A/N
IM BACKKKKKKK
its been a month guys. more than a month. long story short the depression hit and I didn't write a single thing for a month, then got inspired today and wrote this entire fic in one sitting. its a little chaotic, but I hope you guys enjoy :D
these fics of mine have a habit of starting in one direction and going a complete different one, and I'm simply along for the ride lmaooo
TWs: mentions of death and violence, tommy at one point describes some graphic details about a guy's throat being slit, but its less than a sentence long
Synopsis: Five years ago, Tommy ran away from his family after witnessing them kill. In an attempt to fix the damage that they caused, Wilbur finds him again
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5 years was a long time.
A long, long, time.
You could do a lot in five years. Tommy knew this was from experience. You looked different, you acted different; you knew more, you knew less; you were stronger, you were weaker. Five years could shape you beyond repair, yet it could fix you all the same. It could heal, or a split decision could make you crumble.
Time was a patchwork of decisions and mistakes. Small, seemingly inconsequential choices that eventually embodied your future. One wrong turn could change your life forever, or, in the luckier cases, could fix it all in a heartbeat. Truly, the wear of time was the ultimate testament of the soul.
In Tommy's case, five years was enough to rejuvenate him.
He'd changed. He'd bought an apartment and shared it with a mix of friends, filling the nights full of movies and muffled laughter as his friend tried to study in the other room. He'd picked up a job at a local cafe, working alongside Niki, who soon became the mentor in his newfound freedom. He even bought a cat, who had a habit of falling asleep on his lap in the midst of writing college admissions, purring up a storm and stripping the frown from his face with the smallest gesture of trust.
It was almost funny, how much stolen money could change your life as a runaway. Even at such a young age, still in the beginning of his teens, a few bundles of cash beneath the table were able to hide everything he wanted to keep beneath him, all in exchange for a few suspicious deals. He got a new identity, using it to enroll in the occasional online class, all in hopes of picking up a life beyond waitering shifts. He dragged his best friend, Tubbo, along with them to his shared apartment, each full of older, yet equally struggling kids.
Tommy, at the beginning of his freedom, even burned the photos he hoarded of his family, pitching them into the fireplace as Tubbo passed him a tissue to wipe his eyes. He'd watched the three faces–a once cheery image, now stained with knowledge of their actions–char and fall apart, fading into nothing but tall piles of ash, the once-vibrant colors streaked with brown and flickers of flame. In a matter of minutes, they were gone. A father and two brothers, forever missing from his mind.
His memories, his faltering image of their cheeriness, and, most of all, their facade of love; all gone in a matter of minutes.
But that was only minutes.
Ranboo–one of the younger kids in their ten-person apartment with a scar running down the middle of their face–once told him there were 2,628,000 minutes in five years. At the time, at only thirteen years old, there were still 2,496,600 left.
"If you really do want to turn your...murderous ex-family in five years, nobody'll blame you for it," the kid had assured him at the time. "But I wouldn't think about it right now. You still have plenty of time to make that decision. Remember-"
"-make the minutes count," Tommy recited, rolling his eyes at the repeated phrase. It had become a common comfort among the group of misfits, yet held a surprising amount of effectiveness.
Only three months had passed since he'd left his family behind, running from the flashing police sirens with drying tears and a lingering pit of horror in his stomach. On bad days, he still thought they were alongside him; a hand running over his curls as his brother played the guitar, a joking hit on the arm when he distracted his eldest brother's attempts to read.
But they were gone now. Erased with his old identity; erased with that little packet of photos he'd grabbed before running, only seconds before the police that he had called arrived.
And so, with his hand in the palm of his best friends', paying for their makeshift home with stolen money, Tommy began to move on.
After all, he had plenty of time.
***
"What the fuck did you guys do? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Tommy, calm down- this isn't- this isn't how it looks-"
"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. This is what you've been hiding? You're sick, Wilbur, all of you are fucking sick !"
"Whatever you're thinking this is, it's not true, Tommy, I can promise you-"
"Shut up! You just fucking killed someone, and now you're all trying to reason with me? Are you insane -"
"Mate, calm down-"
"Calm down? You want me to calm down ? I'll calm the fuck down once the police are here-"
"Will you listen for one fucking second , Tommy? Stop panicking over nothing, I promise you- This is all a misunderstanding-"
"And if I don't? Are you going to slit my throat too?"
