Chapter Text
It was too fucking early, in Tommy’s humble opinion, for anyone to be yelling this loud. It was always something, wasn’t it? None of them could ever just hang out, there was always something to get angry about or fight over or giggle uncontrollably like they were in fucking middle school instead of grown adults. Dream was, shockingly, the most mature out of their stupid little group, but frankly that wasn't saying much. He was only responsible because he handled the money.
Tommy turned over, burying his face into the mattress and holding his pillow over his head. If he tried hard enough, he'd be able to pretend the fight wasn't happening at all, and his half asleep brain could just tune it out again like always. He didn’t need to care about what Dream and his friends were arguing about this time, or any time.
It doesn’t concern you, he reminded himself in some attempt to convince himself to fall back asleep. If it did, Dream would have come in here and kicked your ass by now.
He heard something slam, and a clatter like something being dropped. Or thrown. George liked to throw things. He was like a toddler that way. Tommy rolled his eyes and flipped to his other side.
Think happy thoughts.
Once, when they were little, Tommy asked Dream how he fell asleep so fast, and Dream had told him to close his eyes and think about ice cream. Dream fell asleep a few minutes later, but Tommy laid awake thinking about how there were way too many flavors of ice cream in the world, and how anyone who ate ice cream with bananas in it clearly had some kind of trauma, and how one time when Tommy asked what was in the “moose tracks” flavor, the ice cream lady laughed at him instead of answering, as though moose tracks was clearly explanation enough–
There was a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
If he had half a brain cell left, he would have thought for more than a second about his next move, but intelligence wasn’t exactly his strongest attribute, and so his reaction was much less of a “what’s going on?” and more of a swift kick to the balls .
He threw the pillow off of his head, sitting bolt upright and finally opening his eyes for the first time since he’d half woken up earlier. And it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t actually still at Dream’s house. It was weird, looking around and seeing freshly painted walls and a clean carpet where he expected the usual grimy bedroom he’d grown to hate so much. And it was even more disorienting to see that the person who he’d kicked in the balls wasn’t actually Dream, and was, unfortunately, the most intimidating person in this household. Tommy could only see the top of his pink hair peeking up over the edge of the bed where he had doubled over.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Tommy said, rubbing his eyes. “Did I kick you?”
“ Uh huh ,” Techno wheezed.
“In the balls?”
“ Something like that,” he breathed, tucking his head down further. “That’s a mean roundhouse.”
“Why were you grabbing me?” Tommy demanded, sitting up further. He could still hear a muffled fight. He wondered if someone was watching TV downstairs. Maybe that was what woke him in the first place…
“You’re not even gonna say sorry?” Techno groaned, sitting back on the heels of his palms and breathing like a yoga instructor, in through the nose and out through the mouth.
“You came into my room. You don’t even live here. Isn’t this technically breaking and entering? Self defense.” Tommy heard something slam downstairs, something that was definitely not on TV. He felt the vibration in the floor. “Why are you in here, anyway? What’s going on?”
“Just… hold your horses for a second, okay?” Techno said, gathering himself.
“Hold my… how old are you again?”
“Too old for this,” he muttered, pushing himself up to his feet. Tommy heard another slam from downstairs, followed by yelling. It sounded like Wilbur, but he didn’t seem the type to yell.
“Jesus, sorry, okay? What’s going on?”
“We’re going for a drive,” Techno said. He walked stiffly over to the lamp on the bedside table and turned it on. It made Tommy’s eyes hurt.
“What? Why? It’s like–” he reached over to check his phone. “You’re waking me up at one in the morning to go for a drive ?”
“Yes. Are you wearin’ pants? Where are your shoes?”
Tommy blinked at him slowly, trying to piece together what was going on. It was early, or late depending on your view of things, and he was so sure, just a few minutes ago, that he was stuck squarely where he had started, burying his face into a lumpy mattress back at Dream’s place and tuning out some meaningless argument. And then Techno was in his room, or in Phil’s room, at Phil’s house, which Techno also shared but not really, which either made it much less weird or much more weird that he was here asking Tommy if he had pants on.
He felt… disoriented.
“Is that Wilbur yelling?” Tommy asked, neglecting to answer either of Techno’s questions. “Why’s he yelling? Who’s he yelling at?”
“Here,” Techno said. He held out a box that contained the shoes that Tommy had only bought earlier that day, the white ones with the stripes, and for some reason it made acid rise in his throat.
“ Stop ,” he said, and with far more conviction than he was expecting from himself. “Stop it. You’re freaking me out, okay? I’m sorry I kicked you in the balls. Is that what you want to hear?” Techno stared at Tommy for a long moment, long enough that he wondered if Techno was actually going to say anything in response to that. Maybe he’d knocked a few brain cells loose with that kick as well. Tommy could still hear voices from downstairs. But then Techno blinked and slowly lowered the box to set it on the bed. He took a very intentional breath.
