mood didn’t amuse Tommy in the slightest, “Wilbur.”
“Tommy.”
Tommy raised a brow.
Wilbur scowled, “Fine. I was… it wasn’t the best.” Wilbur rubbed his arms and looked at the floor, eyes suddenly glossed over and harsh, fire hidden from the reflection.
That wouldn’t do. Tommy stuck his fish-stick into the dirt and shuffled closer to the man, careful to mind the fire, and placed a gentle hand on his. Wilbur blinked away the glaze. He turned his head up to see Tommy, who smiled slightly at him, hoping to be reassuring.
Wilbur let out a breath, shoulders untensing, “Before everything… changed, we had houses. Towns, cities.”
Tommy knew this somewhat, Wilbur would always recall memories from the old world, crafting stories about the high standing buildings and the sound of a school bell, the peace of a nearby forest, the slowly growing tension that all came to a crescendo a decade ago.
“I, in particular, had a father.” Wilbur took in a heavy breath. Tommy squeezed his hand, Wilbur squeezed back, “His name was Phil. He, this sounds cliché, but he really was the best dad in the world,” a smile came upon Wilbur’s lips, nostalgic and so tragically melancholy that Tommy held back a wince, “He’d take me to get ice cream, bandage my injuries, call me an idiot,” Wilbur snorted, “You know when I told you about guitars?”
Tommy nodded, though he didn’t think Wilbur was looking for an answer.
“He bought me one when he noticed I was interested in music. Played that thing to death, Phil got annoyed,” Wilbur chuckled, but the bittersweet smile fell off his face, honeyed despair going slack in favour of the frown that pulled down his eyes, “He was so proud.”
Tommy carefully laid his head on the man’s shoulder, hoping to bring some sort of comfort. He remembered Wilbur saying it helped, one night, as Tommy screamed at him. Not because Wilbur had done anything wrong, no, but because Tommy had felt like a burden. Because Wilbur had done so much, and he’d left so much more, just to provide for Tommy as much as he could in this warped world. The blond yelled about how he felt useless, he spat at Wilbur all the ways he was rotten, proved those facts as he did so. Tommy had thrown his cut up, clogged up heart at the man and handed the dice over to him, waiting, hoping Wilbur would see why he wasn’t worth it.
Wilbur had looked at him, no different than he ever had before, and held him. He cupped that green heart in his palms and rolled the dice onto the softest bit of moss he could find. Tommy had cried, Wilbur not too far behind, and the brunette told him it straight. How Tommy felt like- how Tommy was his little brother, how highly he thought of the blond and he listed all of the ways he thought Tommy was worth it.
Amidst that list of reasons, Wilbur had mentioned his need for reminders of someone else. Hand holds or shoulder bumps, hand-me-downs and stolen leftovers, screaming and yelling; Wilbur needed to know he wasn’t alone.
So Tommy would do that for him. For him, for Wilbur, Tommy would do anything at all.
Wilbur curled an arm around his shoulders, “When the sickness began, we fled town, but on our way to get to my Uncle, Techno, he crashed the car.” Wilbur’s voice began to break and Tommy felt his heart split a little more at the realisation Wilbur was trying to brush it all off. He didn’t want to talk about it, “I woke up on the side of the road unharmed. I don’t know how. I don’t have any idea what happened that day. All I know is I woke up, unharmed, without Phil. I tried to look for him, failed, and you know the rest.”
Tommy did know this part, had been told many times, except without the mention of Phil. Wilbur had woken up on the side of the road, scared and alone, and began to wander. He found shelter in abandoned shops and learning how to wield a knife, learned how to build a fire and scratched the decaying skin from his arms. Eventually, he’d found Tommy.
That was when Tommy began. That was when Tommy could truly feel alive, though he was wary of the other child at first. Now, instead of smiling at the memories of falling intro overs as Wilbur laughed at him, growing up with the brunette and becoming brothers, Tommy only felt cold when he realised another, older person should’ve been there. To help both of them.
“I do,” Tommy replied, snapping Wilbur out of his haze, “I’m so sorry, Wilbs.”
Wilbur shrugged, “Not your fault.”
“Sorry for making you bring it up.”
Wilbur gave him a half-hearted smile, shaking his shoulders a bit, “Hey, what’d we say about that?”
“You’re right,” Tommy grinned, “You’re an idiot.”
Wilbur flicked the boy’s forehead, prompting a squack from him, which made Wilbur chuckle.
Tommy would take that.
“Phil sounds awesome.” he hesitantly spoke, trying to sound sure.
Wilbur blinked, lightheartedness withering a little, “He was.”
“Is.”
The brunette sighed, “Tommy-“
“I’ll meet him someday,” Tommy began, shoving as much confidence into his voice as possible, “And then he’ll be my dad.”
“Because we’re brothers.”
Tommy nodded, “Exactly!”
Wilbur huffed, helplessly amused as always. The sadness never truly left his eyes, nor did the annoying doubt, but something lighter, like hope, started to flicker in them, “Phil would’ve loved you.” Wilbur breathed, resting his chin on the boy’s head. His voice didn’t waver this time, but it was low, wanting.
Tommy just hugged the man, which earned a surprised but not unwelcome giggle, “Everyone loves me. Phil’s not gonna know what hit him.”
Wilbur hummed, “Yeah. You’re right about that.”