"No! Tommy- I- please, sunshine, don't listen to Techno. We would never hurt you. You don't understand-"
"Stop telling me what I do or don't fucking understand!"
"Phil, we need to go-"
"Listen to them, Phil! Fucking leave! You're insane, all of you- I can't- fucking go !"
"Techno, Phil- wait, guys- we can't just leave-"
"Fuck it, I'm calling the police!"
"Tommy, please listen to me, I didn't- this is far more complicated than it looks, I promise you, I'm not-"
"Wilbur, get the fuck away from me. All of you- you're fucking horrible!"
"Tommy-"
"I said to fucking go away !"
***
At eighteen, when the 2,627,999th minute reached its last second– the images of burning photos and bloody reassurances long locked away from the front of his mind– Tommy was thriving.
The college library was bustling with people, abruptly crowded with the lingering threat of finals hanging over hundreds of young adults' heads. The wooden desk Tommy found shelter behind was covered with stacks of books, his old, pawned laptop displaying instructions behind broken pixels. The hood pulled tightly over his head gave him little comfort amidst the crowd, his phone doing little to help as it buzzed with oncoming texts from this semester's roommates, all encouraging him to come back for a late-night horror marathon, while he ignored them in turn for Tubbo's occasional text of encouragement.
They both had been teetering towards struggle as of late, each trapped between stacks of homework and last-minute studying. It peeved him, how his other roommates tackled their work so easily, but at least he had his best friend to struggle with.
After all, it had been two hours, and he still hadn't made a dent in his essay.
And it was due in a week.
Tommy scoffed as the white screen made his eyes water, the document empty as he deleted his third draft. He tiredly pushed back the strings of hair hanging over his face–dyed with vibrant streaks of red between a darkening shade of blonde–and glanced around the room. Distantly, the faint beat of some shit rap could be heard from some guy's headphones, the sound only furtherly frustrating Tommy.
Everyone else seemed enraptured by their work, aside from one table of five, who were all asleep.
He was getting a headache. He was tired. He was confused.
He wanted a cupcake from Niki's bakery.
Without further ado, Tommy roughly shut his laptop and slid his books into his bag, the chair squeaking as he sat up. He sent a quick text to Tubbo, full of misspellings as he declared his decision to surrender to procrastination, before he exited the library.
The old doors creaked shut behind him, and fresh, humid air greeted him as soon as he stepped outside. The rays of the overhead sun cast the red-brick campus in a bright sheen, glinting from the tops of bicycling helmets and reflecting off of backpack straps, immediately warming his frozen fingers. To the side, leaves rustled from the late-Spring breeze, the blooms of flowers protruding from neatly-trimmed bushes, disguising the rogue studier who read amid pristine nature.
It was a serene picture; one that comforted him even with the thunderhead of anxiety approaching his attempts to enjoy college life. Years ago, he never could've pictured making it this far with nothing but a case of money and a will to survive , yet here he was, past the traumas of what felt like a past-life, on his way to earning a degree, and alongside a group of people who truly loved him; not like how his family must have pretended. True, if he squinted hard enough he could still swear the passersby with pink hair was frighteningly familiar, or the man in the vinyl store seemed to always hand him the same records his brother once recommended. But he was, in truth, better.
He was happy .
He was past the phone recording he'd taken–slipping his phone into his pocket without the rest of his family noticing–as he confronted them for what he'd seen. He was past the flash of blood stains on his father's palms, or the image of a stranger clutching their bleeding throat. He was past the screaming and the fighting, the desperate attempts at explanation, and, eventually, the frantic packing moments before 911 arrived.
He was past finding the suitcase of thousands on the table, left with a single sticky note even after his brothers and father had left:
We're sorry .
He was past leaving, stopping by his friend's house with fear in his eyes and a shaky plead to run .
He was past learning his family were murderers. That they killed and slaughtered for the money they didn't need .
He was past it.
He was.
Tommy shook his head as he made his way down the sidewalk, as if attempting to clear the descending thoughts from his mind. His phone vibrated, likely from another text from Tubbo confirming he'd join him at the cafe.
He was past it. He truly was, but his mind had a habit of derailing itself past course correction.
And right now, all he wanted was a fucking cupcake from Niki's bakery. Not a mental breakdown.
