Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Wilbur felt when he opened the door to his tiny home in Brighton, England to see a sniffling TommyInnit cowering on his doorstep was surprise. The second thing he felt was anger.

“Wilbur, I-,” Tommy started but Wilbur didn’t let him get another word in before he slammed the door in his face.

Leaning back against the wooden door, Wilbur scrubbed a hand across his tired eyes, blinked a few times. Was he hallucinating, or was TommyInnit stood on his welcome mat? Not even just TommyInnit™️, but a shaky and tired TommyInnit. One who was hunched over and shivering as if he was trying to shrink into himself. One who was wearing clothes that looked three days old and who was more dirty than clean. One who’s eyes looked watery and fragile like the smallest thing would send him careening over the edge of holding it together and falling apart. One who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

“Tommy,” the older called through the wood. He heard the younger suck in a sharp inhale of breath at being addressed. “I thought I told you not to come back to Brighton.”

Tommy didn’t respond right away. Wilbur could faintly hear him shuffling his feet on the other side of the door.

“I-I know, Wilbur. I know you told me not to come back, b-but I had no choice,” Tommy said, voice wobbly and unsure.

Wilbur cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean you had no choice?”

A huff. “I mean, I had no choice! Do you really think I would’ve come here voluntarily even after you told me not to?” Tommy whined.

Yes. Wilbur put his tongue in his cheek, mulling over his words. Maybe. I don’t know.

With a sigh of resignation, Wilbur finally pushed himself off the door and opened it all in one motion. On the other side still stood Tommy in all his glory. All of his kicked-puppy glory.

There was a beat of silence, one that perhaps lasted too long as the pair stared each other down. Well, it was more of Wilbur staring and Tommy looking everywhere but at the older man. The whole time though, Wilbur was searching for the right words to say. But he was at a loss-a complete and utter loss. He didn’t recognize this feeling. There must have been a hole in the back of his throat, eating up all the thoughts and words he wished to voice before they reached his tongue. There was no other explanation for why he was suddenly struggling to speak.

After about another minute of awkward standing and staring, did Wilbur finally give up. After all, he really didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t come up with anything to say to Tommy that didn’t sound fake and insensitive. He couldn’t back up and just the slam the door in his face again. He had to find some middle ground. So, while biting down hard on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling, Wilbur slowly opened his arms to the younger.

The sudden motion must’ve caught the boy’s eyes because Tommy glanced up and finally looked at Wilbur for the first time since he’d opened the door. Tommy was aware of the thickness in the back of his throat, the sting behind his eyes. He pursed his lips together, willing himself to not cry, but one look at his brother-figure with his arms spread wide, inviting him in, was enough to break that mental wall. Tears started to stream down his face at a steady pace, and he let them, too tired to wipe them away.

There was a horrifying moment where Wilbur thought Tommy wasn’t going to hug him back. He was just staring at him! Why was he staring at him? But then, Tommy took a reluctant step forward and tentatively wrapped his arms around the older.

Now, the TommyInnit Wilbur knew never did anything without full confidence. The teen was known for diving into things head first, almost recklessly. Whether he was joining a call and screeching at Youtubers three times as famous as him, or joining a server and immediately starting multiple wars, Tommy did it with no doubts or second thoughts. Sometimes (most of the time) this was a bad thing-the fact that Tommy almost didn’t think before he acted-but it was just who he was! So, when Tommy stepped forward and hugged him, fingers barely brushing his back and only his forehead resting against Wilbur’s chest, Wilbur was taken aback.

It wasn’t that the hug was awkward; they had briefly bro-hugged when they met the first time those few months ago. It was just that it was so timid.

Wilbur furrowed his brows. He was tempted to shake the boy-maybe that would put some life back into him-when Tommy spoke up.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were so, so small. Tommy practically choked them out, forcing them through his throat and past his lips. His voice was ragged and hoarse, like how he sounded the few days following MCC. It was heartbreaking hearing him sound that way because he had been crying and not screaming.

Wilbur was stunned. He could feel Tommy pulling away, the teen slipping through his fingers like dry sand. Before he could get away for good, Wilbur ripped him back, pulling him back into the hug before it could end. This time around, Wilbur took more initiative and held Tommy closer, using one hand to steer the younger’s face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He held him tightly, ignoring the fact that his shirt was getting wet with Tommy’s tears.

They stood like that for a few minutes, Wilbur slightly rocking the pair. It took a while for Tommy to relax into the hug, but once he finally did he leaned his full body weight against Wilbur and held onto him for dear life. He was shaking, his body trembling with the force of his sobs.

Now, the teen wasn’t necessarily religious, but at that moment he found himself praying to God, praying to anyone who would listen, to let him stop crying. Tommy had hit rock bottom, rock bottom being Wilbur Soot’s doorstep. He desperately wanted to pull away, untangle himself from the older, and take off. It had been a mistake to come here. It had been a mistake to let Wilbur see him fall apart.

Tommy’s sobs had turned into weak hiccups and whimpers. Wilbur gently pulled back just enough so that he could peer down at the younger. Tommy was properly leaning against him, his cheek smushed against his jumper and smearing snot and drool all over the material. His lips were moving slowly, but barely any sound came out. Wilbur suddenly wondered if Tommy was sober, but pushed the thought from his mind as quickly as it had come.

“Toms,” Wilbur asked softly. “Are you okay?”

Tommy’s eyes fluttered. He glanced up at Wilbur briefly before returning his eyes to the front of Wilbur’s shirt. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Worry weighing heavily on his heart, Wilbur separated from the teen. He took half a step back and gestured for Tommy to enter the house. Tommy looked between him and the door. He seemed to reach some mental conclusion before raising his chin and walking into the house. Wilbur went in after, quietly shutting the door behind them.

Chapter Text

The night had been quiet.

When Wilbur recalled the events the next morning, he was faintly aware of the fishbowl feeling the whole ordeal had. He remembered pulling Tommy through the front door before everything slowed down and the house filled with water. He remembered the little words spoken between them as Wilbur helped Tommy get cleaned up, directing him to the shower and giving him a fresh pair of clothes to wear. He remembered the exhaustion that weighed heavy on them both as they sat down across one another at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of Tommy and an Eggo waffle in front of Wilbur. He remembered the absolute relief they both felt when Wilbur finally stood and showed Tommy the guest bedroom. He remembered everything like he was walking backward through time, experiencing it again in blurry detail. It felt like a fever dream, one that only broke when Wilbur looked up from his pathetic breakfast and saw Tommy sat across from him.

The morning was quiet still.

A very severe case of deja vu. Tommy was eating cereal, though granted, a different brand from last night. He was also still wearing the clothes Wilbur had lent him since Wilbur had yet to give him a new pair for the day. The yellow t-shirt was rumpled with sleep, a small wet spot on the collar where Tommy had drooled in his sleep. The striped pajama bottoms he wore were a few inches too long and dragged along the floor as he got up to get himself a glass of orange juice. When he turned back around, Wilbur was bitch-slapped by the dark bags under his striking blue eyes and his horrid case of bed head.

“What are you staring at, bitch?” Tommy uttered his first words of the day in a hoarse voice.

Wilbur blinked, his fingers tightening around his mug of coffee. Similar to how it played out last night, Wilbur was unaware of how to continue this conversation. He still felt like he was walking on eggshells around the teen, but Tommy had spoken in vulgar terms first.

“I’m looking at the human embodiment of a piece of shit standing in my kitchen,” Wilbur said blatantly and took a sit of his coffee, gauging Tommy’s reaction.

Maybe it was the fact that it had been a long morning, or maybe it was because of the events that ensued last night, but whatever it was, Tommy’s reaction was painfully slow. He glared at Wilbur, eyebrows furrowed, opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Sorry,” he finally said. “Didn’t realize I had to be a morning person in the Soot residence.”

It wasn’t funny, but Wilbur still barked dryly. “You think I’m a morning person?” He gasped. “Tommy, I don’t get out of bed until 12 most days. I’m only a morning person today because we have to leave soon so I can take you home.”

Tommy choked on his orange juice. He spluttered and coughed, setting the glass down on the countertop. He took a moment, regaining his breath and composure before turning back to Wilbur. “What?” He said, voice sharp, challenging.

Wilbur felt something seize in his chest. He was painfully aware that the conversation had shifted. They were no longer testing the waters, no longer joking around. The tone had taken a more serious one, resembling that of the night before.

But still, Wilbur hadn’t been lying. “I’m taking you home today,” he said matter-of-factly. He set his coffee down. “What, did you think you were moving in with me or something?”

Tommy visibly flinched. “N-no,” he stammered. “Of course not. I just...I just thought I could stay here for a little while longer. If that’s okay with you.”

Wilbur leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tommy,” he said, slightly exasperated. “Tommy. We haven’t talked about this! You just showed up at my house last night, looking like you got hit by a train, and never offered me an explanation. What else am I supposed to do?”