“No, I’m… I’m sorry. The fighting, it just– it sets me on edge,” he said.
“What’s going on?” Tommy asked. He opened the shoebox. Techno wordlessly tossed him a pair of socks. “Who’s Wil fighting with? Phil?”
“Yeah,” Techno said. “They’re– I can explain in a minute, once we’re out of the house, okay?” Tommy nodded. “Wilbur’s having a bad night, and Phil texted me askin’ to just get both of us out of the house while they work it out. He doesn’t want you to hear it.”
“He doesn’t need to worry about me,” Tommy muttered. “I’m used to fighting.”
“He doesn’t want you to hear it here ,” Techno clarified. Tommy wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but he put his shoes on nonetheless. “We’re going right to the garage. Don’t get involved.”
“Okay…” Weird way to break in new shoes. Tommy furrowed his brow, standing up from the bed and grabbing his phone. What the hell are they fighting over? He unplugged his phone and put it in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Is this– am I just not allowed to ask questions, or…?”
“Phil found out that Wilbur spent a bunch of his money when you two were out,” Techno said. Tommy bit the inside of his lip. “Something about a fancy old record.”
“I tried to talk him out of it,” Tommy said hurriedly. “Or– well, I kind of tried. I– he said Phil would be fine with it, but then he also said not to tell him, so I didn’t know if I should–”
“This isn’t on you, Tommy,” Techno shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. They’re gonna work it out, and–”
Wilbur shouted something that sounded vulgar, but it was so loud and so scrambled that Tommy couldn’t quite make it out with any certainty. Regardless, it made Techno flinch, his shoulders pulling up slightly towards his ears in a way Tommy never would have expected from him. Techno just shook his head, motioning silently for them to keep going and get to the garage. Don’t get involved.
They started down the front stairs, and Tommy wondered if he was supposed to be tiptoeing or not. Was this supposed to be sneaky? Were they sneaking out? Did Wilbur even know that Techno was rushing him out of the house like this?
He heard Phil’s voice, quiet and calm as ever, but it seemed like it was doing nothing to calm Wilbur down.
“You just think I’m acting crazy, right?” Wil shouted. Don’t get involved, Tommy reminded himself.
Phil said something in response, but Tommy couldn’t hear it from the bottom of the stairs.
“No, you do. Everyone does! I bet Techno and Tommy are up there laughing to themselves, oh Wilbur’s so fucking crazy– no, you know what? I bet,” Wilbur laughed, and it was almost scary hearing it in the darkness of the front hallway. “I bet Tommy fucking told you, right?” Wilbur asked. “Of course he did.”
Tommy’s stomach sank. He didn’t. He didn’t say a word , he wasn’t a snitch. He’d mastered the art of keeping his mouth shut, except for– except for when he reported Dream. Maybe that’s all that stuck in Wilbur’s head, then, right? That he’d sell out his own family? His chest felt tight, tense with the sudden need to defend himself, to clear his name. He cut across Techno in a beeline for the kitchen, ignoring Techno’s attempt to grab his arm and hold him back.
“Wilbur, Tommy didn’t–” Phil started, but Tommy cut him off.
“I didn’t say anything,” Tommy said as soon as he got to the doorway. Wilbur whirled around to look at him, and Tommy took a step back. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under fuckin’ yesterday. There was something so distinctly off about him. He looked different, a stark black and white switch from the bubbly happiness he’d given off earlier that day. His eyes seemed glassy.
“Tommy–” Phil started, but Tommy cut him off.
“I didn’t say anything ,” Tommy repeated, swallowing hard. He was afraid. Almost as afraid as he was of Dream, sometimes, a fear of not knowing what to expect. “And I don’t– I don’t think that you’re crazy–” Tommy said, but he didn’t know what he was trying to do. Clear his name? Comfort? Diffuse the tension? He felt Techno’s hand on his shoulder, so bizarrely gentle.
“Oh so, what, you didn’t trust me, then?” Wilbur said, turning back to Phil. “That’s it? Why are you checking your bank account right when we get home?”
“I gave you my card to buy clothes, Wil–”
“And I bought clothes! I bought clothes for fucking– for Tommy, and for myself, and you said that you owed me a present for graduation–”
It was as though Wilbur had forgotten Tommy was there at all, forgotten that he’d said anything, forgotten that he was standing right there in the doorway waiting for an acknowledgement, you’re right Tommy, I’m sorry I doubted you, I know you’d never sell me out . I’m sorry for scaring you. It didn’t come.
“That’s not the point, Wil–”
“What’s the fucking difference?” Wilbur demanded. “I buy this record now, or ten records later for the same price, the money still gets spent!”
