Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s always in the last hour before the diner closes that the weirdos come in.

It’s 7:45 PM, fifteen minutes before the open signs get to be turned off and the key gets slotted into the front door. They are so close, only one table remaining in the place, already served their bill. It’s perfect, they might be able to get home at a decent hour.

The bell chimes.

Tommy groans in the back room, thumping his head dramatically on the back counter as the dreadful song of the bell echoes in the kitchen. He jinxed it. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Jack snorts, a towel rag in hand as he wipes soup stains from the wall behind the bain marie, finishing up his closing work. “I believe it’s your turn Tommy.”

“Jack I will literally pay you to take this last table, I’m fucking tired,” Tommy pleads, irritated that he is gonna get stuck here for an extra half hour. Jack chuckles, and Tommy groans again as his coworkers shakes his head.

“I’ve got somewhere to be tonight, and I know for a fact that you don’t.”

Tommy makes a sour face at his coworker. “Fuck you.”

“Language!” Bad calls from the kitchen, his face appearing from over the serving counter. Tommy shoots the obnoxiously tall cook a glare, folding his arms over his chest. How is it that every time he works a night shift, he always ends up here the latest with the last table? It’s true what Jack said, it’s not like he has anywhere to be, but it’s still annoying as shit.

Niki’s head appears from the swinging door that separates the dining room to the back, a pitied smile on her face. “Tommy, you were sat.”

Tommy glares at her as she quickly departs, well aware of how cranky the teen gets when it’s this close to closing time. He sighs, running a hand over his face, before he turns to Jack.

“Next time, you take the last table or I’ll fucking key your car,” Tommy threatens, and Jack only laughs in response. Tommy grumbles more insults under his breath as he pushes his hand on the swinging door, quickly adjusting his demeanor from irritated to happy. Just one more.

Tommy is honestly not very good at keeping up his serving facade. He often gets talked to by Sam, his boss, about how he can’t snap at customers. “The customer is always right, Tommy,” he would say, which is a load of bullshit. How can the customer always be right? He literally works here. But he does try his best to keep the smile on his face for as long as he can, sometimes. He really needs the money.

Not a lot of people know that servers at restaurants quite literally live off tips, Tommy only gets paid $2.33 an hour. And Tommy is quite literally living off his tips. Every dollar he makes either goes to rent or groceries, and he never has any leftover for anything else. He lied to Sam about his age when he applied for the job, giving him a toothy grin and a promise that he is 18, when in reality he had just turned 17. It isn’t the worst lie in the world, it just avoids the awkwardness of asking a coworker to deliver alcohol to his tables for him (because in order to legally serve alcohol, you must be 18).

Tommy has lied about his age plenty of times, including forging documents to apply for a shitty studio apartment a few blocks from the diner. Fake credit score, fake birth certificate, and a missing social security card, because in reality Tommy doesn’t have one (at least, not that he knows of). It’s lucky that Sam pays everyone under the counter, because explaining that he doesn’t have an SSN would’ve been tricky. His landlord probably doesn’t believe Tommy’s lies, but he is shitty enough to not care, just wanting some money from a desperate tenant.

Tommy grew up on the streets, not really knowing or giving a shit from where he’s from, or who his family is. Obviously he had to come from somewhere, since he knows sporks don’t actually deliver babies to families, which is a stupid idea anyways. Who would ever believe that shit? But he doesn’t really think about them, convinced that they most likely died or some awful shit that would only happen to Tommy because his life is just so great.

Tommy lets out a huff through his nose, smile placed carefully on his face as he scans his section for where the table was placed. At table 8, a single man sits, curly brown hair trapped beneath a red beanie, glasses adjusted as he reads the menu in front of him.

Thank god, Tommy thinks, grateful it’s just one guy and not a family of four. Single customers typically stick around the shortest, least likely to sit around since they are alone and that gets fucking sad. They also have the tendency to be the weirdest, so Tommy has his fingers crossed that this is just some normal guy here for a burger or something.

He’s great at jinxing stuff tonight.

Tommy strides to the table, pulling out his book from his apron, clicking his pen as he stops at the edge of the booth. The man doesn’t look up from the menu, but it doesn’t stop Tommy from presenting his rehearsed script.

“Hello, welcome to Nook’s Diner, can I start you out with a drink?”

There’s no response, the man ignores him in favor of flipping the menu over. Okay, rude bitch, Tommy frowns. He waits a moment, tapping his foot slightly impatiently, waiting for some sign that this man heard him. Nothing. He just continues to scan the menu in front of him, fingers drumming lightly on the booth’s table. Tommy clears his throat and tries again. “Hello, welcome to Nook’s Diner, can I start you-”

“I heard you the first time,” the man huffs, still not moving his gaze from the menu. Tommy’s eyes narrow, fake smile dying as quickly as it was created. He’s so not doing this tonight.

“You don’t gotta be a prick, just tell me what you want to drink,” Tommy snaps, irritation getting the better of him. That gets the mans attention, eyes snapping to the blonde teen. Tommy is slightly taken aback by the red irises that stare him down, but he’s already so over this that it doesn’t really flag him as strange.

“Excuse me?” The man says, jaw slightly dropped.

“I said don’t be a prick, just give me your drink order,” Tommy huffs, clicking and unclicking his pen. He holds the customer’s shocked gaze, secretly pleased at the look on his face. It’s entertaining, riling people up, shocking them because they are so used to service people getting walked all over. He’s waiting for the guy to demand his manager, which is always what follows when he loses his temper.

Instead, a smile spreads across his face, and Tommy is slightly alarmed. The man looks...pleased? What the fuck?

The customer, who now up close looks like a poor excuse of a hipster, puts a finger on his chin as his smile widens. “Interesting,” he says quietly, and it fucking creeps Tommy out. “I’ll have a coffee.”

Tommy’s face scrunches up, irritation building. He had just closed down the coffee station, cleaned all the filters and dumped out all the pots, since the coffee had been untouched for hours. Nobody ever really orders coffee this late. The teen can almost feel his eye twitch as he carefully scrambles his smile back onto his face, half-assed though. “It will be a few for the coffee, I have to brew a fresh pot.”

“That’s alright, I have plenty of time,” the man grins, and Tommy fights the urge to punch his shit. That would get him fired. Sam looks past his foul language and attitude because ‘he has potential’ or whatever the fuck that means. But physical violence? That’s definitely crossing a line.

Tommy turns away, resisting the urge to stomp like a tantrumming child as he enters the back for the coffee station. Jack is settled by the calculator, adding his tickets up from the night. Tommy assumes that the other table had left then, leaving him alone on the floor with whatever dickhead is sitting at table 8.

“This guy is an asshole,” Tommy grits his teeth, flipping the switch on the coffee machine. Luckily, since he had just closed it, it won’t take nearly as long to heat up as it usually would. He places a filter in the place where they go (he doesn’t know what that’s called and he doesn’t really care), adding the appropriate amount of coffee grounds. He considers adding not enough, wanting to purposefully make a shitty, watery pot of coffee for this dick, but he resists.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Jack snorts, clicking away at the calculator. In retaliation, Tommy walks over and presses the all clear button. “Oi! You dick!”

Tommy flips him off and returns to the coffee machine, pressing the start button. Dark liquid begins to pour from the filter, agonizingly slow into the pot below. Satisfied that there aren’t any coffee grounds leaking through, Tommy reapplies a smile and makes his way back to the dining room.

His steps slow momentarily as he opens the door, eyes immediately meeting the man’s from across the room. Was he staring at the door waiting for him the whole time? The fuck? The man smiles, eyes remaining on him as Tommy composes himself, continuing his strides over.

This guy is really creeping him out. All he has done is smile, but there’s this weird feeling Tommy gets when he approaches him. It’s almost like his fight or flight instincts are trying to kick in, his gut telling him to run. Tommy ignores it for the promise of maybe three more dollars to end the night.

“Have you decided what you want to eat?” Tommy forces a smile, reaching into his apron to pull out his book again. The man holds his gaze on Tommy for a moment longer, before looking back to the menu. A look of contemplation crosses his face.

“I can’t decide between the BLT wrap or a burger, what do you recommend?”

Tommy relaxes slightly as the air seems to return to normalcy. Maybe he’s just overthinking how strange this guy is, mistaking a gentle smile for something more sinister. Jack does always complain about how dramatic he is.

“Well, our burgers are very popular, people like the fact that they can customize their own,” Tommy answers, careful to avoid giving his own opinion. The last time he personally suggested something to a customer, they hated it, and gave him an earful for suggesting something shitty. He learned his lesson.

The man makes a humming sound, finger moving to tap on his chin again. This guy has some weird mannerisms. There’s an awkward moment of silence, Tommy with his pen posed and ready to take an order, and the man humming to himself as he weighs his options.

“I’ll have a burger then,” he finally says, a small smile on his face as he turns his head to Tommy. This time Tommy properly looks at the guy. He’s not creepy at first glance, he seems really normal actually. If someone were to ask Tommy to point at a college student hipster, this is who he’d pick out. He’s got the curly hair, circle glasses, beanie, even a collared shirt under a yellow sweater. All he’s missing is a guitar or something to finish the stereotype. The only thing not very hipster-like are his red eyes, which Tommy assumes to be contacts or something. He’s seen colored contacts before, Tubbo bought goat-like ones for his Halloween costume last year.

“How would you like that cooked?” Tommy asks, going through the motions of order-taking.

“As rare as you can.”

Tommy holds back a choke. Ew. His disgust might’ve shown on his face because the man lets out a small laugh, seeming amused. Tommy clears his throat, and the rest of the ordering process flows with the script:

“Any toppings?”

“Plain, please.”

“Fries okay?”

“Just the burger is fine.”

“And would you like tomato basil or chicken noodle soup for today?”

“Just the burger is fine.”

Tommy nods, happy that he doesn’t have to do any extra work for this guy. Jack had already cleaned up the soup station anyway, and he doesn’t want to have to reclean it. And as weird as ordering a burger ‘as rare as possible’ is, that also means it won’t take nearly as long. Tommy might not be stuck here for as long as he thought.

Wishful thinking. Hopefully not a jinx.

“Alright, I’ll go get the cook working then-”

“What’s your name?”

Tommy’s eyes narrow as the guy cuts into his words. Here it is. Usually people ask for his name to complain, and he was wondering why it took this guy so long after initially insulting him, even if he did get his act together (slightly). Still, Tommy hates giving his name to people he doesn’t know. He used to introduce himself to his tables, but when complete strangers started using it, it made his skin crawl.

“Why do you want to know?”

The man smiles. “Well, you’re such nice company. My name is Wilbur. People usually know the names of their friends.”

The fuck? “You are not my friend, I literally don’t know you,” Tommy scrunches his nose, making a face at the man, Wilbur. “I’m not going to tell you my name unless you plan on reporting me to my manager, and I still probably won’t tell you.”

Wilbur’s eyes shine as his smile widens. “You’ve got a fire in you, how amusing.” He leans back, as if he tries to get a better position to analyze Tommy. Tommy feels very uncomfortable now, especially when the guy is staring at him like, well, like he’s amusing, as he put it.

“You’re fucking weird,” Tommy says with bite, turning around to head towards the kitchen. “I’m putting your order in and I’m bringing your coffee.”

Jack is lucky he wasn’t in the back when Tommy swung the door open, because he is not having it. He hangs up the food ticket, telling Bad that this will be the last one. He turns to the coffee machine, and grabs the full pot of coffee off the burner and pours it into a mug. This guy better get some refills, because he will be wasting an entire pot of coffee. Tommy doesn’t drink coffee, otherwise he would have a cup to feel less guilty about dumping this down the drain.

Once he brought the coffee, Wilbur tried to ask him another question. “How old are you? You look very young.”

“Fuck off, I’m an adult,” Tommy lies through gritted teeth. This guy is annoying as fuck. He had asked Jack once more to take this table, which he had only laughed at. “You want me to take a table from you that you have described as a creepy asshole? No thank you. Suffer.” Prick.

“Do you go to school?” Wilbur questions again, and Tommy turns around.

“I’m not getting interrogated by a creepy fucking stranger, stop asking questions.” He walks away, planning on staying in the back until his burger is up.

“Hey I’m not creepy, and we aren’t strangers, you know my name!” Wilbur calls out to him, and Tommy ignores him.

A few minutes of Tommy standing idle in the back quickly pass, and a basket with a burger slides into the cook’s window. Tommy sees Bad give him a smile, “Food’s ready!”

“Yay,” Tommy says sarcastically. Before he grabs the basket though, Bad slides it back towards him. Tommy grunts frustrated, he isn’t in the mood to fuck around. “Hey-”

“Is that customer really bothering you?” The cook asks, concern in his voice. Tommy stills, looking at him. Bad is the definition of sweet, and it can get really annoying sometimes. He hates swearing, and is always overly concerned about everything that goes on. Sometimes it makes Tommy feel nice, being cared for, but most of the time it’s just irritating. Right now, he’s just tired.

Tommy sighs, resuming his reach for the food. “It’s fine, Bad, nothing a big man like me can’t handle.”

Bad snorts, sliding the food back towards him. “Hah, okay Tommy. But seriously, if he gives you trouble, I’ll muffin him.”

“What does that even mean?” Tommy asks incredulously, slipping a knife into the basket for the burger and walking away before Bad can answer. What a weird character. Not as weird as Wilbur though, who is once again staring at Tommy before he is even out the door.

Tommy walks over, and drops the basket onto the table. “Enjoy, weirdo,” he turns away, unnerved by how Wilbur’s eyes on him and the smile on his face never falter.

When he gets into the back, Jack is putting his coat on. Tommy grumbles, “You aren’t gonna leave me alone with this guy, right?”

Jack gives him a look. “Tommy, I’ve got somewhere to be. You already told Niki that you’d close the register tonight so that she and I could catch the movie. Plus, you’ve closed alone before.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me, bitch,” Tommy scoffs. Jack rolls his eyes, sliding his timecard into the machine to clock out. “Such friends you are.”

“Tommy, you tell me every time we work together that we aren’t friends,” Jack states bluntly. Tommy’s face falls slightly. It’s true, he does say that, but most of the time he’s joking around. He didn’t think that they actually believed him.

“Pfft, whatever, I’m too cool anyways,” Tommy says, keeping up his facade instead of confessing that he actually tolerates Jack. “Go make out in the dark you horny bastards.”

“We are literally just friends,” Jack grimaces, putting his card into his slot on the wall.

Niki appears in the back, exiting from the office. “Tommy, the drawer is all organized, and everything is shut off. I checked the cook line, all you have to do is finish the drawer and print the receipts,” she smiles. Tommy likes Niki, she’s cool. He’s never admitted that, actually he never admits to liking anyone (except Tubbo).

“Whatever, if I die I’m blaming you two for leaving me here with this psycho.”

Niki chuckles. “He can’t be that bad Tommy,” her face grows serious for a moment, “But if he does send up some serious red flags, call the cops and us. We can get here.”

“I do not want to leave in the middle of the movie just because Tommy is a dramatic bitch,” Jack frowns, and Niki elbows him in the side.

“Deal with it Jack.” Niki clocks out, putting her timecard away as well. She smiles at Tommy once more, “Goodbye Tommy, and good luck. Make some last minute money.”

“I hate you both,” Tommy flips them off as they walk out the back door, the cold wind rising goosebumps on his arms before it clicks shut. Silence.

Bad had closed down the cook line immediately after making the burger, and had left shortly after. That leaves Tommy alone in the diner, with a complete stranger.

A creepy stranger, at that.

He exists the backroom, and rather than walking into the dining room where Wilbur is watching him (seriously, what the fuck), Tommy turns left and heads towards the host stand. He might as well get a head start on his final tasks, and grabs the handful of tickets with his name on them.

…

…seriously?

“Who fucking leaves five dollars on an eighty dollar bill. You fucking serious? That’s not even 10%!” Tommy rips the receipt off the back of the ticket, throwing it into the pile of receipts with tips left on the card. “That’s so- oh you’re kidding me!”

Needless to say, Tommy did not have a very good day of tips, which is odd because he was certainly on his best behavior today. In fact, he barely made 15%, and he knows because he did the math immediately after seeing so many shitty tips. The blonde groans, putting his head in his hands. How is he going to afford rent this month?

He peeks from behind his hand at the calculator, the same one Jack was slouched at before. The black numbers mock him, laughing at him for not making enough.

“I’m so fucked,” he huffs.

$57, and his sales are $372.68, it was a slow ass night and an even shittier night for tips. On top of it all, he still has to interact one last time with the creepy fuck at table 8.

Tommy stands from where he is at the calculator table, not even concerned with keeping up the act as the calculator reminds him of his woes. He huffs, hitting the all clear button. Bitch.

His hand pushes the door, and isn’t surprised to find Wilbur already staring at him with interest.

“Hello!” The man smiles, Tommy regrettably walking closer to his table. “Glad to see you again.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, just rips off the check from his book and sets it on the table. Wilbur looks down to it for a moment, and then looks back up at Tommy with his eyebrows raised.

“You never even asked me how my food was and you’re giving me the bill?”

“Why would I give a shit,” Tommy scoffs. Wilbur smiles again, and wow does it make Tommy’s skin crawl. “You never even touched your burger anyways, I don’t know why you bothered coming out to eat if you were just going to waste our food and my time, dickhead.”

Wilbur lets out a laugh, leaning forward onto his hands. He gazes up at Tommy with interest. “So..I’m assuming shop’s closed?”

“We closed ten minutes ago, can you just pay and get the fuck out, consider never coming back,” Tommy bites, tired and pissed at his lack of money. This wasn’t even worth it anymore.

But hey, three more dollars would make an even $60 to bring home.. but Tommy is pretty sure this man is going to stiff the hell out of him. See if he cares though.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get out of your hair,” the man pauses, eyes glinting mischievously, “if you tell me your name.”

Tommy’s jaw drops slightly in disbelief. Is he really doing that? That’s essentially blackmail, what the fuck?

“What the fuck?”

Wilbur lets out another laugh, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Seriously, I can stay here all night.”

Tommy lets out an irritated scoff. “I’m not playing your stupid game man, just pay and get out. I can call the cops.”

“You’re going to call the cops on a guy who is just enjoying his meal?” Wilbur questions, eyebrows raised. Tommy grits his teeth.