Tommy worried his bottom lip, tearing his eyes away from Wilbur’s to look down at his feet. “I said I was sorry, okay? I really didn’t want to bother you, but I had no choice-!”

“Why did you not have a choice?! Tommy, this is what I mean! You haven’t told me anything!” Wilbur shouted over the younger.

Tommy raised his head. “Why do you need to know everything?! Why can’t you take a hint and leave it alone!” He shot back, voice high-strung and whiny.

Wilbur huffed, pushing back from his seat so he was standing. “You showed up at my house unannounced, Tommy! Don’t you think I deserve somewhat of an explanation?”

“No!” Tommy yelled. “This isn’t about you!”

“It involves me!”

“You’re not the one who ran away from home, dickhead!”

“You’re right, I’m not the insufferable child who ran away from home and went to his coworkers’ house. I’m not the fuck-up here.”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck me? Fine, you can fuck right out the front door if that’s what you want!”

And just as quickly as the screaming match had started, it was over. Tommy, looking on the verge of tears, snapped his jaw shut before turning on his heel and disappearing up the stairs. Wilbur was left alone in the kitchen, hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. The anger in him ebbed away, leaving him feeling cold and empty. He dropped his head in his hands, grabbing at fistfuls of his hair and pulling, trying to ground himself.

All he wanted was some sort of explanation. Was that too much to ask for? He had let Tommy in, given him a shower and a clean set of clothes, fed him, and given him a bed to sleep in. Why couldn’t Tommy just give him a reason why?

With a sigh of resignation, Wilbur shook himself off and started to clean up. Better to busy his hands than to swing them at the wall or something stupid like that. Wilbur didn’t consider himself a violent person, but Tommy brought something out in him that he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t sure what to think of it quite yet.

Chapter Text

Tommy didn’t like what Wilbur was bringing out in him.

He slammed the guest bedroom door behind him and leaned back against it, letting his body slowly slide down to the floor. With his adrenaline left all his energy, leaving him a shaky shell of what he had been downstairs. The anger he had once felt had slowly dissipated, revealing the true emotion underneath: fear. He was scared of Wilbur, was scared of what he knew and what he didn’t, was scared of the situation he had gotten himself in, and at the moment, scared most of all by himself.

Tommy had cried more in the past 24 hours than he had in a year. He forgot how exhausted crying made him feel. Even though he had just woken up an hour ago, he had the desire to crawl back into bed and let sleep overtake him. When he was asleep, Wilbur couldn’t yell at him. When he was asleep, his phone constantly buzzing with texts from his parents couldn’t reach him. When he was asleep, his own guilty thoughts couldn’t haunt him. 

With one last glance at the closed door, Tommy walked over to the bed and flopped down on it. He didn’t even bother to get under the covers, opting to just lay on top of them. He stared him at the ceiling, unblinking, and wishing he had at least turned off the lights before laying down. 

---------------------------------

Wilbur’s thumb hovered over the call button. Mr. Steers was literally one click away. This problem could be solved in the next second if Wilbur could just bring himself to hit ‘call.’

But, the painful churning of his stomach stopped him every time. Wilbur swiped away from Mr. Steers contact and instead opened up Discord. He entered the Sleepy Bois Inc. Discord and checked to see who was online. As per usual, Phil was on and currently live streaming his hardcore world. Wilbur quickly switched to Twitch and clicked on Phil’s stream. 

“And that, chat, is why you always keep at least one ender pearl on you at all times,” Phil was saying as his Minecraft character crouched on the edge of a cliff in the Nether. 

Wilbur smirked. For someone who was so good at the video game, Phil sure did get himself in some close calls quite often. The brunette opened up the live chat and told him so.

Wilbursoot: don’t let falling off a cliff into lava become the new “getting philza’d” phil

As soon as the text was sent the rest of the chat exploded.

xLILYx: WILBUR!!

FoxKid: Wilbur!

GracieInnit: Wils here!

joshyy: WILWILWILWIL

tubboar: hello mr wilbursoot

Enough people spammed his name that Phil paused his gameplay and glanced over at the chat. 

“Wil’s here?” He said, scrolling up through the chat feed searching for Wilbur’s name. He finally spotted it and read aloud the text Wilbur had sent. “‘Don’t let falling off a cliff into lava become the new “getting philza’d” Phil.’ Trust me, I won’t,” he reassured through a chuckle. “I need to make it at least another two years before I even think about dying.”

Wilbur sent another text:

Wilbursoot: what the hell are you going to do for another 2 years

Phil read it and scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know? I certainly won’t be blowing anything up, that’s for sure. Stop picking a fight with me through chat.”

Wilbursoot: can I pick a fight through discord

Phil laughed. “If you want,” he said and diverted his attention back to the game.

Wilbur joined his call a second later, the sound of him joining echoing on stream. 

“Hello,” he greeted, making sure to keep his voice down. He really didn’t want Tommy hearing him. 

“Wil! How are you, mate?” Phil said back, three times as enthusiastic. 

Wilbur sighed into the microphone, whether he meant to or not. “I’m doing okay, Phil. Been a weird past few days, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” Phil said, sounding apologetic. “Want to talk about it?”

Wilbur hesitated. Didn’t he check the Sleep Bois Inc. Discord in hopes of finding someone to talk to about his predicament? Didn’t he click on Phil’s stream in order to get his attention?

“Uh, maybe not in front of eleven thousand people if that’s alright,” Wilbur admitted after a moment. 

Phil made a sound of understanding. “I get it. Well, I have been streaming since last night...I think it's about time I end anyway. Let me say goodbye and I’ll give you a ring, yeah?” he suggested. 

Wilbur hummed in agreement, exiting the call and setting his phone down. Part of him knew Phil didn’t truly want to end his stream; he had just hit a sub-goal and usually rewarded his viewers with an extra-long stream, and here he was ending it at a measly four hours. Wilbur felt slightly guilty, but wasn’t this ultimately what he wanted? 

Wilbur’s phone buzzed and started vibrating on the tabletop. Feeling defeated, Wilbur picked it up and brought the phone to his ear. “Phil?”

“Wilbur? What’s going on?” 

Wilbur bit his bottom lip and glanced behind him. He assumed Tommy had gone back to the guest room, but he couldn’t be sure. He got up and started to make his way to his office. 

“Phil,” Wilbur said again once he was sat in his office chair. 

“Yeah, mate?” Phil sounded nervous.

“Phil, Tommy is currently sleeping in my guest bedroom,” Wilbur said bluntly. 

Phil audibly choked. He spluttered for a moment before gasping, “Excuse me?”

Wilbur nodded even though he knew Phil couldn’t see him. “Yeah…”

“What the fuck, Wil?!”

Wilbur rushed to explain. “Tommy just showed up on my doorstep last night looking like shit! He was crying and, Jesus Christ, I couldn’t just leave him out there now could I?”

There was a moment where all Wilbur could hear was the stammering sounds Phil was making. He did this quite often-where he couldn’t choose what to say so he just stuttered through it all. 

“Wilbur,” Phil finally settled on saying. “Where is Tommy now?”

Wilbur felt himself flush. “About that...we kinda got into a fight this morning when I told him I was going to take him home. I think he’s hiding in the guest bedroom.” 

Phil sighed, clearly exasperated. “Wilbur,” he said in that same disappointed voice parents use against their kids. “You should not have instigated Tommy.”

Wilbur groaned, placing his head in his hands. “I wasn’t instigating! I was just trying to get some sort of explanation, Phil! The child hasn’t told me anything!”

“Well, maybe he’s not ready. He got there last night, you said?”

“Yeah, but-!”

“I think you should give him a chance to open up to you instead of you forcing him to,” Phil advised. “This kid is probably tired, and scared, and worried. Give him a second to breathe.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to retort, but ultimately, he knew Phil was right. Tommy was probably insanely overwhelmed, Wilbur knew he would be if he were in his situation. 

“Fine,” Wilbur finally grumbled. “I won’t push him anymore today. But do you think I should tell his dad? I still have his number from our previous meet up.”

“Are you saying they don’t know Tommy left? Tommy didn’t tell them?” Phil asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and worry. He couldn’t imagine Tommy just up and leaving his home like he was running away or something…

Wilbur shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m telling you, Phil, Tommy has told me nothing. All I know is that he doesn’t want to go home.”

Phil pursed his lips together, letting out a loud exhale of air. “Well, if you tell his dad, he might come and get Tommy,” he said.

“But Tommy obviously doesn’t want to go home. That seems to be the last thing he wants.”

“So…?”

“So, I can’t tell his parents.”

Phil laughed, but it was forced and awkward. “I’ll be honest, Wil, I don’t like this one bit.”

“I don’t either,” Wilbur admitted. He felt dirty, like he was committing some heinous crime by letting Tommy stay with him. He shuddered in his seat. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Just give him time. He will open up eventually. Until then, keep me in the loop, yeah?” Phil said.