“We’ve talked about this. You can’t just spend money impulsively on things, this isn’t what we do. We talk about it, and–”
“Well, what’s the point of having money if you don’t spend it?” Wilbur threw his hands up in the air. Techno tugged on Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy let him pull him back into the hallway, slowly backing out of the kitchen like a matador watching a bull. “You won’t let me get a job–”
“I never said that–”
“You don’t have to! You think I won’t be able to keep it, you think I’m gonna fuck it up like everything else! I’m just a project to you, a failed fucking project! You failed and you don’t want to admit it,” Wilbur shouted, his voice cracking with the volume. Tommy felt cold.
“Come on,” Techno said quietly, opening the garage door, and Tommy hadn’t realized they’d backed so far away from the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Tommy mumbled under his breath. Don’t get involved. It was such a simple instruction. What if he’d just made it worse?
“It’s not your fault,” Techno shook his head. He closed the garage door behind them. The sound of yelling was muffled. Tommy couldn’t tell what they were saying anymore. “I’m just glad he didn’t turn it around on you. He does that sometimes.” He sounded like he was speaking from experience. Techno opened the driver’s side door of his car and slid into the seat. Tommy followed suit, walking around to the other side.
“Does he… do this often?” Tommy asked. He felt like he half-knew the answer. He’d been there several weeks now, so it couldn’t happen that frequently, but it had obviously happened enough before for Techno and Phil to have some kind of plan worked out.
Techno turned on the car and pressed the button to open the garage door, waiting in silence for it to roll all the way up. He took a breath and slowly backed out, and for a moment, Tommy wondered if he’d even heard his question, but then he spoke.
“He’s bipolar,” Techno said quietly.
“What?”
“He’s bipolar. He was manic before, this whole week. Phil clocked it, that’s why he was checking the bank account, he– he shouldn’t have given Wilbur his card. I told him not to–” Techno cut himself off, breathing out slowly. His right hand was shaking, and he balled it into a fist against his thigh. Tommy didn’t know what half of all of that meant, but it seemed like the wrong time to ask. “Tommy, just do me a favor, okay?” Techno asked.
“Okay?”
“Just… talk. Talk about anything. Anything else.”
“What?” Suddenly words escaped him. He was so able to put his foot in his mouth every chance he got from oversharing, and now he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“I’m not good at… at the fighting . I usually get out of the house faster than that. Not that– not that gettin’ you wasn’t the right thing to do, obviously, just– it took longer, and– it’s just one of those things– I need to think about something else.”
“I get it,” Tommy said, cutting him off. Just say anything. He needs you to say anything. He needs you. “You– uh, you’re…” Oh my god just say something. “Uh, you– oh! You’re a, uh, a safe driver,” he said. It was the first thing that popped into his head. Just say whatever pops into your head .
Techno furrowed his brow.
“Yeah, you– I mean, you’re all– even though you’re… stressed…” Tommy continued, “you still drive safe. And Sapnap, he was one of Dream’s friends– did you know they called themselves the Dream Team? How pretentious is that?”
Techno breathed out what could have been an attempt at a laugh.
“He used to drive like shit, even when he wasn’t stressed. I mean, I think he actually drove worse when he wasn’t stressed, weirdly enough. It was that adrenaline junkie thing, yeah?” Techno hummed. “Not that… not that he wasn’t already a junkie,” Tommy mumbled. That earned him a snort. “I feel like I’ve told you about him. He was the one who turned left on red, remember?”
“Oh, that guy,” Techno said quietly.
“Yeah, that guy. You know, he was kind of nice to me sometimes. In like, a crazy drug addicted uncle kind of way. You know, saying it out loud, that doesn’t sound great. But you know, he bought me snacks when they went to the gas station and shit. Which, like… it’s nice when someone thinks of you.”
Techno flipped on his turn signal at a red light, waiting patiently for it to turn. His grip seemed a little looser.
“Are you a snacker?” Tommy asked.
“Am I… a snacker ?” Techno repeated?
“You know, like… when I was little, my mom used to say I was always grazing. Like, I never sat down and had a meal, I just had snacks here and there and hopefully I’d get my calories. Dream was the same way. Is , I guess. Well… I don’t know if they have snacks in jail.”
“They don’t,” Techno said simply. Tommy glanced over to him, but quickly looked back to the road, trying not to make Techno more stressed.
“Well, I guess he’s pretty bummed, then,” Tommy shrugged.
“I feel like he’s probably bummed about more than just the snacks,” Techno noted.
“Probably,” Tommy sighed. “I ratted him out, you know,” he added quietly. It was one of those things he just wanted off of his chest. It wasn’t like it was a secret, more that it was something he knew no one but a lawyer was going to ask him, and this seemed like as good a time as any. Say anything. Techno turned to him slightly, and Tommy could feel his eyes on him for a moment before he looked back to the road.
“I didn’t know that,” he said softly.
“I told Wilbur.”
“Well, Wilbur didn't tell me. We don't get in each other's business. House rule, remember?” Techno reminded him. They were consistent, Tommy had to give them that. He half expected one of these days to find out that Phil had spilled all of his secrets to Wilbur and Techno as some sort of gotcha! You thought you could trust us? Psych! But no.