“No you prick, I will call the cops and have them escort you out for being a creepy ass bitch,” Tommy threatens. But then he thinks, what if he has to file a report about this dude? What if the cops require his information? Surely they’d recognize his fake ass documents, and Tommy could get in real trouble- oh god. He can’t call the cops.

Realistically, he’s being dramatic, but apparently that’s what Tommy does.

“You know what,” Tommy sighs, defeat and exhaustion creeping up on him, “fine. It’s Tubbo.”

Wilbur scoffs. “I’m not dumb, you know. I’m really good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“I don’t know, you seem kinda dumb to me,” Tommy says before he thinks. When Wilbur’s eye twitches, Tommy smiles. Finally, a reaction. “What kind of hipster fuck orders a burger ‘as raw as you can’?”

Wilbur leans forward with a laugh, one more out of disbelief than amusement. It seems so much more natural, like he’s dropped the weird creepy act. “Did you- did you just call me a hipster?”

“You are clearly some college theatre kid hipster, yeah,” Tommy says blankly.

“Oh- wow, I like you,” Wilbur smiles, hand pressed against his chest as if it hurts from that laugh. “You really do have something interesting about you. Come on, let’s be friends, tell me your name and I’ll leave.”

“We won’t be friends, I don’t want to see you ever again,” Tommy scrunches his face.

Wilbur is silent, arms crossed and looking at him expectantly. He has to get him to leave.

…fine.

“It’s Tommy, my name is Tommy. Now will you get the fuck out of here?”

Wilbur’s face splits into a genuine grin, like Tommy just made his night. He opens his wallet, grabs out some cash, and tosses it onto the table without looking. Tommy is caught up in his stare, not noticing that the man had gotten out of the booth until Tommy looks upwards slightly.

The fuck? How is this bitch taller than him? Tommy is like a giant.

“That should be enough to cover the bill and the tip, I’ll see you around, Tommy,” Wilbur waves, turning away before confidently striding out of the diner. The bell rings mockingly as the door swings shut.

It takes Tommy a moment to realize that he was standing in place staring dumbly at where Wilbur had left. He glances down at the table, accepting his fate of $3 maximum to end his shitty night.

Tommy gapes, mouth falling wide.

On the table is a $100 bill.

Chapter Text

Tommy wishes that that was the last time he had to see Wilbur ever again, because the man was downright weird. Sure, he essentially tipped Tommy $85, but the experience was barely worth it.

As Tommy clocks in for another day of work the next day, he makes a joke to Jack about how he wishes that the man from last night isn’t coming back.

Oh how he loves to jinx things.

This time at 7:30, a slightly more reasonable time to wander into a restaurant that closes at 8, the door rings and a familiar face walks through. Tommy was out in the dining room, handing the bill to a very nice couple at table 2, face falling when Wilbur meets his eyes. God fucking damn it.

“Tommy!” Wilbur says, waving at him. In response, Tommy flips him off. He may still be out in front of other customers, but Tommy has his dignity.

Wilbur just laughs, then turns to say something to Fundy, who grabs a menu from the stack.

Tommy watches in horror as Fundy leads him to table 4, in Tommy’s section.

He’s going to kill that bitch.

While Wilbur settles down into his seat and Fundy makes his way back to the host stand, Tommy feels all the good energy he had the entire night burn into ashes. His feet carry him towards the host stand before he can stop himself, marching right up to Fundy.

The red-haired man makes a sound of surprise as Tommy grabs his arm, yanking him close. “Tommy, wha-”

“You’re dead to me, Fundy. Why would you seat me that man.”

“He asked for you! I didn’t think it’d be a problem, I was surprised you’d have a regular. Is he your brother or a frie-”

“He is not my friend,” Tommy growls. “I am going to burn you alive, you hear me? You’re dead to me.” Tommy releases his grip on Fundy’s arm, who rubs it like it was bruised. Fundy lets out an unsettled laugh, like he’s trying to figure out whether or not Tommy was joking – obviously, Tommy doesn’t actually want to kill people. The blonde just sighs, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “That’s the creepy dude from last night.”

“What?” Fundy’s eyes go wide in recognition. Tommy had told everyone working today the story from last night, slightly dramaticized, he will admit. Customer stories are highly valued at the diner, and Tommy wanted to make sure he told everyone before Jack could, because the bastard would definitely spin it to make fun of him. “He came back for you? Dude I’m so sorry, if I would’ve known I wouldn’t of-”

Tommy just shakes his head, cutting him off. “Whatever dude. I know you didn’t know. I’ll have to put up fucking warning signs so people don’t sit me this fucker. You’re still dead to me though.”

Fundy shrugs, “That’s fair.”

Tommy sighs again as he turns to face Wilbur, who was smiling and staring at him. No doubt he saw the whole scene, the fucker loves to watch him. He knows for a fact that Jack isn’t going to take this table to spare him. The bastard had been poking fun at Tommy all day for not dying last night, the classic ‘I told you so’ has become his new mantra.

Tommy’s shoulders droop as he reaches into his apron for his book. Better get this over with, maybe he might even get $100 out of it again.

Tommy makes his way to Wilbur, who gives him another excited wave. “Tommy! My man! I was hoping you’d be working today!”

“Why the fuck are you back here,” Tommy frowns, crossing his arms.

Wilbur smiles, “I just wanted to visit my friend again! You were so fun last night.”

“I am not your friend,” Tommy says slowly, gritting his teeth. This guy is fucking delusional.

“You will be,” Wilbur waves dismissively. What?

“Dude wha- is that a fucking threat?”

“It’s a promise,” Wilbur smiles again, and Tommy feels a chill in his spine. What a fucking weirdo.

From then on it was almost the same as last night. Wilbur ordered a coffee, and this time the BLT wrap. Tommy dodges question after question that comes his way, Wilbur constantly trying to dig into his life.

“Dude, can you stop with the questions? I’m not telling you shit about myself, so back off. You don’t just give strangers personal information, that’s stranger danger 101.”

“Tommy, we wouldn’t be strangers if you opened up a bit!” Wilbur sighs dramatically. “I can tell you about myself if that would make you more comfortable.”

“I literally, and let me stress this, I literally don’t give a shit.”

“Did you know I have a twin brother?”

And that’s how Wilbur went from asking Tommy a question every time he refilled his coffee, to telling him some random fact about himself. This went on for an agonizing 30 minutes, and at 8 on the dot, Wilbur stands from the table. Tommy was just exiting from the back, bill in hand, as he sees Wilbur get up. The said man waves the teen over.

“Tommy! Perfect timing, I was just about to ask for my bill. I wouldn’t want to overstay like last night, I didn’t know you guys closed at 8. It was my first time here,” Wilbur explains, and he seems genuine. It’s good to know that as creepy as this fuck is, at least he isn’t a total scumbag.

“Can you seriously not come back this time? I don’t think my mental state can take anymore,” Tommy grunts, setting the bill on the table rather than handing it directly to him. Any direct contact with this fucker is just a no.

“Oh come on Toms,” Tommy flinches slightly at the nickname rolling effortlessly from Wilbur’s mouth, it sounds so right. “I can’t be that bad!”

“You really are,” Tommy says, and he’s somewhat serious about that. This guy gives him a headache, but if he leaves as much as he did last night, he might not be that bad. Still, he’s weird as fuck.

“Do you work again tomorrow?”

Yes. “Why would I tell you? Do you really have nothing better to do than to antagonize a guy at work?”

“I really don’t, no,” Wilbur shrugs. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then? Same time?”

“Fuck off man.”

He left another $100.

This time he paid for the bill separately (since there was still a host working), so Tommy got to keep the full bill. He stuffed it into his pocket quickly, not wanting anyone else to know that he got that tip. That was the one detail he left out from last night, was how much money he got. If Jack knew, he’d definitely try to get Tommy to split it, or at least let him take Wilbur’s table so he can get the money. As much as it would be nice to not deal with the weirdo, he’s just a little selfish. He’s getting a lot of fucking money, and Tommy really needs it. Plus, Tommy would just tell him it isn’t worth it, which is true.

Kind of.

Wilbur kept his promise, because at 7:30 the next day, he strolled right back into the restaurant. This time, however, Tommy was hosting.

Tommy works as much as he can, and sometimes has to beg Sam to allow him to work 6 days a week. Sam always tells him that he’s so young and shouldn’t be working himself to the bone, to enjoy life, blah blah blah. But eventually he caves and gives Tommy the hours. He’s sure that Sam knows he’s living on his own, which is why he thinks the man gives in. Tommy doesn’t like being pitied, but hey, if it gets him the hours and the money, then it works.

To balance it out with the other servers, Sam has him hosting at least twice a week, which pays at a nice $11 per hour. They are shorter shifts, but also easier and pay more consistently.

“Tommy!” Wilbur exclaims upon seeing him, his grin wide. “Can I get the pleasure of being at one of your tables tonight?”

“Sorry Wilbur,” he’s really not, “I’m hosting tonight. You’re going to have another server.”

Wilbur’s face falls slightly, and he looks genuinely disappointed. Tommy feels a slight guilt tug in his stomach, but he quickly stomps and stabs that shit. There’s no reason to feel guilty for upsetting this fucker.

“Oh, alright then. At least sit me close to the stand so I can talk to you?”

Tommy laughs.

Wilbur is sat the furthest away from him as he can.

A half hour later, Wilbur comes up to the register to pay for his meal. Tommy glances at the ticket, seeing ‘BLT wrap’ written, apparently he found a favorite. Last night he had actually eaten the food somewhat rather than wasting it, like he did with the burger. He pays in cash, as he always does. This gives Tommy so much more room to make up whack theories on the guy. Is he off the grid? Is he on the run and can’t give his full name? Or is he just some broke college student with weird red contacts that makes money in cash, like Tommy?

His landlord isn’t always amused when Tommy hands in his rent in the form of a bunch of twenty dollar bills, but it’s not like he can write a check or anything. Tommy doesn’t even have a bank account.

Tommy’s eyes narrow as Wilbur takes a $20 out of his wallet and stuffs it in the ‘Host Tip’ jar. “That’s for you,” Wilbur winks, and Tommy grimaces. “The tip for the server is on the table. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tommy.”

Later, Tommy asked Niki how much Wilbur had tipped her. She had looked at him questionably.

“Like $5? Why?”

Huh.

Wilbur kept coming in, every single night. Tommy can’t avoid Wilbur ending up in his section, and honestly, he stopped bitching about it. Money is money, and if Tommy has to suffer a headache to make some cash, then so be it. He either gives him $20 if he hosts, or a ridiculous amount when he’s serving. It isn’t always exactly $100, but it’s never less than $50.

How the fuck can this guy afford this?

Tommy is refilling his coffee when Wilbur decides to give questioning him another shot.

“So Toms, now that you know so much about me,” he gestures his hands dramatically as he speaks, “how about you tell me something about yourself?”

Tommy huffs, setting the coffee pot onto the table. “You think I am gonna tell you shit about myself? Because I won’t.”

“Do you live alone?”

Tommy sputters, choking on his breath for a moment. What? Who the fuck asks something like that? That’s some serial killer type shit.

“Dude what the fuck?”

“Sorry, it’s just,” Wilbur pauses, “you just work nearly every day and not gonna lie, you look like you live on every penny.” What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Sure it’s true but, the fuck?

Tommy glares at the man. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. So are you living on your own? You’re so young though..” he looks concerned, and it pisses Tommy off. He does just fine on his own, he doesn’t need to be some stupid pity case.

“That’s a creepy ass thing to ask someone, and I’m not that young! I’m an adult.”

Wilbur lets out a noise of disbelief. “Sure.”

“I am!”

“Mmhmm.”

Tommy grabs the pot of coffee angrily, splashing some onto the table. “You’re a fucking ass. Enjoy your wrap you fucking prick.”

“Oh come on, Tommy-”

Tommy walks away, and refuses to return until he has to drop off the bill. That hit a nerve with him. He’s perfectly fine being on his own, he’s survived that way for a while, either on the streets or since he’d been able to scrap enough together for his apartment. Avoiding the foster care system was hard, but the last family he had been with didn’t give two shits about him disappearing. However, he doesn’t like to be reminded that he is on his own. Alone.

It’s not great, but it’s how it is. At least Tommy has Tubbo, the weird kid he met working in the dairy section at the grocery store. He doesn’t pity Tommy for asking him about expired food that’s getting thrown away.

Eventually Tommy has to bite his anger and deliver the bill to Wilbur.

When he walks over to Wilbur’s table, the brunet looks up to him with a weird look in his eyes. Is that..guilt?

“Hey Tommy, I’m sorry about before. I hit a sore spot with that question, and you don’t gotta tell me anything.”

Tommy huffs. “I wasn’t going to tell you shit anyways. Here’s your bill.”

He sets it down on the table and goes to turn away, but Wilbur grabs his arm. It sends shivers up his torso, and Tommy looks at him with wide eyes.

“Seriously Toms, I’m sorry.”

Tommy rips his arm from his grasp, taking a step backwards. “Dude, whatever, I don’t give a shit, I’m not an emotional baby. Just don’t ever fucking touch me or I’ll cut your fucking hands off.”

Wilbur’s sad frown turns into a small smile at that. He seems to think Tommy is joking, but he’s dead serious. That was not fucking cool. It felt weird and scary and Tommy was very much not okay with being grabbed by a stranger.

Wilbur doesn’t touch him again, or even try to. At least he respects physical boundaries, wish he could do that with Tommy’s others boundaries and butt the fuck out of his life.

He had also left him more than usual that night, the first time he went over $100. He left an extra twenty, as he fucking should.

The next day was Tommy’s day off, and he couldn’t wait. He really fucking needs it.

Tommy wakes up cold again.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, he rarely has the heat on due to the cost and his studio has awful insulation. But it’s always a shitty way to start the day, especially on his day off.

Tommy huffs, eyes opening groggily (he swears he can see his breath), and pulls the thin blanket tighter around him. The studio didn’t come furnished, so Tommy sleeps on the thinnest, cheapest mattress cot he could get, which is slightly softer than being on the floor. Tommy doesn’t like the idea of sleeping on the bare floor anyways, it reminds him of the cold asphalt that would dig into his skin when he tried to get comfy in whatever alley he crashed in that night.

Tommy grumbles swears as his brain is forced into consciousness, the sweet release of sleep being stolen from him as a shiver racks his spine. No matter how many layers he puts on, he can never escape the cold that creeps up on him.

He sits up, releasing one arm from the confines of his blanket burrito to rub his eyes. If the cold wasn’t enough to wake him up, the pang his stomach sends him certainly is. He groans, and his stomach mimics him. He skipped dinner last night, he had sworn he had enough milk for another bowl of cereal but he was wrong.

Ramen cups and cereal, that’s the luxury food that Tommy lives on. Occasionally, he gets something from work, or Tubbo’s mom, but that’s rare. He doesn’t feel like he can spare the extra few dollars on a good meal, even if he does get a discount.

Ramen for breakfast sounds like shit, but it’s what he’s got.

Or so he thinks.

Tommy almost lets out a whimper as he opens his cabinet, seeing the empty plastic that used to hold his ramen cups. Of course he ate the last one. Tommy racks his brain trying to think of when he had last eaten ramen, and another rumble from his stomach sends more pain through his body.

“Fuck,” Tommy curses, slamming the cabinet closed. His other hand goes to hold his stomach under his red sweatshirt, flinching at the coldness of the contact.

At least it's grocery shopping day.

Tommy makes quick work of getting ready, wanting to get some food in him before he fucking dies from starvation. He pulls on a pair of jeans that are clean enough, at least the cleanest out of the three pairs he owns. He’ll have to do laundry today too with the change he gets at the store.

He keeps the same red sweatshirt on, the text on front has been faded for a long time, and there’s holes in the cuffs of the sleeves. Tommy sticks his thumbs through them, the garment multitasking as both a coat and his pair of gloves. He combs his fingers through his blonde curls, detangling the knots with harsh tugs.

Even though he is in a rush to get some food, he takes his time brushing his teeth. Tommy may not look the cleanest or the healthiest (which he denies, because he is clearly a ladies man), but he refuses to let his breath go bad. He still cringes at how textured his teeth felt after days of not brushing, not having access to such supplies on the streets. He most definitely has cavities or something, but it’s not like he can afford to get them fixed.

He shoots his reflection in the mirror a smile, satisfied that he looks better than five minutes ago when he woke up, previous bags under his eyes have packed up and left. His stomach grumbles again, and the smile slips into a frown. Right, that.

He grabs his apartment key and slides it into his jeans, laces up his shoes, and leaves the room. He locks it, even though there is really no use. It’s not like he has anything to steal.

Down a few flights of stairs and out the front doors of the building, Tommy is met with more cold. He shivers more than he did when he woke up, slipping his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s incredibly underdressed for the weather, but he can’t really do anything about it.

He starts to make his way down the street, the grocery store only a few blocks away. A couple people are out and about, but most keep their heads ducked down and everyone is avoiding each other. Tommy doesn’t live in the best part of town, which is probably why his rent is affordable, but it doesn’t really bother him. These streets are basically where he grew up, and he’s comfortable here.

It’s no longer than a 10 minute walk to the small grocery shop on the corner. It’s just a chain store, one of the many scattered across the city. When the familiar neon sign is in view, Tommy’s stomach lets out a longing cry.

“Can you shut up? I’ll feed you in a minute,” he huffs, and someone passing him on the sidewalk looks at him quizzingly.

Tommy pushes the handle of the door, excited to get into some warmth. The familiar shop jingle greets his ears, and he smiles. A worker who is organizing the carts waves at him, and Tommy waves back before grabbing a basket. He never buys enough to need a cart.

Tommy heads straight to the aisle with cereal, each step further into the store warming him up more. It’s not super warm here, since it’s a grocery store and they can’t really have the heat on super high, but it’s certainly warmer than outside.

He stares at the rows of boxes in front of him, walking straight past them to the very end of the aisle. Tommy smiles, looking at the shelf of off-brand bags of cereal. He grabs a large bag of Marshmallow Mateys, his favorite out of the options. It’s honestly better than Lucky Charms, the brand version. He sets it into his basket, slinging the cold metal handles onto his arm. As he turns to walk to where the ramen is kept, his eyes catch a glimpse of a green box on the shelf.

“Is that- what the fuck?”

