Archive of Our Own

Their arm is heavy around his shoulder. Tommy stops at the base of the hill a little down the road and lays them down, trying to be gentle about it. Blood pools on the sidewalk around their head. Tommy drops to his knees beside them.

"Ran- Ran wake up. Wake up. We- we gotta go get help. Please- I don't- I can't just leave you here."

There is no answer save the almost imperceptible thud of snowflakes landing soft around them. Tommy wraps his arms around himself. The cold cuts right through his ribs and he feels everything.

"Ranboo?"

Still nothing. Their eyes stare blank at the sky. Tommy gets up and backs away until his back presses against the low stone wall that runs around the cemetary.

"Ranboo- Ranboo, wake up- wake the fuck up." His voice shakes. "Wake up right now."

They are as still as the snow. It's starting to get dark. Tommy hears the wail of sirens in the distance and thinks maybe someone heard the screaming and called the cops, and he knows what will happen.

If Schlatt gets arrested, then Tommy will end up back in the foster system, and so will Tubbo, if he's alive, and they'll never see each other again. If he doesn't, then Tommy will go back to that house and live out the rest of his childhood there, and then he'll turn eighteen, and he and Tubbo will leave, and they'll never see each other again. Either way, Ranboo will end up in a body bag, because it's too late for Tommy to save him. Tommy didn't move. Tommy was too stuck in his belief of his own powerlessness that it became a self fulfilling prophecy.

This is all Tommy's fault.

Tommy is three when he comes to live with the Crafts.

He only remembers a little bit of before, of his brother Clay. He knows there were good times. He knows Clay used to make him cupcakes when he was good. Chocolate, his favorite. Tommy tried to be good because he wanted Clay to be happy with him he wanted cupcakes, but he was never good enough for Clay.

Later, Clay got mad at him. Tommy never understood why he got hit, and no matter how many times he asked, Clay never told him why. The most he ever said was Tommy was bad. Tommy was only a kid. Tommy had tried to be good, he had tried, he had tried, he had tried. One night Clay was drunk and he got very mad, just like their dad used to. Tommy cried and cried but Clay took him by the hair and threw him against the wall and it hurt, there was blood, and then Clay cried too, and came over and sat by Tommy and said he was sorry, and he hadn't meant to hurt Tommy and he wouldn't do it again. Tommy hugged him and said it was okay in his little voice, because he didn't want Clay to be sad.

Then the sirens came. They came and took his brother away and they took Tommy somewhere else, the white place with so many rooms and people in white jackets who stood over him. They looked worried maybe, but to Tommy they were scary, so he cried. He cried because he wanted his brother.

(He will never see Clay again.)

One week later they let him out of the white place with bandages and a prick in his arm where they'd had the sharp thing, attached to the bags of clear liquid that made him feel cool, or fuzzy, or took the pain away sometimes. They take him to a house he's never seen before in the fancy part of town, where all the houses had nice trim yards with bikes outside, and hedges. They take him inside. It smells nice inside, like things baking. There is a man there, with big black wings. Tommy reaches up towards them, they are fluffy he thinks, but the man pulls them out of his reach, gently nudging him away, saying with a chuckle something like, "Hey mate, those are attached to me y'know."

Then he goes past Tommy to talk to the lady who brought him there. She's tall and nice and she played nice music in the car but Tommy doesn't like her, he doesn't like any of them. He wants Clay. He sits down on the carpet. He wants to cry, but he won't. He won't cry. Clay never liked when he cried.

There are soft footsteps. Tommy looks up and sees two other people approaching. They're kids too, but they're older than him by a lot. One of them has brown fluffy hair. The other one has pink hair to his shoulders and is holding a book. Tommy's never seen pink hair; he stares and stares. The brown haired one sits on the carpet next to him and says, "Hi there. I'm Wilbur, that's Techno. Don't worry, he's not as scary as he looks."

Tommy didn't think he looked scary, but he nods anyways. Later he will find out that Wilbur and Techno are twins. He will find out the other man's name is Philza, but he wants Tommy to call him Dad. Tommy doesn't understand, because dad means broken bottles and pain and scattered pills that make Tommy throw up when he accidently takes one, Clay screaming and yelling for hours after, saying he could have died. Dad means quiet words, but quiet from him is worse because it means he's really, really mad. Dad does not mean black wings and a quiet smile, a chiding word towards Wilbur when he scrapes a chair so loud that Tommy flinches. Tommy doesn't know what any of this is supposed to mean.

He still doesn't cry.

Wilbur doesn't talk to him much for a while. Later, Tommy will find out that Phil told him not to. Because he would scare Tommy. Phil doesn't know what Tommy's been through. Not really. Phil doesn't know that Tommy won't get scared of Wilbur. Tommy knows there's worse things than whatever Phil thinks will upset him.

Tommy establishes quickly that Phil is the person in charge here, and asks him every day when he'll get to see his brother again. Phil always dodges the question, saying something along the lines of, "Well, maybe if he gets better." Tommy doesn't know what this means. Tommy hadn't known Clay was sick.

Phil obviously isn't going to help, so Tommy goes to Techno next. Techno is nice to him, but not very helpful. Mostly, he tells Tommy to ask Phil, and Tommy doesn't really know how to explain that he already tried that, so he just sits and lets Techno read a book called The Art of War aloud to him, though he doesn't understand most of the words. Eventually, bored, he wanders away.

Upstairs, Wilbur is sitting by the window, playing guitar. Tommy's only heard people play the guitar a few times. Wilbur is pretty good at it, and he doesn't seem to notice Tommy approach until he flops onto the bed. He stops playing then, to which Tommy pouts, and looks over at him.

"You like the music, kid?" he says. Tommy nods. "Eh, it's not that good."

Tommy huffs. "Is good. Good sound."

"Well, thanks," says Wilbur. "Though I don't know why a kid would like it."

"It um…" Tommy thinks, fails to find a word, and puts both hands against his chest. "Good."

"Feels good to the heart? That's kinda funny, because most of the songs I write are sad." Wilbur leans over the ruffle his hair.

Tommy tilts his head. It's been a while since anyone ruffled his hair. Clay used to before things were bad. "Why sad?"

"Cause I'm sad sometimes," Wilbur explains, looking at him softly. "You know, everyone gets sad. Hey, maybe I'll write some happy songs, now that I've got a little sunshine around, yeah?"

Tommy wonders what sunshine Wilbur is talking about. "You okay?"

"Me? Oh, ha, yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

Wilbur says that a lot, Tommy comes to learn. Despite a constant look of sadness of exhaustion, he relentlessly claims he's okay, and tells people not to worry. Tommy doesn't think he's okay at all, but Wilbur won't admit that to anybody, not even Tommy.

