Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy doesn't really remember much of his childhood.

Most of it is nothing more than a blur, or simply based on things he'd been told by others. He's not sure if some of the memories are his own, or just things his mind has made up to fill in the gaps. 

The one thing he is certain of is that he remembers being a happy kid.

He can vaguely recall his first childhood home, a dingy little house on the outskirts of L'Manberg, a large friendly city, and in their little area mostly in the countryside, everyone knew everyone. He remembers this old bedroom, a tiny little room that had been shared with Wilbur, his older brother by 11 years. It was pretty small, and always messy, with a teenager and a toddler sharing it, but Tommy remembers that he liked it. There was a bay window looking over the forest, one that Phil had lined with pillows to turn it into a seat. 

They were a happy family, even if it was just the three of them. Tommy never got to meet his mother, but he heard about her a lot, and missed her just the same. Their dad, Phil, worked a lot, balancing two jobs to keep them afloat, because the death of their mother with medical costs and funeral costs had completely wrecked their savings, not that Tommy knew that at the time.

He remembers being late to school a lot, to the point that Wilbur started making himself late to his own school so he could drop Tommy off. Phil was always at work, he didn't have much choice, so Tommy didn't really blame him.

Wilbur did, though. 

That's one thing that stuck with him through his childhood years; he knew for certain that Wilbur absolutely despised their father more and more as they grew up. 

Tommy remembers Technoblade, who had started out as one of Phil's co-workers before Tommy had even been born, and quickly became a close friend of the family. Techno had no family, and he was a very shy person, so Phil had taken him under his wing. Tommy always looked up to Technoblade, thought he was so cool, maybe the coolest person he knew. He was super intimidating, despite the choppy pink hair that fell past his shoulders, he was tall, with broad shoulders and scruffy dark brown facial hair, and a low monotonous voice that Tommy loved to do impressions of. He only worked with Phil for a couple of years before he quit his job and went to study English at University, but he still remained a close family friend and would drive up on his motorbike to visit them between classes.

One thing he's sure he could never forget if he tried was Wilbur's eighteenth birthday. He knows that for certain because he has tried. Tommy, only seven at the time, vividly recalls it being the first time he'd been scared of Wilbur. 

Wilbur's birthday is in late September. He's barely started his final year of school. Tommy remembers Phil calling him out of school that day to celebrate, and Wilbur broke the news that he wouldn't actually be going back to school at all. Now he was eighteen, he was officially dropping out, and no one could stop him.

He'd stood behind the doorway of the kitchen, poking his head round and watching with big wide eyes as Wilbur and Phil shout at one another, harsh words exchanged that Tommy didn't understand at the time. Wilbur had been louder, and Tommy had overheard that the reason he dropped out was so he could stay home and look after his little brother, because someone had to. 

He remembers his stomach burning with guilt, ashamed of the burden he was putting on his big brother. 

Phil had shouted right back, telling him he was throwing away his future, that looking after Tommy was his job, not Wilbur's, and he was being ridiculous. Tommy will never forget watching Wilbur's whole demeanour just… drop.

One second, his face is flushed in frustration, hands balled into fists at his side, shouting but not screaming. Then he pauses, his eyes turn from desperate and pleading to furious and determined. He looks cold, and he looks a little crazy with his wide, terrifying eyes. He speaks quieter this time, words sharp and whispered, but Tommy hears them anyway, and he's more scared now than he was when Wilbur was shouting. 

He tells Phil that he either allows Wilbur to move out and take Tommy, or he's going to call CPS. He's threatening their dad.

Tommy can't ever forget seeing Phil freeze.

"Wil," he'd started, voice breaking. He sighs shakily, and from behind, Tommy sees him run a hand through his blond hair, stressed, "Wilbur, I do not neglect you two. I'm not here as much as I should be, I know, I work long days. But that's not because I don't love you two, if I could stay home all day with the two of you, I absolutely would. You two are my world. But, Wil, I can't be around more! I don't have the time," he pleads, but Wilbur's face doesn't falter. "I'm sorry about that, I really am, but calling CPS? They won't find anything!"

Wilbur stares back, unyielding and fiery, "I'll make sure they find something," he promises calmly.

Tommy recalls feeling terrified of Wilbur as he watches their dad slump down into one of the kitchen chairs, dropping his head into his hands. He asks Wilbur if he'd really failed as a father this badly.

His brother doesn't answer.

That's enough for Phil to accept Wilbur's ultimatum, on the grounds that he gives Tommy a better life. He says he's sorry he can't do more, that clearly he'll be happier with Wilbur.

His older brother had called Phil abusive and neglectful. Tommy thinks he was being a bit extreme; he still loves his dad, even if he wasn't around much. Tommy hadn't been planned, and his birth had killed their mother, so Phil was the sole earner not only for their eleven year old child, but now an infant too. He can sympathise, even if he's still bitter about their father's absence. 

It's the same night that Wilbur comes into their room and sits on the edge of Tommy's bed. He tells him to start packing the things he wants to bring, because he's going to start looking at places to live immediately, and he's been saving since the moment he got a part time job years ago now, so they can afford to leave pretty quickly.

He's always idolised his older brother, always trailed after Wilbur like a lost puppy. Wilbur never minded, always included Tommy in everything, even if it was 'uncool' to others to bring along his toddler brother to his hangouts with his teenage friends. Tommy loves his dad, he really does, but Wilbur tells him that, when they leave, he'll be around more than Phil is. It's hard to choose between them, but after that, he's too excited at the notion of having a whole place with just him and Wil that he doesn't disagree.

Three weeks later, they're out of there.

They move into an even dingier flat on the other side of L'Manberg, its not a great area, risky, high crime rates, but that means that their rent is cheaper, and it's not like they go out much.

Tommy thinks he likes living with Wilbur more than he liked living with their dad; he was kinder, he was around more, even with the amount he worked, and Tommy knew how much he loved him. Wilbur would work nights at a bar, leaving Tommy locked in the flat asleep, just so he wouldn't be alone while awake, and then he would work at a nearby store while Tommy went to school. He would pick him up every day, just so he didn't have to walk through the rough part of town to get back home while it was dark.

Tommy remembers thinking that Wilbur would be a great dad.

They decide one day to get their names changed. They'd once been Tommy and Wilbur Craft, taking on their dad's surname, but now that Wilbur is the one raising him, they suggest coming up with their own surname, just for the two of them. The day that the name change papers are finalized, they leave as Tommy and Wilbur Soot.

A week after they move out, Technoblade comes to visit the two of them. Tommy immediately knows it's him when he hears the motorbike roaring outside, and he immediately jumps up and waits at the window. 

"You know, when Phil told me you'd taken Tommy and moved out, I didn't know what to think," he comments with crossed arms, leaning against the wall next to Wilbur, who scowls at his words.