Minecraft cereal. Tommy lets out a laugh at the green creeper face staring him down. Since when did they make Minecraft cereal? His laugh is quieted when he glances at the price. He was considering getting it for the bit, but upon seeing that it’s $6 per box he decides against it. A shame really.

Tommy wanders into the aisle with the ramen cups, hoping to see that the store has restocked their flavors.

They haven’t.

Chicken and beef it is, then.

Tommy is getting really tired of the same two flavors over and over, but it’s the best he can do. He doesn’t own a pot to boil water in (plus he doesn’t even know if the stove works), and he certainly doesn’t own a microwave. He gets his hot water from the sink, which for some reason is the only place hot water comes out of. Tommy would love to get some hot water out of his shower for once, but the showerhead refuses to do anything but hail him with freezing streams.

Tommy grabs ten cups of ramen, buying a little more than last week so he can not be so limited to one per day. Somewhere along last week he must’ve had two in one day, because there is no reason he shouldn’t have had one today.

Ah.

It was the first night he had to deal with Wilbur. That’s when he had two cups. He was so over the entire night that he decided to treat himself with a bigger meal. Stupid.

Well, that won’t happen again. It’s not like Tommy isn’t used to going hungry, but he definitely doesn’t prefer it.

As if on cue, his stomach roars. It sends another pang deep within him, and he physically recoils.

“Dude, I can literally hear your stomach from the dairy aisle.”

Tommy’s head snaps up, a grin breaking out at the familiar voice. Standing at the end of the aisle pushing a cart full of 2% milk is his only good friend. Short as shit, brown fluffy hair, and an attitude sassier than Tommy’s sometimes. He’s wearing his classic work uniform, a green polo and khakis, but he somehow makes such a horrific combo work.

“Tubbo!”

The shortstack smiles wide, crossing his arms. “Sup bitch.”

Tommy sets his basket on the floor and makes his way to his friend, slipping his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “What’s up my man?”

“Milk,” Tubbo points to the rolling cart as if it wasn’t obvious. He snorts. “Happy Monday Tommy.”

Tommy smiles. “I can’t believe the one day I have off is the day you always work. When are we gonna hang out? Maybe do crime?”

“Like arson?”

Tommy wheezes slightly, “You and your arson man. Or just destruction in general. How do you even keep this job?”

“I keep my urges on the down low,” Tubbo shrugs, eyes mischievous. “Wanna come stock the milk with me, but we put each milk jug facing a different way?”

Tommy gasps, hand flying over his heart. “Oh, you love to watch the world burn, don’t you?” He smiles, eyes matching the mischievous glint in Tubbo’s with practiced ease. “I would love to.”

Tommy usually spends ten minutes grocery shopping, and two hours following Tubbo around as he works, basket in hand. He doesn’t stop him from being productive or anything, not wanting to get in trouble, he just tails him across the store and helps occasionally with things.

Tommy has never let go of the fact that once, Tubbo asked him for something from the top shelf of one of the fridges. Tubbo regrets it.

“Big T, are you sure you can reach to hang up those cheddar bags? That might be a little tall for you.”

“Shut the fuck up Tommy,” Tubbo huffs, basically climbing onto the other shelf to give himself a boost. “Just because I’m shorter than you doesn’t make me incapable of being an independent badass.”

“More power to you, king,” Tommy smiles. This is exactly what he needed. A break from work and a few hours of banter with his best friend. At some point along the line, Tubbo had slipped him a protein bar from the back (apparently they keep snacks in the staff room), so Tommy’s stomach stopped screaming.

“Oh! Don’t let me forget, mom made you something,” Tubbo says as he climbs down and away from the freshly stocked cheddar.

“Puffy made me something?” Tommy says, feeling a little flustered. Puffy is Tubbo’s mom, who is a super cool woman, one of the coolest he has ever met — and he meets lots of women. You can see where Tubbo gets his spark from when you hang out with her. Tommy has actually been over a few times, and she has been nothing but sweet and welcoming. Last time he was over, she made the best fucking mac and cheese Tommy had ever had, and she sent him home with a container full of it. It lasted him two days. Probably could’ve been longer if Tommy didn’t shovel it down like an animal. She never makes him feel pitied by giving him so much food, it just seems genuine. She never judges him for wearing the same shitty sweatshirt every time, or when he asks to take a shower there.

It took Tommy a long time to get comfortable at Tubbo’s. Even though he was best friends with the guy, he didn’t want to take advantage of his hospitality. But one day, Tubbo basically forced him into his shower, whining that he smelt like fries and that it was weird. He kept doing that, especially when Tommy joked that he couldn’t have hot showers at his place. Tubbo saw that as a crime, and whenever Tommy came over he would force him to take one, even if he didn’t need one. It’s weirdly domestic, and Tommy really doesn’t mind it, no matter how much he bitches about it.

Tubbo would also force him into some of his pajamas (because what Tommy wears is atrocious, apparently), which are always very soft. Then they play Minecraft on Tubbo’s Xbox and just eat snacks all day until they crash. These days don’t happen often, but every once in a while Sam will schedule him on a day shift, so Tommy gets to spend the night at Tubbo’s. Those are his favorite days.

Tommy smiles, feeling warm regardless of the chill from the dairy aisle at the nice memories of Tubbo and him griefing Minecraft villages and building obscene things out of cobblestone.

“Yeah, I swear she makes extra just so she has an excuse to give some to you,” Tubbo snorts. He heightens the pitch of his voice, mimicking his mother, “There’s no way we can eat four containers of leftovers, you might as well give some to Tommy!”

Tommy snickers, but his ears go red. It feels weird having someone care for him the way Puffy does, but it’s nice all the same. Sometimes Tommy despises it, bitter that Puffy is like the mother he never had, but he beats down those thoughts at the end of the day. That’s just stupid thinking.

The idea of someone caring about him for some reason made Tommy’s mind wander to the hipster fuck that won’t leave him alone.

“Oh yeah Tubs, I forgot to tell you about this weird fucker at work.”

Tommy tells Tubbo every detail he can remember about every weird interaction with Wilbur. Tubbo occasionally chips in a comment here and there, but mainly just lets Tommy rant. When he was done, Tubbo looked amused, then concern flashes over his face.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re still serving him?”

Tommy sighs, “I don’t know man, he is giving me a lot of money. It’s kind of worth it for the headache.”

Tubbo’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think that’s wise big man. He’s sending off some serious red flags. I mean, dude, him asking if you live alone?”

“I know, I know,” Tommy assures, hands raising in defense. “I never answer any of his stupid questions anyways. But really, if I thought he was an actual threat, I would’ve told Sam. I can handle myself.”

Tubbo lets out a sigh, arms folding over his chest. “I know you can handle yourself Tommy, but this guy don’t seem right. You’re blinded by that cash cash money.”

“Hey man, it’s some real good money. This guy just seems hellbent on being a thorn in my side.”

“He seems hellbent on finding out an uncomfortable amount of information on you,” Tubbo says, unimpressed.

“Actually Wilbur says he wants to get to know me to be friends, which is fucking weird.”

“Exactly! It’s weird!” Tubbo exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You need to tell Sam to get this guy to leave you the fuck alone man.”

Tommy hesitates. Tubbo is right, he knows, but he’s not really sure how concerned he actually is about Wilbur. Sure, the guy is downright creepy sometimes, but he is single-handedly paying for Tommy’s groceries today. I mean, shit, Tommy might even be able to buy something extra down the line if he saves up properly. How many times does he have to serve Wilbur before he can afford heat in his apartment? Or even a microwave? Plus, if Tommy was in actual danger, he could definitely defend himself. He’s super cool and strong after all, and he didn’t survive on the streets for so long avoiding conflict. Some people were really territorial about certain alleyways.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You fucking better, or I’ll march into Nook’s Diner and tell Sam myself.”

Tommy huffs. Leave it up to Tubbo to actually be a good influence on Tommy’s life. Damn him.

He glances up at the clock on the wall, and realizes he had been following Tubbo around for almost three hours.

“Ah shit, I gotta go home and do laundry,” Tommy frowns, not exactly ready to return to the cold embrace of his studio apartment quite yet.

Tubbo frowns as well, knowing damn well the conditions Tommy lives in. He has actually offerent multiple times for Tommy to just stay at his house, but Tommy refuses. That’s definitely overstepping, and he’s fine alone. Really.

“Boo, that sucks,” Tubbo huffs. “Okay, I’ll go check the back to see if anything was taken off the shelves and get your six servings of food from my mom.” Tommy gives him a small smile and a thumbs up, watching as his short friend disappears from his line of sight, brown hair flopping around. Tommy snickers, Tubbo has been refusing a haircut for a while, and he swears his hair is about to cover his eyes. After a minute the smile slips from his face, replaced with the frown from before.

Time to go home.

Turns out it was soup that Puffy made, and Tommy is ridiculously happy about it. It’s one of the easier things to heat up with his shitty hot water method.

The method is flawless, he just plugs the sink with paper towels and fills it with hot water, then sets the tupperware container to heat it up. It takes a while, but it works decently. It never gets hot, more like lukewarm, but it’s better than cold.

There are a few bags of expired chips in his grocery bag, courtesy of Tubbo. It’s always the off-brand shit that doesn’t sell, but Tommy could care less. He has snacks for the week.

The cold wind whips at Tommy’s face, and rustles the plastic bags hanging from his arms. He shivers, tucking his arms further into his sides. At least he’s almost home, the only thing separating him from the unwelcoming doors of his apartment building was around a block worth of sidewalk.

…Fuck. Did he jinx that?

“Tommy?”

Yes, yes he did.

Tommy freezes at the voice, a terrible shiver that definitely wasn’t from the wind rakes through him, and he closes his eyes.

If I can’t see him, he can’t see me. If I can’t see him, he can’t see me. If I can’t see him, he can’t-

“Tommy! It is you!”

Tommy opens his eyes, gritting his teeth. Fuck his luck, fuck this day, and certainly, fuck this guy.

Wilbur, of all fucking people, comes into his view. His stupid signature yellow sweater covered by an open brown trenchcoat, hands up in a greeting.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Wilbur stops in his steps, a grin forming on his face at Tommy’s bite. “Uh..it’s a public street? I’m walking home.”

“Are you stalking me or some shit? I swear I’m going to fucking call the police and get a restraining order.”

Wilbur lets out a laugh, and continues to move towards Tommy. The teen takes a step backwards, eyes going wide at his advance. Wilbur seems to notice, and his hands go up. “Hey, no, I’m not stalking you,” he smiles, and Tommy hates it, “It’s just a coincidence that I ran into my good friend!”

“Dude, you aren’t my fucking friend!” Tommy snaps, his voice raising a bit. A dark look flashes briefly on Wilbur’s face, and it sends ice through Tommy’s veins. Wilbur has never looked at him like that, he usually just laughs those comments off. That was new, and fucking scary.

“Don’t come any closer,” Tommy almost growls, trying to keep his voice even. He briefly hears his own words to Tubbo echo in his mind, the promise that he can take care of himself. He can feel the adrenaline start to take over his body, and his hands shake. Run, run, run-

“Tommy, my man, calm down! I just wanted to say hi, that’s all,” Wilbur laughs, that dark look from before wiped clean off his face, replaced by a lighthearted smile. Tommy doesn’t buy it, the dark glint in his red eyes permanently engraved in his mind.

He’s going to tell Sam about him. That was not friendly, that felt dangerous.

“Leave me alone,” Tommy takes another step back, and Wilbur takes a step forward.

He can hear his heart in his ears, and he wonders if Wilbur can hear it too. The tall brunette looks amused, head tilted to the side, continuing his advance.

“Tommy, seriously-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Tommy yells, breath picking up. Tommy might be being dramatic, he might be escalating this, but he can’t seem to stop the feeling that’s fighting him. Fight or flight is trying to take over, and he’s getting ready to fucking run.

“Tommy, hey-”

“Is this guy bothering you?”

Tommy whips around, almost sighing in relief as another man approaches cautiously. Tommy can see Wilbur tense up in his peripheral vision, eyes narrowing.

The man takes his hands out of the front pocket of his green sweatshirt, raising them in a manner to show he means to help, not harm. Tommy doesn’t understand the gesture at first, but realizes it’s probably because of him. His body is still ready to run, and his nervousness must’ve shown on his face.

Green hoodie guy turns his attention to Wilbur, green eyes narrowing. “Are you harassing this kid?”

Wilbur huffs. “Of course not, he’s my friend-”

“-I am not your friend! Dude leave me the fuck alone!” Tommy cuts in, stepping back towards the new stranger. The guy sets his hand on Tommy’s shoulder in a protective manner, but it makes Tommy freeze again. He knows the gesture is meant well, but it’s-

“Don’t touch him,” Wilbur hisses, that dark look from before returning to his face. Tommy gulps, feeling his hands shake again. Something about the tone of Wilbur’s voice was different, laced with something sinister yet sweet. It sends goosebumps down Tommy’s arms, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. It sounded wrong.

The stranger just laughs, eyeing Wilbur up and down. Tommy wasn’t looking at him, but if he was he would’ve caught the smirk he sends Wilbur. Wilbur looks surprised for a moment before anger flashes in his eyes.

“I think you need to leave,” the stranger says, hand squeezing Tommy’s shoulder. It makes Tommy shiver, nerves firing uncomfortably at the contact, yet he’s comforted at the same time. This is a total fucking stranger touching him, and Tommy feels really weird about it. He hates it, but it’s calming. It’s so weird.

Wilbur huffs, eyes focusing on Tommy’s face. Tommy tries to look intimidating, but he’s sure the fear still shows on his face. Wilbur has royally freaked him out this time, and he confirmed what Tubbo had told him. That’s too many red flags.

Wilbur’s face softens when he focuses on Tommy, red eyes taking in his nervous demeanor.

“I’m sorry I frightened you Tommy, I really only wanted to say hi. I see now though I have scared you, and I promise I’ll make up for that,” he says, sincerity in his tone. He sounds saddened by the idea of scaring Tommy, and it’s such a weird whiplash from the anger that was just there.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the look Wilbur was giving him from his mind. He looked so..concerned. He grits his teeth.

“You can make up for it by leaving me the fuck alone,” he forces out, wincing slightly at how his voice shakes. It’s from the adrenaline, not fear. Why would Tommy be scared? He’s too cool for that.

Wilbur frowns, hands tucking into the pockets of his brown trench coat. He shakes his head. “I’ll make it up some other way. I’ll see you tomorrow Toms.”

Tommy squeezes his eyes further shut, breath still shaky. See him tomorrow? Why can’t this guy just leave him alone? What is so enthralling about Tommy? Why-

“He’s gone kid, you’re okay now.”

The stranger’s voice cuts into his panicked thoughts, and the hand that was on his shoulder releases, and with it so goes Tommy’s energy. The adrenaline rush is wearing off, relief washing into his body. Tommy’s shoulders slump, suddenly feeling very tired. His feet feel glued to the concrete, being weighed down by pounds of exhaustion.

The stranger runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair, green eyes peering at Tommy. Concern was written all over his face. “Did you know that guy?”

Tommy sighs, attempting to return his breath and body to normal by taking a moment. He runs his free hand over his face, the other one still supporting his grocery bags – though he can barely feel that arm anymore.

“Yeah, he’s just some weirdo who won’t stop bothering me at work. I didn’t expect him to be around these parts though.” Tommy meets the gaze of the stranger, feeling weirdly calmed by his presence, probably because it feels like he saved Tommy’s life. He knows that’s dramatic, but still.

“Yeah,” the stranger lets out a laugh, “that guy was really fucking weird. He might still be around though, do you want a walk home?”

Tommy actually considers it for a minute, but he shakes his head. This guy may have just helped him out, but he’s still a total fucking stranger. “Nah, I’ll be fine. I can handle myself.”

The man huffs. “Dude, no offense, but you looked like you were going to collapse there.”

Tommy scoffs. “I was not going to collapse.” Though, he feels like collapsing now.

“You looked terrified, was he threatening you?”

“No! No he was just..” Tommy trails off, trying to figure out what exactly Wilbur had done to activate his fight or flight. The dark look on his face appears clearly in Tommy’s mind, and he shudders. Sure it was gone as soon as it came, but it still made an appearance. And it was aimed at Tommy. “He was just..being fucking weird.”

Tommy pointedly ignores how he almost got defensive there. If he was defensive it was totally for his honor, not for Wilbur’s sake.

The man sighs. “Well, you should probably talk to the police about it. That guy doesn’t seem like good news.”

“I can handle a weirdo, I’m a big man,” Tommy deflects, trying to avoid the topic of police.

“Okay, whatever,” the guy lets out a wheeze, seemingly amused by Tommy calling himself a ‘big man’. “I really don’t feel comfortable letting you walk alone after that, but I have a feeling you’ll fight me on that.”

“Damn right I will,” Tommy grunts, pulling his hood over his head. “There, a clever disguise!”

The man wheezes again. “Sure dude, just be safe.”

“Yeah whatever,” Tommy huffs, turning away from him. After a few steps, he stops, turning back around. The stranger was still standing in the same spot, watching him retreat. It almost reminds Tommy of how Wilbur would watch him, but he knows this is just because this guy is worried for him. It’s annoying.

He still helped Tommy though, and that can be appreciated. So Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, and does the appropriate thing.

“Thanks, uh..”

“Dream. My name is Dream.”

That’s the weirdest fucking name Tommy has ever heard, and he lets out a snort before he can stop himself. Dream’s eyebrows furrow in response, but Tommy doesn’t really care if he offended him. He deserves it with a name like that. Though he should be somewhat nice, he did basically save Tommy from certain death – again, he’s being dramatic, but it’s deemed necessary after whatever the fuck just happened.

“Thanks then, Dream,” Tommy grins.

“It’s nothing, just seriously, don’t get kidnapped,” Dream huffs, clearly picking up on Tommy making fun of his name.

Tommy laughs and turns away, heading down the street towards his building. He doesn’t turn back, he’s sure Dream is watching him anyways, since he can’t walk him home.

If he would’ve turned back, he would’ve seen the look on Dream’s face. A dark, calculating look.

Almost like a predator watching its prey.

But he didn’t. He just kept walking home, groaning about doing the laundry and daydreaming about eating soup.

He remains blissfully ignorant of the real repercussions of what had happened.

The war that was just silently declared.

And how he’s stuck right in the middle of it.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t as cold as usual in Tommy’s apartment the next morning.

Tommy took it as a sign that today would be good!

...