Another thing about him is that he writes, a lot. He doesn't talk about what he's writing either. Tommy asked one time if he was writing songs, and all he said was "Sometimes." Wilbur doesn't like to give straight answers. If he isn't at least a little vague about it, he ends up looking trapped. Tommy wishes he knew what Wilbur was writing, but Tommy can't even read too good yet, so even if he got to look at Wilbur's book, he wouldn't know. Not that he'd snoop. That would be bad.

Tommy wishes he knew why Wilbur looks so sad. Everything seems so nice. Techno is nice. Philza is nice. (At least Tommy thinks he is, though he isn't around much. But Techno says he's just busy.) Tommy can't see why Wilbur would be so sad. Maybe Wilbur just needs cupcakes.

So Tommy pesters Techno until he agrees to help make them. Tommy doesn't do very much, just sits on the counter and mixes the frosting, but Techno calls them his cupcakes anyway. Tommy takes one to Wilbur and says it's to help him be happy. Wilbur starts crying.

Then Tommy cries too because he thinks he's messed up. It takes two hours for Techno to explain that Wilbur was crying because of how nice it was, not because Tommy upset him. Tommy is happy again then, for a moment. But by then Phil's gotten home, and he tells Wilbur off for upsetting Tommy, and Tommy feels horrible. He just wanted to do something nice. He didn't want to get Wilbur in trouble.

So he goes upstairs the next day when Wilbur is the only one home, sits down by him and says, "S'okay." And when Wilbur looks at him in confusion Tommy helpfully elaborates, "Y'can hit me. S'okay."

He doesn't understand why Wilbur looks at him with horror, or picks him up in his arms and holds him close. Tommy keeps saying, "What- what's wrong? Hit me?" And Wilbur just hugs him close and mumbles apologies that don't make sense, because he hasn't even done anything, and Clay never apologized till after he hurt Tommy.

But Wilbur never hits him, just takes him by the hand and leads him downstairs. They sit on the couch together and eat half the cupcakes, and then Tommy falls asleep with his head in Wilbur's lap and feels safe for the first time since he watched Clay be taken away.

Time goes on. Tommy does pretty good in preschool, he even makes a friend, a kid called Tubbo. Tubbo is the same age as Tommy and he's crazy. At least that's what everybody says. Tommy doesn't think Tubbo is too bad. Tubbo lives on the bad side of town though, which means Tommy can't go visit him. Sometimes Tubbo comes over though, and then it's fun. Even if he has made it his life mission to annoy Techno. Techno mostly seems amused by it, but Tommy worries that he'll get upset, and then Phil will get upset, and then Tommy won't be allowed to be friends with Tubbo anymore. But it doesn't happen.

Sometime in the middle of this, Wilbur starts smoking. Tommy knows what smoking is because Clay did it. Clay never cared much that Tommy's nose would crinkle up at the smell. Wilbur sits by the window and blows it all out into the wind. He tries to hide it when Tommy comes upstairs, but Tommy can smell it faintly, turning the air rancid. He hates the smell of it.

Wilbur says, "Hey bud…."

Tommy says, "Hi."

Wilbur says, "Uh… Maybe don't tell Dad about this. Please?"

Tommy is good at not telling Dad. Tommy is good at keeping secrets. Tommy is good at shutting up, at closing his mouth, at keeping everything locked inside and not letting it out, not even in his eyes. He nods. He doesn't understand why Wilbur looks so guilty. Tommy is so good at keeping secrets. Why would Wilbur feel bad about asking him to?

"Why smoke?" Tommy asks instead. Wilbur shifts around, puts the cigarette out against the window sill. He doesn't look like he wants to answer. Tommy starts to apologize.

"No, no," Wilbur waves him off, wincing when stray ash falls onto the bed. "No need to be sorry, kid. Look, smoking is very bad, okay? And I do it because- because I'm bad. That's all there is to it."

"Not bad," Tommy says, stabbing at Wilbur's chest with his finger. "You. Not. Bad."

"You wouldn't understand, bud," Wilbur says, melancholy, and ruffles Tommy's hair. Later Tommy will realize that Wilbur didn't want to explain that smoking calmed his nerves, that it was the only way to quiet the screaming in his head. He didn't want Tommy to get ideas, so he opted to say he was bad. Wilbur does that a lot. He'd rather depracate himself than let anyone he loves be harmed.

Tommy has always had a knack for putting things together about people, too smart for his own good they say. Tommy figures out that Wilbur is never okay, but he will lie about anything to keep the peace. He figures out that Techno hears things that aren't there. He figures out that Phil is almost always busy, but he doesn't know why, and that Wilbur, and maybe Techno too, resents him for it. He figures out that Wilbur does bad in school, kind of like Clay did, and he gets grounded a lot for it, but grounding doesn't mean he gets beat up, which is weird. But Tommy has already come to understand that these people are weird. They're nothing like the home he knew. Yet, the house has began to feel like a home to him, and it scares him a little. He doesn't want to get attached, because what if they take him away again?

Tommy doesn't know what it will take for them to get mad at him. Phil will get upset sometimes, usually at Wilbur, but he doesn't hit him, and none of them have ever so much as yelled at Tommy. Maybe, Tommy just hasn't been bad enough yet.

A little before Tommy's fifth birthday, he finds Wilbur on the floor of the kitchen, holding a knife and crying.

Tommy runs over to him, feels him startle at the touch, a quiet sound of distress. "Oh- hey- hey, kid."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Wilbur says, trying to put the knife behind his back like Tommy didn't see it already, "Nothing, buddy."

"Why crying? Not nothing," Tommy insists. He wishes he could say all the words in his head but they never come out right. Sometimes even the words he knows how to stay come out wrong. "Not nothing. Not, not-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Wilbur says quickly, pulling Tommy into a hug. "It's okay. I'm crying because um-" His voice breaks a little and Tommy knows whatever he says next will be a lie, "I wanted some cake, and there isn't any."

"Oh," Tommy says, like he isn't aware Wilbur's bending the truth, "Okay. Maybe we make cake? 'N' then you won't cry."

"That- that sounds good," Wilbur mumbles, hugging Tommy tight. "I'm sorry kid. I'm so sorry."

"Why sorry?"

Wilbur doesn't answer, just nudges his forehead against Tommy's. Tommy tries to wipe the tears off his cheeks, but his hands are too small.

"It's okay Wilby. We make cake now, okay?"

"I- okay kid. We can make cake," Wilbur mumbles, getting up. He puts the knife in the sink with a shuddering motion, like when there's a slug on your hand and you try to shake it off, but it sticks. Tommy gets out the stool Phil bought him and climbs up to get the cake mix and one of the silver bowls. Wilbur just kind of stands there until Tommy grabs his hand and pulls him over, gives him a whisk and starts pouring the batter into the bowl. Then Wilbur seems to push away whatever numbness that had taken over him, and puts on a smile. It's the longest Tommy's seen him go without pretending to be fine.

Tommy doesn't understand why his brother was crying on the floor with a knife in his hand, but he knows that the reason Wilbur gave was a lie. He won't know till much later what the truth was.