Wilbur nodded. “Yes, of course, Phil. Thank you for talking to me. I’m sorry you had to end your stream.”

“Pssht,” Phil said. “No worries. You and Tommy take priority over some sub-goal shit. If you need me, I’m always just a click away, no matter what.”

Wilbur smiled slightly. “Thank you, Phil.”

“Anytime.”

The call ended. Wilbur set his phone down on his desk, leaning back in his chair. The silence following the call left him feeling empty and alone. God, he was so, so alone in this, wasn’t he? Sure, Phil had said he was just a call away, but in the end, what happened to Tommy was determined by Wilbur. He didn’t appreciate this sudden pressure, this sudden responsibility. It weighed on him heavily, and he felt it in every bone of his body as he got up and stalked out of his office to go check on Tommy.

Chapter Text

“Tommy?” A knock. “Tommy, you in there?”

Tommy rolled over, blinking blearily up at the ceiling as he slowly but surely came to. It took him a moment of taking in his surroundings to remember where he was. Oh right, Wilbur’s place.

“Tommy, I’m coming in.”

Tommy froze like a deer caught in headlights. He clenched the comforter beneath him, pulling it up to his chest as if it could offer him some sort of protection. He wanted to crawl under it completely, to just hide and hope Wilbur thinks he’s asleep. But alas, the door was already creaking open and Tommy could do nothing but stare anxiously. 

A head of fluffy brown hair, kept tame by a red beanie, popped into the room. Wilbur’s eyes flickered around the room briefly before settling Tommy like he’d found the prize. He offered a small smile, which Tommy was quick to shoot down with an enthusiastic frown.

“Were you asleep?” Wilbur asked, nodding towards the bed. 

Tommy didn’t say anything. His skin was buzzing with renewed anger and anxiety at the sight of the older. He knew what Wilbur was trying to do-he was offering an olive branch to the teen. Well, screw you and your fucking olive branch! Tommy thought. I’ll fucking break it just like how I’m gonna break your face if you come any closer to me!

Wilbur waited patiently for a response, even when it became obvious he wasn’t going to get one. Part of him just wanted to leave it at that. It was clear that Tommy wanted to be left alone, so why was Wilbur expected to make an effort? Tommy was just going to continue giving him the silent treatment; it would be like trying to reason with a brick wall. 

But Phil had made it very clear to Wilbur what role he was supposed to playing here: the adult. The least fun role, the role no one auditioned for. 

“Can I come in?” Wilbur asked after another few seconds and immediately felt silly. Why am I asking this child for permission to enter a room in my house?

As expected, all Wilbur got in reply was an angry glare. Wilbur took it in stride and pushed the door open all the way before stepped further inside. 

At this, Tommy scurried back on the bed. He sat with his side pressed against the wall, his body facing straight ahead. He kept his fiery blue eyes trained on his bare feet. 

Wilbur stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets and rocking slightly on his heels. He felt awkward, to say the least.

“How are you feeling, Tommy?”

There he was again, poking him with that stupidass olive branch. Tommy narrowed his eyes but still refused to look up from his feet. He could feel Wilbur staring at him, standing there in his stupidass beanie-who the fuck wears a beanie inside, anyway? 

“Are you at least okay?”

Silence. 

Wilbur sighed. He was learning quickly that getting the silent treatment from Tommy was much worse in person than it was online. At least when he knew Tommy was ignoring him on Discord, he could appreciate the silence for a little. In person, he couldn’t appreciate it, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

Wilbur sighed. “ Tommy,” he said, voice harder this time. 

That caught Tommy’s attention. The teen tried his best to repress the flinch that went through him at the sound of how stern Wilbur had become. Was Wilbur angry with him? Was Wilbur here to tell him he was taking him home? What did Wilbur want?

“Tommy,” Wilbur said again. “Can you please at least try and cooperate with me?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. Wilbur perked up. Improvement. 

“I saw that!” Wilbur exclaimed, moving closer to the bed. “You do have the ability to listen! And here I was thinking you just went deaf every time I tried to speak to you!”

Tommy’s lip twitched. He quickly bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop it. No, he thought. Not funny. Wilbur is not funny. I won’t laugh at Wilbur. I will not. 

But Wilbur saw that too. He grinned wickedly, letting the confidence go to his head as he leaned forward and poked the teen. Tommy writhed, squirming and withering away. 

“Aw, Tommy!” Wilbur cooed, poking him again, harder this time. “Are you ticklish? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tommy slapped Wilbur’s hands away, glaring daggers at the older man. But the daggers were dull, worn down, and more useful as butter knives. Wilbur felt them drag across his skin before bouncing off, harmless.

With nothing really stopping him at this point, Wilbur fully attacked Tommy, lunging forward with outstretched hands. Tommy’s eyes widened in fear, and he grabbed at the blanket to try and shield him.

“If you want me to stop, Tommy, all you have to do is talk to me,” Wilbur said. “I’ll back off if you just open that big mouth of yours.”

Tommy grumbled from his spot beneath the blankets.

Wilbur paused. “Pardon?”

“ I said, I’m not fucking ticklish!” Tommy snapped, pulling the comforter off his head. He was back to glaring at Wilbur, but at least he was talking now. “Stop treating me like a child. I’m not. Children are ticklish and I am not, therefore I am not a child.”

Wilbur smirked. “That would be some solid evidence if you truly weren’t ticklish.”

Tommy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. 

As much as Wilbur wanted to pursue the argument, he let it drop. He vaguely gestured to the edge of the bed, asking for permission to sit. Tommy barely acknowledged it, but Wilbur sat anyway. 

“I don’t want to push you,” Wilbur started, clasping his hands neatly in front of him. “But I do want to talk to you. It doesn’t have to be about our... situation, per se, but I want to gauge how you’re feeling. If that’s alright.”

Tommy glanced down, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes. “I’m mad at you,” was all he said. 

Wilbur nodded, encouraging him, but when he didn’t continue, Wilbur opted to fill in the blanks. “Because of earlier?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m glad you felt it safe enough to come to me.”

Tommy nodded. “Okay.”

Wilbur cocked an eyebrow. “Did you mean what you said?”

Tommy shrugged. “Kinda.”

Wilbur repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. 

Wilbur nodded again. “Okay, well what can we do about this?”

“About what?”

“Our fight.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Wilbur.”

“I don’t want to fight with you either. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Tommy exhaled loudly, raising his head and making direct eye contact with Wilbur. “I’m okay for now. Thanks.” 

Wilbur blinked. Was that it? Was that the end of it? Was Tommy seriously shutting him out again? As badly as Wilbur wanted to push, he knew he had to give the teen some space. As long as he knew Tommy was okay, that was enough for now.

Wilbur smiled slightly at the teen. “Good, I’m glad,” He said as he rose from his spot on the edge of the bed. “I’m gonna go to my office and try and get some work done. Uh, call me if you need anything?”

Tommy nodded stiffly.

Wilbur left, not sure how to feel.

Chapter Text

Turns out, Wilbur’s work for the day included a stream. Tommy watched almost in disgust as Wilbur plastered on that fake smile of his and flaunted it for the camera, making sure to laugh extra loudly and dramatize every bit for his viewers. 

Tommy hated it. He hated sitting there in bed, knowing just downstairs Wilbur was entertaining thousands of people, acting as if Tommy weren’t directly upstairs. He hated it so much, in fact, that he was tempted to go visible online just so everyone could see that he was present in Wilbur’s chat. 

And as Tommy went visible, his icon appearing in the live-chat, Wilbur became painfully aware that the Tommyinnit he knew, was back. 

BBque: the child has arrived

Haven323: Tommy has joined

grease: Tommy!

munchermunch: TommyInnit!!

Askley: TOMMY

Suepe777r: TOMMY TOMMY TOMMY

Wilbur made a point not to look at chat. He kept his eyes trained on the screen in front of him, watching as 100 players from his Discord raced to the top of the tallest Minecraft mountain. He knew the instant Tommy has joined, and he knew what was coming next.

Rollin990: VC TOMMY

Ishka501: VC TOMMY PLLLLZZ!

dunnel:  VC VC VC VC VC VC VC VC

JamieNotFound: VCCC

Caroline666: VC TOMMYINNIT!!!!

Wilbur couldn’t ignore them now, not when they were absolutely spamming until they got what they wanted.

“Eh, chat, let’s calm down, yeah? Just because Tommy is here doesn’t mean we have to VC,” Wilbur reasoned, keeping his head on straight. 

The chat continued to explode.

Rwoar: Aww plz?

whatdoyouwant?!: VC HIM

Kueriq32: y don’t u want to VC Tommy

Wilbur took a deep breath, steadying himself before he spoke again. “Look, chat. I’m recording this. Maybe Tommy doesn’t want to join while I’m recording. Let him be.”

In his head, though, Wilbur was screaming. He was screaming at his chat to shut up, screaming at Tommy to leave his stream, screaming at himself for getting in this situation in the first place. 