It started out fine. Tommy clocked into work like usual, had casual banter with Jack and Niki, avoided talking to Bad, a nice, average day.

Then Sam came in.

Don’t get him wrong, Sam is a great guy, it’s just that Tommy knows he has to talk to Sam about Wilbur. But he’s also finding it very difficult to admit that he needs help with something. Part of him is still convinced that he can handle Wilbur just fine on his own, and the other half knows that is a load of bullshit.

The door to the back swings open, and a familiar face comes into view. Tommy gulps, mentally preparing a script for this conversation.

“Hi Tommy,” Sam smiles as he spots him, walking into the back. Tommy forces a smile back, pushing down the anxiety swirling in his gut.

Maybe he doesn’t have to talk about Wilbur yet. Maybe he can fix that problem on his own. He’s a big man and all, he is fully capable.

(If you ignore yesterday, and all the other times Tommy has definitely freaked out).

“Hi Sam,” Tommy hangs up the ticket in his hand and turns to his boss. Sam stands tall, dressed in a casual dark green shirt and a pair of dark jeans. For being the owner of a business, he is an extremely casual guy. His hair is even dyed a dark green, whereas most businesses frown upon unnaturally colored hair. Tommy remembers when Tubbo tried to put a streak of red in his hair for fun, and he got sent home from work. It’s a stupid rule.

“How has work been?” Sam questions, trying to get a conversation rolling. Tommy internalizes a physical cringe, never being one for the joys of small talk.

“Pretty shit,” Tommy snorts. Sam’s eyebrows raise in question, and Tommy reminds himself very quickly that ‘work’ is also Sam’s business. Probably should’ve held his tongue on that one.

“Ya’know, cause it’s so close to Christmas, people have spent all their big bucks on presents! Results in some pretty lame tips,” Tommy frantically says, trying to backtrack from insulting Sam on accident.

Sam just laughs. “Usually is that way this time of year. Sorry to hear it hasn’t been the best, but I’m also glad to hear that it isn’t anything in my control.”

Tommy gives Sam a thumbs up before turning away to go over to the soups. He is still working after all, and he’s got around four tables to deal with. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to keep him on his feet for a moment. He just has to get some soup to table 2, then come back to get the food from the window for table 6.

Tommy was so focused on mentally planning his tasks that he almost didn't notice that Sam had walked next to him.

“So Tommy-”

“Jesus Christ!” Tommy jumps, almost dropping the soup cup in his hand. He lets out a hiss as the hot broth splashes out and burns his skin, setting down the cup and grabbing a rag to wipe it off.

Sam lets out a concerned chuckle. “Sorry Tommy I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. There’s a pause, and Tommy stops his attempt to get soup again to look at his boss. Sam has a concerned look on his face, and it makes Tommy frown.

“Don’t look at me like a kicked puppy Sam, it’s literally just soup. Omelettes burn way worse.”

A small smile splits on Sam’s face and he shakes his head. “That’s not- okay,” he takes a deep breath, “Bad told me that you’ve been having problems with a customer?”

Tommy immediately stills, the previous script he was forming vanishing from his mind. He sends a glare towards the cook window, even though Bad was currently not in sight. That snitch.

“Is everything alright Tommy?”

No. It’s not alright. Some weird dude that harasses him at work every day ran into him on the street that was literally a block away from his house. He’s pretty sure it was just a coincidence that he ran into him, but how sure can he be? The look on that guy's face when Tommy denied him was downright terrifying, and he’s no longer sure if he’s safe with this guy.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Sam looks slightly relieved, and Tommy curses himself. He can practically hear Tubbo shouting threats at him from the grocery store blocks away. On one hand Tommy is calling himself a pussy, on the other he’s calling himself a big man.

“Okay, good. But seriously Tommy,” Sam sets his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, and the said teen freezes, “if you ever need anything, especially when dealing with customers, let me know. We don’t tolerate creeps or anything like that at my diner.”

Tommy forces a toothy smile, even though his mind is viciously freaking out about the contact. He doesn’t know why he reacts to touch like this all the time, he’s just not a touchy person. He gives a subtle shrug of his shoulder to signal Sam to let go, and his boss seems to get the message.

“I’ll be in the office if you need anything tonight, I’ve got to get these timecards added up for pay day this week.”

“Oh fuck yeah!” Tommy cheers, and Sam gives him a look. “Oh shit, I mean- right. No swearing at work. Sorry Sam.”

Sam just lets out a chuckle and turns to head towards the office door. Tommy secretly sends him a smug look at Sam’s back, knowing damn well he doesn’t listen to the no swearing rule. Sam knows it too. He doesn’t seem to care all that much though, which is nice.

Nothing interesting happens with his tables for the night. He’s gotten some pretty decent tips, and overall it was looking to be a pretty decent money night.

The doorbell goes off in the back as Tommy is putting a knife into a burger basket. His stomach drops, as it has been doing all night in reaction to the sound. He glances at the clock, seeing that it’s thirty minutes to close. He knows it’s only a matter of time before that doorbell means Wilbur has arrived, and this is usually his time to come in.

He’s not sure how he feels about the brunette. He’s weird as fuck and gives him an abnormal amount of money, and he seriously freaked Tommy out last night. But now that he has had more time to sit on it, the more he thinks he may have overreacted. It most likely was a coincidence that Wilbur ran into him by accident, and that he does actually live around here. Only locals end up in Nook’s Diner, they don’t get much tourist foot traffic. Wilbur is creepy, asks the wrong questions, and keeps bothering Tommy, but at the same time he hasn’t actually done anything? I mean, he grabbed Tommy’s arm once, but hasn’t touched him since Tommy told him not too. And thinking back on the scene from yesterday, Wilbur was just gonna say hello, and got really defensive when that other guy put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He was just moving towards him to try and have a conversation, probably not to kidnap him.

He’s still a creep though. A creep who seems to like Tommy for whatever reason.

A creep who won’t leave him alone.

A creep who asks.

A creep who cares.

Nobody asks Tommy if he’s okay, if he’s alone. Nobody bats a second eye at him (except for Tubbo of course). Wilbur has, and as much as he’s invasive and strange, it’s kind of nice that someone has taken a second look at Tommy.

This doesn’t mean that Tommy likes Wilbur, fuck no. Wilbur gets on his nerves and he really doesn’t enjoy getting harassed all the time. But it is nice to be noticed. The attention is nice.

“Hey Tommy-”

He definitely doesn’t like Wilbur.

“-your guy is here.”

Not at all.

Tommy sighs, rubbing a free hand over his face, the burger basket in the other. He has to now confront Wilbur on what happened yesterday, and he already chickened out when talking to Sam. He doesn’t even know what he’s gonna do with this confrontation. He squares his shoulders, moving his hand to grab a bowl of spaghetti for the same table that ordered the burger. He can do this. He’s a big man.

He pushes out the door, eyes scanning by practiced habit for any new tables, eyes landing on a familiar mop of brown hair. Anxiety twists in his stomach as he faces the reality of Wilbur being here.

He drops off the food to his table, smiling and wishing them a good meal, before he takes a deep breath and walks to Wilbur’s.

Upon seeing him, rather than shout out his name like usual, Wilbur gives him a small smile.

“Tommy, I’m glad you’re actually here.”

“Well, yeah, I do work here dickhead.”

The smile on Wilbur’s face grows, but his eyes shine with something other than amusement. Tommy sighs, so this is how it’s gonna go.

“Listen Toms, I’m really sorry about-”

“Don’t,” Tommy interrupts. Wilbur’s eyes widen slightly, taken aback. The blonde takes a breath, even surprising himself with his boldness. “I overreacted yesterday.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing behind his curls. Tommy briefly thinks about how Wilbur’s hair could grow out similar to Tubbo’s, but he returns his thoughts to focus on the situation at hand. Wilbur’s mouth opens to respond, but Tommy cuts him off once more.

“I thought about it, and I really just freaked out over nothing. I mean, you did get this weird fucking look on your face that was scary, but I did shout at you. I mean, most people get angry when they get shout at? And it’s not like you were following me or anything, I mean, you’re creepy as all hell, but you aren’t a stalker- right?”

Wilbur lets out a small huff of amusement at Tommy’s ramble. “No Tommy, I’m not a stalker. I really was just on my way home. I didn’t realize I made you so uncomfortable to the point that you would jump to the conclusion that I want to hurt you.” Wilbur’s eyes grow sad, and something tugs in Tommy’s gut at the look. “I would never hurt you.”

That’s a weird thing to say.

In all honesty, when Tommy got home yesterday, he was filled with a fire that wanted to burn this guy. Tommy wanted to shout and tell Sam to get him the fuck away from him. But when he woke up, he was just..tired. It’s not like he’s dropping his guard and trusting this fucker, more just letting it go, and accepting some good money.

Tommy does really need the money.

Wilbur smiles, and Tommy departs from Wilbur’s table to go get him a cup of coffee. When he returns, Wilbur gestures for him to sit. Tommy stays standing, giving Wilbur a look of confusion.

Wilbur lets out a huff. “You know, I’m not gonna bite you if you sit across from me.”

“I’m literally working, why would I sit with you?”

“To chat with a friend?”

Tommy opens his mouth to retort that they aren’t friends, but the look that Wilbur gave him yesterday at those words stops him. The brunette gestures once more, eyebrows raised. “Tommy, I’m pretty sure you only have like two tables right now. Sit.”

And while Tommy knows it was meant to sound like a lighthearted suggestion, it landed more like a threat. Sit.

So against his better judgement, he sits.

Wilbur smiles.

The brunette takes a sip from his mug. “So, Tommy, did you know that guy from yesterday?”

Straight back to his interrogating questions it seems like. Tommy rolls his eyes. “Why would I tell you shit?”

“Because you seemed uncomfortable around him.”

“I was just uncomfortable in general,” Tommy shoots Wilbur a look, and the guy snorts.

“Right, well,” Wilbur’s face gets serious, and Tommy stills, “I don’t like that he put his hand on you.”

Tommy lets out an unsure chuckle. “I don’t think the guy meant any harm by it, probably meant for it to be reassuring.”

“You don’t like to be touched though.”

“How was he supposed to know that?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrow, “I still didn’t like it.”

Tommy unfreezes, crossing his arms. “Dude, it’s not a big deal. He seemed alright and shit, it’s not like he had any ill intentions by stepping in.”

Wilbur nods, but his mouth remains in a thin line. Tommy doesn’t know why, it’s not like the guy that helped him out was weird or anything, he just saw somebody in distress and stepped in. Wilbur is being protective for some reason and it pisses Tommy off. He doesn’t need a guardian, never has needed one.

“Stop being so ominous and shit. He just asked me if I was okay and offered to walk me home. Good samaritan things.”

Wilbur freezes, and Tommy’s eyebrows pinch in confusion. Did he say something? His gut twists, he really does not want to make Wilbur mad, not after yesterday, no matter how entertaining that could be.

“He offered to walk you home?”

Oh great, he’s not dropping the protective act.

“Yeah, I said no though. He was still a stranger.”

Wilbur nods, looking strangely comforted by Tommy’s words. “Okay, good, good. You should never trust strangers.”

“Strong advice coming from a stranger.”

Wilbur scoffs, his turn to cross his arms over his chest. “I am not a stranger Tommy, you know so much about me.”

“Unwillingingly, I might add,” Tommy huffs. “I mean, you ranted about your family for like, two entire nights-”

“My family is very important to me,” Wilbur smiles, a shine flashing in his red eyes. It makes Tommy pause, Wilbur seems extremely genuine about that. So he’s a family oriented guy, cool.

Tommy does not care.

“Whatever. So, do you want something to eat?”

“Not really, no. I’m sure it’s no surprise, but I don’t really come to Nook’s Diner for the food.”

Tommy was well aware actually, but the confession still strikes a wrong chord in him. So Wilbur does only stop by to harass him. Great.

Tommy then realizes what the fuck he’s doing.

He’s currently sitting across from the guy who harasses him, who won’t leave him alone, who Tubbo claims shoots up all sorts of red flags, who bothers him enough for Bad to tell Sam.

And he’s..tolerating him.

Tommy almost gags.

The teen stands up, and straightens his apron across his waist. He turns to Wilbur’s questioning gaze. “Well, if you aren’t going to order anything, I’ll leave you to your coffee. Don’t wave me if you need me.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to say something, but the blonde is already walking back to his other table, asking them how their food is. There’s a strange buzz in Tommy’s ears, the thoughts in his head toppling over each other. What is he doing? He’s supposed to tell Sam to kick him out, that’s what Tubbo wants, that’s what he wants.

Right?

It’s not like the brunette has grown on him, with his invasive questions and steel will of tolerating Tommy’s mouth. Tommy reassures himself that it’s probably the money that’s making him put on a show for the guy. I mean, who knows. Maybe if Wilbur thinks Tommy likes him, he’ll tip him even more. Maybe he will keep giving Tommy the attention that soothes a hidden part in him, something that aches to be seen.

That was one of the first conversations that actually got input from both sides. Wilbur usually just runs his mouth while Tommy tells him to fuck off, but this time Tommy actually was responding. And they had banter?

What the fuck man.

Suddenly Tommy is way too uncomfortable again, feeling strangely exposed. What is hidden in him is hidden for a reason. It’s not even like he opened up to the guy or told him anything about himself, but he definitely let something get through his walls.

Tommy hates it.

He retreats to the back of the diner, and with a tug at the collar of his work shirt, he takes a deep breath.

He visualizes his wall that he built, grey cobblestone towering above him. The cobblestone gives him comfort, mismatched stones slotted together to form something beautiful. Tommy narrows his eyes, scanning for any damage that has let him soften even slightly. He ignores the gaping hole that is oddly Tubbo shaped in the stone wall, instead his eyes zero in on a miniscule crack next to it. It’s barely even anything, but it’s there. Tommy curses, this is unacceptable.

He has to end this before it gets out of hand. The money is nice, but these walls were built for a reason, and he’ll be damned if he allows some creep even a sliver of space in it.

Tommy waits for ten minutes, which in reality felt like an hour, before he went back out to Wilbur’s table. His face is blank, stance stiff as he walks up to the hipster bitch.

“Here’s your bill,” he says flatly, sliding the piece of paper to Wilbur.

Wilbur looks up, corners of his mouth slightly downturned. “But we didn’t even have that much banter yet, you want me to leave?”

Tommy nods, keeping up his facade.

“It’s literally only been fifteen minutes-”

“That’s more than enough of my time wasted on you.”

Wilbur’s eyes go wide, and Tommy’s do as well. The words that just left his mouth were laced with venom, and he really didn’t mean for them to come out that way. Apparently he is really getting into this cold character he planned on pretending to be. He was planning on telling the guy to stop coming around, or he was at least going to spend less time at his table. Distance, a good healthy distance. But this works too.

“What?”

No going back now.

“Dude, you literally admitted to only coming here to harass me.”

“I come here to visit a friend-”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Tommy curses, throwing the caution from yesterday to the wind. If he wants to push this guy away, he’s got to hit him where he knows is effective. “Can you stop with that? You aren’t going to force your way to being my friend by being a constant pain in the ass.”

Tommy expects the same anger from yesterday, he expects Wilbur’s red eyes to flash and darken, he expects harsh words to be thrown back at him, to call him out for being a dick.

Instead, Wilbur’s face grows sad. Something tugs within Tommy, but he ignores it. He pushes on. “You come in every night and won’t leave me alone, no matter how many times I tell you to fuck off. You ask me invasive questions about my life that clearly make me uncomfortable, and you’re just downright weird.”

Wilbur sighs, eyes raising to meet Tommy’s. “You’re pushing me away, Tommy.”

Tommy throws his hands up in the air dramatically. “Yeah obviously, I’ve been trying to get you to leave me alone for over a week now. Catch a fucking hint.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to respond, but Tommy cuts him off. “Look, just get out of here before I get my boss.”

Another look crosses his face, and the same feeling from before tugs again. Cut that shit out. Tommy watches Wilbur go from sad, to frustrated, to disappointed, to sad again, but never does that look from yesterday surface.

He walks away from the table, not giving Wilbur any more space to make him feel bad. Not that he has any reason to feel bad. This is for the better. This is what he wanted! This is what Tubbo said was best, and it is. It’s definitely for the best.

Yes, for the best.

Tommy ignores the guilt that tugs once more, and serves himself a cup of soup.

“I’m proud of you boss man.”

Tommy grunts in response, eyes focused on the TV in front of him. His legs are criss crossed, a pillow in his lap, supporting his hands on the xbox controller.

He’s over at Tubbo’s for the night. The day after he told Wilbur to leave, Tommy worked a day shift, which not only means no Wilbur, but it means a night at Tubbo’s. He told his friend what had happened at the diner, and what went down after he left the grocery store that one time.

“Seriously, that took balls.”

“Well I do have balls, big ones,” Tommy snorts, placing a lava bucket on top of a villager's roof.

Tubbo lets out a laugh, and then a gasp. “No! Tommy- we are supposed to not grief this village! I wanted to be their ruler.”

“You’re telling me you’re turning down my invitation to destruction?” Tommy asks, offended. He watches as Tubbo’s Minecraft character flies to where he is with a water bucket in hand.

“We’ve literally destroyed the last three villages, I like this one.”

Tommy huffs, rolling his eyes. He watches as water pours over his beautiful lava fall, obsidian and cobble being the only remnants of his beloved fun.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, looking away from the screen. He hasn’t been able to shake off that tiny feeling in his gut from yesterday, and it’s pissing him off. It’s also crazy confusing. He doesn’t like Wilbur, so why does he still feel..wrong?

“Tommy, you good man?”

Tommy’s eyes drift over to Tubbo’s, which he can barely see. His friend’s curls have officially begun to inhibit his vision, almost reaching the tip of his nose. Tommy forces a smile, before dropping it. He knows Tubbo won’t fall for that.

“I don’t know,” Tommy starts, thumbs circling the joysticks of his controller to try to ease his mind, his character spinning in circles on the screen.

Tubbo stays silent, an invitation to open up. He has learned that forcing Tommy to speak 1) doesn’t work, and 2) just pisses him off. So he waits.

Tommy’s thumbs finally still on the joysticks after a minute, his character stopping in midair. He takes a deep breath. “Dude, I don’t know, it’s weird. I feel..weird about Wilbur.”