A few months later, Wilbur comes home from school beat up. He sits on the couch and he and Phil argue. Tommy hides around the corner to try and listen, see what the fight's about. They've had arguments before but not quite like this, so Tommy isn't sure if something is going to happen. After a little bit he gathers that Wilbur got in a fight, a really bad one, over something stupid and trivial, and Phil keeps asking why but Wilbur won't give a decent answer, just says the guy who did it was an annoying prick.

"We can take legal action." Big words kinda but Tommy knows what it means by now. The door creaks open, signaling Techno's arrival, as Phil continues, "I can find out who his family is, get compensation. I won't allow someone to harm you so severely."

"Oh, bullshit," Techno says. "Wilbur can fight almost as well as I can. He sat there and took it."

"I did not!" Wilbur yelps, followed by a rustle and thud that probably means he and Techno are tussling. Phil sighs deeply.

"Alright, that's enough. Techno, your knuckles are bleeding."

"Yeah, because I gave that son of a bitch what he deserved. Nobody beats up my brother."

"Except you," Wilbur mutters. There's more thumping and an irritated huff from Techno.

"Don't start, I saw the way you were looking at him."

"Shut the fuck up Techno, shut the fuck up right now or I swear to god I'm going to burn your fucking copy of The Art of War."

There are times when Wilbur goes a little too far, like now, and a minute later Techno storms past Tommy, not even seeming to notice him. There's a long moment of silence, then another sigh from Phil.

"I'll call around about the kid's relatives. He's- new at your school, right? What's his name?"

"Alex," Wilbur mutters after a begrudged moment. "I don't know his last name."

"That's okay, I can work with that."

"No- don't bother. He's a ditch kid. His family's probably poor. I'm not that much of an asshole."

"You have a black eye."

"Techno's right. I sat there and took it." Wilbur sounds incredibly tired. "Just let it go, Dad. I'll probably never speak to him again."

About a week later, Tommy gets back from a sleepover and finds out Wilbur's in the hospital. Phil won't tell him anything else, but Tommy hears him and Techno fighting late that night, when they probably think he's gone to bed.

"This is your fault," Techno spits out. "You are a bitch to him, all the fucking time."

"Do not speak to me like that," Phil says. He sounds cold. "Wilbur could have picked any other time to try this—"

"You are unbelievable. Do you even care about him? About us? All you give a shit about is your fucking business trips."

"I care about you both deeply. But I have attempted to help Wilbur, as have you. He refuses help, he won't even try in therapy."

"That's not his fault. He's mentally ill, Dad. Can you even fucking wrap your brain around that?"

"I understand he's mentally ill, but that's not an excuse. He needs to try."

"Fuck you," Techno says. "I'm so fucking serious. Maybe you're the one who needs fucking help. You know, so you can start giving a shit about your children."

Tommy runs back to his room before either of them realize he's heard. And Tommy remembers it. He remembers it all.

In July, Wilbur gets pneumonia. Tommy had pneumonia once as a kid, and it isn't fun, but that was in the middle of winter. He doesn't really understand why Wilbur has it well into summer, and after getting a very vague response from Phil and a miserable grumble from Wilbur, he opts to ask Techno.

"Techie." He pulls at his sleeve. Techno is doing homework, but he puts down the book for a moment to look at Tommy.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Why's Wilby have Nemony?"

"Why's he have pneumonia? Quackity pushed him into the lake," Techno says. That's a name Tommy hasn't heard before.

"Quacky?" he repeats.

"Alex." Techno grimaces. "He prefers the name Quackity. For some reason? I dunno. I only learned that from Wilbur. Why he knows the prefered name of some guy who's supposedly his greatest rival or whatever, I don't know."

"Maybe they're in love," Tommy jokes. "But like. Pretend not."

Techno rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Why'd he push him in?" Tommy asks. Part of him still worries he's asking too many questions, and Techno will get annoyed with him. But Techno just shrugs.

"I don't know. Wilbur didn't really tell me. You'd have to ask him."

So Tommy goes back to talk to Wilbur. He seems to be a bit better, sitting up and writing. Tommy sits down a distance away because he doesn't know if pneumonia is contagious. He says, "Why did Quacky push you in?"

Wilbur jerks his head over. Had he even noticed Tommy enter? "Oh- Techno told you about what happened?"

"I asked," Tommy quickly says, so he doesn't cause trouble. "I'm sorry—"

"No, no, it's okay." Wilbur closes his journal. "Yeah, uh- Quackity pushed me in the lake, because he's a- a jerk. But y'know, I also kinda goaded him into it."

"Goated?" Tommy asks. Wilbur giggles a bit.

"Goaded- It means I, like, taunted him a bit. Y'know, I was like, 'Hey, I bet you're too coward to push me!'"

"So he pushed to prove you wrong!" Tommy nods, he gets it now. "Are you mad at him?"

"Yeah," Wilbur says. "Kind of. I really don't like him."

"Is he bad?" Tommy persists. He really should stop asking questions. At some point, he'll go too far. He knows that. Why is he so stupid?

Wilbur shrugs. "I dunno. He's a ditch kid. He probably has a shitty life, but it doesn't excuse it."

Tommy only knows what a ditch kid is because people at school call Tubbo one. A kid with no future, a kid who isn't gonna amount to anything. A kid who lives in the bad part of town, whose dad maybe drives a beat up car, yells for him to hurry up out the window with cigar smoke drifting from between his teeth. A kid who has his life already cut out for him, and it's a nasty one.

"Was I a ditch kid?" Tommy says. "Before?"

"No," Wilbur says.

"Does your family being mean make you one?"

"No." Wilbur looks a little sad now. "No, it's mostly about your status and where you live- y'know. Ditch kids- they're kinda set up for failure. But people who have a chance at life can still have a horrible family."

"Oh, okay," Tommy says. He doesn't push any more. He doesn't want to.

"Tommy, bud, this is Quackity. Don't tell Phil or Techno he's over, okay?"

Tommy could have sworn that just a few short months ago Wilbur had been saying he'd never talk to this guy again. "Okay."

Quackity ruffles his hair. "It's nice to meet you, kid."

"Your name is silly," Tommy says, tilting his head. "Are you a duck?"

"Actually, yeah, I'm technically a duck avian," Quackity says, unfolding gold wings. Tommy stares at them in awe. He's used to Phil's black ones.

"I never saw gold ones before."

Quackity laughs a little. "I guess they're pretty rare."

"Are you a ditch kid?" Tommy says.

"Tommy," Wilbur mutters. Tommy flinches back a little, and Quackity cuts Wilbur a look, viciousness with no reason Tommy can place.

"You could call me that, yeah, and that's okay, I wear it with pride. Being a ditch kid ain't all bad."

"Okay," Tommy mumbles. He hopes Wilbur isn't going to yell at him later. He doesn't look up, just goes back to sit on the couch and watch some stupid show. He can hear Quackity and Wilbur bickering all the way up the stairs, but he can't make out the words.