He sighed as he stopped at the bus stop, staring at the sky as he bit back the familiar feeling of pure panic . He was tired he knew, and he hadn't eaten anything but a muffin today. He wasn't actually worried. He was just exhausted.
Yet a piece of him refused to let the image go. The remainder of their faces; that one, faltering memory the only thing he had left after the destruction of the photos. The only evidence he had alongside a five-year-old recording, caught in the midst of the horrifying crime. The only place he could hear their voices again, even if they were caught muffled by tears and broken by strained voices as they screamed their desperate defenses.
Yup. He was spiraling.
He should've known it would happen. Maybe he was an idiot for thinking that this anniversary, the fifth one, the day that he initially swore he would finally turn them in , even if it destroyed himself and everything he'd built, would be any different from the last.
Maybe he was a fool for ever thinking he'd be okay after witnessing the people he looked up to slash a man's throat.
Okay, nope. Not thinking about that part. About the blood and the choked gasps for air-
Tommy sniffed, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, casting the red into a deep, almost scarlet hue. Almost desperately, his hands–suddenly cold–retrieved his phone from his pocket, typing in the password to read his friend's message. A distraction. One that he needed before everyone in this college saw him burst into tears.
Bee boy (the bromancer) : k see you there big man (3:23pm)
Wait is nikis closed today
nvm im dumb i forgot how tinted windows work (3:36pm)
all good the food is secured (3:38pm)
I stole the usual booth dw lmk when u get here (3:39pm)
u there? (3:45pm)
Tommy ("alpha") Innit: yeah im here sorry
Im on my way the bus is taking a while (3:47pm)
It thankfully took only a few seconds for Tubbo to reply, unaware of the way Tommy's hands shook as he read the response.
Bee boy (the bromancer): slay see you soon (3:47pm)
The sound of bus brakes abruptly snapped Tommy back to reality, making him close his phone and glance up. The bus doors opened–as though impatient he wasn't already boarding in a few seconds–, and Tommy sighed in relief. It was mechanical to grab his backpack and step into the air-conditioned vehicle, claiming a seat in the back, and keeping his distance from the energetic conversations of the other students. His hands still carried a noticeable shake, but thankfully, he didn't know anyone on the bus.
He didn't think he could talk to anyone right now without crying. Except for Tubbo.
The bus ride was blissfully quick as Tommy sent Tubbo a few more messages, doing his best to drag his mind away from the pull of bitter memories. The world passed by in a blur of tall buildings and swaying greenery, occasionally interrupted by the flash of blinding reflected sunlight, and Tommy did his best to keep his thoughts away from the reality outside of his phone. The lump in his throat was gone by the time they finally came to a stop in the town surrounding the campus, staunched just as quickly as the spiraling panic had risen. Tommy mutely waited for the others to exit before following behind, practically a shadow in his silence.
His bursts of panic were always just that; bursts of emotion that faded quickly, but struck hard while they last. Already, Tommy was thankful Tubbo had agreed to get food with him; he didn't think he could survive the now-hitting wave of exhaustion alone.
Tommy ("alpha") Innit: just got off the bus tubs (3:59pm)
Im like five minutes away btw
because i know youre a mother hen (4:00pm)
Bee boy (the bromancer): hurry the fuck up its crowded and im scared of people (4:00pm)
Tommy ("alpha") Innit: kys <3 (4:00pm)
The bus doors hissed shut and pulled away milliseconds after Tommy stepped off, speeding away in the blink of an eye. He silently glared at the driver before sliding his phone back into his pocket and making his way down the street, keeping to the side to avoid the families of touring teens. Flashing signs and scarily realistic mannequins greeted him as he passed by store windows, each slapping the college logo on everything they could touch. Tommy ignored them, only searching for one familiar sign amid the numerous boutiques and cheap bars.
And there it was.
The large, bustling cafe, a familiar cupcake sign hanging from the entrance, could be seen from a few blocks over, a crowd of people sitting alongside the outdoor tables with plates of pastries and mugs of heavily caffeinated coffee serving as the only advertisement the place needed. It was a bloom of coziness between fluorescent "modern" clothing stores, acting as Tommy's light at the end of a tunnel.
And, acting as a perfect distraction.