They're both watching Tommy as he sits on the floor with Wilbur's guitar in his lap, something that he'd been obsessed with but hadn't quite gotten the hang of, judging by the disjointed, awkward chords that half blocked out their conversation.

"But it seems like you're doin' a good job."

At that, he sees Wilbur relax a little out of the corner of his eye, pinched expression softening as his shoulders slump, "Well, it's not hard to do a good job compared to Phil."

Technoblade looks uneasy. Tommy knows he's Phil's best friend, a close friend of the family for nearly a decade now, but he also knows that he's babysat the both of them countless times, taken them on days out, and that he genuinely cares about the two of them. He can't imagine that it's easy to be in Techno's position, stuck between Phil and Wilbur, because he knows first-hand that the two are just as stubborn as each other. He's struck with sympathy for him, but he doesn't look over, pointedly continuing to strum the guitar messily to block out their words.

"You know, dear old dad hasn't visited us yet. He's called once, but he hasn't visited, and we've been gone a week, " Wilbur scoffs.

Tommy can feel Technoblade's eyes drift over to him, feels the familiar prickling on the back of his neck, which he tries to block out.

He doesn't want to hear them.

"He wanted to," Techno says, quieter this time, "He's asked me at least twenty times if he'd be overstepping to just show up unannounced. It's not exactly like he can call you anymore to ask, y'know, with him bein' blocked and all," he drawls, raising an eyebrow at Wilbur.

He sees his brother redden a little in his peripheral vision. "He's welcome to visit, he knows that. Tommy is still his son, I can't change that."

"You're still his son too," Technoblade quickly reminds him, not unkindly, but the inflection in his monotonous voice doesn't change, so it's hard to tell. Tommy can tell, though. "You're only eighteen, Wilbur. I know you've always been independent, but Phil's still your dad. You're raising a kid, and you're only six years younger than me. I can't imagine how difficult that is, you don't have to do this alone. No one's making you do this alone."

Wilbur doesn't reply to that.

Tommy decides he can't handle the awkward silence, so in his genius seven year old mind, he whirls around with the guitar in his lap, beaming toothily at the two of them, "Techno! Look at this, look at this!"

He clumsily manages to position his fingers to form a C chord, and strums. The guitar is out of tune, and his palm accidentally muted a couple of the strings, but it's not completely awful in comparison to the clunky chords he'd been strumming minutes ago, so its an improvement nonetheless.

Technoblade looks at him with a slight twitch of his lips, which is practically a grin in terms of him, and says, "Very cool, Tommy," sounding entirely unconvinced, but Tommy doesn't care. 

He grins back anyway, and then spends the rest of the day trying to perfect the guitar. He's not very good at it, but Wilbur encourages him anyway.

Living with Wilbur is the best time of Tommy's short little life so far. Their place is considerably smaller than their childhood home, which had been pretty small too, and the hot water turns off sometimes because they can't always afford it, and Wilbur works for quite literally half of the day, but he manages to plan it around Tommy.

He's always home when Tommy's awake. 

He attends every single one of Tommy's parents evenings, meets with each of his teachers and tirelessly explains the situation to every teacher who frowns and asks where Tommy's parents are. He sticks every single one of Tommy's school reports onto the fridge, surrounded by magnets, even when the grades aren't actually all that great, and helps him with his homework even when it takes Tommy a bit too long to understand some of the stuff, despite him being exhausted from work. 

Tommy can tell that Wilbur is working incredibly hard to prove that he can do this, that he can raise Tommy alone, he doesn't need help. His brother has always been stubborn, but now he's skinnier than he was back when they lived with their dad, and he'd been slim back then too. His eyebags grow darker and his smiles don't always reach his eyes, but he still pretends, for Tommy. 

In return, for the sake of Wilbur's dignity, Tommy pretends he doesn't notice.

Every Friday, after Wilbur picks Tommy up from school, they go out for ice cream to celebrate the weekend. It's also a silent apology, because Wilbur still works on the weekends, so he can't be around all day. Tommy knows he's trying his best, though, so he just smiles and doesn't complain.

Things are okay for a little over two years.

Tommy has never been happier in his life. He recently turned nine, and didn't even care that he had no friends at school to celebrate his birthday with. Wilbur splurges on a nice meal when they go out for dinner, and Tommy pretends not to notice as he orders the cheapest thing on the menu for himself.

Wilbur bakes him a cake, and it's burnt on one side and not entirely cooked on the other, but that's the oven's fault, not Wilbur's, so he eats it just the same. Phil sends presents through the mail, and Techno drops by to hand Tommy his gifts in person. He doesn't visit as much anymore, which makes Tommy sad, but he knows Wilbur's very clingy and protective, not to mention stubborn as fuck, so he assumes that Wilbur told him to back off and stop trying to help.

Tommy is nine when he gets scared of Wilbur for a second time.

He gets up for school and sees Wilbur asleep on the sofa, which he pays no mind to.

He assumes he was too tired when he came in last night and decided to sleep on the sofa simply because it was closer. Tommy drags a blanket over him and then walks to school as usual and completely forgets about the entire thing until the school bell rings at four. 

There's no message from Wilbur saying he's being picked up, so he brushes it off as Wilbur having to work late and starts to walk home. He gets through the front door at quarter past four, and sees Wilbur is in the exact same spot, laying on his side on the sofa in his pyjamas, now wrapped in a blanket.

Tommy frowns, heading over to shake him awake, "Wil?" he whispers.

Usually, Wilbur heads out to work at his second job at midday, and returns at four. He wouldn't have had time to drive home from work, put on his pyjamas, and get back onto the sofa all before Tommy got through the door. And even then, he wouldn't just not pick Tommy up from school for no reason.

Wilbur isn't asleep, he can tell that when he opens his eyes groggily, visibly exhausted, but not freshly awoken. "Fuck off, Tommy, I'm not in the mood for your shit," he snaps, jerking Tommy's hand off of his shoulder and rolls over to face away from him.

Tommy's heart sinks.

Not once in his ten years of life has his big brother ever spoken to him like that. A strange, sickly feeling hovers in his chest and makes him feel like he's suffocating as he looks at Wilbur's body facing the opposite direction. He doesn't like this feeling. He's never felt it before.

"Are you okay? Did you not go to work today, Wil?" he asks gently, lowering his voice just in case Wilbur has a headache. He's not trying to pry, he's genuinely worried that his brother is ill. He's concerned.

Wilbur, though, takes it entirely the wrong way, and whirls around with those same wide, dark eyes that he'd seen all those years ago. He's sitting up now, so they're eye level, and he quickly rounds on Tommy.

He's scary.

"God, do I ever get a fucking break? I work 12 hours a day, Tommy, I'm allowed to have one fucking day off. It's not like you'd understand, you don't even appreciate how hard I work just to keep you here and not have to send you back to Phil! Just leave me alone for a while, Jesus," he shouts, standing and pushing Tommy out of the way as he storms past, not even looking back as Tommy makes a wounded noise, heading into his bedroom and slamming the door with enough force that it rattles the wall.