Techno gets home a little bit later, and Tommy tries to distract him for awhile so he doesn't realize Quackity's here, because Wilbur said not to tell, and that means Techno would be upset if he found out, and maybe if Tommy can keep him from finding out, then Wilbur won't be mad at him. He can't do it forever though. At some point Techno picks up his school bag and starts up the stairs, and approximately 2.5 seconds later, Tommy sees Quackity jump out the upstairs window, half scramble, half slide, down the tree, and run off down the road through the deepening dusk.

Tommy goes downstairs for water in the middle of the night and sees Wilbur on the couch, alone in the quiet of the house. There's blood on his lip. He's writing, brow furrowed, eyes distant and lost in whatever he's thinking about. Tommy goes back upstairs. He's smart for having avoiding Wilbur being upset for a little longer.

But Wilbur never gets upset. Tommy doesn't understand it.

After that, Quackity comes over a lot more often. Eventually, Techno finds out, and he and Wilbur fight about it, yelling that ends in tussling, and eventually hugs, and Techno's reluctent agreement not to attempt to murder Quackity when he next finds him "trespassing." After a while, Phil finds out too. He doesn't seem very fond of Quackity's visits. Wilbur doesn't seem to care.

Tommy observes for awhile. He tries not to talk, or ask questions, but he notices. He notices everything. The way Wilbur brushes hands with Quackity, and Quackity steps back the first ten, twenty times, but after awhile he stops moving away. The way Wilbur's eyes follow him when he walks across the room. The way Wilbur claims to hate the other boy, but brings him home again and again, or stays out late with him. Sometimes, they don't talk for a long time. Sometimes, they get in fights, and Wilbur comes home beat up, once with a missing tooth. After a particularly bad one, Phil bans Quackity from the house, and then Wilbur is almost never home, except when he's grounded, and even then Tommy sees him sneak out. Tommy sees so much more than any of them know. Tommy has always seen things he wasn't supposed to, even back before; things he swallowed down and never told, either because he didn't want to get hurt, or because he didn't have the right words.

And so it becomes a sort of routine, Wilbur will be gone most of the day, and when he's home he writes, on the couch or the windowsill or the porch, writes like everything depends on it. Tommy still wants to know what the words are, if Wilbur writes about his family, or about Quackity, or himself, or the future. Tommy doesn't know what Wilbur wants for the future. Techno talks about what he wants to do a lot, become a doctor and help heal people, but Wilbur will only sit silent, and when Phil asks, he'll say he doesn't know or he's still thinking about it, and go upstairs soon after. Tommy wonders if Wilbur really is thinking about it, or if he lives in the moment, like those meditation videos his mom used to watch would say.

Or maybe there's a different reason Wilbur doesn't think about the future, something worse, that has to do with the knife in his hand when Tommy found him crying in the kitchen. Tommy is smarter than he lets on. Tommy is the one who found his mom.

(Wake up, wake up. What's wrong? What did I do?)

Tommy tries to make Wilbur happy. He brings him gifts, flowers or paper cranes he made at school. He goes and leans against him and holds his hand. But nothing gets rid of the distant look in Wilbur's eyes. There is only so much Tommy can do. Tommy is only one person. He can't do enough. Tommy is never enough.

Next year, in late spring, Quackity disappears. The cops say he's dead. Wilbur becomes inconsolable. Nothing Tommy can do will help him. Techno tries too, and Phil tries, kind of, but nothing works. Wilbur comes home every day and goes straight to his room, lies under the covers with his headphones on and barely comes downstairs even to eat. If he's not lying in bed, he's writing, usually while crying, tears that he angrily slaps off his face. Tommy stops trying to talk to him.

After a couple weeks, Tommy comes downstairs to find Quackity in the middle of the living room, covered in mud and dirt and dried blood, curled into himself as Wilbur holds him shakily. Tommy blinks a few times and says, "Oh my god you're back from the dead?"

"Hi, kid." Quackity ruffles his hair, getting mud and dirt in it. Tommy crinkles up his nose in disgust.

"Ewie. Dirty."

"He's gonna shower soon," Wilbur assures Tommy shakily. "Did- did we wake you up? I'm sorry bud."

"It's okay," Tommy says. He really doesn't sleep much, but Wilbur doesn't have to know that. "How'd you come back from dying?"

Quackity shrugs awkwardly. "Um… Long story."

There are footsteps on the stairs. Wilbur tries to shove Quackity behind the couch and fails miserably.

"Wilbur, have you seen my—" Techno rounds the corner and stops, blinking several times. "I. What."

"'Eyyyyyyyyyyyy," Quackity says with an awkward cough, while Techno stares at him flatly. This is awkward, Tommy thinks.

"You're not- You. What the fuck."

"Yeah, he's alive, Techno," Wilbur interjects before Quackity can respond. Techno crosses his arms.

"Quackity, I am going to kill you."

Wilbur drags an anxious hand through his hair. "Maybe not- right now?"

"He made us all think he was dead," Techno snaps. Wilbur puts his head in his hands. "I'm not actually going to kill him, chill out."

"I think that's my cue to go shower," Quackity says, and disappears into the bathroom. Tommy goes to his hiding spot behind the stairs, so he can listen to the conversation Wilbur and Techno are inevitably going to have.

"Did you seriously think I was going to murder the guy you just spent two weeks crying over?"

"Well- well no, I just wanted to check, you had a- tone."

"I am very unhappy with him. He let you think he was dead for this long. It was destroying you, Wil."

"Please just- try not to vocalize that to him. He just went through hell, Tech please."

"Why?"

"I don't wanna lose him again. I can't do it- I can't take it, Techno."

"He's bad for you."

"I know he's bad for me and I don't care. It's not like I'm good for myself," Wilbur fires back. There's a long moment of silence. Techno sighs.

"He can't stay here, Wil."

"I know that."

"We have to figure out what to do with him before Dad gets home, or else it'll be a whole thing."

"I know- I. Fuck, I know. I'll come up with something."

"You don't have to do it alone. I don't like him, and I make no secret of that, but you're my brother. I'll help."

"Thank you." Wilbur's voice cracks. "Thank you Tech."

Tommy has come to an understanding. It's taken awhile, but he thinks he gets it now. Phil isn't like his dad. There are no loud words, no broken glass or scattered pills. But Phil's sons are still afraid of him. There is something in that quiet anger, the pervasive dissapointment that lingers in the household when Wilbur or Techno does something that he doesn't like, that still makes you afraid, makes you hide things you know he'd dissaprove of. Phil isn't like Tommy's dad, but there is something about Phil that is cruel, too.

"Why's Wilbur like that?" Tubbo asks.

It's New Year's Eve. Tommy is almost seven years old, sitting on the couch with his best friend as they eat leftover Christmas cookies. He's been with the Crafts for four years, long enough to know the ins and outs, ups and downs of the house. Long enough to know the unspoken rules. He says, "Like what?"