“No matter what?”
“Well, I mean… Phil's a mandatory reporter, so I guess– not no matter what , but… you know. Mostly.”
“What's that? Mandatory reporter?” Tommy asked.
“It means if he, uh, suspects abuse or something, he's gotta report it to someone,” Techno explained. Tommy nodded.
“Oh. Well I make that job easy for him, I guess,” he joked, and Techno breathed a laugh, shaking his head.
“Takes guts, though.”
“What?”
“Callin’ the cops on your brother,” Techno said. Tommy furrowed his brow.
“Not really,” he scoffed.
“No, it does. It takes guts. You didn’t know how that was gonna turn out.”
“Yeah, cus this is loads better.”
“Well, what did you want?” Techno asked. Tommy glanced over to him, raising his eyebrows. “What’s the ideal? You call the cops on Dream, that’s step one. What’s step two?” Tommy leaned back in his seat.
“I didn’t think about it that much.”
“You had to have some idea,” Techno pushed.
“Step two was… I dunno. He disappears. He’s out of my life, forever. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“This– this is not a great conversation for one in the morning,” Tommy muttered.
“This is the only type of conversation for one in the morning,” Techno refuted. “Look, I’ll tell you mine. Step one was to kick my stepdad’s ass for laying a hand on his daughter. Step two was to go to jail, probably for murder,” he chuckled, like it was supposed to be funny. “Step three was that I’d go to one of those rehab prisons where they teach you anger management skills, or where they train service dog puppies or somethin’ like that.”
“You trained a puppy in prison?” Tommy asked, which was clearly the most important part of anything Techno had said.
“I didn’t go to prison,” Techno said. “I got placed with Phil instead.”
“Lame. Bet you wish you could have gotten a prison puppy,” Tommy mumbled. Techno snorted.
“For sure,” he said. “That would have been way better.”
“Yeah, Phil really fucked your plans up, aye?” Techno shook his head.
“Definitely. I tell him every day.” Tommy laughed.
“I really didn’t have a step two, though,” he admitted, looking down at his hands. “I barely even had a step one. I didn’t really think about it. I know that sounds dumb.”
“Not everything has a reason, I guess.” Techno shrugged.
“I had a reason , I just didn’t have an end goal. I didn’t think it through, I just did it.”
“If you had known where it was going to go, would you still have done it?” Techno asked. Tommy furrowed his brow.
“Like, if I knew everything was gonna be the same as it is now?”
“Yeah,” Techno nodded.
“So far… Yeah, I mean… I think I would. Even with all the shit hitting the fan, I feel like I kinda know what’s going on now. It’s all still fucked, but… you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Techno sighed. They were quiet for a moment, just watching the road. Techno pulled onto the highway, and Tommy wondered absentmindedly where they were going, and he thought about asking, but it felt wrong to know. Like this was supposed to be some cosmic journey that no one knew the destination of.
“Do you feel better now?” Tommy asked instead.
“Heh?” Techno glanced at him.
“You know. Before, you… asked me to talk to you. Cus you were all…” Tommy made a noise like someone’s grandpa being startled by a spider. He wiggled his fingers for good measure.
“Oh,” Techno chuckled. “Yeah. I do, actually,” he said like he was surprised about it. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Tommy shrugged. “I have no shortage of wisdom to share.”
“And all this falls in the wisdom category?” Techno asked.
“Where else would it fall?”
“Fair point.” Techno sighed, leaning back in his seat and stretching his neck. He rested one elbow against the window ledge. He took a breath in, another one of those yoga instructor breaths, except this one didn’t have as much you kicked me in the balls energy and more I’m calming myself down energy. “I’m sorry for freakin’ you out, though.”
“What was even going on?” Tommy asked. “Were they even fighting about the money? It sounded like it was… more…”
“It– it’s not really… the reason for the fight isn’t really relevant, honestly,” Techno said, which didn’t really clarify anything. “But yeah, it was about the money. Phil checked his bank account after you two went shopping because he got a high charge alert, and he went to ask Wilbur about it, and– well, you saw the aftermath. It just escalated. Wilbur… he tends to escalate when he’s– do you know what mania is?”
“Like… maniac? Like crazy people?” Techno opened his mouth, but Tommy interrupted. “Is it something to do with bipolar? You said Wilbur was bipolar. I thought that was, like, an insult, right? Like what you call people when they’re being moody and annoying.”
“That’s not– no, Tommy,” Techno shook his head.
“That’s what Dream used to say about my mom,” Tommy mumbled. Now that he thought about it, maybe it was a dick thing to say. He shut his mouth.
“It’s a diagnosis. People like to say it like it’s the same as being moody, like… like how people say I’m so OCD when what they really mean is that they’re meticulous.”
“What’s meticulous?”
“Someone who has a lot of attention to detail. Neat and tidy.”
“That’s not the same as OCD?”