The framed photo of the two of them that had previously been hanging outside of Wilbur's door shakes with the violent rattle, and falls onto the hardwood, breaking into several pieces.

Tommy thinks he's going to throw up.

He's never had anyone shout at him like that, never. Wilbur's never even spoken to him in a way that's even close to that. The only time he'd seen anything similar was when he'd watched through that doorway as Wilbur had threatened Phil with CPS for no real reason other than to get him to agree to let Wilbur take Tommy out of there. His heart thunders in his chest, and he swears he can feel it in his throat. His shoulder doesn't hurt from Wilbur pushing past him, mostly because it wasn't really a shove, he just bumped their shoulders, but his heart hurts thinking about it, and Tommy thinks he would've rather had the bruise.

He blinks tears from his eyes, and moves towards Wilbur's' door, not knocking, just standing there, avoiding the glass shards of the photo frame. 

"Sorry," he whispers, just loud enough for Wilbur to hear, voice breaking embarrassingly as he retreats into his room. It's humiliating to think of the way he looked through the keyhole several times that night to check if Wilbur would be leaving for work, and didn't see his door open once. He doesn't hear Wilbur call out sick either, instead, he hears crying through the walls all night.

Wilbur apologises with teary eyes the next morning before Tommy heads off to school. He's still in bed.

Turns out, Wilbur's 'one day off' had quickly spiralled into two months of Tommy having to plead with him to get out of bed. They get stuck in an awful cycle where Wilbur is tired and grumpy and says something awful, sharp enough to make Tommy back off. Then he apologises for snapping, promising he's trying not to. He then immediately goes right back to it. It goes on and on, and it never stops hurting Tommy every time. He starts feeling a pang of nervousness whenever he first greets Wilbur in the morning, waiting with baited breath to see if it's a sad day, or a mean day. 

Tommy feels bad for looking forward to Wilbur's sad days, but they're better than the alternative.

He misses several days of school, all of which he has to call himself out sick for, all because he doesn't want to leave Wilbur's side. He struggles to carry the TV in from the living room to Wilbur's bedroom with his little lanky ten year old arms, and brings home library books that he thinks Wilbur will like that never get opened. He hasn't picked up his guitar in two months. His brother's hair starts getting knotted and messy, and most days he can't drag himself out of bed to brush his teeth.

Wilbur spends nearly all day every day in bed. His bosses from both his night job and his day job have fired him, so he's at least getting unemployment benefits for now, which Tommy uses to walk down to the local shop and do their weekly grocery shopping, struggling to carry back all the bags alone. Tommy quickly learns to cook, only out of pure necessity. When Wilbur manages to get out of bed and into the shower, Tommy cleans his room for him, washes his sheets, empties the bin, opens a window, and he's only ten, but he can see how much his big brother appreciates it.

Wilbur still has his nice moments, they're just rarer now, and Tommy is nothing if not persistent, so he manages to get through to him eventually.

"I brought you some water," Tommy walks into the room, a glass in his hands, voice gentle.

He doesn't know if this is a mean day or not, because on his sad days, he would be miserable but gentle. Tommy would sit with him while he cried, and Wilbur would maybe manage a soft smile or two. On his mean days, Tommy is terrified of his brother.

He lifts his other hand, holding a tub of ice cream with a spoon balanced on top of it.  "And some ice cream. It's Friday."

Wilbur half sits up against the pillows, still in the same pyjamas he wore yesterday, and the day before that. He smiles sadly at Tommy, muttering, "Thank you, Toms," before lifting his arm in invitation.

He's still in his school uniform, and he hasn't even been home for ten minutes, but he sets down the glass and the ice cream on the nightstand, moving wrappers and water bottles to make space before he kicks off his school shoes to lay on the bed, curled up against Wilbur's side. His brother's arm is around his shoulders, and Tommy can't ever remember why he was scared of him.

"I'm sorry I'm… like this," Wilbur says quietly.

Tommy doesn't reply for a long moment. At school, he had spent all of his lunch and break in the library, reading up on the child friendly health books they owned. He was worried his big brother was sick, thought it could be some disease or cancer or a physical problem keeping him from leaving his bed. After forty minutes of freaking himself out and convincing himself that Wilbur was going to drop dead from some unknown mystery illness, he stumbled across a book about mental health, and had read through every single book that they had on it in the entire library.

Things start making sense to him. 

"It's not your fault," he settles on after searching for the right words. Wilbur looks at him curiously, prompting him to continue. "You're sick, Wil. In your brain. I'm worried about you," Tommy blurts, then winces at the bluntness of it. He doesn't know if Wilbur's going to get upset at that, though, so he waits with his breath held in nervousness. 

He's silent before he mutters quietly, "It's just a headache," he says, but it's half-hearted and disbelieving to the both of them.

Tommy stares back at him, unconvinced and stubborn.

Wilbur meets his eyes and immediately softens, sighing. He looks exhausted, eyes sunken in and tired, and it only looks worse when he frowns. "I know," he admits gently. "I'm sorry."

"You need help," Tommy tells him insistently. The books he'd read told him just how serious this could be. He's terrified out of his mind that he's going to lose his big brother, so he forces out the words, "You need to get help, now, or I'm going to call Phil." 

It sounds like a threat.

He sounds like Wilbur, he realises with a sick feeling in his stomach. 

Wilbur's face flashes with several different emotions. He settles on a numb look, expression mostly blank, nothing more than hollow eyes and a slight frown. "Okay," he relents.

In the morning, Tommy reminds him to call the doctors, and sits waiting with folded arms and a glare until Wilbur reaches over for the phone. 

He has an appointment booked for the start of next week. 

When it comes around, Tommy quite literally drags Wilbur out of bed by his wrist, goes through his dressers to find clean clothes and sends him off to change into them. He helps Wil brush some of the worst knots out of his hair, and brush his teeth before he leaves, mostly just because Wil was embarrassed to go out as he was. 

They walk to the doctors together, even as Wilbur insists Tommy can stay home, because he's not coming into the appointment with him unless the doctor calls him in. Tommy still walks him there, mostly just to make sure he actually goes.

Tommy is sat in the waiting room for twenty minutes when Wilbur calls him into the room. The doctor is looking at him with empathetic eyes, and asks him to explain his view on Wilbur's struggles. He doesn't hold anything back, he's blunt and honest.

Though he does exclude the parts about him having to learn to cook and doing the weekly shopping using Wilbur's unemployment benefits and missing school to care for his brother, mostly because he's nine, but he's not stupid. If Wilbur had taken Tommy away from Phil because of neglect, then Tommy would almost certainly be taken away from Wilbur for the same reasons. It's not lying, he just doesn't want to be separated from his brother.

Wilbur looks humiliated. The doctor looks sad.