"I dunno. Emu."

"Y'mean emo?"

"Yeah! Yeah, that! Y'know he's all, um-" Tubbo chews his lip for a moment. "Depressed. And murder-y."

"Murder-y?" Tommy echoes in bewilderment. He's never thought of Wilbur as murder-y. But maybe he's just closed minded.

"Yeah, he lurks in the shadows and glares at everyone," Tubbo explains helpfully.

"Ohhhh." Tommy thinks for a moment. "I dunno. I think he's just… really, really sad."

"Why though? You guys don't have a reason to be sad, you have lots of money and toys and things."

"Some people are just born sad," Tommy says. "You don't need a reason."

"I would hate to be born sad," Tubbo says. "I was just born unlucky. That's what my mom says."

Much later, Tommy will think about how messed up it is for a kid's mom to tell him he's unlucky. But Tommy doesn't think about that now. Right now, he's thinking about Wilbur and his distant eyes, his habit of smoking that Phil has to have figured out by now, but there's been no sign of him trying to stop it. Wilbur is sad. Even when he's happy, there's a vague undercurrent of sadness. The way he looks out at the rain when it rolls by, or watches the shadows stretch long in the afternoon. The way he absently traces his fingers down the page when he's writing, staring into space with a hollowness Tommy hates. Tommy has seen angry eyes, tired eyes, miserable eyes. Narrow eyes with hatred burning in them. Wide eyes full of innocence, not a clue how horrible the world is. Tommy has never seen hollow eyes. Not the way Wilbur's are hollow. There is no hope in his eyes. Sometimes, Tommy wonders if he's just waiting for the end of the world.

When Tommy is nine, Wilbur leaves.

Tommy doesn't know why. Not then. Wilbur hasn't been around very much, but that's normal, because by then he's in college, only comes home for holidays, and sometimes weekends. He leaves the week of Christmas. There is no real warning. Yeah, Wilbur's been paler than usual, and had an air of distraction about him, but that's been going on for months; this is sudden. Tommy finds out later that he fought with Techno and Phil before leaving, but Tommy slept through it, something he will never stop hating himself for, because maybe if he'd been awake, like he usually was, he could've heard what was going on.

Could have convinced Wilbur to stay.

But no, Tommy wakes up late and goes downstairs and finds Phil on the phone with the police and Techno at the table with his head in his hands and he finds out that Wilbur has disappeared without even a trace. The search lasts maybe a month before it gets called off; Wilbur is an adult, and there's no real sign of foul play. And after that, everything falls apart.

Techno drops out of school. He and Phil argue every night. Techno blames Phil, and Phil refuses to blame anyone but Wilbur. At one point, Quackity comes over and ends up siding with Techno, something Tommy will probably never see again in his lifetime, and that's the worst fight yet, a fight that ends in Phil storming out with a hard set to his mouth. Techno sits down with an exhausted sigh, Quackity starts tidying the kitchen with a worried brow, and Tommy stands by the window and watches Phil start up the car, dull mutter of the engine coughing exhaust out into the freezing air. Tommy watches him drive off. Tommy knows he isn't coming back.

And sure enough, Phil doesn't return the next day, or the next, or the day after that. Quackity stays over and tries to help out as best he can, but he and Techno still don't really get along, and two weeks later, Techno kicks him out onto the street and bolts the door.

"Tommy- come here. Toms, we need to talk."

Tommy approaches, wariness spiking through him. "What?"

"Look I-" Techno drags a hand through his normally tidy hair, leaving pink strands sticking every which way, like straw. "Tommy, I can't- I don't have the resources to take care of you. They won't let me, I don't even know how to get custody. I wish I could. I- god I wish I could."

Tommy leans against him and shivers. "What happens?" he mumbles. "What happens to me?"

"You're gonna have to go back in the foster system. I'm sorry, I don't- I don't have a way to stop them."

"I don't want to," Tommy cries softly. "I don't- I don't wanna."

"It'll be okay." Techno pulls him into a gentle hug. Tommy can feel him shaking. "Everything will be okay. You're a strong kid, you'll be alright. Someday when you're old enough, I'll come back, okay? I will find you somehow. I promise."

Tommy buries his face in his brother's shoulder. He knows he can't count on Techno keeping his promise. Everyone lies, in some way or another. Every single person. Even if they mean it with everything in them, there's no guarentee of a promise being kept. Tommy knows this, and he has known this for a long time, because Clay promised to never hurt him, and that was a lie. That was a lie. Tommy had dared to hope this place would be different, because everything was different. But some things never change, and human nature is one of them. It is humanity's nature to lie.

Tommy lies too, when he says, "I'll be okay."

(Techno hugs him close. They both pretend they're telling the truth, because it's easier.)

The next four years are a blur. Tommy is in and out of foster homes, the longest lasting only a year. None of them are like his original home, but none of them are like the Craft's either. He makes some friends, but he learns not to get attached, because Tommy isn't a good fit for anywhere. Eventually, maybe fast, maybe after a little longer, he's going to end up back in the car with the social worker, Chris, who treats him like he's still five. The radio isn't even good, either.

And then, eventually, Tommy ends up on the doorstep of a one story house with low ceilings, ratty backpack in his hand. He asks Chris what this guy's name is, because Tommy always likes to try to guess the personality of his new foster parent based off the name, and gets told Jonathan Schlatt, a name so odd that Tommy can't even start to wrap his head around what kind of person he could be.

Chris steps up and knocks on the door. There's a distant shout from inside the house, presumably someone coming to answer it, and they wait for an uncomfortable amount of time before finally the door swings open, revealing a familiar avian, a joint held awkwardly between his fingers. He smiles awkwardly, says, "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you guys were showing up today- Jon didn't tell me." His gaze drops, and his expression morphs, recognition and then surprise. "Tommy?"

"Big Q?" Tommy says, equally shocked. Of all the people he'd expected to see at his new foster home, Quackity was sure as hell not one of them. Quackity shifts a little, and looks uncomfortable.

"I don't really use that name anymore. You can call me Alex."

"I thought you didn't like that name," Tommy says, confused. He remembers Wilbur explaining to him that he should never use the name 'Alex' for Quackity because it upset him.

"Things are different." That much is obvious. Quackity looks different, bags under his eyes that weren't so deep before, and a slope to his figure, a kind of exhaustion that Tommy can't remember seeing on him before. "Why don't you guys come in? Sorry, Jonathan isn't home right now, but I can try to help with whatever- papers you need done, or whatever. I'm really sorry."

Quackity was never so much of a people pleaser. Then again, it's been four years since Tommy last saw him. A lot can change in four years. Tommy himself has changed, a lot. He's thirteen now, and he thinks he knows his way around the world pretty good. Matter of fact, if only it were legal, he could go live in a fort in the woods and be perfectly fine, he thinks. They really should let him do that.