Being only twenty-two minutes in the stream though, Wilbur was forced to continue. He pulled his lips back up into a smile and focused on tormenting the remaining players in his realm. 

Tommy left the stream quickly after that. He hadn’t gotten the rise out of Wilbur he wanted, so why stay? 

Groaning, the teen flung his phone away from him. It landed at the end of the bed, face up so that Tommy could see the screen light up with every new notification from his parents, and now, from Tubbo. Tubbo had started messaging him that morning, asking to get in a VC and play on the DreamSMP. At first, Tommy hadn’t planned on ignoring him, it was just when he found out he wasn’t at home anymore. 

It wasn’t even that Tubbo found out, it was more like he said it and Tommy never denied it. So, here he was, watching his phone light up again and again with a new notification from Tubbo every 30 seconds. Part of him urged to respond. He hated making Tubbo worry about him. Even when they were both ranting and venting to each other about school or friends or whatever, Tommy always found himself joking more than anything. Tubbo played a very specific role in his life, a role that consisted of fun and playing video games and talking up to all hours of the night. That role did not consist of him worrying and fretting over him. Tommy had planned to keep that way.

Tommy couldn’t take it. His phone lit up three times in a row and Tommy lunged forward and snatched it back up. He swiped away all the messages from his parents and focused on the ones in his inbox from Tubbo.

Tubbo: wanna get on mc in 20?

Tubbo: i was thinking abt building a nether base or smth maybe piglin farm??

Tubbo: Tommy?

Tubbo: it says ur online

Tubbo: r u icknoring me

Tubbo: Tommy

Tubbo: r u at college stil?

Tubbo: r u home

Tubbo: Tommy where r u

Tubbo: Tommy plz respsond to me

Tubbo: r u ok

Tommy cringed as he read through the messages. He hated knowing that he was the reason behind Tubbo’s worried texts. 

Tommy: im ok tubbo

Tubbo’s response was instantaneous. 

Tubbo: TOMMY

Tubbo: where r u what going on ?@!

Tommy bit his lip. He knew he owed Tubbo an explanation, but how could he tell Tubbo when he hadn’t even told Wilbur, the person he was staying with?

So, Tommy lied.

Tommy: im away

Tubbo: vacatscion?

Tommy: smth like that yah

Tubbo: y did u not tell me

Tommy: i forgot

Tubbo: oh ok

Tubbo: r u sure?

Tommy almost broke down there and then. Of course, Tubbo knew he was lying. Tubbo always knew when he was lying. So, why was Tubbo letting him get away with it?

Tommy: yes

Chapter Text

Wilbur stared at his reflection on the black screen of his pc. He watched his expression shift before him. His dark eyes, once light with joy and contentment, boiled with frustration. His lips pulled down into a frown, his teeth bared in a feral way. He looked like a monster. He didn’t recognize this monster. 

Wilbur had many monsters, the ones that lived under his bed, the ones that lived in his closet, and most of all, the ones that lived in his head. He had first met a lot of them in the midst of his teenage years and had really gotten acquainted with them as he got closer to 20. He was able to recognize a lot of them now, put a name to what he was seeing in the mirror some mornings. Wilbur probably knew Anxiety and Depression the best. After all, one rarely showed up without the other. Wilbur would wake up some mornings and see Anxiety cowering within his mirror, shying away from the camera, wishing to hide. That same day, he would go to bed, but not without seeing Depression staring back at him while he was brushing his teeth. They were monsters he had learned to live with. They were monsters he no longer feared. 

Wilbur desperately feared the monster looking at him now. 

The brunette pushed back from the desk, standing up abruptly. He felt out of control of his body as he moved forward, throwing open the door to his office and stomping up the stairs. 

“Tommy!”

The scream startled Tommy into dropping his phone. The teen looked up just in time to see Wilbur barge into the room. 

Wilbur looked angry, to say the least. He was absolutely fuming, his chest heaving up and down, almost frothing at the mouth like some rabid dog. His rage-red eyes landed on Tommy and the teen felt something halt inside him. He had the off-hand thought that it may have been his breathing, or maybe his heart. Either or.

“ Tommy Steers.” Wilbur seethed. 

Tommy tried his hardest to keep a straight face. “William Gold.”

Wilbur flinched. “No,” he snapped. “No, we aren't doing this. This isn’t a joke, Tommy.”

Tommy deflated further. “What...what exactly isn’t a joke?”

Wilbur paused for a moment before exploding once more. “Because you came onto my stream!”

“Is that like, illegal or something?” Tommy was thoroughly confused now.

Steam seemed to shoot out of Wilbur’s ears. “Is it when you are in the next room over and can’t VC me when my chat requests it!”

Tommy made a face. “What?”

“You don’t have any of your stuff! How do you reckon you can VC me in this room? Tommy, you compromised our situation just then. What would have happened if the stream found out you were here? What would happen if your parents found out? I’m guessing nothing good because they don’t know you’re here, right? You never told them, right?” Wilbur spewed, his anger rushing out of him with every word he spoke. At the end of his spiel, he was left feeling drained. When that feeling came around, he knew that could only mean two things: one, the monster had left for now, or two, Depression had just arrived. Wilbur hoped that the new monster had left, leaving no one else waiting in its wake. 

Tommy gaped for a moment. “I didn’t think about that,” he mumbled quietly. 

Wilbur heaved a sigh. “I know you didn’t. I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just...don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

Wilbur hummed in acknowledgment. “Tommy.” Dare he push his luck? “You really haven’t told your parents?”

Tommy felt his breath catch in his throat. He looked away, glancing to his side where his phone lay abandoned. At that moment, it lit up with a notification. He looked back at Wilbur before reading who it was from or what it said. 

“Yeah...no. I haven’t.”

“Were you planning to?”

Tommy leaned back, running shaking hands through his hair. He suddenly had the urge to cry-he could taste it in the back of his throat like bile. He swallowed it down, willing himself to keep it together. He knew he was going to have this conversation eventually; he couldn’t avoid it forever. 

“Well, I am still a minor, aren’t I?” Tommy was alarmed but not entirely surprised when his online persona popped out. He couldn’t cry when he was too busy being snarky and clever.

Wilbur didn’t seem to catch on just yet. “Yeah, you are. So, what do they know, Tommy? Do they even know you left your house? Or do they just think you are spending the night at a friend's house or something?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I don’t need my parents' permission to spend the night anywhere, Wilbur,” he said. 

Wilbur crossed his arms over his chest, not liking the sudden attitude. “Would you need permission to spend the night at a 24-year-old man’s house 30 minutes away?” He challenged.

Tommy huffed. “Maybe if it were more than one night…,” he grumbled. 

“Is it going to be more than one night?” When Wilbur asked this, he found himself in limbo in terms of what he wanted Tommy’s answer to be. Part of him was praying to get the gremlin child out of his house and go back to speaking to him strictly through calls and messages. The other part of him, though, didn’t want to let him go until he knew the full story of why he had come in the first place. That part of him knew this situation was precarious and it was Wilbur’s job to be careful. That part of him came directly from his gut, and Wilbur always trusted his gut. 

Tommy didn’t respond right away. He was looking at his phone again, watching the unread messages pile up on his home screen. 

“Is it allowed to be more than one night,” Tommy asked quietly. He didn’t look at Wilbur as he said it. 

Wilbur took the leap and trusted his gut. “Yes,” he answered without hesitation. 

Tommy nodded. “Then I think it might be.”

“Then I think we should tell your parents.”

“...okay.”

Chapter Text

If Wilbur noticed how badly Tommy was shaking as he picked up his phone and clicked on the combined 229 unread text messages and phone calls from his parents, he didn’t mention it. He watched silently, an encouraging hand gripping the younger’s shoulder as Tommy scrolled through the messages. 

After a while, it got redundant. Every message was along the lines of, “where are you!?” and, “are you okay?!” At least it was comforting to know that Mr. and Mrs. Steers truly cared about Tommy, and in the back of Wilbur’s mind, not the reason for Tommy’s running away. 

Tommy had finally scrolled all the way to the bottom. He paused, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. “What do I-what should I say?” he stammered, voice as shaky as his hands. 

Wilbur gave the teen’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Why not start with just a simple ‘hello?’ that way they know that you’re at least alive.”

Tommy nodded, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewing on it. He turned back to his phone and typed out a hasty, “Hi.”

Not a single second went by before both parents had responded. 

Mother: Tommy! Where are you? Are you safe? 

Father: Tom, please tell us what is going on. 

Mother: We are so worried about you.

Tommy was shaking worse now, his whole body trembling under Wilbur’s steadying hand on his shoulder. His breathing had become audible as well, his chest heaving up and down way too heavily and way too quickly. His glassy blue eyes were slowly filling with pained tears that refused to fall. 

“Tommy,” Wilbur murmured softly, moving his hand to grip the back of the teen’s neck. He could feel the boy’s erratic heartbeat beneath his fingers. “You have to calm down, okay? Here,” Wilbur guided one of Tommy’s hands away from the phone and placed it against his chest. “Feel that? Try and match my breathing.” 