Tommy's just glad he's getting help. 

They say it's going to be a long process, but it's only one more appointment with a psychiatrist and a blood test later that they diagnose Wilbur with depression and put him on medication. They tell him that they understand his mental health issues, but that if this happens again, and someone reports him for neglecting Tommy, there's nothing they can do to help against that. Wilbur seems to get set off again when they mention neglect, but he keeps it together until they're outside. They recommend that he sees a therapist, and they ask if he has any family to talk to about this, ones who aren't his nine year old brother who has been taking care of him for two months.

He doesn't go back there again. 

Wilbur takes his meds, and things get better. Things go back to normal.

He finds another two jobs, one night shift, one day shift, and they're slightly less hours, ten instead of twelve, which he had been recommended so he doesn't burn himself out again. Tommy doesn't know what that means, but Wilbur seems to understand it because he listens to their advice. He makes friends at his new job, goes to the work parties and brings Tommy with him. 

Their ritual of Friday after-school ice creams resume, and Tommy has never been happier.

He is barely eleven when they have to move.

Wilbur treats him like an adult, which he likes, even if the doctor said that was a bad thing. He tells Tommy honestly about how they can't afford rent anymore, that if they keep living there, they're going to have to start choosing between hot water and food, and this side of L'Manberg gets too cold to sacrifice one or the other. So they have to find somewhere new and cheaper to live.

Just on the outskirts of L'Manberg is a tiny little town called Pogtopia.

It's a horrible area, there's a reason rent is so cheap. But Wilbur makes sure to find a place close enough to the school that Tommy doesn't have to walk through the dangerous parts.

Much. 

Their new flat is impossibly smaller. There's one bedroom with water damage across the ceiling and yellowing walls from a past smoker. The bathroom is mouldy, the living room is so small that there's no space for a coffee table, and the sofa is only about two steps away from the TV. The kitchen quite literally only has a sink, one singular counter, and an oven. There's no fridge. The first thing they buy for their new place is a mini-fridge that whirs loudly all day, but it's the best they can do.

They end up having to share the double bed, though when Wilbur's working at night, he comes back and sleeps on the sofa so he doesn't wake Tommy up too early.

He apologises for how cramped it is, says he knows Tommy needs his own space but they can't afford that right now. Tommy just grins back and says it's like back when they were younger, at Phil's, when they shared a bedroom back then.

They made the best of it then, they can do it now.

Things definitely are cramped, though, even if he's lying to be polite. Tommy does his homework on the living room floor most days, there's no coffee table, and the bedroom has no desk. 

Wilbur regularly apologises for how tiny it is, it's a constant thing, now, weekly, at least. Tommy can see that the guilt is eating him alive, so he just beams and promises he doesn't mind.

He does, but his brother doesn't have to know that.

Wilbur goes back to twelve hour days, and then picks up smoking. He doesn't apologise for that one, though, even though Tommy complains that it stinks. 

Tommy is eleven when things go to shit again.

It's worse than before. Back then, Wilbur was sad. He could be moody, snappy sometimes, and yeah, it sucked when he would shout at Tommy, and it was a little scary but that was rare. Mostly, Tommy was scared for him then. 

Now, he's just scared of him. 

Wilbur goes completely off the rails. Half of the time, he can't get out of his bed, miserable like he was back then.  The other half of the time is much worse, he gets angry, slams doors, breaks things, mutters to himself. He's terrifying when he's like that, eyes wild and hands clenched into fists. 

Tommy's one solace is that Wilbur won't hurt him, he knows that for certain. 

That doesn't make him any less scary, though. One time, he hears Wilbur washing up the dishes in the sink, and he hears a plate slip out of his hand and shatter against the tiled floor. It's silent for a moment, and Tommy holds his breath, and then he hears Wilbur yelling. There's the harsh, abrasive sound of ceramic shattering, crashing and his brother's shouted swearing for long enough that Tommy abandons his reading and sits with his hands over his ears.  Still, though, Wilbur leaves for work at the usual time.

When he slips out of his room late that night to make himself dinner, he sees the mess.

Every single plate and bowl and glass that they owned has been thrown from their now-empty cupboards with the doors half hanging off the hinges, laying in pieces across the floor. There's bits of glass and ceramic all scattered across the ground, and the drying rack that had been sitting next to the sink is now in two pieces on opposite sides of the room. 

Tommy silently sweeps up, and digs out a paper plate from the stack he found at the back of one of the drawers.

It's not long until Wilbur is no longer destructive just to things around him, but he starts making jokes that make Tommy's skin crawl uncomfortably. He picks Tommy up from school one day, and in the middle of a pretty pleasant, albeit a bit tense, conversation about his most recent music class, Wilbur blurts out with a laugh, "It would be so easy for me to crash the car right now."

He doesn't say anything for the rest of the car ride.

It's not the only joke he makes like that, though. They become something that happens consistently, nearly daily. They stop sounding like jokes very quickly. 

He asks Tommy once what it would feel like to explode. Tommy thinks he's joking, asks him how he's going to get his hands on explosives in the first place. Wilbur is deadly serious when he replies and says that bombs can be homemade and work just as well. He chuckles afterwards at Tommy's wide-eyed stare, telling him that it's only a hypothetical, stop being so dramatic.

One day, Wilbur tells him that if Tommy ever comes back from school and there's a note stuck to the front door, don't even go in. Just sit outside and call the police, because Wilbur probably killed himself and he doesn't want Tommy to see that. He laughs like it's funny, but Tommy has nightmares about that for months. 

It lasts longer than the last one did. 

Last time, Wilbur agreed to get help after two months.

Now, it's three months in, and he's not slowing down. In fact, he's slowly getting worse. He stops refilling his meds, then stops taking them at all. He's smoking more now, and the entire flat stinks of it. One of Tommy's teachers even asks if he's started smoking because his clothes reek of the stench of smoke.

One day, while Tommy is sitting in the living room, he hears a phone ringing. Wilbur pauses the TV and answers, and while Tommy tries not to listen in to his conversation, it's hard not to with the way Wilbur's shouting.

From what he gathers, it's one of Phil's monthly calls to check in on them. For the last few, he's caught Wilbur on good days, or he's managed to hold it together on the phone.

This time, though, Wilbur completely goes off on him, starts telling him to never call again, that he's a dick, a shit father, and a complete fucking failure. He tells him that he's not welcome to ever visit them, or to even call to check in again. Wilbur says he never wants to hear his voice again, and hangs up, muttering under his breath as he blocks his number.

Tommy doesn't turn around, doesn't even visibly react, just continues doing his English homework and hopes Wilbur doesn't turn on him next.

It's only five more minutes later that his phone rings again.

It's Technoblade this time, Tommy instantly recognises the familiar, low voice on the phone more than he recognised Phil's. Wilbur does the same, screams at him, tells him to stop overstepping and sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, tells him he's only a family friend, he doesn't need to be getting involved. He says he doesn't want either of them to ever reach out again, and then hangs up. Tommy assumes he blocks Techno too.