“We can unpack that later,” Techno said, and Tommy bit the inside of his cheek, embarrassed. “Bipolar is… it’s a mental illness. It’s a mood disorder, it means that you get episodes of mania and depression that you can’t control, and they can last weeks sometimes. Months.”
“He’s gonna be like that for months? ” Tommy asked.
“No, Wil’s on a medication that works pretty well to shorten his episodes, make them less severe,” Techno explained.
“So he’s… he’s maniac right now?”
“Manic,” Techno corrected.
“Manic.” Techno nodded. “What’s that mean?”
“Mania is…” Techno searched for the words. “Wilbur explained it to me like he felt like he was on top of the world. Like he’d suddenly become this superhuman. He didn’t need sleep, he was on top of his work, he was productive, like there was time and energy for everything in the world.”
“That’s a bad thing?” Tommy raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Techno nodded. “It means he thinks nothin’ can hurt him, like he’s invincible. He gets impulsive, does dangerous stuff. Thrill seeking behaviors, Phil called it. When he was younger, he used to run away from his foster homes, or he’d steal money and buy whatever he wanted, max out credit cards…”
“Oh,” Tommy muttered.
“And he can get delusions,” Techno added. “He’ll get paranoid that people are spying on him, or lying to him, or working against him somehow. That’s why he thought we were listening in on him, and why he thought you told Phil about the money he spent. They’re not as bad as they were, now that he’s on a good mood stabilizer.” Tommy nodded slowly, trying to sort all of this information in his head in a way that made sense.
“Are you… are you allowed to tell me all this?” He asked. “What about the whole privacy rule?”
“Wilbur was trying to find a way to talk to you about it before, actually,” Techno said. He merged into an exit lane on the highway. Tommy found the route vaguely familiar. “I told him I could talk to you if he wanted, but we never really got around to it. But I know Wil. He’d rather I explain it to you now than him do it when we get back home.”
“Oh,” Tommy said again. “Okay.”
“Look, the important thing is, he’s fine, okay?” Techno said reassuringly. “Phil’s got a good handle on how to help Wil when he’s in an episode. He’s safe, and he’ll be fine.” Techno seemed like he wasn’t just saying it to Tommy, but he was saying it to himself as well.
“Yeah,” Tommy said quietly. “Is this why he likes trees so much?” he asked.
“I dunno,” Techno chuckled. He flicked on his turn signal, turning right at a traffic light. “Maybe. Probably? I think he’s just like that. He needs an outlet, you know? Something interesting, something creative. A good focus for his energy.”
“So he picked trees? ”
“I picked cars,” Techno shrugged. Tommy glanced at him, raising his eyebrows.
“Are you… are you also bipolar?”
“Oh,” Techno said. “No. I’m autistic.”
“But you don’t look autistic–” Tommy cut himself off, closing his mouth and biting down on the inside of his lip. Techno just smiled at him.
“I’ve heard it all before, Tommy. It’s okay.”
“I just meant, like– you don’t– you don’t act, like… you act really norm–” he cut himself off again. “No. Sorry.”
“Tommy–”
“Sorry. Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean– that’s not okay to say, right? Fuck.”
“Yeah, I mean, autism doesn’t really have a look , you know? Sometimes certain symptoms are more visible than others, but not always. Everyone’s different.”
“I knew a couple kids with autism in school,” Tommy added, like that somehow made him more credible. “Which is… irrelevant… now that I think about it. Because… yep.” He shut his mouth again. Techno laughed.
He pulled the car into a parking lot, and Tommy looked up to see the glowing Sleepy’s Diner sign above them. He knew the route seemed familiar.
“Come on,” Techno said, putting the car in park. “Let’s get milkshakes.” Tommy knew there was a lot he didn’t know. He’d admit it. But it was only now that he was realizing that all the things Dream or his mom had said about things like this were probably, or almost certainly, incredibly offensive. He remembered when he was younger, he liked to spin around in circles when he was bored because it made his head feel funny, and his mom used to dig her nails into his arm and tell him to stop.
“People will think you’re autistic.” She said it like it was a death sentence. She also used to call him a parrot because he repeated everything he heard, but that particular sentiment seemed like something he shouldn’t repeat. In fact, a lot of what she said seemed like something he shouldn’t repeat. A lot of what Dream said, too.
He wished he knew things.
It seemed so simple. Techno knew things. Phil knew things. Wilbur knew things. They knew what all these words meant, and they knew how things worked like taxes and bills and credit cards and how to manage money and how to fix a car, and they knew what a courtroom looked like, and they knew how to go shopping, and they knew how to buy nice shoes. Tommy didn’t know things. He didn’t even know what he didn’t know. He just found out as he went when he said offensive shit and wished he hadn’t even opened his mouth.
“Tommy, I can practically hear you overthinking this,” Techno said as they walked into the diner. The little bell over the door jingled. “Don’t stress. You didn’t know.”
Exactly.