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly. He could faintly hear Wilbur speaking to him, but it felt like he was listening through a body of water. The words were muffled and gargled, reaching his ears only to be swept away a moment later. It felt like he was drowning, hands trying to pull him up above the surface while others were forcing him deeper beneath the waves. The struggle put so much pressure on his lungs. He held his breath until he absolutely couldn't anymore, opening his mouth and gasping for air, only to receive a lungful of murky water.

“Tommy,” Wilbur turned the boy around to completely face him, placing his hands on his face and forcing him to look at him. “Tommy, breathe . Focus on the sound of my voice. Focus on the feel of my hands on your face. Breathe with me, now.” 

No, Tommy thought. The water surrounding him was getting darker, dirtier. He was sinking. It wouldn't be long until he was too deep to recover. I can’t breathe. There is no air for me to breathe. How are you speaking to me when there is no air?

Wilbur could feel himself starting to panic. He knew if he were to see himself in the mirror, he would find someone else, something else, staring back at him. He wasn't sure if he would recognize it, even if it felt eerily familiar. 

“Tommy, can you hear me?” Wilbur asked desperately. He scrambled to push the fear from his voice. “Tommy, it’s Wilbur. You’re at Wilbur Soot’s house. You are sitting on the bed in the guest bedroom. The covers are baby blue, soft but not too soft. I’m sitting next to you. I’m wearing a gray sweater with an orca on it. An orca, not a dolphin-like you thought. I’m also wearing a red beanie, which I know you think is stupid since I mostly wear it inside. You don’t seem to understand how much of a fashion statement it is.” Wilbur was aware that he was rambling, spouting out the things around him, talking just to talk. He wasn’t sure whether it was Tommy’s sake or his own, but Tommy seemed to register at least some of the things he was saying. 

Wilbur watched with bated breath as Tommy slowly pulled in a deep breath, coughing it out as if he hadn’t breathed in years. He sounded scarily similar to an old man with asthma, hacking out his lungs like that.

“Wil,” Tommy gasped, clawing at his throat. “I-I can’t.. breathe.”

“ Yes, yes, you can,” Wilbur insisted. “Do it with me. In for four, out for eight. In for four, out for eight. There, just like that. Keep going.”

Tommy didn’t remember being pulled out of the water. All he knew now was that he was soaking wet and shivering, curled up in a ball on Wilbur’s bed, wondering how in the hell he had not drowned. He had been so close. He could feel the darkness wrapping its arms around him like an old friend. And it had hurt so bad he would not have hesitated to go even if he wanted to. 

“Good job, Tommy. Keep going, in and out,” Wilbur praised him. Tommy glanced up, locking eyes with the older. Tommy desperately wanted to tell him what happened, explain how he had practically drowned on dry land, but part of him was also waiting for Wilbur to explain it to him. He could already feel himself forgetting the panic and the pain, his mind blocking it out like a bad memory. 

It took another few minutes for Tommy’s breathing to return to normal. Once it did though, did he realize how badly his chest hurt, his sides ached. 

“Are you okay, Tommy?” Wilbur asked, rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks for asking,” Tommy said as if he weren't terrified of what had just happened, and oh god what if it happened again? “How are you?” 

Wilbur pointedly ignored him. “Do..do those happen often,” he treaded lightly. “Or did something trigger it?” 

Tommy faltered. “Does what happen often?” he asked dumbly.

“...panic attacks.” 

Tommy’s brain stuttered to a stop. “W-what?”

Wilbur furrowed his brows. “Have you never had one before?”

Tommy shook his head minutely. “Is that what that was?” he asked in a small voice.

A look Tommy didn’t quite recognize passed over Wilbur’s face. It resembled something almost like homesickness, but surely that couldn’t be right.

“Do you think that happened because you were texting your parents?” Wilbur asked after a moment. 

With everything that had just happened, Tommy had forgotten about his parents. He grappled for his phone, feeling around the bed until his fingers brushed against a warm piece of metal. He retrieved it, holding it up to his face. 

To no one's surprise, there were 8 new messages from Mr. and Mrs. Simons.

Mother: Thomas, where are you? 

Mother: Why did you never come home last night??

Mother: Your father and I are worried sick

Father: Tom, are you there?

Mother: Thomas, turn your location on so we can see where you are

Father: Tom?

Mother: Baby

Mother: Baby, where are you?

Tommy let out a shaky breath. “I can’t keep doing this,” he muttered under his breath, resisting the urge to swipe the texts away and go back to ignoring his parents. 

“Do you feel safe enough to be honest with them?” Wilbur asked, hovering over Tommy’s right shoulder. 

Tommy shrugged, feeling very overwhelmed all of a sudden. “I just don’t want to deal with it, if I’m being honest.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure he understood. Wasn’t it better to just get it over with? That’s how he usually approached things. “What if I did it for you, then?” he suggested. 

Tommy was quick to shake his head. “No. I did this. They deserve an explanation from me, not the person babysitting me,” he said, hating how true it sounded once it was out in the open. Wilbur really was just babysitting him at this point, wasn’t he?

“What if you called them, then? Can’t leave someone on ‘read’ when you’re actually talking to them.”

Tommy was too tired to snap back with a smart-ass response. “I don’t really want to hear their voices,” he admitted. “They have to be so angry with me.”

Wilbur was quick to deny that. “No!” he exclaimed. ”That is not anger, Tommy, that’s concern. They are genuinely worried about you, kid. They won’t be mad.”

“How do you know?!” Tommy whirled on Wilbur. “I ran away from home! They probably think I hate them, or they hate me, or something! They probably won’t even let me come home!”

Nope, Wilbur thought as he snatched the phone out of Tommy’s hands and powered it down. We are not doing two panic attacks in one day. “Tommy, you need to settle down. I think we should come back to this when you’re calmer.”

Tommy looked ready to argue, teeth gritted and face red, but he ultimately relented. He hung his head, blonde fluff shielding his watery eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything right.”

Wilbur flinched. Tommy was curling up in a ball on the bed, tucking his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He rested his chin on his knees as silent tears started to fall from his blue eyes. It looked like the iris’ themselves were melting and dripping down the boy’s face.

“I want to talk to my parents. I want them to know that I’m safe. I want them to know where I am,” Tommy rambled, voice wrecked. “And I want to tell you what happened, Wilbur, but I don’t want…” he trailed off, his adam's apple bobbing as he strained to swallow his next words.

“You don’t want what, Tommy?” Wilbur prompted quietly, hands fidgeting in his lap. 

Tommy whined. His face had gone red and blotchy, cheeks wet and reflective under the ceiling light. He buried his face further into his knee caps, reaching up and tugging at his hair. Almost like a reflex, Wilbur reached out and pulled his hands away. 

“I..I don’t want you to be disappointed in me anymore,” Tommy choked out. He said it into his knees, the words coming out muffled and wet. 

Wilbur was quick to backtrack. “I could never be disappointed in you,” he whispered. “You know this.”

Tommy snapped his head up harshly. “You said that when I first started blowing up! You say that when I pull hundreds of thousands of views! You say that when I win! You wouldn’t-you wouldn’t say it when I don’t.” 

All the color drained from the brunette’s face. He desperately wanted to touch him-place a hand on his shoulder, ruffle his hair, give him a hug-but he felt like it would burn both of them if he did. 

Instead, Wilbur clenched his fists and kept them stock-still in his lap. 

“What do you think you have done that would make me disappointed in you?” Wilbur’s voice had dropped so low he could barely hear himself through the blood roaring in his ears. He was angry, he knew. He was aware of the fire burning beneath his skin, the way every muscle tensed in fight or flight, how he was absolutely seething behind soft words. But this anger felt unfamiliar. It felt raw and dangerous and uncontrollable. While he could usually reel it back in quite easily and send that monster back under his bed with a sharp look, this monster felt like it was kicking him under the bed. It felt like this monster was taking over him.

Tommy was staring at him, a mix of fear and regret on his face. “Look at me, Wilbur.” Wilbur did. “What have I done to make you proud of me?”

Wilbur immediately went to answer the question but found that his tongue had been shoved down the back of his throat as Tommy continued to talk in that same apathetic voice.

“The answer is nothing. You and Techno and Phil have all said it-I annoy you. And if it weren't enough to be so goddamn annoying online, here I am annoying you in real life! Honestly, honestly, I don’t know why you have stuck around for so long. I don’t know why you let me in last night.”

I let you in last night because I love you. I let you in because you came to me asking for help. I let you in because it hurts me to see you in pain. I let you in because I want to help you. I let you in because how could I not?

The room was stuffy with silence. The air had stopped circulating, leaving the air to breathe the same recycled oxygen over and over again. 

“I let you in,” Wilbur gasped, desperate to get the words out so he could focus on breathing again. “Because how could I not, Tommy?”