He glances over his shoulder at Wilbur, mostly just to gauge how angry he is to see if he should leave the room or not, but Wilbur catches his eye and snaps furiously, " What?"

Tommy doesn't reply.

He waits for it to be like last time, for Wilbur to get so exhausted and broken down that he relents and gets help again. In those last few days before he saw the doctor, he spent all day in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, completely fucking miserable. Now, though, he's just angry. 

He's scary. 

Tommy loves his big brother, the one who takes him out for ice cream on Friday's after school, the one who took him out his neglectful father's house and raised him all alone at eighteen, the one who worked two jobs to make sure Tommy was fed and clothed and had a roof over his head. When Tommy would come home in tears from school bullies, he would gently wipe his tears away and tell him not to pay any attention to those little dickheads. Wilbur is probably his best friend, and he doesn't even care about how sad it is that his best and only friend is his brother, he loves him. 

He's just also scared of him now. He doesn't feel comfortable pushing him to get help like he did last time.

He does try.

There are multiple times when Wilbur mentions killing himself and Tommy breaks down crying hysterically in front of him, choking on his breath with snot running down his face and literally begging him not to. He writes down the number of the doctor he saw last time and leaves it by Wilbur's side of the bed as a silent reminder. Wilbur tells him to stop being so dramatic, that he's just joking, of course he's not serious, he wouldn't leave Tommy all alone like that, but then he keeps saying it, and it's not long before Tommy can see right through that lie.

He pleads with his brother to stop, he doesn't even care about embarrassing himself now, he just wants Wilbur to be okay.

There's only one time that he really pushes it, and tells Wilbur that if he doesn't call the doctor again, Tommy's going to call their dad and get him to come over and help, because he doesn't know what else to do. He's eleven and scared. He gets absolutely fucking terrifying then, looming over him with those cold dark eyes, and tells him that Wilbur will kill himself before Phil picks up the phone, if Phil even picks up the phone.

Tommy doesn't push him as much after that.

He doesn't know what else to do. 

Before, his brother was just sad, extremely sad, sure, but he had just been depressed and tired. When he got snappy, it was never anything that Tommy couldn't immediately forgive, it was easy to handle his bad days, because he would just lay in bed and Tommy could avoid him. 

Now, though, he's been in this weird state of unhappiness and rage. Tommy's scared for him, he doesn't want anything to happen to his brother, as awful as he can be sometimes. 

He's worn down and exhausted and perpetually living in fear, so obviously he's failing basically all of his classes, and now Wilbur is angry at him, again.

It's January, so the weather is miserable, which really doesn't help. They go to a Parents evening event where they need to discuss Tommy's grades, and while it's really only supposed to be Wilbur, Tommy goes with him because he needs to hear what they're saying to judge how upset Wilbur will be after. His science teacher tells him that if he doesn't pick his grade up very, very quickly, he's going to have to repeat the year. His maths teacher had emphasised how disappointed she was, talking about how it was a real shame that his potential was wasted, because he'd been getting some of the highest grades in the class at the start of the year, and that it's a sad sight to see him failing. That somehow hurts more than the others. 

His geography teacher had suggested just trying harder, scolding Tommy specifically and telling him that this wasn't how the real world worked. The only teacher that Tommy liked was his music teacher, who had addressed him specifically and gently suggested maybe seeing the school counsellor as he'd suggested that maybe focusing was his problem, and perhaps there was a deeper reason for that. 

That had been when Wilbur grabbed Tommy by the wrist, dragged him up out of the chair and stormed out of there.

Tommy was alarmed to say the least.

"Wil, you're hurting me,"  he whines in confusion. Wilbur doesn't let go of his wrist immediately so he yanks it away, frowning and rubbing the red mark around it. His brother stares at him with dark eyes for uncomfortably long before he rounds the car and climbs into the driver's seat, slamming the door a little too hard. 

He was shaking as he climbed into the backseat, intentionally choosing somewhere that was out of arms reach. He never thought Wilbur would hurt him, and now he's not so sure. 

Bringing his knees up to his chest, he stares out of the window as the car starts and pulls away from the school, watching silently as the surroundings blur and trying to block out his brother as Wilbur starts talking, mostly to himself because he's making a conscious effort to not listen to any of his crazed ramblings anymore, he knows most of what his brother says off by heart now. 

"What do they know, huh? Telling you to go see the counsellor, the fucking audacity," he scoffs, and when Tommy glances over, his knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel.

It's winter, so it's already dark, and there's rain spitting on the windows, so he focuses on tracing the droplets with his gaze instead of listening to Wilbur's mutterings.

"You know, they're suggesting that something's wrong with you. They think you're fucked in the head. How fucking dare they ask that? Who do they think they are? Those people don't know you, Tommy, they just think they do. They just think that because I'm fucked in the head, don't they?"

Tommy silently thinks that it's a good sign that he's at least admitting that he's gone fucking crazy. He doesn't even think his school knows about Wilbur's state, though, so he doesn't know how that would be possible, but he agrees nonetheless.

"They're full of shit. They're pricks, fuck them, Tommy, there's nothing wrong with you. I'm the only one who thinks that, apparently. Your teachers, they all think you're stupid. They hate you, you heard them. Phil's the same. He didn't want you either, they're all the same," Wilbur's no longer muttering to himself, he's speaking loud enough that Tommy can't block him out at all anymore. His hands are trembling as they reach over and turn on the windscreen wipers because the rain's getting heavier now too.

He watches the rain trickle down the window and bites back a response. He wants Wilbur to pull over. He wants to walk home.

He wants Phil. He wants his dad.

He's petrified.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Wilbur snaps, and he's even louder now, more sure, and oh shit, Tommy said that out loud, didn't he? 

Fuck, he's really messed up. He knows better than to upset Wilbur when he gets like this, and he still said it anyway. His heart thunders against his ribcage as he opens his mouth to reply, breath quivering, words getting choked in his throat as his eyes burn, "I didn't-"

"Phil is not your father. He doesn't care about you! Why do you think he passed you off to me the second he could? He didn't raise you, he didn't even try! I raised you, I did that! You have my last name, you live with me, I'm your guardian, not him! He didn't even fucking want you! No one wants you, Tommy. No one but me." 

Tommy's trying not to cry, because if he does, there's only two routes it can go.

Either he angers Wilbur more, and he's just going to shout more and call him dramatic and tell him to stop acting like a child, or he's going to make Wilbur feel guilty, and he doesn't want to upset his brother. Neither are great options, though.

Still, as hard as he's trying to hold it back, his lower lip trembles as he tries to catch it between his teeth, forcing his face to remain still.