The hostess led them to a booth, and Tommy and Techno slid into opposite sides of the table. Techno thanked her for the menus, and she made her way back to the front.
“Is this place open twenty-four hours?”
“Twenty-three, technically,” Techno said. “Convenient for late night milkshakes.”
“For sure,” Tommy said tensely.
“Tommy,” Techno said, and Tommy looked up. “It’s really okay.”
“No, it’s… I just don’t know things,” Tommy whined. He sounded like such a baby.
“You don’t learn unless you ask. And that wasn’t the most insulting thing someone’s said to me by a longshot. You should have heard the things my step dad called me,” Techno smiled, but Tommy didn’t understand how he could just laugh about that.
“Thanks for… talking to me about stuff,” Tommy said awkwardly.
“No problem,” Techno replied. “That’s where a lot of this misinformation comes from,” he added. “No one talks about it. Mental health, illnesses, all that. Trauma and mood disorders and depression, especially when it gets ugly. When it’s not all sunshine and rainbows.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “No one ever talked to me about any of this. Or about anything, really. I feel like I just… like I’m stunted, somehow. Like I should know more than I do, but now I’m too embarrassed to ask because I feel like I should know,” he admitted.
“Well, how about this? You can ask me whatever you want, no judgment. I’ll explain whatever you want,” Techno suggested. Tommy looked up at him from his menu, but Techno was browsing the milkshake flavors. Tommy smiled slightly.
“That sounds good,” he said quietly.
Tommy ordered an oreo milkshake just like the last time he was here with Phil, and Techno ordered a dark chocolate shake with strawberries. Tommy informed Techno that dark chocolate was fucking nasty, to which Techno replied that it was healthy, which was ridiculous, because if you’re already getting a milkshake, then why get a healthy milkshake? It was a valid argument.
But a healthy milkshake was better than no milkshake at all, which is what Tommy got, because they were all out of oreos for the oreo milkshakes.
“This is unbelievable,” he said, thudding his forehead against the diner table. “How will I ever recover from this.”
“We could go buy oreos?” Techno suggested.
“It’s 2 in the morning,” Tommy mumbled.
“You could get another flavor?”
“This is my worst nightmare.”
“That’s awfully dramatic,” Techno said.
“No, this is my lowest moment. Nothing could be worse.”
“Well, that means everything can only get better from here, right?”
“Do you… want another milkshake flavor?” The waitress asked, still standing by the side of their table. “We’ve got a kit kat one that’s pretty popular?” Tommy sighed slowly, sitting back up.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” he said. She smiled at him and took their menus. “We should get Wilbur a vanilla shake before we leave,” Tommy added, turning back to Techno. He hummed and nodded, leaning back in the booth and putting one arm over the seat. “Do you come here every time that Wilbur’s… that he and Phil fight?” It felt weird to say that Wilbur and Phil were “fighting.” Phil wasn’t really fighting. Phil was talking, and Wilbur was fighting. But the semantics didn’t matter.
“Not always,” Techno shrugged. “I usually just drive, honestly. There’s some good mountain roads around here that are fun to explore. But I was in the mood for a milkshake tonight, and I figured… well, I thought it would be kinda boring for you to just drive around with me for an hour.”
“I feel like it wouldn’t be so bad,” Tommy said. “I meant what I said before, you really are a safe driver.” Tommy didn’t know what it was about driving, but for some reason it always stood out to him as a signal of character. Dream drove like he didn’t care that anyone else was on the road. Sapnap drove like he was trying his hardest to get as close to dying as possible without actually dying. George crashed Sapnap’s car the first time he drove it, and was promptly banned from the wheel.
Tommy wondered if he would be a good driver. He felt like he could be a good driver. But he just hoped he hadn’t inherited his brother’s road rage.
“Well, you’re a good distraction,” Techno said, and then paused, considering what he’d said. “I meant that as a good thing,” he clarified. “It’s nice to just… talk to someone, you know? There’s a lot of things I can be there for, for Wilbur, but when he starts yelling like that it just sets me on edge. It’s one of those things.”
“You know, it’s kind of the opposite for me?” Tommy said. Techno raised his eyebrows. “I guess I’m so used to the fighting. But the way you guys talk to each other… you listen, and you say exactly what you mean, and it all makes sense. It’s not what I’m used to. Makes me feel like I don’t actually have to be angry all the time.”
Techno smiled at him, and weirdly, it wasn’t until that moment that Tommy really thought about it as a good thing. With nowhere for that anger to go, it made everything else clearer, despite the anticipation he felt waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even if this was only temporary, even if a few weeks from now he was somewhere else, if his mother got full custody, if Dream was charged and gone forever, at least he had this little pocket of sanity.
“Sometimes a change of pace is nice,” Techno said. Tommy nodded. “And honestly, it’s not that hard to drive safe.”
“Theoretically,” Tommy said, “If I wanted to learn how to drive…”
“I think Phil would kill me if I let you drive.”