The house is boring inside, the TV yapping in the background about weather and how many burgers the general populace are consuming. The couch is worn down, but Tommy flops onto it anyway and lies there, tuning out the background chatter of Quackity- no, Alex- trying to work things out with Chris. At some point, it all turns into a constant, dull buzz, and Tommy falls asleep. He's woken up hell knows how much later by arms around him.

Tommy can't remember the last time someone hugged him. He opens his eyes, smells paprika and wood dust, a smell he remembers pretty well, but there's no way. Except somehow, there is.

What are the odds, in this fucked up universe where everything goes wrong, that Tommy will find two people he knows, by complete chance, in this low ceilinged house in a shitty town he's never been to before? What are the goddamn odds? And yet here he is, and here Tubbo is, smiling at him through hair that's longer than Tommy remembers.

"Fuckin' hell, I missed you, Big Man," Tubbo says.

Tommy chokes on a sob and launches himself at his best friend, and thinks maybe the odds are finally in his favor. Maybe he's finally gotten lucky, because Tubbo is here and it feels like he's home for the first time since he waved goodbye to Techno out the window of the battered car.

Tommy isn't lucky. Of course not. He never is.

As it turns out, Schlatt is a lot like Tommy's dad. Sure, he can act nice, smooth as butter when his friends are over, anyway, but when they aren't, he drinks, and then he'll get mad. Tommy falls right back into a rhythm he knew well as a child, tiptoeing around the house to avoid bruises and broken glass. There's three of them there- three foster kids, him, Tubbo, and Ranboo, and they work together to stay as safe as possible. Of course, there's no guarentees, and despite their best efforts, they still end up hurt. Pretty often, and there's nothing Tommy can do about that. It's fine, really. It's fine.

Things would be a lot worse without Quackity, who makes sure the three of them eat and drink and get to school on time, buys them new clothes when theirs get old and makes them wear hats on the hot days. He tries to take the brunt of it when Schlatt gets mad too, but there's only so much he can do. It's a bad life, but there's worse lives. Tommy's seen them first hand. Tommy will learn to live with the bruises, learn to tend his own and his siblings'. And Tommy will come to call that low ceilinged house home, too, because for some reason, despite how horrific it is, it sticks.

Tommy is lucky and unlucky. Lucky because he found his way to not one, but two people from the only time in his life where things were, by comparison, okay. Unlucky because all three of them are trapped in this place, with no forseeable escape. Quackity will not leave because he doesn't want to be alone. Tubbo will not leave because he believes himself to be some twisted reflection of Schlatt. Ranboo will not leave because they're too scared. And Tommy will not leave because that would mean abandoning his family. Tommy will not leave because he will not be like everyone else. Tommy will not leave because he refuses to leave first. He will never leave first.

And so it settles into a sort of routine. Tommy knows the way this works, and he even starts to enjoy life a little. The town is bigger than the one he grew up in, but still small enough for half the people to know the other half. Too big, though, for it's own developed lingo; there is no such thing as ditch kids, but people find other things to call Tubbo, new words that has Tommy going after them with a slingshot and rocks, yelling and screaming that leads to suspension. For someone who claims that school's a waste of the government's money, Schlatt sure gets upset over any of them breaking its rules.

Maybe he just doesn't want them to break any rules. Maybe he just wants them to be quiet, complacent kids who let themselves be mocked without retaliating. Well, fuck that. Tommy's no pussy. Tommy will fight until the person he's up against backs down, or until he's physically pried apart from them. He's a little like Clay in that way, but that makes him feel sick, so he decides he's like Techno instead.

What is it, that makes a brother who was never truly his so much better than his own flesh and blood? Why does Tommy shudder to think of Clay, while the memory of Techno makes him feel warm? He doesn't know. He misses them both, yet only hates one of them.

Then, Wilbur. Tommy has a lot of complicated feelings about Wilbur. He hates him a little, sometimes, for leaving, but he misses him too. He misses him so much.

When Tommy is fifteen, Wilbur comes back.

Tommy never knew he could feel this mad.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! You left me- left us. You have no idea what it's been like. Any of it!"

"Toms- Toms, calm down, please try and breathe."

"You don't have a right to tell me to breathe!" Tommy yells. "You haven't been there for any of it. You have no fucking idea what's happened. Dad left, and I don't even know where Techno is, and Schlatt is horrible, and-"

"Tommy, I know. I know," Wilbur says. He puts his hands on Tommy's shoulders. "It'll be okay. I'm here."

Tommy shrugs him off. "But you haven't been. You haven't been here, and you're going to leave again. I know you fucking are."

"I—" Wilbur opens his mouth, then closes it, and looks away. Tommy curls in on himself.

"You can't even deny it."

"You don't understand. There's things at work here you can't even begin to understand."

"So explain."

"I can't, Tommy."

"Why the fuck not? Where have you been all these years? You owe me that, at least."

"I can't tell you. I can't tell you any of it," Wilbur says with a little desperation. "It's too dangerous. I can't have you getting hurt because of me. I won't. Even if you're mad at me."

"I am mad," Tommy says, bitterness of the words offset by the crack in his voice. "I- I thought you were dead."

"I'm not dead, kid. I was worried about you too."

Tommy wraps his arms around himself with a wretched cry, and then Wilbur is there pulling him close. Tommy presses his ear against his brothers chests and listens, a heartbeat he's almost forgotten.

"Shh, I got you bud. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," Tommy mumbles. "I'm sorry- I didn't want you to leave. I'm sorry I wasn't home. I'm sorry I didn't say bye."

"Toms, it isn't your fault. Not in any capacity. It's okay, I swear. I promise."

Wilbur makes so many promises. Tommy hopes this one, at least, isn't a lie.

After that, Wilbur is around a lot more. Sometimes, when things are really bad, Quackity will drop Tommy and his siblings off at Wilbur's shitty apartment, and they'll stay there until it's safe to go home. Tommy doesn't mind sitting there in the dull room that smells like smoke, doesn't mind listening to the corroded strings of Wilbur's guitar as he plucks out quiet melodies, some of them Tommy remembers from when he was younger, and some of them he doesn't know. He likes them anyway.

Tubbo, though, never seems to enjoy spending time at the apartment. That might have something to do with his very blatant resentment for Wilbur. At first, Tommy doesn't understand why Tubbo is so bitter towards him; Tubbo was never close to him at all. It takes Tommy a long time to realize that Tubbo is angry on his behalf, because Tommy has given up on being angry at Wilbur.

"You should be mad at him. You should hate him," Tubbo says one afternoon, as he and Tommy hide under the stairs at school to skip class and smoke. Well, Tubbo smokes, Tommy will only take a drag now and again, when it's offered, but he still hates the taste of it. "He left. You don't owe him anything."

"He's my brother." Tommy wrinkles his nose. He will never understand what draws Tubbo or Wilbur to smoke. "He had his… reasons, or whatever."