"Everyone's the same, Toms, they all think something's wrong with you. None of them care, not like I do. I'm the only one who really cares about you. No one loves you like I do," Wilbur isn't really shouting yet, but he's getting uncomfortably loud. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, hiccupping in little shaky breaths and trying to ignore everything his big brother is saying. "Everyone else is fucked up. They don't care about you, they don't want you. They're all the same. We don't need anyone else, we only need each other. We only need each other. "

He can't get his voice to work. He opens his mouth and makes a wounded noise.

"Say it, Tommy, say it," Wilbur encourages hysterically, and, fuck, he really is shouting now. "We only need each other," he prompts again, voice fierce and hysterical.

Tommy is terrified, but he manages to croak out, "we only need each other," softly, his voice breaking off at the end as the first tear slips out from his squeezed shut eyes. Once it starts, he can't stop, and he looks back out the window as he bites his lip to stop him making any noise, hoping Wil doesn't notice.

The rain is completely pouring now, practically storming, he can see it bouncing off the window in heavy droplets. It thunders against the roof of the car, and he can hear the wind whistling. Still, he wants to get out.

He would walk home if Wilbur would let him. 

Wilbur glances up, takes his eyes off the road and meets Tommy's gaze in the mirror.

Tommy recognises the second that Wilbur sees the tears streaming down his face, because his furious expression falters into something that he's never seen before. He softens, but he still looks devastated. "Oh, Toms," he whispers gently, "I'm sorry," his voice sounds crushed, and, for a moment, Tommy thinks it's going to be okay.

He's going to pull over, calm down, probably smoke a cigarette, maybe give him a hug like old times, then take him out for ice cream to apologise. 

He can breathe a little better now in the quiet of the car, swallowing thickly and watching the houses out the window as he waits for Wilbur to find somewhere to pull over so they can fix this.

It takes him a moment to realise that his surroundings aren't slowing down, instead, the houses are passing by quicker now, and when Tommy scrubs his face with his sleeve and leans over to see what Wilbur's doing, he has both hands tightly gripping the wheel, face determined, and, most terrifying of all, his foot is on the accelerator, pressing it all the way to the floor.

They're speeding now, for sure, and it's a miracle there are no other cars on the road, because Wilbur would cause a crash for sure.

It takes him even longer to register that, oh shit, Wilbur could cause a crash.

"Wilbur!" he shouts, but they're only going faster still. "Wil, please, stop it, you're scaring me," he begs, and he's sobbing now. The only thought in his mind is to stop his big brother from hurting himself, so he instinctively reaches down and unlatches his seatbelt, throwing himself over towards the drivers seat so he can grab Wilbur's shoulder in a desperate, panicked attempt at stopping him.

It's dark, and heavily raining, so Tommy can't even see anything out the windshield really, but the street lamps are faintly illuminating what seems to be a tree at the end of the road.

His heart stops.

Wilbur lurches the steering wheel off the road, now driving over the pavement, directly for the tree.

The car jolts, shaking with the effort of driving over concrete and pavement and grass. They ram into a mailbox, the car lurching, and Tommy thinks he screams, but Wilbur just carries on driving. The vehicle trembles as it drives over what seemed to be a series of flower boxes.

He's hyperventilating now, hands clawing at his brothers shoulders, "Wil, please, don't do this," he pleads, hiccupping and sobbing, but Wilbur's foot is on the accelerator. He's unsteady as the car jumps around, running over mailboxes and garden decorations and pavement, steering drifting as they go between the road and the pavement, the only stability he has is his desperate grip on his brothers shoulders, "Wilby, please, please, stop," he cries.

Wilbur doesn't even show any signs that he's listening, doesn't react to Tommy's hands on his shoulders, stares with a furrowed brow at the road ahead, at the tree ahead, and Tommy knows what he has to do, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

It's a split second decision.

The tree is maybe only a couple of feet away now. Tommy has no seatbelt on. There won't be time to sit back down and put it on, and even if he did, there are no airbags in the back. Wilbur's speeding towards the tree. Tommy thinks he has a cut on his head from being thrown around in the car without his seatbelt, he feels a wetness dripping down the side of his face, tastes the blood in his mouth. They're driving over the pavement, so the only thing to the left of the car is the patches of grass and flowers in front of the houses. 

He tightens his grip on Wilbur's shoulders in one final attempt. The car is unsteady and bumpy as he drives, and he shows no sign of stopping.

The tree is only a meter away at most when Tommy decides he can't do this, he can't stay in the car. 

Tommy holds his breath, wrenches open the car door, and throws himself out.

There's a split second where everything freezes and he feels himself falling, feels the rain start soaking through his clothes, and he can't breathe, can't think, he just tries to brace for the impact as best as he can.

In all honesty, he does pretty well. They were going fast enough that it was going to hurt either way, but he manages to scramble and bring his forearms up in front of his face, and he tries to bring his knees in too, but that's when he collides with the ground. Even though it's grass, his first thought is that holy shit, everything hurts, oh fuck, he just did that.

He lays there, so in shock that he just threw himself out of a moving car that he just blinks for a moment. He's sprawled across the grass, on his side, facing away from the road, breathing stuttering, and all he can think about is the shooting pain in his left knee. It's agonising, but he quickly forgets it when he remembers that he hurt it throwing himself out of a car. The same fucking car that his brother had been rapidly driving towards a tree only maybe a second or two ago. 

Tommy turns around just in time to witness the impact.

He doesn't really register what he's seeing, everything from there goes blurry, but he can still hear it.

He hears the sickening crunch of metal, the thud, the creaking of the tree that Wilbur's car is now practically wrapped around. The worst part, though, is the silence. 

He doesn't hear Wilbur calling for help.

Tommy manages to drag himself up off the floor, and calls emergency services. He stands in shock next to the car, staring blankly at Wilbur, because there's nothing he can do, firefighters and paramedics work together to cut Wilbur out of the car and carry him onto a stretcher. They're all shouting at each other, and moving quickly, while Tommy manages to slowly, dazedly, follow behind. They take Wilbur into the ambulance, and he doesn't even realise what's happening until one of the paramedics ushers Tommy into it too.

He doesn't even register that he keeps reaching for Wilbur until his hands are batted away. He hears one of the paramedics documenting Wilbur's injuries, while another performs CPR. They clip a heart rate monitor onto his finger, and Tommy isn't even relieved by the slow, unsteady beeping, because he can hear what they're saying. Low chance of survival, they say. Possible amputation, the car crushed him upon impact. There's metal impaling Wilbur's body. They mention that the airbag seems to have broken his ribs. They don't even do a double take on the bleeding wound on Tommy's face.

Tommy ends up closing his eyes and sobbing, because he can't look at it anymore. The paramedics are too busy to calm him.