“Even just for a minute?”
“Yes. You’d never find my body.”
“I don’t think Phil has it in him to kill anyone,” Tommy countered.
“That’s exactly why he’d get away with it,” Techno replied.
The waitress brought their milkshakes out, setting them down on the table in big glass cups with cookie crumbs and chocolate syrup around the rims. They even brought out the extra shake from the blender in a second cup, which was apparently a perk of going in the middle of the night when no one else was there. Techno walked Tommy through how to drive a car, which was difficult to understand in theory without actually sitting in a car, but the challenge made it much more interesting.
Tommy was pretty sure that Techno was just making some things up, like the “automatic U-turn button,” and the “parachute deployment switch,” and the “cruise control.”
They talked about driving, and how Techno found it relaxing, and how he liked to wake up early just to watch the sun rise on his drive to work. Tommy also used to watch the sun rise in the mornings. He would climb onto Dream’s roof and fall asleep up there, and the sun in the morning would wake him up, until he had to stop because he accidentally broke the gutter drain climbing down and knocked the wind out of himself. He laid on the ground for an hour thinking he broke a rib before he got up and realized he was fine, just newly afraid of heights.
Techno told Tommy about the time he jumped off of his step dad’s balcony trying to jump into a kiddie pool, and he only broke his left pinkie. He showed Tommy the weird way it healed, sticking up slightly and bent out from his palm. Tommy showed Techno the scar he had on his arm from when he jumped out of a tree and landed on a rock, and then showed Techno the scar that was right next to that one from when Dream stabbed him with a fork when they were younger.
As it turned out, Techno also had a fork scar.
Techno had a lot of scars. Tommy did too. Eventually, they ended up trading stories back and forth about injuries or fights or accidental impalements, or intentional impalements in some cases. Techno very casually mentioned that the scar that cut across his face was from when his step dad threw him into a glass coffee table, a fact which took Tommy a moment to process, and another moment to ask if the scar on his arm came from the same fight. It didn’t.
In fact, he didn’t remember which fight that one came from.
“You know that saying, so angry you’re seeing red? ” Techno asked him. Tommy nodded. “I always thought that was a metaphor when I was younger, but it’s not really. It was like blacking out, sometimes. I don’t remember most of those fights. You’d think I would,” he said, half lost in thought. “I remember the sirens, though. That last time.”
Techno took another sip of his milkshake, and Tommy did the same. He sucked in air as he reached the bottom of the shake.
“They didn’t use sirens when they arrested Dream,” he said, and sucked in more air. Two sides of the same coin, aye?
Techno’s phone buzzed on the table, and Tommy remembered that they were here for a reason, not just to get milkshakes. Techno picked it up, reading from the screen before typing something back.
“Phil says we should come back,” he said.
“Is Wilbur… okay?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah,” Techno said. He waved down the waitress, and she made her way over. “Can we get a vanilla milkshake, a caramel swirl, and the check?”
“You can pay up front,” she said, smiling. “I’ll bring the shakes right out.”
“Thank you,” Techno replied. She walked back to the kitchens. “He’s calmed down,” he said, turning back to Tommy. “They worked it out, he’s gonna see his psychiatrist tomorrow, but he and Phil talked it out and he’s doing better now.”
“Phil’s not his psychiatrist?” Tommy asked. Techno shook his head.
“He gives his opinion, but it’s a conflict of interest. They need a neutral third party,” Techno explained. Tommy nodded, and they both slid their way out of the booth. He felt weirdly anxious about returning to the house now, like he didn’t know what to expect. Would it feel different, like a bubble had burst? Was this the other shoe?
Techno paid the bill, the waitress brought them the vanilla shake in a big styrofoam cup, and they made their way back to the car.
“So is Wil, like, back to himself now, or…?” Tommy asked. Techno started the engine.
“He’s… well, he took a medication that helps calm him down, so he might seem kind of out of it, or a little drowsy. But he’s still himself,” he said. Tommy nodded, picking at the skin on the side of his finger. “I can’t really tell you what to expect, honestly,” Techno continued. “Sometimes he recovers from it fast, sometimes he doesn’t. He hasn’t had an episode in a while. I think he was hoping he wouldn’t have one in front of you, so he might be kind of upset about that.”
“Okay,” Tommy said, unsure of what else he was supposed to say. In front of you. That was good, maybe. But something about it felt wrong. Like Wilbur was just passing the time, waiting for him to leave so that he could go back to normal, or stop hiding something about himself. It was a reminder that this was temporary.
“We should, uh… do this again, though,” Techno said, startling Tommy from his thoughts. They pulled out of the parking lot. “Not the manic episode part, of course, but the diner part. That was fun.” Tommy smiled halfheartedly.
“Yeah, it was,” he said. There was a feeling in his chest like cold water running down his throat. He clenched his teeth, looking out the window. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go home, and he didn’t want to be in the car, and he didn’t want the clock to turn from 2:46 to 2:47, because for some reason it felt like the end of the world for time to keep passing in that moment.