“Like he gives you a bad vibe? Because he definitely does-”

“No, not just the vibe man. It’s almost like I..like I regret telling him to fuck off?”

A beat of silence.

“What?”

“I know right! That’s what I’m saying,” Tommy huffs, throwing his hands up in the air, controller dropping into the red fabric of the pillow below it. “It’s mad confusing.”

Tubbo nods, “Yeah, I thought you were like, afraid of him or something.”

“First of all, I’m not afraid of anything,” Tommy says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m a big man, you know this.”

“Mm hmm, sure.”

“I am,” Tommy glares. “It’s weird, it’s like he’s wormed his way into my head.”

“He gaslighting you?”

Tommy lets out a small laugh. “Pfft, I don’t think so. He hasn’t done anything that strikes me as manipulative wrongun, ya’know? He’s been a royal creep, asking me weird questions and shit, but it’s not like he’s been like..that much of a dick.” He trails off, thinking. “I thought originally that it was because he gives me all that cash cash, but I’m not so sure.”

“You like the guy?”

“Fuck no-”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Tommy’s voice raises slightly, and Tubbo raises his hands up in defense, controller still in one of them. Tommy breathes, cooling himself off, there is no need to get weirdly defensive around Tubbo. “Yes, I don’t like him. That’s why I’m so confused.”

Tubbo makes a noise that sounds like he doesn’t believe him, and Tommy once again glares at him. “Listen, you can feel guilty about being a dick without having to like the person you were a dick to.”

“That’s true,” Tubbo nods, putting his hands back into his lap. He leans backwards into the yellow couch cushions, stretching his legs across. Tommy suppresses a snort that even with him sitting at the edge and Tubbo being completely lounged out, his friend’s feet still don’t reach him.

“Maybe you enjoyed the attention?”

Tommy’s gut tugs at Tubbo’s words, and he stays silent. He hates how Tubbo knows him so well, because that is definitely what it is, no matter how much Tommy tries to not think of it and convince himself that it’s the money. He did like having someone dedicate their time to him, pay attention to him, ask about him, just be there for him. Even if it was a weirdo like Wilbur.

It was nice.

Tommy internally snorts, realizing that he’s thinking about Wilbur in the past tense already. It’s not like any of his past attempts have successfully gotten the guy to leave him alone, so why would they now?

Tommy’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door opening, and Tubbo flings himself back up into a sitting position.

“Mom!”

“Puffy!”

The sound of keys hitting a counter comes in response, and then the woman herself in all her work clothes glory stands at the entrance of the living room, a small smile on her lips. Her curly white hair is wrapped up into a bun on her head, which she reaches her hands up to undo.

“Hello Tommy,” she says, walking over to press a kiss to the top of Tubbo’s head, or hair rather. Tubbo goes red and tries to bat her away, but she was already standing back up, making her way to give Tommy a hug.

His skin tingles as her arms wrap around him, goosebumps raising on his arms. He gives a small squeeze back, and he can feel her smile as he does so. It took Tommy a very long time to accept any form of physical affection from Puffy, and she has made no effort to hide how thrilled she is to be able to hug him.

She pulls away, and Tommy briefly wishes she wouldn’t. It’s confusing, how most of the time physical touch makes him jump out of his skin, yet he craves it so deeply at the same time. Her hand reaches up to ruffle his hair. Tommy snorts, his turn to bat away the woman, and she lets out a chuckle. “Are you spending the night?”

“Did Tubbo not tell you?”

“He never does.”

They both snort as Tubbo makes an offended sound. “I forget sometimes! You don’t care anyways.”

“This is true,” she says, standing back to her full height. Tommy doesn’t know how Tubbo ended up being so short with Puffy’s height in his genetic pool. His dad must be tiny or something, because Puffy was almost as close to Tommy’s height.

“That must mean you’re staying for dinner. Good thing I always keep extras on hand in case you are going to be over!” She turns to make her way to her room, likely planning on changing out of her work clothes. Tubbo snorts. “She keeps extra stuff around anyways, she just likes to make too much food as an excuse to give some to you.”

Tommy hears a laugh from Puffy’s room down the hall, but no denial. It makes Tommy feel warm, getting confirmation of her ulterior motives.

They don’t talk about Wilbur for the rest of the night, rather they focus all their attention into transforming the village into the best damn kingdom Minecraft has ever seen.

By the time Puffy calls them for dinner, they have built beautiful blackstone walls with yellow and black concrete concrete all around.

“Now Tubbo, why have a castle when you can have a hotdog van, but instead of hotdogs, we sell drugs out of it.”

Tubbo snorts, and Puffy raises her eyebrows with a smile as she passes Tommy his plate. Tonight was spaghetti, and you would catch no complaints from the blonde about it.

After a few minutes of a comfortable silence while everyone eats, Puffy speaks. “So, Tommy, I wanted to ask you something.”

Tommy looks up from his plate, focusing his attention on her. He knows where this is going to go, she tries to pitch this to him almost every time he’s over.

“Would you like to spend Christmas with us?”

Tommy’s jaw drops slightly, and he feels some spaghetti sauce that he was working on drip down his chin. He coughs, and reaches for his napkin. Puffy lets out a chuckle, and Tommy knows that looked ridiculous.

That’s not what he was expecting. Usually Puffy tries to be casual and ask Tommy to stay longer, or that she wouldn’t mind him moving in completely. Tommy always turns her down, because he can handle himself and doesn’t want to be a bother.

But spending Christmas alone sounds..miserable. And he’s done it a lot, so he knows.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’d love to,” he says after swallowing his mouthful of food that he almost choked on. “That sounds great Puffy.”

“Oh great!” Puffy says, clapping her hands together.

Tubbo eyes his mom with an accusatory stare. “Is this you looking for an excuse to buy Tommy stuff?”

Tommy almost chokes again at that.

“Oh no, you don’t have to give me anything for Christmas, hanging with you guys would be enough.”

Puffy sends a glare to her son, before softening her eyes to look at Tommy. “Nonsense, of course I’m getting you something for Christmas. You’re basically a part of my family now.”

Tommy’s heart beats fast at her words, and his face burns. Family? Her family? Him?

“I- wha-”

“Mom, you’re embarrassing him,” Tubbo laughs, before turning to Tommy. “She’s a big sap, but she’s not wrong boss man. You’re my best friend, that basically makes you family.”

Tommy feels very emotional suddenly, and he blinks fast as his eyes grow moist. That hidden part in him tugs hard, and Tommy can’t find the effort to squash it down. This is embarrassing, he’s about to cry just because they said he’s like family to him. That’s some stupid sappy Hallmark shit. His heart continues to beat, and the looks of sincerity on both of their faces does nothing but encourage his raw emotionality storm that brews inside of him.

Tommy doesn’t even remember what it’s like to have a family.

His eyes water.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he just smiles and returns to eating spaghetti.

If Tubbo or Puffy notice the silent tear tracks down his cheeks, they don’t say a word.

After dinner Tommy was forced into the shower by Tubbo, not that he really is complaining. A visit to Tubbo’s has been long overdue, which also means it has been way too long since he has had a hot shower.

They ended up staying awake until the birds resumed chirping, sunlight peeking over the city’s lowest buildings. Tommy is splayed out on the couch, adorned in Tubbo’s sweatpants and a hoodie that is somehow too big on him but not Tubbo, while the other said kid lays across his stomach, the other half of his body sandwiched between Tommy’s long legs and the couch cushions. Tubbo was a cuddler in his sleep, and Tommy has grown to secretly enjoy it (though, he’d rather die than admit it). Minecraft music plays softly from the TV, which definitely helped guide the boys to sleep.

Tommy dreams of a beautiful kingdom, the one he and Tubbo imagined and attempted to build while they spent hours arguing over what blocks to use for different aesthetics (Tommy really wanted more cobblestone, Tubbo did not). Cottages and buildings fill the inside while cobblestone streets link them all together. People are laughing and walking around, feeling safe inside the towering walls. A flag with an indiscernible pattern flows in the distance, and Tommy turns away from it to find himself at the front of a hotdog van. A smile breaks out on his face as he sees Tubbo inside, dressed in a suit. He’s the president of this city, and Tommy is his right hand man. His eyes crinkle with mischief as Tubbo holds up a bottle of liquid to the window for him to see, and waves him inside. Tommy laughs, stepping up the side stairs of the grey van to reach for the handle of the door.

Heis hand stretches out to it, a doorknob rather than a pull handle typically found on vans, and twists it.

The door disappears, and Tommy’s hand stays outstretched. Suddenly the warm comfort of his dream is whipped away as he stares into the darkness of the opening, a sense of dread replacing the fuzzy feeling from moments before. His body goes cold, suddenly frozen. The darkness is deep and sinister, and Tommy can’t rip his eyes away.

He gasps as a hand reaches out from the darkness, gripping his wrist. He looks down at the contact, unable to move, only able to watch in fear as a figure forms at the doorway.

A familiar pair of red eyes stare into Tommy’s blues, and he watches as an unnatural smile spreads across his face, corners of his mouth stretching all the way to his ears.

He feels a tug at his wrist, and Tommy lurches forward towards the figure.

Just before he falls into the darkness, right before the sharpened smile of the figure consumes him and the red eyes watch, Tommy jolts awake.

Chapter Text

Tommy officially hates his subconscious.

If plunging into darkness inside his mind wasn’t the cause of his sudden awakening, then it was definitely Tubbo’s hands bruising his shoulders.

Tommy has never enjoyed being startled awake, and it makes no difference when it’s Tubbo.

So did Tommy punch Tubbo in the face?

He might’ve.

“I’m so sorry Big T, I really didn’t mean to.”

Tubbo’s eyes look up to Tommy’s, the rest of his face currently covered in scrunched up toilet paper, supported by Tubbo’s fist. A hum is heard, and it does nothing to reassure Tommy.

“Seriously man, I had a real shit dream and you just startled me, I didn’t mean to punch you.”

Tubbo grunts in reply, and Tommy feels his shoulders sag. The exhaustion from restless sleep is catching up to him, the digital clock above the stove reporting that it is 6 AM. They fell asleep somewhere around 4, or that’s at least the last time they checked the clock.

“You invite me over and for Christmas and I repay you by fucking up your face.”

Tommy hears Tubbo let out a snort of laughter, and then a hiss of pain. “I think you broke my nose.”

Before Tommy can let out another apology, the kitchen lights flick on. Tommy’s head snaps to the wall where the light switch resides, seeing a very disgruntled Puffy at its side.

“What are you two doing up?” She asks, squinting her eyes at the scene in front of her.

What a sight they must be. Tommy is pacing around the kitchen while Tubbo is sitting at the kitchen table, bloody discarded tissue thrown in front of him. An entire toilet roll that they stole from the bathroom lay next to the tissues, red fingerprints marking the outermost layer.

Puffy’s eyes go wide as she takes in the scene. “Tubbo? Are you okay?”

She crosses the room in a flash, lifting Tubbo’s hand away from his face to check his nose. His head is tilted back, the brunette’s eyes now forced to look at the ceiling. After a tense moment of silence, Tommy’s shoulders relax when he hears Puffy’s sigh of relief.

“Well, it’s not broken. Almost, that’s for sure, but just gonna be bruised. Did you fall on your face again?”

Tubbo’s face grows as red as the blood streaming from his nose. “No! Tommy fucking punched me.”

Puffy’s head turns to Tommy, who quickly puts his hands up in the air. “He shook me awake from a nightmare! I punched him in self defense.”

Puffy snorts, a small smile on her lips. White hair falls in her eyes, which she brushes away with her free hand, the other now supporting more tissue under Tubbo’s nose. “You two will be the death of me. Are you alright Tommy?”

“Him? He punched me! I’m bleeding!”

Puffy rolls her eyes at Tubbo’s ‘offended’ tone. “Yes Tubbo, I’m currently helping that.” She looks back to the blonde. “But Tommy, you don’t look so good. Why don’t you go lay down and get some more rest, and I’ll wake you up in a few more hours for some cinnamon rolls. I’ll take care of Tubbster.”

At her words, Tommy can feel the toll of sleeplessness grip him. His shoulders sag even further, and his feet feel like they carry a heavy weight, anchoring him to the floor. He could collapse right here and now if it wasn’t for the cold and unforgiving tile that would meet him. So he nods, turning away back towards the couch in the living room, head quickly filling with static. He would have put up a fight, apologizing for the next few hours at least, but his ears were already filled with cotton. Plus, there is no arguing with Puffy, he learned that very quickly.

True to her word, a few hours after his body hit the cushions, Puffy woke him up by lightly shaking his shoulder. Tommy didn’t punch her, and he’s relieved because he would never forgive himself for that. If anything he lightly flinched when consciousness pulled him from slumber, which remained dreamless for the rest of the night. Which was nice.

The smell of cinnamon rolls helped get his body moving. Puffy makes the best damn cinnamon rolls, or any treats for that matter, in the whole world. The City of Manberg is blessed to have her.

Tubbo wasn’t actually upset about getting punched in the nose, Tommy knew that. It still didn’t stop him from spewing out apologies with a mouthful of breakfast.

Tubbo scrunches his nose at the scene, with a slight wince of pain. “Tommy, please, I can see everything.”

“M jus real swwy,” Tommy says in response, or at least he tried to. Tubbo understands him nonetheless because the kid rolls his eyes again.

“I can tell, you never usually apologize for stuff, and I just got at least ten apologies in the last minute. I really don’t care, I care more that you are having nightmares again.”

Tommy swallows his cinnamon roll, the food going down scratchy as his mouth goes dry. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Tommy-”

“Tubbo. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tubbo sighs, and takes another bite of his roll. Luckily, he drops the subject. They spend the rest of the morning talking about their Minecraft city, deciding to name it L’Manberg.

“That’s literally just Manberg but with an L in front of it.”

“Doesn’t that make it sound better?”

“I guess.”

“Come on, let’s rebuild the city we live in to a better and cooler one in Minecraft! Better than Schlatt could do.”

A snort. “Alright, I like it. L’Manberg.”

Around one thirty in the afternoon, Tommy left Tubbo’s. One last apology is spoken before he is shoved out of the door.

Unfortunately, he has to work today, which also means he might have to see Wilbur today.

The red irises from his dream flash into his mind, and Tommy shivers. He tucks his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, trying to ignore the biting cold nipping at him. The wind is brutal today, and not even the buildings can buffer it.

A sign catches his attention, a simple, LED sign that hangs out over the sidewalk he’s on. Then a flash of blue stops him in his tracks.

His sneakers scrape on the ground beneath him as he stops, breath huffing in awe as his eyes take in what he sees.

In the window of a shop, dressed on a mannequin styled with a hat and jeans, is single-handedly the best jacket Tommy has ever laid his eyes on.

It’s quilted, blue, and just screams “I will get you bitches.” Tommy has to have it.

He’s never bought anything that wasn’t on clearance or in a second-hand store, but the heavy weight of cash from Wilbur’s tip yesterday makes him consider it, really consider it.

He already set aside the cash he needs for rent this month, and for food. That means that for once, the money that is in his pocket is spending money. Technically, he can afford it.

Tommy thinks about it. He’s always been frugal with money, he had to be. He doesn’t want to go spending it all now that he finally can.

Another cold breeze causes a shiver to rack his body again.

He makes up his mind.

Now when he walks down the street, a cold wind doesn’t cause him immense discomfort. In fact, it’s almost like the wind avoids him.

This is the best jacket in the world.

Tommy smiles, sliding his hands into the pocket to find that they are lined with fleece, wrapping his hands in a soft and warm comfort. This was the best decision ever.

He’s never taking it off.

He walks back to his apartment building with a lighter skip in his step. He’s got a new jacket, he’s been invited to Tubbo’s for Christmas, and he even still has enough change in his pocket that he can start saving up for a microwave.

He hands his rent envelope to his landlord with a smile, who gives him a weird look at his attitude. It doesn’t matter, he has a cool jacket.

He rides the high of his new purchase until he’s standing in front of the backdoor to the Nook’s Diner. That’s when his steps falter, and his brain returns to the dark image his subconscious supplied him last night.

“Shit,” he mutters, his breath forming clouds in front of him, reminding him of the harsh reality that it is cold outside of the warm embrace of his jacket, just like these doors remind him of the harsh reality of his work life. “Why does my mind have to be such a little bitch.”

He imagines his mind scoffing in response, and he frowns. Really though, he hasn’t had nightmares since he started spending more nights with Tubbo. He used to have them every night. The mental scene of him cowering in an alley, the dark reaching for him from every corner. Him running from it. Him getting caught. And then him waking up to Tubbo, sitting across from him with the same look on his face every time.

The dark had returned, but this time it was paired with a new subject. He would be dumb to ignore the fact that Wilbur was clearly the antagonist his dream had created. It wasn’t real, just his brain being a bitch.

So why has it shaken him up so much?

He reaches for the door handle with a scoff. He won’t let his difficulty of separating reality and fiction stop him from getting that bank. Even if he does have to deal with Wilbur today.

He doubts his words had any true effect on Wilbur yesterday. He’s going to show up like usual, bug the shit out of him, and then tip him a bunch of money.

He opens the door.

He clocks in.

Seconds, minutes, and hours go by.

It feels like a year has passed when the clock finally changes to eight.

Wilbur didn’t show.

Tommy doesn’t know how he feels about that.

There’s a weird feeling twisting in his gut, and it’s pissing Tommy off.

One would think that getting rid of a thorn in their side should be relieving, but what if that thorn was there for so long, that you got used to it?

In reality, Wilbur had only been bugging Tommy for maybe a week or two, but that was long enough for him to worm his way into Tommy’s routine. And apparently, his subconscious.

Every time the doorbell dings in the back, he perks up, expecting Niki to come tell him he was here. He’s almost done with his shift, and still no Wilbur. Just like yesterday.

It’s troubling. Kind of. Weirdly.

Tommy hates this.

It became an expectation. A comforting regularity in his shitty life. No matter how irritating or creepy the guy was, it was expected for him to show up.

Tommy really didn’t think he would succeed in pushing him away.

He thinks he regrets it?

He’s just confused.

“Tommy, you were sat,” comes Niki’s words from the door. Tommy glances over at her, but she’s already back out into the dining room. She always tells him when it’s Wilbur, so he can only assume he isn’t here. He can’t tell if the emotion that stirs is disappointment, or relief.

Wasn’t expecting this though.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you work here.”