When they arrive at the hospital, there's a flurry of activity and panic as Wilbur is wheeled away. Tommy thinks he hears one of the emergency room doctors mention something about dissociating as someone guides him into a chair. A nurse stitches up his injury, asks how he got it, asks if he was in the crash. Tommy can't respond. He remembers looking up and seeing Phil in the door to the emergency room, and wondering distantly who called him while he doesn't even register the distraught look on his dad's face as he sees him sitting there, a gash on his cheek hastily stitched up, an officer at his side because he'd been fighting to get to Wilbur, apparently. 

He doesn't remember that.

According to the what the officer told Phil, he'd been screaming and sobbing hysterically as he fought every poor receptionist and emergency room doctor and nurse who told him that Wilbur was in surgery, he couldn't see him. 

Tommy forgets to tell them that he was in the car too. His face isn't injured, aside from the one cut, so it isn't visible. All of the cuts and scrapes from throwing himself out of it were across his hands are forearms, which is masked by Wilbur's blood smeared across his hands and his sleeves. He tells them he was the one to call the ambulance, and his version of events isn't entirely a lie, but it isn't true either. Phil asks him what happened, so the officer repeats what Tommy had told the doctors.

Tommy's story is only half truth. They were on the way back from parents evening. Wilbur was upset about his grades and was distracted; they argued, he told him to pull over and get out of the car to walk home instead. He says it was only a couple of minutes later that he heard the crash, so he went running towards the noise and found Wilbur at the end of the road, car wrapped around a tree. His injury was from cutting himself on the jagged edges of the broken car when he tried to get Wilbur out.

He says Wilbur wasn't suicidal, that it was just raining and he was distracted and probably thinking about Tommy walking home alone in the rain in the dodgy area of Pogtopia at night, so he wasn't paying attention.

They mark it down as an accident.

He can't admit out loud that Wilbur had tried to kill himself, because if he does that, he has to admit that Wilbur tried to kill him too.

"We only need each other," Wilbur had said in that furious voice. It rings in his ears. Everytime he closes his eyes, he sees that second where Wilbur meets his eyes in the mirror, sees him soften, the remorse on his face as he whispers, "Oh, Toms, I'm sorry."  

Tommy can't stop thinking about it. It's so all-consuming that he doesn't even register that his dad is sat next to him, holding his blood stained hand.

They don't question Tommy's story about not being in the car. It's believable enough, he has no reason to lie, and Phil is at his side, glaring at everyone approaching with a clipboard, so they don't ask him any more questions after that. He distantly remembers when they took Wil into surgery, one of the surgeons wheeling Wilbur away told Phil that it would probably be a couple of hours minimum. Even though it was emergency surgery, there was a lot of injuries to take care of. He remembers hearing them say to be prepared for the worst.

He knows exactly what's happened even before they say it.

The same surgeon, only ten minutes later, walks over to them with a solemn expression. She doesn't even cross half of the waiting room before Tommy realises that Wilbur is gone, his big brother is gone, and things go completely blank from there.

Later, Phil tells him that he started screaming. He had done what he did before, fighting to see Wilbur, sobbing that they were all lying to him, because Wilbur had been alive only an hour ago, and he promised to make dinner when they got home. The officer had threatened to restrain Tommy again, because they couldn't calm him down and he was wrestling out of the grip of everyone who tried to stop him.

They let them see Wilbur to say goodbye, even put him in a hospital bed for courtesy. Tommy doesn't remember that part either, but apparently he threw up, and had to be escorted outside. They told Phil to take Tommy home, because it was an unofficial agreement, Wilbur wasn't his legal guardian, Phil still was. 

He doesn't remember any details when he saw Wilbur's body, but he does remember his chest being still and his eyes closed. He recalls them saying that Wilbur had slim to none chance of survival, no matter how hard they tried. The people who had been on scene, both firefighters and paramedics and officers, tell Phil that the car had to be scrapped because there was so little left that wasn't ruined. They say the backseats were completely crushed with the way the car skidded out of control. The impact had been directly into the drivers side, but it sent the car skidding, and it had been crushed between several surrounding, smaller trees. 

Tommy tries not to think about what would've happened if he didn't throw himself out of the car.

There's a weird sort of in between of Wilbur's crash and what happens next.

Tommy goes back to his old childhood home in L'Manberg. He doesn't remember being driven home from the hospital, but Phil tells him that he had to be sedated in the hospital because he'd screamed and kicked and fought so much that the officers thought he was a potential threat to other people and himself.

He's actually quite glad for that. 

He goes back to his and Wilbur's shared bedroom, with one side empty, and sleeps in Wilbur's bed that is far too big for him. The gash on his cheek starts scabbing over. He gets unenrolled from his old school in Pogtopia.

Technoblade visits, hugs Tommy and tells him how sorry he is, that he'll help however he can. He comes over pretty regularly just to make sure they're both okay. Tommy can't even bring himself to say anything. He doesn't leave the house, he spends most of his days in his childhood bedroom. Phil and Techno leave one day to collect Wilbur's old belongings from their flat in Pogtopia. Tommy snatches one of Wilbur's hoodies they brought back, and doesn't take it off for days.

Tommy knew Wilbur wanted to kill himself, and in a morbid sort of way, he didn't think there was anything he could do about that.

He was living in perpetual fear that one day, he'd come home from school and Wilbur would be hanging in the living room, or that Wilbur would leave for work and then wash up in a river somewhere. He'd done everything he could to prevent it, locked away sharp objects, supervised Wilbur while he shaved, kept his antidepressants in his room to make sure he didn't take too much before he stopped taking them at all. He just never thought that Wilbur would try and take him with him.

The backseats were crushed. Wilbur could've killed him.

Wilbur wanted to kill him.

When Wilbur dies, Tommy doesn't even realise for nearly two weeks that he doesn't know who he's going to live with now. The one thing he knows is that he wants to be nowhere near Phil. Wilbur was right, he was a shit dad, wasn't even really a dad at all, and maybe if he'd been there, they wouldn't have to be burying him. All he can think about is that this is Phil's fault, Phil killed him.

When he left home at seven to move in with Wilbur, he didn't really dislike his dad, he was just more excited at the prospect of living with his big brother. Now, though, he fucking hates Phil.

He tells Phil that he doesn't want to move back in with him.

It's the first word he's spoken in days. Phil looks hurt, but doesn't argue, so they start looking into his options. Tommy says he doesn't care where he goes, he just wants to be away from him. 

Phil is the one to make the decision in the end, and says he's going to give up custody, let Tommy move into a group home and probably end up adopted eventually. He warns Tommy that he could end up in foster care until he's eighteen and ages out of the system, there's no guarantee he'll be adopted at all. It's harsh, but it's true.

Tommy snaps back that he doesn't care, because he can't keep living in his dead brother's old room, anything is better than this, he just wants to get out however he can.

It's at Wilbur's funeral that the choice is made, officially this time.