Tommy smiled to himself as he slipped past another group of people, thoughts of negative reminders disappearing just as quickly as they had gone. Still, his mood remained dampened, but eating sugary foods was the ideal coping mechanism– at least, that was what he'd liked to tell himself the past few years. After all, Tubbo's sweet tooth didn't exactly discourage either of them from becoming Niki's daily customers.
It took him a matter of minutes to dodge the crowds and finally arrive at the restaurants, pausing behind the growing line.
That was, until something grabbed his hoodie sleeve.
Tommy glanced over, expecting to find some lost kid in search of their mom, but instead, he was left with a large yet skinny hand tightening over his wrist. Trapping him with an abrupt surge of strength, painfully and terrifyingly. Immediately, his breath caught and he attempted to look to the side, but not before he felt something cold press against his side through the fabric of his jacket, practically burning his skin as he was firmly held hostage.
"Don't look. Just follow me," a scratchy voice said, familiar in a way that Tommy couldn't quite place. "Right now."
And then Tommy realized that there was a knife held to his side, a single move away from cutting into his stomach.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, shit.
Tubbo was going to be so pissed at him for being late.
Tommy's breath immediately quickened, chest heaving with fear all while the people around him carried on like nothing was happening. Like he wasn't one wrong move from being gutted in front of a bakery. His fists clenched in an instinctual reaction to fight back and defend himself from the danger, but he halted himself at the last second.
There was nothing he could do before he was killed. Swinging his fist would only get him stabbed. Kicking out his leg would only get him stabbed. Screaming for help would only get him stabbed.
He was helpless.
Fuck .
His throat was dry as he spoke, the words initially difficult to form as he quietly pleaded, but they sped up just as quickly. "If you're going to rob me, just take my backpack. I promise, everything important is in there–I have a laptop, and it's pretty shit but you are robbing a college student so- I mean, I don't know what you to expect, all the rich kids are at the college like an hour away so if you really want to make bank go there, but-wait, no, don't kill them. Please, just take my backpack-"
"I'm not here to rob you," was all the voice briskly said, a new infliction underlying the words, but Tommy wasn't in the right mind to figure out what it meant. Concern? Relief? Anger?...Amusement?
There was a faint tug on his arm. "Just follow me. Don't resist."
Tommy didn't dare look up. Maybe if he couldn't recognize the man, then he wouldn't have reason to kill him. I mean, he didn't do anything. He didn't know anything. Maybe if he was just quiet and listened to him, he could get let go-
"Are you going to kill me?" Tommy choked on his own breath.
Wait. Shit. Wasn't there something about not letting kidnappers take you to secondary locations? Was he being kidnapped?
Fuck, fuck, fuck . He was about to headline on a true crime podcast. For the second time in his life.
As though sensing his thoughts, the knife pressed more firmly into his side, just enough to leave the barest proof of a scratch. With nothing but the flick of a wrist, it could be in between his ribs.
"You'll be fine if you just. Follow. Me." This time, the voice held no room for dispute.
It was clear: either Tommy listened, or he died.
Fuck, and all he wanted was a cupcake.
So Tommy followed. He let himself get tugged away through the throng of people, past the side of Niki's bakery–the bakery where Tubbo was still waiting, but oh, God, would never see him again–and into a nearby alleyway, just far enough for the crowd of people's voices to be muffled behind walls of brick and rusting garbage bins. As soon as they were away from the public eye, the knife by his side dropped away. He untensed in relief, taking a few steps back until his shoulders hit the cool concrete of a wall, but Tommy kept his eyes trained on the alleyway exit and the floor.
If he looked at the man, that would be signing his death sentence. But the knife was put away. If he had a few seconds' advantage, maybe he could get to the alleyway exit before-
His breaths quickened. He needed to act fast. Why had he been so stupid to follow this man into an alleyway? But no, he couldn't move, otherwise, he was going to wake up without any organs in a fucking ditch-
He didn't even notice he was crying–sobbing actually, his whole body shaking with the force of his tears–until the man spoke again, stepping further away from him.
" Tommy ," the voice said, the previous threat gone just as quickly as it had surfaced. " Look at me. "
And the world stopped turning.
Tommy froze with it.
That voice was familiar.
Very familiar.
So was that hand that had wrapped around his wrist, like a tether to keep them together in fear that Tommy would be torn away.
So was the height, the same height that had been written down in descriptions that never got sent to the police.