Tommy barked out a sarcastic laugh. “You almost didn’t when you slammed the door in my face. You know, I was almost glad that you did that. It would’ve forced me to turn my sorry ass back around and go home.” 

Wilbur couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t form one coherent thought. “Tommy, I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“What’s happening is that you’re finally realizing what you should have been all along!” Tommy cried, throwing his hands up in the air and unfurling on the bed. “You, just like everyone else, are better off without me.”

Wilbur’s eyes shot wide open. 

The monster in him retreated, leaving him empty for barely a second before a new feeling overwhelmed him: Panic.

Wilbur was familiar with Panic, but in a very distant way, like how you are familiar with friends of your friends. Panic was a friend of Anxiety, but Wilbur had mastered the skill of pushing Panic away before he ever let himself truly feel it. He kept it contained in a little box in the back of his mind, hidden behind Confidence and Composure. But now, Panic had managed to escape his box and was now wrestling with Composure for freedom.

Wilbur took a deep, steadying breath. “Tommy, I don’t feel that way at all. I thought I had made it clear that I love you, l-like a little brother-”

“I thought that was just for the viewers,” Tommy interrupted, glancing up at Wilbur from under his eyelashes. 

“No,” Wilbur was quick to say. “No, it never was. I truly do think of you as my little brother, you know. I would not be better off without you. Hell, if you were to disappear I’d have no fucking idea what I would do. I’d probably die.”

That warranted a small chuckle out of Tommy. “You would die, but only because I wouldn’t be there to save your dumb ass.”

Wilbur laughed instead of arguing. He thinks they both know that wasn’t truly the case. “Okay, whatever you say. But seriously, Tommy, is that what’s going on here?”

The smile dropped off of Tommy’s quivering lips. He shrugged.

That was enough of an answer as any for Wilbur.

“Okay, here’s what I propose we do, then,” Wilbur said, turning his attention back to the phone that lay discarded between them. “I say we text your parents-just a quick something to let you know that you will be staying with me for a few days. Then, I say we treat this as a getaway for the both of us. It's obvious that you need a break and I can’t remember the last time I took one, so. Why not? Now is as good a time as any.”

Tommy seemed to contemplate for a moment. His gaze had also landed on the phone, staring at it as if he were afraid it would lash out and bite him. 

“O-okay,” he hesitantly agreed. “That sounds...nice.”

“Yeah?” Wilbur didn’t want to admit how excited he was now that he thought about it. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said back, a smile slowly spreading across his face. 

Wilbur nodded, grinning brightly. “Well, if that’s the plan, then I think we should both talk to your parents. If I am to be the one taking care of you for the next few days.”

Tommy let relief wash over him like a cool wave on a hot summer’s day. “Yeah,” he breathed. “They probably wouldn’t let me if they didn’t talk to you because...well, you met my dad.”

Wilbur snorted. “You can just say it. They’re very protective of their little baby boy.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wilbur or I swear I’ll tell them you fed me cereal for dinner last night. You know how my mother feels about my nutrition and making sure I get all my ‘necessary vitamins.’”

“To be fair, you look malnourished. If I were your mother, I would be worried too.”

“Stop body shaming me.”

“I will if you stop stalling and turn on your phone already.”

Tommy groaned, but reached out and held down the power button until the white Apple logo appeared on the black screen. It took a few seconds for his outdated iPhone 6 to boot up, but once it did, it vibrated non-stop as more messages from Mr. and Mrs. Simons flooded in. 

Mother: Tommy?! Why have you gone?

Mother: Baby, what's happened?

Father: Thomas

Mother: Baby please just turn your location on and we will come find you

Mother: This will all be over soon

Father: Are you there

Tommy stiffened. “Do I...do I call them, Wil?”

Wilbur shrugged. “If you call them they will be able to hear me talk as well,” he said. 

“O-okay.”

Tommy knew if he didn’t do it now, he would pussy out again and probably have another one of those panic attack things. So, holding his breath and trying not to show Wilbur how scared he truly was, he pressed the phone icon next to his Mother’s contact name and waited for it to start ringing. 

Chapter Text

The phone didn’t ring once before the line had connected and Mrs. Steers was crying into the microphone. 

“Tommy!” and more faintly, “Peter, Tom’s on the phone!”

Tommy felt his heart stutter. “..Mum?”

“Oh, Tommy, baby, are you okay? Please, tell me you’re okay,” Mrs. Steers pleaded. 

Already, Tommy’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’m okay, Mum, I promise.”

“What’s happened? Where have you gone?”

Tommy glanced up at Wilbur out of the corner of his eye. Wilbur gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m at Wilbur’s, yes Wilbur Soot. He-he let me crash here last night.”

There was scuffling and suddenly Tommy could hear his dad as well. 

“Tom, what are you doing? Why did it take you so long to talk to us?”

Tommy visibly flinched. He knew his parents were gonna be angry with him. It had only been a matter of time before his dad started scolding him for running away. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled and he was! He was sorry that he had worried his parents so much, sorry that he couldn’t bring himself to send a measly text telling them that he was okay sooner. He felt like such a shit son. “I didn’t mean to. I just...I just couldn’t. Not right away.”

“Baby,” that was his mum again. “What do you mean? What's going on?”

“And what’s Mr. Soot’s address?” His dad added. 

Tommy froze. “About that…” he looked at Wilbur for support, but he couldn’t do much when he didn’t know what was being said on the other side of the call. 

“What?”

“I don’t want to tell you where he lives just yet. You see, I want to stay here for a couple of days, if the-that’s alright,” Tommy hated the way his voice shook. He had never sounded more like a child than at that moment. 

There was silence on the other line. 

Wilbur’s brows furrowed. ‘What are they saying’ he mouthed. 

Tommy ignored him. “Mum?”

A sigh of defeat. “Thomas,” Mrs. Steers sounded exhausted. “We love you so much. You know we would do anything for you, even if that means giving you some space. I know how much you like Mr. Soot and your father has met him, so I think he’s trustworthy enough, but you have to understand just how bizarre all this is.”

Tommy didn’t even try and disguise the desperation in his voice. He ran one shaking hand through his hair, grabbing it at the roots and giving it one quick tug. He could feel Wilbur glaring at him but continued to act like he wasn’t there. “I know. Mum, trust me I know how this looks. But you have to believe me I didn’t mean for it to get this ba-out of hand!”

Mrs. Steers made a noise of confusion. “Baby, what are you talking about? What got out of hand?”

Tommy suddenly felt too hot. He wiped a hand across his forehead, wondering when he had gotten so sweaty. It felt like the air in the room had stopped circulating, like he was rebreathing the same oxygen and carbon dioxide over and over again. He gasped, fanning at his face to try and get some relief from the fire that roared in the pit of his stomach. 

“Tommy, are you alright? What’s going on?” Mrs. Steers’ voice had risen, stricken with worry and fear. It sounded like her only son was suffocating on the other end of the phone. 

Tommy shook his head. “No, no, I can’t do this. Wilbur, I’m sorry, I just can’t talk about this,” the teen shoved the phone into Wilbur’s hands before quickly getting up and promptly leaving the bedroom. Wilbur heard him enter the bathroom down the hall and slam the door shut behind him. 

“Hello?! Thomas, are you there?” Mrs. Steers' tinny voice venerated through the phone in Wilbur’s hands. 

Wilbur blinked through the shock of what just happened and held the phone up to his ear. He felt like he was in a daze. “Hello? This is Wilbur Soot speaking.”

“Mr. Soot!” That was Mr. Steers. “Thank you for being there for Tommy, but please, what is going on?”

“Where has he gone?” Mrs. Steers cut back in. 

Wilbur rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “Uh, Tommy went to the toilet, I think. I think he just got overwhelmed? That’s been happening a lot lately since he showed up.”

“Is Tommy okay?” Mrs. Steers asked. 

Wilbur looked over his shoulder at the door, hoping to see Tommy push it open. He was torn on what to say. On one hand, he should tell the truth-it was the kid’s parents after all! On the other hand, if Wilbur told the truth and said that he didn’t think Tommy was okay, then he might not be able to stay with him. 

Wilbur sighed heavily, giving into his gut. “I’m gonna be honest with you both,” he said, voice low. “I don’t think Tommy is okay. He hasn’t been the same since he showed up. But he really wants to stay here for a few days and I do believe that would be good for him. I think he came to me for a reason and maybe that’s because he thinks I can help him with...whatever's going on.”

“...so, what exactly are you suggesting?” Mr. Steers said, voice hard. Wilbur bit his lip. “I’m suggesting you let him stay with me for a few days. Mr. Simons, I know we have only met one other time very briefly, but I truly do love your son and would do anything for him. Offering him a place of comfort and familiarity while he works through whatever happened is the least I can do. If, uh, if you let me.”

Wilbur’s heartfelt spiel was met with momentary silence. The brunette held his breath, fighting the urge to beg. 