"You and I both know that's bullshit, Toms."

Tommy shrugs. "I dunno. What's the point in being mad at him? That's just a waste of time."

"You're not angry enough," Tubbo says. "You need to get more angry. It's the only way to get through this shit, and make sure nobody hurts you."

"I don't like being angry." Tommy looks at his shoes, ratty sneakers with star stickers and doodles on them. There's a pricker stuck to them, from tramping through one of the fields behind school, probably. One's outer sole is peeling off, the duct tape he used last week already falling away, gritty with dirt. Sometimes he thinks his life is like that, held together by duct tape, and if he feels too much it will fall apart. "He's gonna leave again one day. I'm not gonna spend the time I have with him hating him for leaving before."

"He ruined your life." Tubbo chucks the cigarette butt at the wall. It bounces off and lands on the rough concrete, a trail of smoke drifting upwards. Tommy watches the last glimmering ember flicker in the ash, and then dim, dim, dim, go out. "If I was you, I wouldn't give him the time of day."

"You ain't me," Tommy says. "I'm not gonna be mad at him, Tubbo. I'm sorry."

"Suit yourself." Tubbo stamps on the cigarette butt and stands up. "We better get to class. Skipping two without being caught is pushing even our luck."

It's an ongoing joke they have, because there's never been two kids so unlucky as them. Tommy smiles weakly and follows him out into the hall.

In early summer, Schlatt goes on a business trip, and Wilbur borrows Quackity's car and drives Tommy up the coast for the weekend. They pack light, just food, a water jug, a blanket and Wilbur's usual pack or two of cigarettes. Tommy sits curled as small as he can in the seat. Wilbur lets him pick the music, and Tommy picks old songs that scratch their way from the car speakers, worn out, maybe, by how many times they've been played. They stop at little parks, random lookout spots along the road, camping sites with footprints scuffed in the mud, wheel tracks filled with dirty water. They roll down the windows and let the wind in, the smell of trees and tar.

Neither of them talk much on the drive. The quiet feels safer than to speak.

They stay at a small house near the shore. Tommy is ninety percent sure it's abandoned, given the long, grassy side road they'd had to venture down to get there, and the overgrown state of the yard, but Wilbur doesn't explain how he knows of its location, so Tommy doesn't ask. Tommy has learned not to ask.

In the morning, Tommy wakes up and doesn't know where he is for a minute. He's not used to the sound of ocean waves. Wilbur is cooking eggs. He burns them a little, but they're still good, they just need a lot of ketchup.

"I wish I could cook," Tommy says. "We mostly microwave things at home."

"I can show you next time you stay at my place," Wilbur offers, meticulously shaking salt onto his eggs.

Tommy realizes his own eggs don't have salt and pouts until Wilbur hands him the shaker. "No offense, but I dunno if I wanna learn cooking from you."

"My cooking is brilliant, I don't know what you're talking about."

Tommy points at the blackened parts of the eggs. Wilbur looks away.

"Sorry Toms. I don't see anything."

"Well duh, your eyes are closed!" Tommy leans over the table to punch Wilbur's arm, and Wilbur ruffles his hair in return. For a moment, Tommy can almost pretend that the low ceilinged house isn't real, that he's a little kid again, and he's home, and Wilbur will stay.

(But he isn't home, and he isn't a little kid, and Wilbur isn't going to stay.)

"Hey," Wilbur says suddenly. "I've got a gift for you."

"Oh?" Tommy perks up. "Is it candy?"

Wilbur laughs softly. "Never change, Toms. No, it isn't candy." He reaches over to grab his backpack from the easy chair, rummages around in it for a moment before producing a neat little bound journal. It's red, with mushroom stickers on the covers. Tommy takes it and blinks at it.

"What's this for?"

Wilbur shrugs, a little awkwardly. "I don't know. When I was your age, writing helped me work through stuff that went on in my life. Honestly, it still does, but that's beside the point- I thought maybe having somewhere you could write down your thoughts might make it a little easier when things are bad. It doesn't have to be pretty or even coherent, but. You never know. It might help."

"Oh." Tommy runs a hand down the cover. It's a rough texture, pleasant against his hand. "Thanks, Wil."

"Course, kid." Wilbur smiles at him, fond but tired. Tommy smiles back and wishes this could last forever.

Eventually, they walk down the beach together. Tommy picks shells while they talk. They talk about meaningless things, like the heat this year, Tommy's plans for the summer, the boy at school Tubbo talks to a little more than you should talk to a friend. Stupid things that will mean nothing in a year or two. In a year or two, maybe Wilbur will be gone again. Maybe Schlatt will be dead. Maybe Tommy will take his siblings and run from this place, as far away as he can get. Maybe Tommy will learn how to be angry at everything that's happened to him. In a year or two, maybe Tommy will kill himself with a dull knife on the kitchen floor.

Wilbur doesn't stay. Wilbur doesn't even say goodbye.

"Was it my fault?" Tommy says. Quackity rests a shaky hand on his shoulder, and shakes his head.

"No, no Toms. Wil just… There's just things going on in his life that none of us can comprehend. He left because he had to. It's not your fault."

Quackity doesn't sound like he believes his own words. Tommy doesn't either. He hopes Wilbur is okay, but there is a resentment in his heart that wasn't there the first time. He wishes Wilbur hadn't come back. Then, he wouldn't have had to go through losing his brother twice.

He never writes in the notebook.

Everything is good. Everything is horrible. Tommy moves through life as if through fog; it touches his skin and makes him cold, but it does not affect him really. The numbness that has been creeping up on him for years finally lives under his skin.

(He feels nothing. Schlatt throws him against the wall, and he feels nothing. Bottles break, and he feels nothing. Tubbo screams at him to wake up, and he feels nothing.)

Tommy has avoided the hospital all these years, somehow. Not this time. Even lying in the flat bed with the doctors in their white coats standing over him, he cannot make himself care. They ask what happened; he lies. A fight at school. They hate him because the trans kid is his brother. The doctors are sympathetic. Tommy pictures Techno's face instead of theirs, and wonders if Techno ever became a doctor like he wanted. He wonders if Techno is even still alive.

He goes home. Tubbo and Ranboo ask if he's okay, change his bandages. Tubbo says, "You should have let him hit me. I coulda took it. What's wrong with you?"

Tommy just shrugs. Tubbo grabs his shoulders and shakes him.

"Tommy, I'm so fucking serious. What's wrong with you? It's like you're not even here anymore. Where are you? Where the fuck is my best friend?"

Tommy doesn't have an answer. He shrugs again, and Tubbo pulls away with a frustrated cry. Ranboo follows him down the hall, and Tommy is left alone on the couch, staring blankly at the buzzing television screen. The pictures mean something, but he doesn't have the energy to figure out what anymore.

He's going to fail school, and he still doesn't care.