Wilbur's co-workers are there, most he recognises from the work parties he used to go along to, though he doesn't know the names of. One approaches Phil, introduces himself to him, says his name is Dream, he was a friend of Wilbur's, they worked together for a couple of years before Dream quit his job, but they remained in close contact, and he'd been looking into adopting a child. Tommy vaguely recognises him, he's sure he met him once or twice, but he doesn't recognise his name. He should probably question it, but he doesn't.

At a glance, he looks like he could pass as Tommy's father, not much younger than Phil, mid-thirties, with blond hair and freckles. Tommy won't even look adopted, Dream jokes.

Phil is too distraught to make any real decision then, so they exchange numbers to talk things through at a later time. Dream agrees, gives him his condolences, and backs off.  

Tommy wears Wilbur's old hoodie to the funeral, doesn't care that it's blue and everyone else is wearing black, because Wil's favourite colour was blue. He would've liked it. He quickly gets sick of everyone coming up to him to give him their condolences. He doesn't care, doesn't give a shit.

Their condolences won't bring back his dead fucking brother. 

He hates the funeral.

It's a closed casket, a room filled with sobbing people who didn't know Wilbur as well as Tommy did, and everyone giving speeches that are mostly bullshit. Phil gives a speech about how he was such a kind, gentle person who could never hurt a fly, who dedicated his entire life to looking after his little brother. Tommy, very politely, doesn't mention that Wilbur tried to kill him.

He's invited to do a speech and quickly shoots down that idea. He loved Wilbur, loves Wilbur still, but his memory of him is tainted by those final few awful months, and the crash that nearly took Tommy with him.

Everyone is talking about how tragic the accident was, and half of it seems like they really are upset about Wilbur passing so young in such an awful way, only twenty two, but the other half just sounds like gossip, and it's really testing Tommy's self control not to blurt out that the rain had nothing to do with the crash, neither did Wilbur being 'distracted' or losing control of the car, that in reality, he drove himself straight into a tree because he wanted to kill himself and take his brother with him. 

This could've been Tommy's funeral too if he hadn't thrown himself out of the car. He wonders what they would've said then, if it still would've been a 'tragic accident' or if they would've blamed Wilbur.

Technoblade's at the funeral, he's one of the very few who seem genuinely hurt by Wilbur's death. He'd been babysitting Wil since he was eleven, even though he'd only been a slightly older teenager himself at the time, watched him grow up, and now had to bury him. Tommy doesn't hate Techno as much as he hates Phil. He remembers that phone call, one week before the crash, where Wilbur had blocked the two of them and told them that he never wanted to hear from them again. Those were the last things he ever said to Techno and Phil. Tommy feels bad for Techno, but simultaneously wishes he pushed it more, wishes he kept going and argued back, because maybe he could've helped.

He stands at Tommy's side during the funeral, and he looks devastated. He wears a blue tie in Wilbur's honour, and when Tommy sees it he cries harder, because he's the only other one in the crowd wearing blue. He cries when they lower the coffin, and Tommy can't even be angry at him right now because he's known Techno since he was born. He saw Tommy grow up, but he also saw Wilbur grow up too. Wilbur was barely twenty, sure, but Techno wasn't even in his thirties yet. 

They don't have a wake, because Phil can't handle it, so everyone goes home straight after. Tommy locks himself in his half empty childhood bedroom, wearing Wilbur's hoodie, and cries himself to sleep in Wilbur's old bed. 

There's a couple of days after the funeral is over where neither Tommy or Phil leave the house.

A week after, though, Phil goes to meet with Dream for the first time, and Tommy doesn't know what they talked about, but when Phil comes back, he tells him that they're going to start the process of Dream adopting him, and asks if he's completely sure.

Tommy can't think straight, too exhausted and worn down to spend ages finding other possibilities, so he just goes along with it. He wonders if this was how Wilbur felt when he spent all those days in his bed. All he's certain of is that he doesn't want to spend the next seven-ish years living with Phil, because Phil failed Wilbur, and he blames him for Wilbur trying to kill them both, because if he doesn't, he'll start blaming himself, or, worse, start blaming Wilbur, and he can't do that. 

Phil meets with Dream several more times, says he seems like a good man, and verifies his story that he really had been applying to be a foster parent because he wanted to adopt a kid. He gets all the legal stuff ready, has Dream's house officially home-checked and gets the background check done, both of which he passes with ease. 

Dream suggests going straight into adoption instead of him just fostering Tommy, because there were no plans for Tommy to go elsewhere. They discuss it for a while, and Dream sways it in the end by saying that if it makes him feel any better, Phil can call as much as he wants, and visit whenever. Phil agrees without any argument, and when he comes back home, he tells Tommy that everything's done now. Tommy doesn't even care anymore.

A little less than one month after Wilbur's crash, Tommy is officially adopted by Dream.

The court case goes incredibly quick. Phil explains that Wilbur had died, and he can't care for Tommy, and Dream had graciously stepped up. They approve the adoption almost immediately.

As a little kid, Tommy had always been told that Phil was the worst person in the world. Wilbur told him about him being abusive and neglectful and quite literally as bad as a father could get. Tommy had believed him, because why would his big brother have any reason to lie?

Then Tommy had lived with Wilbur for four years, and, yeah, Wil wasn't his father, but Tommy soon realised just how much worse a guardian could be. But he still loved Wilbur, despite it all, because that was his big brother. He still took him out for ice cream on Fridays and helped him with his homework and played his favourite movie without complaint even though he'd seen it a million times. Sure, he kind of lost it sometimes, but his good moments outweighed the bad, and Tommy couldn't blame him, it wasn't his fault that his brain was a bit fucked. Wilbur still loved him, and did the best he could.

Aside from the time that he tried to crash the car and murder him, leaving him to throw himself out of a moving car to prevent his own death, but Tommy was really trying not to think about that.

He quickly learnt that Dream was much worse.

Dream lived in the Essempi, a large city far enough from L'Manberg that they got a train instead of driving, which Tommy was incredibly relieved about. His house wasn't massive, but it was pretty nice, with a white picket fence and a massive garden.

His new bedroom was warm and inviting. The walls were painted a dark red, Tommy's favourite colour, and he'd decorated it nicely, with a brand new computer and a new phone on his desk, stacks of notebooks and pens and stationary all prepared, photo frames resting on the floor ready for Tommy to put whatever he wanted in them, fairy lights strung up across the room. One of his windows overlooked the street outside, and the view was much better than what he had out of his bedroom window in Pogtopia, which looked out onto some graffiti on a brick wall. 

It was miles better than anything he'd ever had with Phil or Wilbur.

Tommy thought things were looking up. Dream seemed nice, with his freckled, wide smile, and his warm eyes, and he offered to buy takeout for Tommy's first night there. He even gave Tommy the choice of where to order from, and didn't take it personally when Tommy said he wasn't hungry.

He thought Phil was bad, then thought Wilbur was awful, though he didn't blame him for that. 

Dream, though, was worse, much worse.