Finally, Mrs. Steers spoke up. “Mr. Soot-”

“Please, Wilbur is fine.”

“Okay, Wilbur. I’m sure you can understand how worried we are. Tom has never acted out this way before. I would feel much better getting him home  and working through it as a family…”

Wilbur felt his heart drop. 

“...but if you think there is a reason he came to you and not us, I can respect that. I know how often he speaks to you, trust me, that child is loud when he thinks he isn't, and I fear you might know him better than I at this point.”

Wilbur’s heart stuttered in anticipation. 

“I am willing to let him stay with you for a week if you give us updates on how he’s doing regularly. Does that sound good, Peter? Yes? Good. How is that, Wilbur?”

Wilbur’s heart soared. He gave himself a moment to relish in the high that came over him before getting back to the task at hand. 

“That sounds brilliant, thank you so much. I’ll make sure to give you a call at the end of each day, yeah?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Of course, thank you for trusting me to take care of your son.”

“We will be in touch again soon,” and with that, the call ended. 

Wilbur put down the phone, sighing in relief. He had a week, one full week, to hang out with Tommy and figure out what was wrong. And what a better place to start than now?

Chapter Text

Tommy was pretty sure he was having another one of things- panic attacks Wilbur had called them. Tommy was also pretty sure this was part of the reason he felt like dying. 

It still felt vaguely like suffocating. The first time, before, he remembered the vivid sensation of drowning. Being dragged beneath churning waves, lungs filled to the brim with stale oxygen that yearned to be released, body being blocked in by water on all sides with no distinction of which way was up. Now, it still felt like he couldn’t breathe, but because the walls were closing in on him and he was being forced into a small box and his limbs had nowhere to go but tuck around his frail body and there wasn’t enough space for Tommy to fully expand his chest and fill up his lungs with air and oh god oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod.

Tommy balled his fists into his hair, latching on and pulling in an attempt to ground himself. Logically, he knew the walls weren’t closing in on him. He knew there was enough room for him to move, enough air for him to breathe. But his body, his brain , insisted that he was dying and who was Tommy to argue with his own mind?

Maybe if he pulled hard enough, he could rip those thoughts from his brain. 

“Tom- Tommy!”

The teen felt slim and calloused fingers wrap around his wrists, gently separating his fists from his head. Tommy screwed his eyes shut, dropping his chin to his chest and feeling hot tears of shame slide down his cheeks. Wilbur was speaking to him, voice a low grumble, and suddenly Tommy’s face was being upturned towards the ceiling. 

“Toms, can you open your hands for me?” Wilbur was saying and Tommy hated how sad and disappointed he sounded. 

Tommy shook his head like a defiant child in daycare. He didn’t want to open his hands. He knew what he would see when he did and he didn't think he could handle that right now without having another breakdown. 

Tommy heard Wilbur let out a shuddery breath. “Can you open them for me, Tommy. You don’t have to look, just let me…” Slowly, Tommy allowed Wilbur to unfurl his fist like a flower blooming in spring. His fingers fell away and Tommy felt the cool air of the bathroom assuage his dampened palms. He waited with bated breath and closed eyes for Wilbur’s next words, his words of disgust and disappointment. 

They never came. In fact, Wilbur didn’t say anything. Tommy kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut and listened as Wilbur clambered around the bathroom, grabbing what he assumed to be the bin and positioning it between the two of them. Wilbur overturned Tommy’s wrists, emptying the contents of his palms into the trash. 

“There,” Wilbur murmured afterward, kicking the bin away. “It’s gone. You can open your eyes now.”

Tommy reluctantly did. He let his eyes flutter open, eyelashes sticking together with dried tears. It took a moment for the room to come into focus. Once the room stopped spinning, Tommy took a second to take in his surroundings. 

He remembered fleeing to the bathroom. He remembered closing the door behind him and turning to the sink. He remembered twisting the knob on the faucet and splashing cold water up into his face. He remembered feeling like the walls were closing in. He did not remember sitting down on the floor, wedged between the bathtub and the sink. He did not remember to lock the door either, apparently. 

“There you go, Tommy.” Wilbur was crouched down in front of him, brown eyes blown wide with worry. He was extending his arms out loosely to Tommy, offering the teen comfort. 

After a moment of hesitation, Tommy took it. He shuffled forward and let Wilbir wrap his arms around him. He melted against the older man’s chest, letting himself be lulled into a sense of security by the warmth that radiated off of him. Only after all the tension had leaked out of his muscles, did Tommy realize how exhausted he was. He could barely even lift his head when Wilbur started talking again.

“Tommy, you’re parents gave you permission to stay here for a week. Tommy, we have one full week together, you and I. We can do whatever you want, but you have to tell me what’s going on. I can’t-I didn’t know-”

Tommy didn’t know either. He had just had two panic attacks in the span of an hour (and was pretty sure he had been having these quite often in the past few months now that he knew what they were), had a massive breakdown in the bathroom which resulted in him pulling his hair out, and had cried so much he felt like he was wrung dry. He knew Wilbur wanted an explanation, a why for all these horrible things that kept happening in succession, but he didn’t know why either. All day, that’s all he’s been trying to say. He knew it had gotten too much-that’s why he had run away. He didn’t know what had gotten too much or why it had gotten too much, just that it was past the point where he could ignore it and handle it himself. 

Tommy didn’t say anything for a long moment and Wilbur didn’t press. He allowed himself to just be held, to let Wilbur’s warming and comforting presence temporarily keep all the bad feelings away. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur was on the phone with Phil in the kitchen while Tommy sat on the couch, nursing a mug of hot chocolate that had long gone cold. He didn’t remember leaving the bathroom and coming into the living room, just like how he didn’t remember accepting the mug of hot chocolate. It was like one second it wasn’t there and the next it was. 

“He pulled his hair out, Phil. Like fistfuls of it,” Wilbur’s voice echoed from the next room. He had steadily been getting louder as the conversation went on and was practically yelling now. 

Tommy stared down into the mug. The beverage swirled brown and milky, with chunks of undissolved cocoa powder sitting on top amongst the half-melted marshmallows. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank hot chocolate-sometime around Christmas, probably. 

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t checked. He’s had two panic attacks today already so I don’t want to ask him and trigger another one, you know? Yeah, I know. Okay,” Wilbur sighed heavily. “Okay.”

Thinking about it now, Tommy quite preferred hot chocolate to the usual plain coffee and cream he would drink at home. While he appreciated the caffeine and energy boost that drinking coffee gave him, he was really relishing in the warm and mushy feeling drinking the hot chocolate was giving him. He felt like he was going to melt into the couch cushions at any second. 

“I will, Phil. I’ll ring you back up if...yeah. I think that would be best. Uh-huh. Okay, you too. Bye-bye.” Wilbur rounded the corner and walked back into the living room, clutching the phone to his chest and trying to disguise just how distressed he felt. 

Tommy didn’t look up when Wilbur approached him. He kept his eyes trained on his mug and the contents inside.

“Tommy,” Wilbur knelt in front of the teen. “How are you feeling, Tommy?”

Tommy faintly registered that someone was speaking to him. He tore his eyes away from his hot chocolate and glanced up to see Wilbur staring at him. Wilbur looked panicked, the kind of panicked that parents sometimes got where they desperately wanted to freak out but couldn’t for their kids’ sake. 

Tommy blinked owlishly at him as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on. Wilbur swallowed thickly, trying to ignore all of the alarm bells going off inside of his head at that moment. 

Tommy had had two panic attacks that day, one that led to him causing himself physical harm. It only made sense for Tommy to space out and become unaware. Wilbur couldn’t count the number of times he’d had a massive breakdown and spent the rest of the day laying in bed staring at the ceiling. It was a natural and common trauma response. 

Wilbur tried again, “Did you like your hot chocolate?”

Tommy looked down at the mug in his hands and back up to Wilbur. He slowly held it out for the older man to take. “It’s cold now,” he mumbled. 

Wilbur took the mug from the teen. “Do you want me to reheat it for you?”

 “No.”

“Okay,” Wilbur cleared his throat awkwardly and set the hot chocolate down on the coffee table behind him. “Well, are you feeling any better? I want to talk to you about something before I let you go back upstairs.”

That caught Tommy’s attention. The opaque haze that had been clouding his brain up until that point dissolved, throwing Tommy back into reality headfirst. He gasped as if he’d just gotten the wind knocked out of him, all the air leaving his lungs and leaving him to flounder like a fish out of water. He missed the little bubble he had been in a moment ago-floating in a headspace where he was allowed to be blissfully unaware. He didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t want to come back to reality and deal with what was waiting for him. He didn’t want to deal with whatever the fuck Wilbur was going on about. “What?”

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair. “I was just on the phone with Phil, telling him what happened. He asked-he wants me to check-” he cut himself off with a frustrated huff. He looked directly into Tommy’s eyes now, trying to convey something through his gaze. “Do you self-harm, Tommy?”