So was the way he said his name, with so much meaning packed into those five letters that it made Tommy's head spin. It was the same desperation that had been echoed years ago–fuck, five years ago–with a blood-spattered face and true fear glistening in brown eyes-
Oh, he was a fool.
He would be an even bigger fool not to look up.
And so he stared at the same brother that had tore his life into fragments, that had been the source of everything wrong in his life, that had made him cry and hope for nothing more but to turn to dust.
His hair was longer than when he'd last seen him. It was a stupid observation; an obvious one, but it was curlier too, hiding one of his eyes beneath the strands while brown stared down at him with a mixture of remorse and worry and every look and expression possible. He had different glasses too; these ones were smaller than the prior, yet they were still made from that same shade of silver. His face looked the same. He still wore the same dumb trench coats that looked like they'd been to war and back, all in what he called 'vintage' style.
He had changed. But he still looked like the same brother that Tommy hallucinated when he looked in the mirror. He had the same facial features that Tommy saw twin to his own. He was still the same person that had held him when he cried and had promised to never let go.
He was still his brother . A monstrous one; but one that blood couldn't deny.
Tears freely ran down his face as he took in a shaky breath, tearing his vision away from the eyes that glimpsed into his soul.
It only took half a second for him to crack; whether from the dream-like state of disbelief he was trapped in, or the shock of rage that hit him like a train.
"Get the fuck away from me," he murmured. It sounded weak and pathetic, much weaker than Tommy ever imagined it would sound in his dreams. At one point, those imaginary confrontations seemed so distant from reality. Now, they were all too real.
But this wasn't a nightmare he could wake up from. And Wilbur was right there. Right there .
Wilbur said nothing. Tommy distantly wondered if his brother was examining himself just as thoroughly as Tommy had; the red mixed in his hair, the drags beneath his eyes, the way the hoodie swallowed his shape, like he was nothing but skin and bones beneath. He could feel Wilbur's gaze staring down at him, and the thought made him sick.
"I said, get the fuck back, Wilbur. You heard me ."
Finally, that garnered a reaction out of the elder.
"Tommy," he paused, as though testing the words. He swallowed. Balled his fists into his sides, right where he had held the knife. "I know you're beyond upset. And I know I deserve that but-" he sighed, and it sounded like it drained him from the inside out. Five years were fit into a single breath out. "Just this once, listen . Let me explain, that's all I ask of you-"
"No," Tommy snapped. "I don't talk to murderers. And I don't enjoy letting them lie to me either."
"I'm not-"
" Leave , Wilbur. I'm done with you. I'm done with all of you. You've fucked up my life enough without trying to fix it so just go ."
"I-"
The outburst came faster than even Tommy could have predicted.
"Let me fucking live for fuck's sake!" The words felt like they dragged themselves from his throat. "Haven't you done enough ? I'm doing perfectly fine on my own and I don't need you and your family of killers to fuck me up!"
He took in a heaving breath, suddenly feeling all the more weak after the second-long outburst. Finally, his eyes met with his brother's. Matching tears glistened in both, the sight even more bitter than Tommy could have imagined.
"Just go away," he broke the contact first, glancing at the break in the alleyway. "I'm not entertaining this bullshit, especially after you just threatened me with a fucking knife. Go before I decide maybe today is a good day to turn you all in."
"That's not-" Wilbur breathed through his teeth, as though holding himself back from saying something he'd regret. His fists curled and uncurled, whitening with both the chill of the alleyway and the way his nails pierced the flesh of his palms. "I just needed you to talk to me without panicking. And- I talked to Tubbo, and that's not what he said, Tommy. Please, you're struggling , you never let me tell you what happened, and your mind has pieced together the wors-"
"You what ."
Tommy stopped breathing.
"Look, he was always your friend, and when I looked up his records, I saw that he had won some academic award. And you were still in the picture. So I just...followed the trail. And talked to him," Wilbur swallowed again, looking almost afraid of what he said. "But I just- he wants what's best for you, Tommy. We told him everything. He listened. He just wants what's best for you, and..." Wilbur paused like the words were too painful to speak. "He said that this...idea of who we are was driving you insane. That you were driving yourself mad with what we've done, thinking we're some sort of psychopaths when I promise you, Tommy, we're not. I-" he took a deep breath.