“Don’t stress about it, okay?” Techno reassured him.
“I’m not,” Tommy said, but his voice cracked hard. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes roughly. “I’m not, I’m not stressed about that,” he mumbled.
“What’s goin’ on?” Techno asked gently.
“Nothing,” Tommy said. “Nothing’s wrong , everything is fine, that’s… I don’t know,” he sighed. “I… like how things are… right now,” he chose his words carefully. “And I don’t want it to change.” Techno glanced over at him as he pulled back onto the highway.
“Change is part of life,” Techno said, like some kind of self help book. “But whatever happens, we’re not goin’ anywhere.” Tommy let out a breath. “I mean it.” Somehow, Tommy didn’t even have to say exactly what he meant for Techno to get it. “But if you’re uncomfortable talking to Wil tonight, I’m sure he’d understand.”
“No, I… I want to make sure he’s okay. I don’t want him to think this changes anything.” Techno smiled slightly, nodding.
“He’ll appreciate it,” he said. “He cares a lot about you, you know.” Tommy didn’t think this many people had cared about him all at once in his entire life.
Techno let Tommy roll the windows down while they drove. The wind whipped through the car, and it felt different for some reason knowing it was the middle of the night. When they pulled back into the driveway, Tommy could hear crickets coming from the woods that he hadn’t noticed before. There were lights on inside.
The house was quieter when they went back in through the garage door. Tommy could hear voices, but it wasn’t Phil or Wilbur. It sounded like a movie was playing in the living room. Techno let Tommy walk in front of him, hanging his keys up by the garage.
“Is that Legally Blonde?” Tommy asked before he had a chance to stop himself. Elle Woods was on the tv screen, her little chihuahua marching along behind her. He turned to look at Wilbur, who was sitting on the couch. He was huddled up in a blanket, his chin resting on his knees. There was a big bottle of water in front of him on the coffee table and a hot cup of tea that was still steaming slightly. He looked exhausted, but he smiled tiredly when he saw Tommy and Techno walk in.
“Sure is,” he said. His voice sounded a little hoarse. Tommy wondered how long he’d fought with Phil for before they’d been called home. “Iconic movie.”
“I like the big final court scene,” Tommy said. “Oh, and we got you a milkshake,” he remembered, wiggling the styrofoam cup in his hand. “Vanilla.”
“Really?” Wilbur said, smiling. Tommy brought it over to him, and Wilbur unwound his hand from the blanket to take it. “Thank you. And, um… sorry.” He looked down at his hands. “I hope I didn’t, uh,” Wilbur paused, stirring the milkshake with his straw. “Freak you out.”
“I’m pretty sure I freaked you out, too, when I got here, so,” Tommy shrugged. “Call it even?” Wilbur looked up at Tommy. There was something about him that was off, still. His eyes still seemed glassy, his pupils a little too wide, his facial expressions a little too slow. Tommy pushed away memories of Dream when he looked like that, out of it, not all there. It made him want to walk away. It made him want to run. He hated that look.
But Wilbur wasn’t Dream.
“Do you want to watch the movie with me?” Wilbur asked.
“Sure,” Tommy replied. He threw himself down heavily on the couch next to Wilbur. “Popcorn?”
“Phil’s making some right now,” Wilbur smiled.
Techno sat down in the armchair to their left, kicking the leg rest out and leaning back. Tommy settled down into the couch, and as he did, Wilbur unwound some of the blanket from his legs and threw it across Tommy’s lap. On the screen, Elle Woods was giving her pink scented resume to her professor.
“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said again, quietly. “I, um… I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“Takes more than that to chase me off,” Tommy said, trying to keep his tone lighthearted. “Really, Wil. It’s okay. Techno, uh, explained some stuff.” Wilbur nodded.
“Thanks,” he said, looking over at Techno. Techno smiled at him and nodded his head.
“Popcorn,” Phil announced, walking into the living room from the kitchen. The smell of warm butter flowed into the room.
“Milkshake,” Techno replied, holding up the caramel swirl milkshake in the styrofoam Sleepy’s cup.
“Amazing,” Phil sighed. He passed Wilbur the popcorn bowl and took the milkshake from Techno. Wilbur nestled the popcorn in his lap, sliding down in his seat so he could put his feet up on the coffee table. Phil sat down, putting his feet up as well and punching his straw through the top of his cup. Wilbur sighed, wiggling so that the blanket covered his arms.
“Can you turn the volume up, dad?” he asked sleepily. Tommy looked over at Phil, who paused for a moment, blinked, and then reached for the remote. “Thanks,” Wilbur mumbled. He leaned his head up against Tommy’s arm.
“Sure thing, kiddo,” Phil said quietly.
This was one of those moments Tommy wanted to pause, but it wasn’t cold like it was in the car.