Tommy felt his heart stutter to a stop. 

“I know hair-pulling is one thing, but I just want to make sure,” Wilbur elaborated quickly, words rushed. His eyes flickered over Tommy’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. 

But what kind of reaction was he looking for? Was he waiting for Tommy to clutch at his arms, where layers upon layers of scars littered his skin, and breakdown and sob and admit to cutting himself? Or was he waiting for Tommy to recoil with something acute to disgust, acting almost offended that Wilbur would insinuate such a thing? What exactly would give the answer away? 

Was no reaction at all a reaction in disguise? 

Tommy was too busy mentally spiraling to notice Wilbur studying him like a lab experiment. Wilbur had just handed him a lit grenade and walked a safe distance away to watch what he would do with it. On the one hand, he could throw the grenade away like a logical person with a decent sense of self-preservation, but Tommy got the feeling that Wilbur expected him to hold onto the grenade even as it detonated. 

Tommy reeled his arm back and threw the grenade as far as he could, not watching it soar through the air long enough to see it explode. 

“No,” Tommy’s tongue felt thick and awkward in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”

Wilbur nodded, but the skeptical look on his face betrayed just how much he actually believed him. “Okay, good. Okay,” he said stiffly. “So, you won’t mind if I ask you to take off your shirt and double-check?”

Tommy swore he had thrown the grenade. He remembered winding his arm back and throwing it like a pitcher in baseball, so why had the grenade landed at his feet, beeping threateningly as it counted down its last few seconds until detonation?

“No,” Tommy said tersely and stood up from his seat on the couch. He glared down at Wilbur with nothing short of betrayal. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

In one smooth motion, Tommy grabbed the bottom of the sweater he was wearing and whipped it up and over his head. He dropped it at his feet and turned, hands on his bony hips. Wilbur’s eyes were immediately on him, searching for cuts and scars that weren’t there. 

“You want me to take off my trousers too so that you can check my thighs, dickhead?” He snapped bitterly once he had revealed scarless skin. He made a show of spinning in a slow circle for Wilbur before bending down and retrieving his clothing. 

Wilbur didn’t look embarrassed, just sad. He shook his head once. “No, it's fine. Thank you.”

Tommy huffed irritably and shoved his head through the hole in his sweatshirt, sticking his arms through the sleeves. The huff turned into a long sigh as he reclaimed his seat on the couch. “Look,” he started, suddenly feeling the guilt of what Wilbur had just asked of him land on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know that...I know somethings wrong, but I’m not stupid, okay? I’m not and I was never planning on cutting or...k-killing myself. I didn’t mean to scare you and Phil like that. I’m sorry.”

Wilbur leaned forward and placed a tentative hand on Tommy’s knee. Tommy tensed slightly under the sudden touch. “It's okay, we’re just worried, is all. In situations like this, we agreed that it's better to be safe than sorry. I know it's uncomfortable to be confronted about these kinds of things, but it's a necessary precaution. You understand that, right?”

Tommy looked down at his lap, wringing his hands together sheepishly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Wilbur’s chest. His airways reopened and he could finally breathe again. He didn’t know what he would have done if Tommy had taken off his top to reveal various white and pink and red lines littering his body like some sort of sick game of tic tac toe. “No more hair-pulling though, alright? I don’t want that to...escalate.”

At that, Tommy hesitantly reached up and ran a hand over the top of his scalp. It was still sore from where he’d grabbed at it earlier, but now he noticed how there were two balding patches where his hands had fisted into his hair. He pulled his hand away in alarm. 

“I don’t remember-I didn’t think I pulled that much out! Wilbur,” Tommy looked back at the brunette, eyes wide and full of something like fear. “Wilbur, why-why did I do that?”

Why did I do that? Wilbur thought as his stomach heaved once again. He lurched over the porcelain bowl of his friend's toilet, emptying his stomach for the umpteenth time that morning. At this point, he was vomiting up nothing more than stomach acid and saliva. 

He couldn’t remember a thing that had happened last night. All he knew was that a hard day had led to a hard week, had led to a hard month, had led to a hard six months, and here he was, probably suffering from alcohol poisoning because he thought drinking enough alcohol would drown out the intrusive thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone. 

And maybe it had worked temporarily. Sure, Wilbur couldn’t remember the entirety of last night, but that meant he couldn’t remember thinking about driving his car over the yellow line on his way home from work either. Was the moment of peace worth the blackout? Was the quiet worth the roar of blood in his ears now? 

Why did I do that? Wilbur thought as he stumbled home late Saturday morning, struggling to stay on the sidewalk. He was so hungover that he was basically still drunk from the night before. 

His phone was angry in his hands. It was screaming and yelling at him, the screen lighting up every couple of seconds with a new notification. 

Wilbur had really fucked up. He’d gone out last night-Friday night, sue him-for a couple of drinks. It had been a long week. It seemed like every day he had something else to do, whether that was stream, appear in someone else’s stream, or record, he couldn’t catch a goddamn break. Was it so much to ask for a breather? A chance to take a step back and decompress? He thought he deserved a drink a two after all the work he’d done. 

But work never stopped, apparently. 

Charlie: I can’t believe you blacked out at a house over 20 blocks away

Charlie: u knew we had this recording today. we planned it a week ago!

David: yeah honestly wtf Wil we needed u now we have to reschedule 

Matt: cmon dude

Jack: this is so annoying. pull urself together mate

Wilbur clicked his phone off, taking a deep breath and trying to recollect himself even as the world tilted beneath his feet. 

How could he have been so selfish? He didn’t deserve a break, not when he had prior commitments. It didn’t matter if it felt like he was suffocating in front of the camera. It didn’t matter if taking the mask off once the recording was over was getting harder and harder. It didn’t matter if the urge to drink was so strong he couldn’t think about anything else. How could he let his friends down like this?

Why did I do that? Wilbur thought to himself. He was laying in bed, watching the fan spin on his ceiling as silent tears streamed down his cheeks. He’d lost track of time at this point. The line between morning and night, getting up and going to bed, was awfully blurred. He remembered lying down to go to sleep, but it felt like a distant memory from days ago. 

Why did I do that, why did I do that, why did I do that? The thought ran through Wilbur’s head on loop, chanting like some sick mantra as the brunette was forced back through painful memories. Him, high out of his mind on the beach, uncapping a bottle of vodka as waves lapped at the shore. Him, drunk at a party and holding onto another body to stay upright, lips attached to a stranger. Him, throwing his fist through a window as hot anger over something he couldn’t remember coursed like fire through his veins. 

Why did I do that? 

Why am I like this? 

Wilbur wished for an off button, some sort of switch he could hit that would allow him to instantly fall asleep. When he was asleep, these thoughts couldn’t reach him. When he was asleep, these thoughts couldn’t hurt him. He was so, so tired, body and mind yearning for release from this hell he was trapped in. Why couldn’t his brain just shut up? Why couldn’t he just stop thinking? 

The fan continued to spin above him. That’s how he felt-like he was trapped on the wing of a fan, forced to go in circles until something came along and stopped it. 

Someone please stop it. 

Emotion crept up the back of Wilbur’s throat like bile and he suppressed the urge to gag. The sudden onslaught of memories gave him whiplash, a dull ache starting in the forefront of his brain. He’d buried that part of him, hidden it away in the deepest crevices of his mind so that it couldn’t come forward and haunt him like it was now. 

Maybe Tommy was haunting him.

Wilbur sighed heavily, pushing away the thoughts of him at his lowest point, his rock bottom, the empty cabinet in his kitchen that used to be filled with alcoholic beverages. “Sometimes,” he started, voice shaking but strong. “Sometimes, we hurt ourselves to feel something.”

Fistfuls of hair.

Bottles of vodka.

Half-smoked blunts.

Dull razors.

Pill bottles.

They were all the same, weren’t they? At one point or another, they were all tools of self-destruction. 

Tommy’s eyes flashed with understanding. He sucked in a deep breath, glancing down at where Wilbur’s hands still rested on his kneecaps. The atmosphere was so thick with sorrow it felt like it was physically weighing them down. 

After a moment, Tommy reached out and laid his hands over top of Wilbur’s. 

Chapter Text

Uhhhh I don't really know how to do this so I'm just gonna get straight to the point.

I'm done with this fic. I have been for a while, to be honest. Not only do I not know where to take this fic, but I don't have the commitment to keep writing it. As you can see, I've taken a liking to one-shots. They are more my style. 

I'm sorry to abandon it like this and I'm sorry for taking so long to officially announce that I'm done with it but the simple fact is that I am.

If you want to continue this in your own way, feel free. If you want to talk to me about my plans for it, feel free. If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free. Again, I won't be writing it anymore but I'm gonna leave it posted for you guys.

Thank you for following me on this journey and thank you for supporting me up until this point. If you liked my writing here, please check out my other works and follow me on tumblr @bellfort3 where I'm also active.

Much love for all of you<3 

Belle