Tommy stared.
"All we want is the best for you. And I thought giving you space would help, so we left the money behind and everything but, I mean, Tubbo said you can't even sleep at night! And none of us can live knowing we did that to you without ever trying to help you and fix it ."
Tears streamed down his face as Tommy sniffed. His words were quiet with rage, strained past the effort of loudness. " Get the fuck away from me ."
"Tommy, I just want to explain . So you understand we don't mean to be bad people-"
"You don't get to explain Wilbur," Tommy's jaw violently trembled as he laughed, though there was no humor in his voice. "You lost that chance as soon as I saw you fucking murder someone! All of you! You slit that man's fucking throat like it was nothing !"
Wilbur jerked back.
"And now," he wiped the tears from his face. "Who gets to live with that, Wil? I do. I get to fucking live with the consequences of your actions!"
"You didn't have to leave , Tommy! You could have listened!"
"You don't deserve that! You haven't done shit but ruin my life !" Tommy's voice cracked as he screamed the words, practically falling to the ground. He was so tired, and this, none of this was fucking real .
But Wilbur felt so real as he screamed back, just as he always did. He was nothing like Techno with his neverending patience; no, he fought back just as viscously as Tommy did, uncaring for who got hurt in the process.
Five years had passed. This didn't feel real. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. He couldn't be here, screaming at Wilbur like he'd always wanted to.
He couldn't be.
But that didn't stop Wilbur.
"I've been doing my best to keep you alive for the past five years, Tommy!" His face was blotchy and red as he spoke, exasperation practically dripping from the words. "Everything I can!"
"The fuck are you even saying anymore-"
"Who do you think made sure you got a new identity? The three of us made sure Sam paid everyone in this fucking country to keep you a secret. Do you really think that disappearing was that easy? I did everything I fucking could to keep people away from you, to make sure that that entire apartment was paid and your rent didn't go up to high! I made sure that college accepted you, that nobody threatened or hurt you, and I made sure that Tubbo had enough resources to call us whenever things got this bad!" Wilbur threw his hands in the air, roughly wiping his face. "I've tried everything , and you won't even pause for a goddamn second to let me tell you what happened! You're just a bystander in something so much fucking bigger than you think! "
Tommy's mouth snapped shut.
Wilbur's hands shook as he looked at Tommy. "We've spent so fucking long trying to protect you from all of this bullshit, all because one fucking hitman tried to kill Phil. And so we killed him! He fucking deserved it!"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Tommy's voice fell flat as he pressed against the wall, a part of him terrified of Wilbur's sudden outburst. His mind felt like it was caving in on itself, torn between screaming and fighting back like some sort of cornered animal, while the other half just wanted to collapse to the floor and ask why . Why anything was happening, why things had changed so much in just a matter of minutes .
Ruefully, a part of him found it almost funny. Ranboo was right; he truly was making the minutes count.
Just not in the way he wanted.
"You know we were fucking struggling after...you know, Kristin died," Wilbur took in a deep breath, looking like he was struggling to breathe with the amount he wanted to say, as though he were suffocating from the weight of his thoughts. A part of Tommy felt remorse for it, but he immediately buried that piece back into his mind. "And she had connections. We didn't have any other choice but to join up with some...shady groups to pay off her debt and it fucking escalated. Phil climbed up the ranks higher than other people wanted him to. They tried to stop him, and we defended ourselves. Through whatever means necessary. And I'm sorry you had to see that, but we didn't have a choice ."
Wilbur took a step closer to him, but halted, hesitant to scare Tommy any further back than he already was. Both physically and mentally, he was a thread ready to break under too much pressure.
"And after we left the house, we knew that you were going to get wrapped up in this shit. Or sent to an orphanage, I don't know how that works but..." he put a hand over his eyes. "So I left some money for you, and we went to Tubbo. His family were the ones to put us in touch with the...organization, so they were perfectly fine to give you both protection at the right price. So Tubbo followed along, and I knew you would look after each other and you would be safe. I just didn't expect...this much. How severely it would hurt you. I thought you would be happy with us out of the picture with how angry you were and I just- I didn't know what to do, okay?"
He took another step closer, and their eyes met. "I'm sorry , and I know that means nothing to you, but I just wanted to do what little I can to fix this," Wilbur wrapped his trench coat tighter around himself. "So I'll leave now, okay? I just wanted to say that."