Tommy cracks a small smile when he approaches the table. “Didn’t expect you to become a stalker of mine too.”

The blonde in booth two scoffs. “I’m not a stalker, didn’t I just say I didn’t know you work here? I love this place, used to come here with my friends all the time.” He sets his menu down with a small frown. “So that dude was a stalker after all?”

It’s Tommy’s turn to scoff. “I don’t know, he hasn’t been doing much stalking lately. Think I spooked him with how big of a man I am.”

The guy lets out a chuckle. “Sure thing. It was Tommy, right?”

Tommy stiffens. He is pretty sure he never introduced himself to this guy, so his eyes narrow. He seems to notice and immediately says, “I heard that guy call you that, is that not your name?”

Tommy’s shoulders relax. Of course, he’s just getting paranoid. “Oh, yeah, but I prefer Big Man or Big T, the ladies love it.”

Dream lets out a wheeze, one that sounds strikingly like a car starting in the cold. It’s a weird laugh, and it makes Tommy chuckle as well. “Sure they do.”

He orders a water and a cheeseburger, a very simple order. The occasional joke is passed around every time Tommy stops by his table, when he drops off his drink, or when he gives him his soup.

He enjoys Dream’s company.

It’s different from Wilbur. This seems lighter, and he doesn’t poke and ask him any questions. This guy just seems normal, and is honestly, pretty funny.

Tommy has never seen someone get so excited when he brings them their cheeseburger until now. Dream’s green eyes practically glow when the basket is set in front of him. It makes Tommy chuckle again. This guy is funny.

It’s always a nice feeling, when Tommy just clicks with a table. It doesn’t happen often, but everyone once in a while there will be a table that Tommy just immediately vibes with. He knows he can joke around and be himself, and those are always the tables that either come back, tip well, or both. It’s nice.

This is nice.

Something in his gut twists guiltily, and he pushes it down.

“Dude, you look like you are about to devour that thing.”

“I can not express how excited I am to eat this burger. It’s been too long since I have been here.” Dream smiles wide, hands going straight for his basket in front of him. Just as he takes the biggest bite imaginable, Tommy’s eyes see something strange.

He feels his eyebrows furrow, and Dream seems to notice, swallowing his food. “Something wrong?”

Tommy shrugs. “You’ve got weirdly sharp teeth.”

Dream lets out a wheeze, and it surprises Tommy. “Oh, oh, that’s funny. I haven’t had someone point that out in forever! Yeah,” he looks up at Tommy, his eyes crinkled in the corners from his smile, showing off his sharp canines, “they have always been like that. I had braces as a kid, and when they filed my teeth down afterwards, they left my canines weirdly sharp. It’s kind of cool though.”

Tommy’s jaw drops dramatically. “What! That’s so cool!”

Dream grins at him, before going in for another bite. Tommy remembers that he is supposed to be doing his job, and so he asks, “Oh yeah, do you need anything else?”

Dream glances around at his table, mouth full of burger. “Mm, don’ think sho,” he says through his food. Tommy cringes slightly, even though he knows damn well he does that too.

“Gross man, keep it in.”

Dream chuckles, and swallows once more. “You’re funny, Tommy, I can see why someone would stalk you.”

He knows it’s a joke, but it hits wrong. His stomach drops. “Oh, ha, yeah,” his voice trails off, and he tries to pretend to not notice Dream’s immediate demeanor change. His eyebrows furrow, and he even sets down his burger.

“Oh, hey, sorry. That’s probably too soon, plus not something to really joke about. Got kind of lost in the moment. I’m not always the best with some social cues, and I’m sorry if that crossed a line.”

Tommy is genuinely surprised by the quick and genuine apology, not to mention the topic of social cues. Tommy understands that one. It’s something Tubbo had talked to him about before, how sometimes Tommy crosses a line and really needs to practice his ‘social cues’. It’s just something he isn’t the best with, and that’s probably why so many people find him annoying. At least at first.

“Oh, it’s okay! I get it,” Tommy gives a small smile, and Dream seems to find it reassuring enough that he picks back up his burger.

“Cool, cool,” the blonde says before taking another big bite. Tommy shoots him a thumbs up before turning away to go deal with another table. It’s slow as shit tonight, so other than Dream, Tommy is only serving one other group of people.

He lets some time pass so Dream can get more burger down before Tommy bothers him again. He feels a pull towards the other blonde, something in him craves that feeling of a click, of getting along with someone else so effortlessly. He feels it with Dream. It’s weird, feeling that click so soon, but that’s just how it happens. Not even that small hiccup stops that pull.

Tommy swings the backdoor open, and sees Dream immediately brighten up from across the dining room. Tommy smiles, this is so poggers.

“Leave room for anything else tonight, or did you eat the burger too fucking quickly?”

A groan is what Tommy gets in response, and he laughs. It’s a genuine chuckle, and wow, does that feel good.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna skip on dessert,” Dream lets out a small laugh, patting his stomach.

“Good, I already added up your check and it’s a pain in the ass to add desserts to it after I did all that work,” Tommy grins. In reality, it isn’t that difficult to fix a total, it’s more inconvenient sometimes, but takes literally thirty seconds. He rips off the piece of paper out of his book and slides it on the edge of the table.

“You’re entertaining kid,” Dream says, reaching his hand out to grab the bill. He flips it over, and Tommy feels slightly awkward. He hates it when his tables look at the total while he is there, because he always feels like they are going to fight him over it. A few have tried. Dream’s eyes thankfully barely glance at it before he’s reaching into his pocket. A leather wallet is revealed, and Tommy goes from feeling awkward to sheepish. If this guy-

And Dream hands him a twenty, directly into his hand. And now Tommy has to thank him for it, at least he should. That’s what a good server would do.

Many would not consider himself a good server.

“Pfft, yeah you better give me some big bucks, I’m the best server you’ve ever had.”

And Dream laughs. Dream wheezes so loudly, Tommy’s other table looks over in their direction. And Tommy smiles. He’s never let that comment out before, always just says ‘thank you’ in a very dramatic and somewhat genuine way whenever someone hands him cash (some people hand him three singles and think they are blessing him with their generous money, they are not).

“Yeah, you deserve it for how good that burger was.” Tommy was not going to remind him that he doesn’t cook the food, only serves it, because twenty dollars is a damn great tip. He tries to not let the heavy weight of Wilbur’s tips undermine the impact of other great ones.

“Seriously though, this is pretty pog of you,” Tommy smiles, sliding the bill into his apron.

“Pog?”

“Yeah, awesome? Super cool? You’ve never heard that before?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Well it’s the coolest word ever,” Tommy scoffs, crossing his arms. “Glad I get to educate the public on it, spread awareness and shit. I’m so wise.”

“Riiight.”

“I am!”

Dream just shakes his head, eyes trailing back down to where his bill resides on the table. “So, do you work a lot here?”

Tommy smiles. “Yeah basically. Sam can’t get enough of me.”

“Would you mind if I request you next time I’m here?”

And Tommy’s face goes pink, and his heart soars. Woah. This is what it’s like? Is this what it feels like to have someone who isn’t creepy, but actually really funny and cool, essentially ask to be a regular of Tommy?

Holy shit.

“Yeah! Absolutely! I don’t get many regulars because people can’t handle my coolness, but if you think you are up for it, then sure.”

Dream smiles. “Yeah, I’m up for it.” He makes a move to grab the bill, and Tommy takes that as his cue to move away.

“Well then Big D, I’ll see you around.”

Dream physically cringes, and Tommy holds back a laugh. “Don’t call me that, ew.” He shifts slightly, attempting to slide out of the booth graciously (which no person can ever do). “I’ll see you around then, see you soon Tommy.”

Tommy smiles, and turns to head back to the backroom.

He might have just gotten a regular customer.

Maybe even a friend.

Pog.

The jittery feeling of happiness sticks with Tommy for the rest of the night, which doesn’t seem to last super long. Usually when Tommy has the closing shift, time seems to go incredibly slow. Not tonight though. His brain is too hyper and giddy for him to focus on the time, and suddenly it’s eight thirty. The last table took a bit longer to leave, but now it was just him, and the key to the diner separating him from getting home.

He twists the key in the front door, smiling when he hears them click shut. He slides the key into his jean pocket, having his own copy in case he works an opening shift. He smiles, turning to head down the street towards his apartment.

His footsteps echo on the pavement, and Tommy lets his head fall back towards the light-polluted sky, no stars in sight.

Tommy huffs, clouds of his breath swirling around in the darkened sky, a cold wind carrying it away. He slides his hands into the pockets of his new coat, feeling more content than he has since..well..since ever.

His rent is paid, his groceries are bought, and for once, he had a little extra to get himself something. He hasn't felt this secure since he got off the streets, and it's really nice. Things are finally starting to look up for him, and he doesn't think anything could go wrong to ruin it.

If only he could stop jinxing things.

Chapter Text

A cry is what stops Tommy in his tracks.

At first he wasn’t sure if he actually heard anything, but once he hears it again, his blood runs cold.

“Help!”

The contentedness he felt from before immediately washes away, instead replaced by hyper awareness. His skin prickles, not from the cold, and suddenly everything around him comes into focus. Somebody calling for help somewhere in the city at night is never a good thing.

“Please help me!”

Tommy should walk away. He should be a bad bystander and walk away. That’s how you stay safe in a city like Manberg, a place with crime rates as high as they get.

“H-Help! Oh God, please help!”

But he can’t seem to move away. Instead, his head turns towards the sound of the voice. It’s coming from the alley behind the diner.

“Help!”

His mind screams at him. It screams to not be stupid, to survive, to ignore it.

“Please, somebody, help!”

It’s almost like being drawn in by a siren song.

“Please!”

Tommy finally moves.

And it’s not to walk away.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Tommy calls out, finding himself in front of the alley. Obviously there is someone there, but it’s too dark to see anything encased in the brick walls. He hears a shuffling deeper down, and a grunt of pain.

“Yes! Hello! Please, can you help me?”

The voice was masculine, and somewhat familiar to Tommy. He can’t put his finger on it, but something in the back of his head is screaming at him. His body moves unwillingly, drawn in by the guilt that twists his heart. How could he leave someone who sounds so scared?

“Are you okay?”

“I think my leg is broken, I slipped on some ice and cut my hand as well. Please, I can’t get up.”

Now Tommy isn’t stupid, he’s actually the smartest person in the world. Very wise as well. So when someone tries to lure him into an alleyway, he knows to be prepared for the worst. Tubbo has ranted to him plenty about true crime, and he knows that murderers and kidnappers typically use some kind of act to get their victims. Tommy will not become a victim.

And he won’t jinx that.

Definitely not.

Downside to being prepared, Tommy doesn’t have a phone. Not a cellphone at least. He uses the wall-mounted phone at his apartment for things such as calling work or Tubbo. So if this is a murderer, he won’t be able to call the police.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

But this person sounds so hurt. Every shuffle of movement is followed by a grunt of pain, so if this is some sort of act, this person is really good at it.

Tommy steps forward into the alley.

“It’s really dark down here, so can you keep talking to guide me towards you? I’ll come help you up.”

“Yes! Oh thank God, I thought I would be stuck out here all night. It’s freezing!”

Tommy just hums in response, hands held out in front of him to stop him from bumping into anything. His eyes start to adjust to the dark, and that’s when he sees the figure on the ground, maybe five feet in front of him.

“Okay, I see you, do you see me?”

“I do! Why don’t you use your flashlight on your phone or something?”

Tommy crouches down near the figure, eyes still adjusting. “Oh, I don’t have a phone.”

“Really?”

An alarm screams in the back of Tommy’s mind, and as he reaches his hand out towards the figure, he makes a realization that makes him pause.

“Hey, you said you slipped on ice, right?” A hum of confirmation.

Oh. That’s weird.

They salt the alleyway behind the diner every day because that is where the food trucks come in. Sam is very careful to make sure no workers ever slip while bringing in boxes. Not to mention..

It hasn’t rained or snowed in at least a week.

So..how could there possibly be ice?

“Um..what are you doing back here anyways?” Tommy asks, bringing his hand back towards him, away from the figure. He rubs his hands into his eyes, trying to see better in the low light.

“Just trying to find something to eat.”

That makes sense, the diner’s dumpster typically has some pretty good scores. Tommy should know.

A hand suddenly grips Tommy’s arm, and it startles him so bad he loses his footing. He lets out a yelp of surprise as the hand tries to steady him.

“Woah! Sorry, just trying to help myself up.”

“You can’t just grab a guy like that! Scared me man!” Tommy says sharply, heart jumping in his chest.

“I could scare you so much more.”

Huh?

Huh?

“Wha-”

And that’s when Tommy’s eyes seem to adjust, when he glances down and sees that the figure’s leg looks fine, when he realizes the grip on his arm turns to iron, and when he looks up to lock eyes with a pair of deep, red eyes.

While those all seem pretty bad, that’s not the most troubling realization Tommy has.

“Dream?”

A sharp smile.

And then pain.

Tommy lets out a yelp as a fist collides with his face, a sickening crack echoing down the alleyway. The pain burns, stinging behind his eyes and making his head swim. He chokes for a breath as he goes down, side colliding hard with the salted cement below him. The hand that gripped his arm releases, and Tommy takes the opportunity to raise both of his hands to his nose.

“Ouch! What the fuck man, you broke my nose!”

Dream clicks his tongue, shifting into a crouching position, hovering over Tommy. “You know, it’s really unfortunate that you had to be the one to get lured in by my act. I actually liked you.”

Tommy flinches as he feels a thumb brush over his upper lip, smearing blood that is spilling from his throbbing nose.

The sound of someone swallowing quiets Tommy’s grunts of pain, and his body goes rigid.

“Can’t say I’m disappointed, you taste so sweet.”

What the fuck?

“Did you just taste my blood? What the fuck is wrong with you!”

A dark chuckle answers him, and it makes Tommy’s head scream. Something feels wrong in his head as a pounding begins to drum behind his eyes. His body starts to shift, and the familiar effects of adrenaline begin to take place. The pain fades from his face, and his legs twitch.

Run, run, run.

Dream seems to notice his body recovering from the shock of getting punched, because another chuckle is heard. “Oh, are you going to run? I hope so, that will make this so much more fun.”

Tommy practically snarls as he feels a hand on his leg, Dream’s nails piercing his jeans and digging into his skin. “Let go of me you sick bastard!”

“Not that I won’t be able to catch you, because I can, easily, I just need to make sure you don’t catch up with somebody else first.”

“What do you-”

A crack.

And a scream.

Tommy howls in pain as Dream’s hand grips his leg hard, stronger than he thought was humanly possible, and hears another crack, much like the one his nose made. Did Dream just break his fucking leg? With one hand?

An attempt to move his leg confirms it, and Tommy lets out a cry as white hot pain shoots up his nervous system. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

He’s going to die. He’s going to die in the alley behind a place he works. He’s going to die before he gets to spend Christmas with Tubbo. He’s going to die before he finishes building that city, before he buys a microwave, before he gets a wife.

And he’s going to die by the hand of someone he thought was going to be his friend.

The pain is electric, shooting up his nerves with ferocity. It’s so fucking painful, Tommy’s head swims again. He’s going to pass out from pain before he can even make an attempt to run.

“Oh hey, hey, don’t go out on me now. We haven’t even started having fun.”

Fun.

This guy is a psycho.

“Dream, Dream please.”

“Yes Tommy?”

Tommy gulps, tasting iron on his tongue from the blood that drips into his mouth. It’s salty and disgusting, not sweet. “Please, don’t kill me. I’m just..” he gulps, and stifles a pathetic whimper that tries to escape, “I’m just a kid.”

A beat of silence, and then: “That might be why you taste so good,” Dream hums thoughtfully, releasing his hand from his leg. Tommy yelps as the support on his leg disappears, another sharp pain shooting up his body. “The reality of how depressing this world is hasn’t hit you. The innocence is just-” A pause.

“Delicious.”

What the fuck?

“Um..what are you doing back here anyways?”

“Just trying to find something to eat.”

Holy shit. This guy is a cannibal. This psychopath is a cannibal and he’s going to fucking eat Tommy. He’s going to die.

And that’s when fight or flight kicks in.

Tommy lets out a yell as he twists his body away from his attacker, rolling onto his stomach. He feels his fucking bone rub against his skin in his leg, and the feeling almost makes Tommy throw up. Instead, he spits the blood collecting in his mouth onto the ground, and shakily moves his arms underneath him.

“There you go, get up Tommy, you can do it.”

Tommy yelps as he feels two strong hands grip under his arms, and lets out another sound as he is suddenly lifted up with ease. The moment his feet come into contact with the ground, that momentary shock is gone.

He kicks off with his good foot, ripping himself from the grasp of Dream behind him. He beelines it for the entrance of the alley, where he came from. He’s not going to die here. He can’t.

The sharp pains from his leg dull to an intense throbbing as the adrenaline rushes through his body.

Tommy knows he isn’t moving fast, but it could be at least fast enough to make it out of the alley and call for help before Dream catches him.

Wait.

Is there supposed to be a wall here?

“What the fuck?” Tommy whispers to himself, throat drying from his intense huffing. “What the fuck!” He cries louder, slamming his fists into the bricked wall.

This isn’t right.

“No..No!” He cries again, smashing his fists over and over as if one punch might break it down. He feels the roughness of it scratch his hand, but the pain barely registers. Another painful throb of his head, but he chalks up that pain to his broken nose.

He can’t escape. He’s in a dead end.

Even though this is most definitely the way he came in from.

He’s going to get caught.

And that’s when he realizes that Dream wasn’t chasing him.

He hears a laugh echo from down the alley, bouncing off the bricked walls that seem to mock Tommy.

“What’s the matter Tommy? Are you lost?”

Tommy stifles another whimper by spitting out more blood. He isn’t lost, he could never get lost on these streets. He knows damn well that there was absolutely an opening onto the street right here, not a dead end.

But when he turns back around, his breath escapes him.

Okay, now there definitely isn’t supposed to be a wall behind him as well.

A small, frightened, and confused sound escapes Tommy’s lips. What is going on?

The brick wall stares back at him, and Tommy takes a limping step forward, reaching his hand out.

It’s solid.

It’s real.

“No..no..” Tommy mutters, head swimming dangerously again. He feels sick. He feels cornered. The brick walls encase him in his tomb and this is where he will die. He will die scared and alone and stranded within the walls he found solace in for so long.