A little more than a month before Christmas, Schlatt tries to kill Quackity. Quackity leaves, runs- he has to, of course, he has no choice, but Tommy watches through the window and wants to go with him. He has never wanted to run more. But Tommy won't run. Tommy won't leave, even if it kills him.

A hand grabs his hair and drags him backwards. Tommy closes his eyes. He hopes Schlatt tries to kill him, too. Hopes it works.

It all falls apart on the last night of the year. Schlatt has been getting increasingly worse the more time that's passed since Quackity disappeared, and a brief police investigation into him hasn't helped things at all. That evening he's the angriest Tommy has seen him in maybe months, maybe forever, and it's Ranboo who's the target of his fury. Tommy can't do much. Tommy can't even make himself feel anything, he can only watch, and hate himself for watching. Tubbo is shaking him.

"Tommy, we have to do something."

What can they do? They are powerless.

"Tommy, come on, don't fucking shut down on me right now- come on, Tommy."

He's not shutting down. He's being realistic. There is nothing they can do, they are only stupid kids. They are a sinking ship in the Bermuda triangle. They are the drip of melting ice in the north. They are the slow, inevitable end of the world, and there is nothing they can do.

"Fine. Fine, you wanna ignore me? Fuck you, fine. I'll do it myself. I'll save them."

You can't. You can't save them. You have never been able to save anyone.

"Tubbo, wait—"

Everything moves like stop motion, like frozen frames. Flash. Tubbo is grabbing one of the broken bottles from the floor. Flash. He's throwing it at Schlatt with a wordless shout, and it sounds far away, like everything. Flash. Schlatt grabs him by the front of his shirt. Flash. Everything in Tommy's head screams.

"Tommy!" Tubbo covers his head with his hands. "Take Ran, get help. Get out of here, come on, you gotta run. Please—"

It's slow motion now. It's still stop motion. Tommy shakes his head.

"Fucking go." Tubbo's voice shudders and breaks. "Tommy, now."

He swore he wouldn't leave. He isn't supposed to leave, he's never the one that leaves. Tommy doesn't run, he stands his ground and he takes the blows because he will not be like the people that abandoned him. Tommy doesn't fucking leave.

(And maybe he understands a little then, why people run, because when you're cornered, and there's one way to go, then you take the only way out, no matter how terrible of a person you are for it.)

Tommy puts Ranboo's arm around his shoulder and grabs his schoolbag off the floor, and he runs, because it's all there's left to do.

"Why're you still up, Toms? It's the middle of the night."

"Can't sleep."

"Storm keep you up?"

"Maybe a little…"

"It's okay, bud."

"I don't really like the thunder. It's loud. What if the house falls down?"

"The house won't fall down, storms like this don't do that."

"Pinky promise?"

"I pinky promise, Toms."

"What about you? Why are you up?"

"I don't know. I kinda like storms."

"How come? You don't think they're scary?"

"No, no. I love the thunder. It gets under my skin and travels up my bones, and it makes everything in my head quiet. Just like the rain. It makes it quiet."

"Wilbur?"

"Yeah kiddo?"

"Is that what you write about? The rain?"

"I write about a lot of things."

"Can you tell me about them?"

"I write about life. The people I love, and the ways I've hurt them. Phil and Techno, and Q. I write about you, and how I hope things will turn out alright for you. How I wish I could build you a perfect world. I write about the future and the hopes and dreams I have. Why I think they won't work. What I wish I had, even if I won't have it. I write about you, and how I hope things will turn out alright for you. How I wish I could build you a perfect world."

"Oh."

"I write about the sun and the way it gets hotter every year. The rain, how pretty it looks sweeping by. The shadows getting longer with the movement of the seasons. I write about the world. I write about people. I don't know why. People are weird and messy, but beautiful too. Humanity is beautiful."

"Why do you write about everything, Wil? Doesn't it get tiring to always put it on paper, instead of just taking it into your head?"

"You know all the graves in the cemetary?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want that to be me. When I die, I don't want all that's left to be a faded stone marker in a field. I write because I want to leave something tangible behind in the world. I write because it's all that will be left when I'm gone. It's all that will stay when I can't. I don't want to be forgotten."

"I couldn't ever forget you, Wil. You're my brother."

"And you're mine, too. The best little brother in the whole world. Let's get you to sleep, yeah?"

"Will you still be there in the morning?"

"Of course, Toms. I'll always be there."

There is no human alive who doesn't lie.

Tommy sits against a grave and watches the emergency lights flash. He thinks about everyone he's ever loved, and how he's lost them all in some way. How he lost himself somewhere along the way. Maybe it's too be expected. A person can only take so much before they snap.

He should go down there and find out if Tubbo is okay. He should tell the police what happened. He should explain why a kid's body lies on the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill with blood all around him. He does none of those things.

Tommy is a good person.

He's been unlucky since the day he opened his eyes, hasn't he? Had to have been, to be born into that fucked up household, with a brother who loved him, but not enough. He loses everyone in one way or another. They die, or they leave. They've all lied in some way. Told him they would never hurt him. Told him they'd stay.

He has done nothing to deserve it, so he must be good. Tommy has done nothing, and that in itself makes him bad. Wilbur left because he did nothing. Ranboo is dead, because he stood there and he did nothing.

Tommy is not a good person.

Just because he doesn't purposefully hurt or leave people does not mean he is good. He has always believed himself to be righteous, but he's no better than any of them. If he was, he would have saved Ranboo. If he was, he would go down there and make sure Tubbo is okay, make sure Schlatt gets what he deserves.

But Tommy isn't, and Tommy doesn't. What Tommy does is run, down the street to the bus stop on the highway out of town, and he buys a ticket on the first bus that pulls up. And maybe they look at him a little weird, as they should, since he's covered in blood and alcohol, but at the end of the day, they're a bus driver, they've probably seen worse, and they let him on. He sits there, staring blankly out the window. No one sits by him. Tommy doesn't want them to.

Maybe he isn't unlucky. Maybe he loses everyone at no fault of the universe, at no fault but his own. Maybe Tommy has made his luck with his own hands and his own belief that things will never be okay.

What's it matter anyway? It's too late to change it now. The bus won't stop on the side of the road for him. Tommy is leaving, and this isn't the act that cements the fact he's just as bad as them all. He always has been.

He opens his schoolbag and takes out the journal Wilbur gave him before he left. He hasn't touched it since then, hadn't seen a point. Writing has never called to him. He's never understood what Wilbur got from it, but maybe he understands the point now, riding a bus away from a town that brought him nothing but pain, no idea where he's going or if he'll ever come back.

The point of writing is like living, like anything you do to let people know you stood in a place. Like initials carved into the bark of a willow, like a flag planted on the moon. Maybe no one will ever see it. Maybe no one will care. But it will still be there, something tangible that remains when you yourself are nothing but bones beneath the breathing soil. What is the point of it all, if not to make sure there is more of you left than just a grave?