Tommy stared at him. His mouth opened and closed, attempting to form a response, but none would come.
Because this was Wilbur.
He hated Wilbur. He never wanted to see Wilbur again. He was happy without Wilbur in the picture.
But was he really ?
He was starving himself. He was stressed. He was tired. He cried himself to sleep and had a breakdown every other day, tearing through his nails with how hard he bit them and spent his nights drinking caffeine to avoid dreaming.
His closest friend was nothing but a plant to watch him.
He had no family. No Christmas around a fire. No long phone calls sitting on his dorm bed, just talking to someone far away and having the comfort of hearing that they were alive and cared about him .
Wilbur was lying. He knew this was true. He wasn't an idiot.
He didn't believe it.
But his brother had always been so believable . When they were kids, the elder had always managed to pin the blame on him; Tommy was the one who was grounded; Tommy was the one at fault. He had a way with words that made everyone around him listen. He painted himself as weak and feeble in a way only someone who was in control could.
But it sounded so true.
Could it be true? That they were defending themselves, that they just needed money, that they wanted to protect him, and no, they couldn't possibly be in the wrong?
Tommy didn't know.
He didn't know anything. He didn't know if he was dreaming or if he was dead or if he was just tired, so, so, beyond tired .
He fell to the floor, knees curling into his chest as his arms looped around himself, squeezing warmth and safety into himself the only way he could.
Once upon a time, a brother would fulfill that duty.
And now, his brother retreated down the alleyway, his trench coat lightly flowing behind him and his curly hair tangling in the light wind. Tommy, only a few feet behind him, froze.
He blinked and he was gone. Like a hallucination.
"Wilbur?" he shouted down the alleyway, his hand pushing to the ground in a rough attempt to push himself up. He stumbled to his feet, peering down the alleyway.
What if he was telling the truth? Holy fuck, what if he wasn't lying? What if he was truly just trying to be good and help him like he always had ?
What if?
Suddenly, he was moving, stepping over the old trash and puddles that Wilbur had crossed just moments before. His hand caught on the edge of the brick wall, the rough stone digging into his palms as he peered out of the alleyway. The streets were crowded full of people, none of which spared him a passing glance. Each enthralled with their own lives, unaware of what had just occurred within the shadowy expanse; what had been said, what lies had been told, what mistakes or perfect decisions Tommy might have just made in a matter of minutes.
He looked over the tops of their heads, searching for the height that stuck out around the swarm of people. For curly hair, for a dark coat, for a look of remorse and care and hurt all blended into one shade of brown in his eyes.
He found nothing.
It was funny, five years ago, he would be thankful that his brother was gone. Now, it only made the minutes tick by slower.
By now, he must've been at 2,628,087.
And he wasn't there .
Until a hand grabbed his arm and he nearly collapsed with a mixture of relief and regret. He looked up to see nothing but a familiar, small smile; nothing but an echo of what it once was. Wilbur stood off to the side of the alleyway, as though he'd been waiting. Giving him a chance to decide. As though he knew what would happen; he'd planned for it.
"I don't believe you," Tommy said carefully.
Wilbur inclined his head. His hands still shook.
"But I want to see Phil and Techno. And hear them."
Wilbur tightened his grip around Tommy's arm, squeezing lightly. As though still afraid Tommy would run away, even amidst their equally fading hatred. Not gone; no, that would stay for a long time, but faltering enough for them to look at each other without wanting to scream and defend themselves.
"Okay, Toms," he sighed. 5 years. "I can do that."
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A/N
*Tommy and Wilbur in an alleyway, screaming about murder and death for everyone to hear*
valedictorian Jimmy touring the college campus with his family: i don't think they mentioned this in the brochures
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anyways, hope you guys enjoyed! this was a different direction than how I usually write, but this is mainly a warm up for me to get back into the usual dsbi grove and back to fics like fbf and whlt :D so hope you guys enjoyed anyways!
I can't promise when ill post next since my depressions been really bad lately and I've been swamped by schoolwork, but hopefully they'll be something next week! i have vampire au ideas ooooooooo
have a great day/night! as always, comments, votes, and bookmarks are really appreciated :D seriously, checking my inbox on here and ao3 is what gave me the encouragement i needed to write this lmao. cya guys later! <3