Tommy finds it very hard to breathe.

He chokes, a sob crawling out of his throat and released into the air as a confession. He’s scared. The walls have closed in on him and he is going to be suffocated. He is suffocating.

Tommy laces his fingers into his hair, giving a harsh tug. An attempt to ground him from the panic attack that threatens him. He can’t panic like this now, then he will absolutely die.

His hands fall back to his sides, he takes a deep breath, and he turns around once more to where the exit of the alley used to be.

The wall is gone.

Tommy, against his will, lets out another sob.

He launches forward, racing deeper into the dark of the alley, eyes frantically searching for any sign of street lamps that bring him familiarity. That may bring him safety.

Instead, he sees another brick wall. A brick wall with a corner, and another dark alley to its left. It reminds Tommy of a corner of a maze, and he chokes on another breath.

This makes no sense.

There’s another throb of pain deep within his head.

He’s like a mouse, stuck inside a cruel experiment where psychologists analyze every move he makes. They are studying what panicked decisions his brain will make, how many mistakes it will take for him to finally find the exit, or the cheese, so carelessly hidden away. How he reacts to the pain of a shock or a broken limb, how it motivates him to find it quicker.

If Tommy was a mouse stuck inside of a maze of the streets of Manberg, he would be fine.

But these are no longer the streets of Manberg.

These are twisted and wrong, corners and cracks where they aren’t supposed to be, imposing brick structures on the wrong sides.

He lets out a whimper as a sharp pain reminds him of his useless right leg, dragging behind him.

While it serves a reminder for how terrifying this is, it also grounds him. This isn’t a nightmare, he isn’t actually safe and asleep in Tubbo’s apartment, crashed on the couch. No matter how scary those dreams were, Tommy was never able to get hurt in them.

No. This is real.

Somehow.

Tommy can’t fathom how walls are appearing and disappearing, and it’s making everything disorienting as all hell.

His head throbs.

Is this real?

His leg throbs.

This is real.

“Oh Tommy,” a sing-song voice calls, and Tommy swears it comes from directly behind him. He knows better than to turn around, he watched Tubbo play Slenderman once and learned the hard way. So instead he turns down the alley, where there should absolutely not be a turn.

Tommy, for once, has absolutely no idea where he is.

The corner he turned has another wall at the end, with an opening on the left. He takes the turn, limping as quickly as he can.

Another left turn.

Another.

Tommy realizes he’s going in a circle.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tommy practically screams, lungs tearing with each staggered breath, his voice feeling like sand against his raw throat. His head throbs once more, and a choked cry bounces off the walls surrounding him. “Is this real?”

“Your brain seems to think it's real,” the mocking voice answers, still behind him.

Tommy swallows dryly, the taste of iron invading his system. “So this isn’t real?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“There shouldn’t be fucking walls here!” Tommy cries. “I’ve been walking in an enclosed circle of brick walls! That’s not a thing!”

“What are you talking about?”

And Tommy turns around, angry, and feeling more insulted than scared at Dream’s teasing tone. A retort is quick on his tongue, and even quicker falls off when his eyes focus.

He’s back in the open alley.

His foot slides, broken leg attempting to go out on him. It skids on salt.

This is real.

He feels winded, exhausted, but it doesn’t look like he has even moved an inch. The brick walls on his sides are familiar. While he can barely see through the dark still, he can just feel that this is correct again. Whatever hallucination he was going through before, whatever fucked scenario his brain created, he seems to have broken free.

Tommy lets out a whimper of relief, and then a sob of fear as a figure materializes in the dark before him.

Red eyes glow in the dark, boring deep holes into his soul.

The scene before him looks uncannily like the scene from his nightmare.

He thought those were Wilbur’s eyes.

He was wrong.

His head screams.

“Please..please..” Tommy doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore. For his life? For Dream to be quick with it? For help to come find him?

He stares into the red eyes, waiting for some sort of response, and flinches hard when a hand grabs his shoulder from behind. Wha-

“Have you figured it out yet?” Dream’s voice says in his ear, and a shiver runs down Tommy’s spine. How did he get there? Isn’t he in front of Tommy?

“I’m in your head, Tommy.”

He’s in his head?

What does that mean?

He can’t even think anymore. Fear and the instinct to survive has clouded his brain and senses. Did he actually hear that? Because he can’t tell where that voice came from, it sounded like it just came directly from inside his head.

The red eyes fade into the dark, and the hand that was on his shoulder disappears. Tommy feels his shoulders sag. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, even though he’s well aware he isn’t out of danger yet. He’s still scared, but he’s so tired. The pain from his nose and leg begin to burn with a fierce fire. The numbness his adrenaline had supplied him with is wearing down fast, and Tommy lets out a choked cry of pain as it washes over him.

He stumbles slightly, hand shooting out to attempt to catch himself. It makes contact with a brick wall, and he manages to keep himself up. He sees spots in his vision, and he risks a moment to close his eyes, attempting to ground himself.

Maybe he can still get out of here. He has to try now, before he can’t anymore.

He turns, eyes scanning for a flash of warm light, anything that can be a source of the main streets. His head throbs, and his eyes strain.

There.

At the end of the alley, there is no longer an unnatural brick wall, but rather a warm glow reflecting off the ground. Tommy can see the subtle outline of the back steps and backdoor of the diner, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

He steps forward, no longer caring if he leads with his good or bad leg. Tommy knows you aren’t supposed to put weight on a broken bone, because you could seriously fuck it up, but he has no other choice and frankly doesn’t give a shit.

His heart tugs with hope, painfully so. He knows that the street is right there, but he has no idea where Dream is.

And also..

He has no idea where anyone else is. Tommy has been screaming in pain and not a soul has called out for him. It makes sense, in this city. Tommy knows that it is what you have to do to survive. But it’s unfair.

Nobody is going to help him.

He wouldn’t even help him.

A grunt of pain as Tommy feels his bone poke at his skin once more. The feeling is nauseating. He feels his stomach twist, threatening to spill bile out, but he pushes it down. He can’t stop to throw up.

He can’t stop at all.

He pushes on.

Tommy limps pathetically towards the light, brain going haywire while also being sedated by his exhaustion. The only thing keeping him on his feet right now is his instinct to survive. And when you’re a street kid like him, that instinct is strong.

“Leaving so soon?”

Tommy lets out a yell as something collides with his broken leg, causing it to buckle. He goes down without much resistance, brain working slower and slower every second.

“Please..”

Tommy hears a boot crunch salt next to his ear.

“I caught you.”

And suddenly he’s being tugged up by the hood of his new jacket, the sound of fabric tearing lighting the fuse for the tears in his eyes.

Maybe he had been crying the whole time, but this is the first time he’s aware of it.

He shakes as he’s thrown against the brick wall, body collapsing on itself. His legs slide out in front of him, and he sits, leaning against the cold bricks. A strong hand grips his throat, and the sobs that begin to rack his body are forcefully halted.

“Don’t cry Tommy,” Dream says lowly, making a tsk sound. The hand on his throat releases, instead working its way to the back of Tommy’s head, supporting it up.

“Scream.”

Tommy doesn’t know what to think when it isn’t a knife that plunges into him, or a gunshot to be heard. No.

Dream bites down on his neck, his sharp canines that they had joked about earlier pierce his skin with ease, and Tommy does what Dream told him. He screams.

He screams and he cries and he struggles to get the blonde off of him, but he’s too weakened.

And that’s when Tommy begins to feel the worst sensation he has ever felt in his entire life.

He can feel his veins inside him crawling with agony as his blood is forcefully sucked out of them. He hears the sound of gulping close to his ear, and he isn’t stupid. Dream is drinking his blood, in some crazy, twisted fucking way. His heart speeds up, attempting to fix the sudden lack of red blood cells in his body, but of course, it can’t keep up. This causes Tommy to sweat immediately, body working in overdrive to fix the sudden loss. It’s burning, it’s agonizing.

Tommy screams.

His head pounds, he feels nauseous. He can barely even feel Dream anymore, the initial pain of the canines fading into the background and Tommy can feel himself dying. He can feel every tug inside of him as he is drained of his life force, every pull as Dream takes another gulp.

Dream is drinking his blood. From his neck.

What the fuck is this?

Tommy lets out a whimper as he feels his legs go numb. His heart is fucking pounding in his chest, like it’s trying to escape the hell inside his body. His eyes are open, but he can’t see around him anymore. Black spots dance in his vision, and Tommy can’t remember where he is.

What is happening to him?

The sound of someone swallowing next to his ear reminds him.

Oh yeah.

He’s dying?

His heart cries out, beating at rapid speeds. His skin boils, yet his insides feel so cold.

It’s not even painful anymore. Tommy’s head goes completely lax against Dream’s hand, whose fingers card into his hair.

He comes off of Tommy’s neck, breathing in the cold air around them. A gasp is heard, and a satisfied hum.

“Holy shit Tommy, you taste fantastic.”

After hearing no response from Tommy, who can barely even process what was said, he makes a move to indulge further in his drink.

And then the weight is off Tommy.

Tommy shifts slightly as his support suddenly disappears, a snarl and a crash barely being registered in his brain. He groans, fingertips numb from the cold, legs numb from the blood loss. His head swims. He could almost-

And the bile that Tommy had been suppressing spills, and Tommy has no energy to attempt to lean over to make sure it doesn’t get on him. He chokes out a small cry, nausea still raking through his body. His eyes flutter closed.

The pounding of his heart matches the pounding behind his eyes. Tommy hears raised voices, and sounds of fighting? A crash, a crack, and the sliding of salt.

What..where is he?

What’s going on?

Tommy groans again, which failed to be heard over the sounds of shouting a few feet in front of him.

Another crash, and then silence.

Tommy shivers, he feels so cold.

The sound of salt crunching so close to him makes his eyes crack open. He only sees blurs of colors and darkness, so much darkness.

“-my. -ommy. Tommy!”

A confused noise leaves his lips as Tommy shifts his head towards the noise. A blur of yellow, red, and brown is in front of him. He feels a pair of hands on his shoulders, and he makes a noise of protest.

“Shit- Tommy. I know, I’m sorry I have to-” a shuffle of movement, and then Tommy feels like he’s flying.

Realistically, he knows he’s been picked up, but it’s almost as if there is no weight to him. He feels light, his head swims.

Is he dying?

“Stay with me Toms, stay the fuck with me.”

Tommy hums, confused, but stays limp as he’s lifted bridal style. His head tilts into the person’s chest, seeking comfort in the soft fabric that warms his cheek.

Tommy can tell that the person holding him is talking to him, but he can’t hear anymore. His head feels all sorts of fuzzy, and it feels so nice to close his eyes.

So he closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

When he opens his eyes, the world is fuzzy.

A groan escapes his lips as consciousness tugs at him. Tommy is so cold, a shiver most likely the cause for his rude awakening. It feels like he has been dunked and held underwater in a tub of ice. If he didn’t know any better, Tommy would guess that he’s either dreaming, or dying.

A sting of pain answers him, sourced right in his neck.

Dying then.

No pain in dreams.

Tommy doesn’t truly process what that means. His head is ridiculously blurred, and he chalks it up to a half-awake state. Nobody remembers being half-awake, but yet it is still a feeling they recognize well. A small grunt escapes him, and he turns to attempt to get more comfortable, hoping to give in to that pull towards sleep, towards putting his body and mind at rest.

A fire burns through his body in response, stabbing him at his neck, nose, and leg. It contrasts the deep cold he feels in almost every inch of his being. His head, however, seems awfully floaty and cool. He feels wrong, yet his mind convinces him it’s so right, and it’s fucking awful.

A small voice reminds him that dying isn’t pleasant.

Right. Dying.

Muffled sounds begin to invade his senses, adding a new layer to the delerium.

“..ould be easier if we..urn him.”

“..solutely not. H..ould die!”

Voices, there are people here with him, next to him on his deathbed.

The word die floats in his head, repeating like a mantra.

Die, die, die.

That’s what he’s about to do.

Tommy’s heart twists painfully. His head is still filled with a haze that invades his senses and memory, but he at least knows that he isn’t ready to die.

As soon as the realization is there, it disappears again, being lost in the fog of his head.

His eyes close, blurs of color disappearing into the darkness of his eyelids.

He just wants to sleep.

More muffled voices draw his attention again, and it hurts his head. He wants to drift away.

Tommy lets out a noise of protest at the voices, their unnecessary noise threatening his peaceful rest.

It’s quiet, for a beat, and then Tommy feels gentle pressure on his forehead.

He leans into the touch, the hand a comforting coolness in comparison to his ice-chilled body.

“..llo mate.”

“..on’t touch..he doesn’t like it.”

The conversation is frustrating to Tommy for multiple reasons. One, he can not make out what they are saying except for bits and pieces. And two, they won’t shut the fuck up.

His mind is already doing gymnastics trying to balance his awareness, need for sleep, and the alarms going off telling him something isn’t right.

Plus he feels like shit.

He lets out another noise of discontent, pushing his forehead harder against the hand to get their attention, maybe send the message for them to shut the hell up.

A soft chuckle is heard from above him. “Alright, we’ll be quiet.”

Another noise escapes his chapped lips, a more confused warble.

Another presence is at his side, next to whoever the owner of the hand is. Tommy doesn’t really make the connection that he’s not alone, his mind not able to process more than whatever is shoved into the present. Only bits and pieces are processed, the rest falling victim to the fog in his head. He’s content though, if you ignore the pain and confusion that curses him.

Another hand, one softer than the one on his forehead, cups the side of his face.

“Hi Toms,” the voice says softly, a touch of endearment and worry in the tone. “You’re safe now, and you’re going to be just fine.”

A thumb moves across his skin, a comforting touch.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

A content hum makes its way out of Tommy’s throat. The hands remove from his skin, letting his mind fall back into the familiar senselessness. With the lack of anything grounding him, no hands, no voices, and his brain beginning to shut down, he falls to the clutches of unconsciousness.

The next time he opens his eyes (at least what he thinks is), he’s still miserable.

His body shivers uncontrollably, a throbbing sensation traveling throughout his entire body.

A groan of discomfort, which doesn’t go away when he attempts to readjust himself.

Instead, it makes it worse.

He lets out a louder cry when his body burns when he attempts to move it. It feels compressed and uncomfortable, and it makes Tommy incredibly upset. His nose itches, covered by something that pulls his skin, making it hurt. Something is stuck to his arm as well, and it tugs uncomfortably. Don’t even get him started on his leg. Something in his mind knew that this would happen if he moved, a foggy memory of a previous wake trying to get through – but his mind is still useless.

The sound of a door opening causes Tommy to make another sound, hoping someone will help fix his stupid leg for him so he doesn’t have to truly wake up.

He feels a presence next to him, and a hand cups his face. The skin is cold against the burning fire that lights the pain he feels everywhere.

“You’re burnin’ up.”

Tommy lets out a noise. He knows that, he’s clearly on fire. But that isn’t going to help his stupid leg. He tries to get the point across by shifting again, but that also means the sharp pain he felt from before comes back.

Tommy lets out a cry and another hand is suddenly on his hip.

“Don’t move. You’ll put stress on your leg, and you’re tuggin’ your IV.”

Tommy frowns but hums in response, content to let the hands hold him. It feels comforting, and his fuzzy brain is all for accepting this.

A sigh comes from above him, and the hand on his face moves to card through his hair, pushing back the loose strands that stick to his forehead.

“His venom must almost be out of your system. I promise the fever is temporary, you should feel better in the mornin’.”

Tommy hums again, and then cries out in protest as the hands are removed from his side. He shifts again, attempting to chase them, but a stinging in his neck makes an appearance. A grunt of pain, and the hands are back on him.

“Hey, hey, what did I say about movin’?”

Tommy doesn’t care, he just cares that the contact is restored.

“..you don’t want me to leave do you.”

A hum confirms it, and he hears another sigh. This time, it sounds lighthearted.

“What has Wilbur gotten us into?”

Tommy makes a confused hum, none of the words being spoken really registering in his mind. The hand is back in his hair, gently working through his blonde curls. For a moment it is quiet, and Tommy can feel himself drifting away again.

“Go back to sleep, it‘ll make it easier.”

And Tommy listens.

Down the hall from where Tommy recovers, Wilbur paces in his room.

The gentle tune of music coming through his speaker does nothing to calm his mood. His head swirls like a storm, and his body mimics his thoughts.

He goes back and forth, back and forth.

Tommy almost died. Tommy is going to be okay. Tommy almost died. Tommy is going to be okay.

Dream tried to kill Tommy. I will kill Dream. Dream tried to kill Tommy. I will kill Dream.

Back and forth, back and forth.

He groans in frustration, hands making their way into his brown curls.

He’s stuck in a limbo between relief and anger, half wanting to stay at Tommy’s side until the boy is on his feet, half wanting to hunt down that bastard who hurt him and rip him limb from limb, soaking the streets in his blood.

Wilbur smiles.

He will make sure to send the message to any coven or lonewolfs that Tommy is his and that the Sleepy Coven is not to be fucked with.

A text tone from his cellphone ceases his pacing.

Techno: Come here.

Wilbur takes around one second to read the message, another to process it, and one more to fling himself out his bedroom door.

He’s down the hallway in seconds, and the door to the spare bedroom is flung open, Wilbur’s mind a flurry of concerns about Tommy. Is he okay? Is he awake?

His eyes scan around the room for a sign of the blonde boy, and when he sees him, he freezes.

Wilbur’s eyes move to make eye contact with Techno, who sends him a glare.

Wilbur feels his heart burst at the scene in front of him.

“Don’t say a word Wil-”

“Awwww,” Wilbur says, hand moving to rest over his heart. A smile spreads across his face, and Techno looks like he’s about to deck him.

He probably would, if he could.

Techno is sat in an armchair next to the bed Tommy rests in, long pink hair done in a french braid. His normally put-together twin looks disheveled, and not happy about it.

Wilbur could see why.

In his sleep, Tommy had taken a hold of Techno’s arm, pulling it towards his chest. Techno is hunched over in an odd position, body struggling to hold its place. His brother turns to look towards the blonde, attempting to move his arm away. In response, Tommy grabs on tighter, murmuring words of reluctance.

Techno lets out a grumble. “Wilbur, get him off me.”

The sound of a photo being snapped makes Techno’s head snap back towards Wilbur, who holds his phone out in front of him. A mischievous smile is on the brunette’s face as his thumbs tap hurriedly on the screen. “I’m sending that one to Phil.”

