Spray-paint

Chapter 3 - Safe?

Tommy could hear people, just barely. Their voices were hushed, and they sounded worried.
At least one of them did, Tommy wasn't sure if the other one was upset or not.
It's hard to tell when your head is pounding and it feels like you haven't slept in years. He was weaker than he'd ever been before— that he'd ever felt before.

Not even Greyson made him feel like this.

"Wil, you have to understand-- they're kids, they have nowhere else to go!"
Tommy opened his eyes ever so slightly, enough to peek through his eyelids.

"How do you know that, Phil? They look fine to me! Their parents are probably worried sick!"

Yellow sweater. Glasses.

That's what Tommy could make out. He looked... tall. And he couldn't tell if his hair was black or brown. He adjusted his head a little to look at the other person.

"They were running for their lives out of a building that was being demolished, Wilbur! They were carrying backpacks filled to the brim with supplies!"
Shorter. Guy from earlier.

"That proves nothing! They could've ran away from home, they could be running from the cops, they could--"
Tommy scowled internally. He wanted to tell the guy how wrong he was. How idiotic he was. Him and Tubbo--

Wait

Tubbo?

"I DON'T KNOW, WIL! But I do know--"
The man was silenced the moment Tommy began to stir, reaching his hand out to them, trying his best to speak. Unfortunately, his voice failed him, becoming more of incoherent mumbling instead of speech.

"Tub..bo...?" He tried to say.
The blonde man tried to approach Tommy, but to his surprise was shoved away by the taller guy in the yellow sweater who quickly crouched next to Tommy, cupping the blonde's cheek in his hand. Concerned brown eyes observed the tired boy.

They looked like pools of honey.

"Your e-eyes... they look like...honey..." He managed to mutter just loud enough to hear.

The man smiled softly, rubbing his thumb tenderly against Tommy's cheek.

Tommy tried to turn his head away from the man's hand, but he couldn't.

He was tired.

Too tired.

He tried to narrow his eyes, tried to look more menacing-- but the man just chuckled. A gentle, warm chuckle of amusement.

Tommy couldn't tell if he liked the laugh or not.
Trusted it, was the real question.

"What's your name?" He asked sweetly.

"...T-Tommy." The blonde stuttered.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tom. Can I call you Tom?"

Tommy shook his head a little, frowning.

"Tommy, then. Okay." He nodded. "My name's Wilbur, and here behind me is Phil." Tommy looked past Wilbur to see the man from earlier-- the beach blonde who had cried for him.
Who had helped him.
Phil.

"...Wh-where... Tub-bo?" Tommy tried to adjust himself but winced the moment he moved, a piercing pain shooting up his arm.
Wilbur also seemed to flinch, reflecting Tommy's pain. He carefully lifted the blonde up into a sitting position, then sat beside him.
Wilbur gave Phil a worried glance. Phil thought for a second before he realized.

"Oh! The two boys you were with-- They're resting in the other room, it's alright." He said calmly.

Tommy nodded weakly.

"They're safe. You're safe." Wilbur said smoothly, putting his arm around Tommy's shoulders.

The word echoed through Tommy's head, his eyes widening a little.

"...safe...?" He said, though this time his voice was stronger, his frosty blue eyes gleaming with hope.
Wilbur nodded, scooching closer to Tommy, and propping the blonde against his chest.

"Safe."

He was safe.

Safe.

Secured.

Defended.

Home.

Home?

No.

What was he talking about?

This wasn't home.

They're helping them, that's it.

But what if it isn't?

Don't be rash. He told himself.

My home is with Tubbo.

He pondered for a moment.

And Ranboo. He's okay too.

Yeah.

They're family.

They are home.

(AN - Another short chapter, I know— it'll get good, I swear. Just give me a bit, alright? Have a good day/afternoon/evening)