“Don’t you da-”

“Sent!”

Techno lets out a grumble, giving his arm another gentle tug.

Wilbur makes a quiet sound of protest. “Don’t wake him!”

“I’m tryin’ not to,'' Techno glares, “but I’d also appreciate the mobility of my arm again. This is your kid, not mine, you take care of him.”

Wilbur narrows his eyes. “He’s our kid.”

“Right, sure, but you’re the one who stole him,” Techno huffs. “Now will you help me?”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. The earlier turmoil of his brain is pushed to the side, concern and care for Tommy taking over. As he steps closer, he can’t stop himself from letting out a coo. “Aw, Techno, he’s so adorable when he sleeps.”

Techno huffs again, but doesn’t disagree. Wilbur's heart warms as he catches the fondness that shines in his brother’s eyes.

Wilbur had been talking about the kid ever since he met him, and it didn’t take much to get the other two members of the coven intrigued as well. He always raves about wanting Tommy to be one of them, for him to join their wonderful family. He complained about how the kid was clearly alone, fending for himself in the fucked up city of Manberg, how it wasn’t fair. He just wanted to bring him home.

So when he had crashed through the front doors with the bleeding blonde in his arms, screaming for them to help, they were there.

And it took them no time at all to start treating Tommy as one of their own.

Tommy has been in and out of consciousness for the past three days, each time he wakes he says something incoherent but adorable, and yearns for some sort of attention. Wilbur had learned from Tommy himself that the kid hates touch, but he actually found quite the opposite while taking care of him.

The kid is touch-starved. He doesn’t hate touch, he’s scared of it.

He also refuses to rest unless one of them is in the room with him. It’s sweet.

Wilbur looks at the blonde, his curls a mess, rumpled from the pillows and blankets he is surrounded by (Phil got a little intense while tucking him in). Any signs of discomfort that were typically present on his face had been replaced with a content expression. Wilbur smiles. He’s been recovering extremely well. There are bandages wrapped around his neck and leg where the most severe injuries are. Both his nose and leg were broken, but luckily the nose reset easily, not requiring intense care. The leg on the other hand was really messed up. It’s been wrapped and casted expertly, Techno having the most skilled hands when treating wounds. They had to do several blood transfusions, and then used a bunch of IV fluids to flush out Dream’s venom from the bite.

His jaw sets.

Dream.

As if Techno can read his thoughts, he speaks. “There hasn’t been any sightin’ of him. Phil has his contacts on high alert.”

Wilbur lets out a snarl. “I want to kill him.”

Techno hums. “We all do. But we can’t do that until we find him.”

A moment of silence as Tommy shifts, both brothers pausing, worried they might have woken him.

The storm that threatens to rear again at the thought of Dream calms again as Wilbur’s attention is drawn to Tommy.

His Tommy.

His little brother.

When the blonde settles back down, Techno speaks up again. “I can’t feel my arm.”

Wilbur lets out a chuckle. “Alright, let’s get you out of here.”

Tommy was more than happy to listen to the soft words that had guided him back to sleep.

Unfortunately for him, his brain had other plans.

Tommy internally groans as the finger of consciousness pokes him in the side once more.

He’s really getting sick of this.

This time though, he feels significantly better. His brain is still a little foggy, but he is slowly gaining awareness back.

Tommy grunts as his brain gently nudges for him to wake up. Tommy really doesn’t want to. He feels so warm and comfortable, and it feels like he’s laying on a cloud. He never wakes up feeling so content, and he doesn’t want to spoil the moment by forcing his body to move.

His brain nags at him, something screaming in the back of his mind. Tommy ignores it in favor of pushing his head further into the softness beneath him. Whatever it is is so warm, threatening to pull him back to sleep, something he wants dearly.

And then the warmth below him shifts.

Tommy freezes.

The alarms that were in the back of his mind are now blaring in the front, whatever little conscious awareness he is capable of coming in at full force.

Tommy doesn’t sleep comfortable and warm, his little cot is a piece of shit. Tubbo’s couch isn’t even this comfy, and rarely is Tommy the one to fall asleep on Tubbo, usually it’s the other way around.

Tommy holds his breath as he slowly opens his eyes. He was expecting the harsh light of his singular window in his apartment, but he is instead met with soft darkness and the subtle glow of warm light.

It takes his somewhat foggy brain a few extra seconds to come to a realization.

He isn’t home.

He has no idea where he is.

His pillow shifts again, and Tommy’s eyes make out a figure next to him. The same figure who is also acting as Tommy’s pillow. The next thing he processes is that there is an arm wrapped around him, hugging him close.

Tommy makes a choked noise of fear.

Where is he?

A grumble sounds out from the figure.

Who is that?

“..Tommy?”

The voice mumbles out his name softly, and the blonde’s blood runs cold.

“Are you awake Toms?”

No.

No.

Tommy’s body kicks into action as the paralyzing fear from before transfers into fear-driven adrenaline.

Tommy remembers enough from his unconscious journey to know that his right leg is useless to him, so he kicks with his left.

Tommy thrashes, kicking his leg at the man next to him, hands flying as he struggles to push away. He’s wrapped in the arm and just too many blankets, and he feels like he’s suffocating.

Like he’s trapped. His breath chokes.

And then he’s back in the alley. Brick walls tower over him. He cries out, his chest heaves, he can’t breathe.

The memories of before rush back to him, the adrenaline forcing his mind to accept what had happened, to be aware of it.

He lets out a choked sound, twisting to stare at the bricks. He throws out a punch against the wall. Then another, then another.

“Tommy! Tommy! Calm down!”

Tommy cries, slamming his hands down. He will break these walls down if he has to. He will escape. He won’t die.

Grunts of pain come from the walls, and Tommy smiles. He’s going to live.

“Tommy, calm down.”

And like a slap to the face, Tommy is back in the bed.

His body stills, arms and leg stopping their movements, tangled thoroughly in the blankets. The figure next to him is heaving out breaths, much like Tommy’s breaths before.

Tommy lets out a choked sound, his own breath being forced to slow down. His mind screams to move, to keep kicking, keep punching, keep fighting, but his body refuses.

He can’t move.

What is happening?

The mattress under them shifts as the figure sits up, carefully pulling the blankets out from around Tommy.

Tommy stares, blue eyes meeting red, as Wilbur himself comes into his view.

Tommy lets out a whimper, attempting to move once more, but his efforts are pointless.

“I’m so sorry Toms, I didn’t want to do that.”

Tommy lets out a confused sound. “Did you fucking drug me? Did you kidnap me? What the fuck?”

Wilbur frowns, hand reaching out. Tommy flinches, but can’t move much more to avoid it.

Wilbur’s arm freezes, the frown on his face deepening. It falls back to his side. “Right, I forgot.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Tommy finds that he can’t raise his voice above a whisper, his own words sounding scratchy and raw. He also has a sneaking suspicion that if he were to try to shout, he wouldn’t be able to.

“I saved you.”

Blurry memories of Tommy leaning against the brick wall, ground and body cold, accepting yet denying the fact he was dying. He remembers sounds of struggle, and then a figure lifting him away.

Tears slide down Tommy’s face as he remembers everything. Every moment of terror, every thought, feeling, the pain, everything comes back to him. How he was so stupid to go into that alley. How he looked into the eyes of his friend, the same person who tortured him for the next..however long it was. It was all a blur, yet so clear.

He lets out a sob.

“You don’t have to cry Toms, you’re safe now.”

Tommy lets out a sound of disbelief, shaking his head slowly (he wanted to do it violently, but couldn’t). “Safe? Safe? You brought me to..wherever this is,” his arms twitch at his attempt to gesture them around, staying limp at his sides, “instead of a hospital. You kidnapped me. I don’t feel very safe right now.”

“I brought you home.”

Tommy stares at Wilbur, eyes wide. His heart thrums steadily, his breaths are even, but his mind whirls. It’s confusing and uncomfortable. He wants to lash out, kick, scream, cry for help, but he stays frozen, only able to make small movements and speak quietly.

More tears slide down his face. “What did you do to me?”

Wilbur sighs, running a hand through his brown curls. “I compelled you.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I told you to calm down, and you did.”

“Like fucking mind control?”

Wilbur shrugs. “I guess.”

“What the fuck?”

“Wilbur sighs, running his hand over his face. “I didn’t want to use that on you, but you were having some sort of panic attack. I had to.”

“I wonder why dickhead,” Tommy snarls. “I almost die, and then get fucking kidnapped, and you expected me to wake up calm?” Tommy pauses, thinking. “And why the fuck were you in my bed?”

Wilbur smiles sheepishly, and Tommy flinches at it. This is so bizarre. The tone changes are a constant whiplash in his head, and the words Wilbur speaks don’t even make sense.

“You uh..you get quite clingy when you’re sick. You wouldn’t let go of Techno’s arm, so we replaced it with mine instead. Needless to say, you ended up pulling me into bed with you.”

Tommy’s jaw drops in horror, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “No fucking way I did, you are a lying weirdo who was cuddling a kid like a fucking teddy bear.”

Tommy’s mouth snaps shut as a dark look crosses Wilbur’s face.

He must have taken it too far, he forgot that Wilbur has full control right now, being his kidnapper and all.

“I fucking knew you were just a kid.”

Oh.

Shit.

“Wait, no, I mean I’m a big adult man!” Tommy tries to backtrack, eyes wide as Wilbur’s gaze grows harder.

“How old are you Tommy?” Wilbur says, voice scarily steady.

“18.”

“How old are you Tommy?”

Wilbur’s voice drips with honey, his eyes flashing a deeper red. The words sound sickenly sweet and wrong, and familiar.

“17.”

He answers before he even has a second to process what was asked. Tommy makes a confused sound as Wilbur frowns.

“You’re just a kid.”

“I’m not a fucking kid!” Tommy protests, fear steadily flowing back into his body. Maybe whatever ‘mind control’ Wilbur did is wearing off. “Stop using your weird shit on me! That shouldn’t even be possible!”

His words are slowly increasing in volume, and Tommy realizes that he’s able to move more freely than before. His arm twitches.

“You’re a fucking crazy creep, a crazy fucking creep who harrassed me at work, followed me around, and then fucking kidnapped me! You’re fucking crazy!”

“Tommy-”

“No! This is fucked up! What the fuck is going on? What the fuck happened to me?! What is happening to me?!”

“Tommy calm down,” Wilbur warns, concern on his face.

“No! No I won’t! And don’t even think about ‘compelling’ me, or whatever you called it! Let me go!” He twists his body slightly, attempting to wiggle some life into his limbs.

“Tommy!” Wilbur cries out in alarm. “Don’t move, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“I’ll hurt myself killing you you fucking bitch!”

Tommy sits up and lunges at Wilbur, determined to get his hands on the fucker. He will fight his way out if he has to. He’s not going to die, he’s not going to sit here and let Wilbur look at him with a weird fondness while he lays immobile in bed.

Wilbur lets out a shout as Tommy’s fist collides with the side of his face. Tommy is even surprised that it hits, he’s moving incredibly slower than usual. A hand grabbing his wrist shocks him out of his surprise, and his eyes snap to glare at Wilbur.

“St-”

“NO!” Tommy swings his other arm, trying to get a hit in the brunette’s gut. A stinging of knuckles and a grunt of pain confirms the hit. “You will not control me again!”

The sound of a door slamming open shocks Tommy, his eyes going wide as a large figure bursts into the room. Another wave of fear rakes through him as he realizes that they aren’t alone.

“Wilbur? What’s goin’ on?”

“Techno! Help me!”

Tommy lets out a scream as he throws another punch, crying out loudly as this time it doesn’t land. The new person, Techno, had caught his arm, grip firm and tight. Tommy lets out another scream, trying once more with his other arm. It gets caught again.

“Damn it kid, calm down!”

“NO! YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING CRAZY! LET ME GO!”

Tears stream down his face as he thrashes, trying to rip himself free. He watches as Wilbur gathers himself in front of him, rubbing his face where a nice bruise is starting to form.

Their eyes meet, and where Tommy expects anger, he only finds sadness.

“I’m sorry Toms.”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE-”

“Sleep.”

And Tommy crumples into Wilbur’s waiting arms.

Chapter Text

Tubbo is worried.

Very worried.

He can’t help the anxiety that stirs in his gut as he watches the clock tick on. Confusion plagues him as the hand inches closer and closer to the end of his shift.

Tommy was supposed to come visit him today.

Tubbo bites the inside of his cheek. Tommy would have told him if he picked up an extra shift, right? That’s how it always goes.

The last time Tubbo saw Tommy was when his friend left for work.

He hasn’t seen him since.

Now, not seeing Tommy for a bit isn’t usually alarming, but the blonde not answering his calls is. Tommy doesn’t have a cellphone, but he does have a shitty wall phone that came with the apartment. How that shithole came with a phone and not a microwave, Tubbo will never know.

Tubbo knows Tommy’s schedule by heart, and vice versa. They usually try to call each other consistently on their off time, just to check in, make sure each other are still alive and shit.

Also because they are clingy bastards.

But Tubbo had sat on the couch, smile slowly falling into a frown as the dial tone went on, and on, and on.

He went to voicemail.

Again.

“Hey bossman, it’s Tubbo. You haven’t answered my last few calls, are you alright? You better not be overworking yourself bitch. See you tomorrow, you better bring me something to make up for listening to your shitty prerecorded message a million times.”

Now that it is tomorrow, Tubbo is concerned.

He stocks the rest of the cheddar bags, a frown present on his face at the absence of Tommy’s teasing.

Where is he?

Tubbo huffs, eyes darting to the clock, then to the front of the store, and back to the cheese.

The hand ticks.

He hangs up mozzarella bags.

Tick.

Pepperjack.

Tick.

Slices of munster.

Tick.

He glances up.

His shift is over.

Tubbo sighs. His eyebrows scrunch up, and remain furrowed for a few minutes as he finishes stocking the cheese. His forehead muscles ache as he pulls his coat over his shoulders, swipes his time card, and exits the store.

Is Tommy avoiding him?

He knows Tommy was beating himself up pretty badly about punching Tubbo in the face, but that’s not really a reason to be dodging his calls. Tubbo also didn’t pry into his nightmare or whatever he had, and dropped the subject of..

..Wilbur.

Tubbo’s step falters as his mind jumps to the worst case scenario.

Tommy did just tell Wilbur to leave him alone, and stood up for himself. What if that backfired?

Tubbo turns around, now heading in the opposite direction of his home, heading straight to the diner.

If Tommy isn’t home to answer his calls, he better fucking be at the diner.

He better fucking be there.

Tubbo has watched way too many crime documentaries for his brain to let this go. He resists the urge to break into a sprint, knowing that a kid running down the streets of a city can get some unwanted attention. Instead he speed walks, constantly glancing around for any sign of his friend.

Would Tommy randomly be on the street? Probably not. But it doesn’t hurt to remain vigilant.

Tommy is fine, surely he is.

Why wouldn’t he be?

Damn, Tommy is probably one of the most resilient people Tubbo has ever met. He knows Tommy has been through hell, because Tommy told him. One night over a bag of cool ranch doritos and Moana and suddenly Tommy was spilling his entire life story.

Tubbo had cried. Not because it was sad (it was downright tragic), but because Tommy trusted him enough to open up to him.

Tommy cried too, but he never admits it.

But Tommy had made it out. He escaped the system, he survived the streets, and he’s hanging on now. He isn’t alone through it either. Tubbo has made sure of it.

He’s probably worried over nothing, he knows. From what Tommy did tell him of Wilbur, the guy doesn’t strike him as a violent crime boy, just some irritating hipster. And the phone might’ve broken just like everything else in that shithole. But would Tommy not just call him from the diner?

He comes up with other theories as the neon sign of Nook’s Diner comes into view. He slows down his steps a bit, breathing deeply to catch his breath. Tommy is going to be here, and he’s going to be just fine.

Tubbo isn’t used to jinxing things.

“Sorry man, he’s not here.”

Tubbo feels his stomach drop. The buzz headed guy who just ruined his day crosses his arms and huffs, lips pressed into a thin line. “He actually has been a no show for his past few shifts, but I mean he can’t help it. I’m still not exactly enjoying covering for his ass.”

“Wait, his past few shifts? He hasn’t been here for days?” Tubbo asks. Tommy has been dodging his calls for maybe three days now..and if that lines up-

“Yeah, but I mean like I said it’s not like he can help it.”

Tubbo narrows his eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Jack huffs, looking at Tubbo. “Aren’t you like his only friend? How do you not know he’s in the hospital?”

..what?

“What?”

Jack’s arms unfold at Tubbo’s shocked tone. A look of concern flashes briefly in his eyes before he covers it up with annoyance. His hands slide into his pockets behind his apron. “Yeah man, he took a fall behind the diner and fucked up his leg apparently. We got the call yesterday, only after he missed like two shifts.”

“Tommy is in the hospital?”

Jack sighs. “Yeah, did you not hear what I said?”

Tubbo blinks, still processing. So Tommy is in the hospital, called the diner, but didn’t call him. Rude.

Wait- how did he get into the hospital?

“Wait, so did he call you or..?”

“The hospital staff called us. Told us Tommy wasn’t going to be able to walk for a bit so they are keeping him there. I don’t know how messed up his leg is for him to have to stay at the hospital, but it must not be good.”

Fuck.

Tommy is in the hospital.

Tommy is in the hospital.

Wait.

Tommy is in the hospital.

Oh shit.

Without another word, Tubbo turns on his heel and pushes the door open. A little chime rings out just as Jack says, “Alright, great talk.”

Tubbo barely hears him as he takes off in a sprint down the road, public image be damned.

Tommy is in the hospital.

They are going to look at his records.

Tommy could get sent back into the system.

Tubbo might be royally out of shape, having to pause for breath every block, but he doesn’t stop running for long.

He has to get there before social services can.

Tommy must have been hurt as hell to tell the hospital his actual name. The two of them had a plan that if Tommy ever had to do something official like that, he’d use a fake name.

Tubbo honestly expected Tommy to check in under his name if he ever needed to be there.

But it also surprises him that Tommy would go to the hospital anyways. As stated before, the kid is resilient and stubborn as all hell. He would rather bite the bullet and continue to work than admit he is hurt.

Tommy once worked for an entire week with a sprained wrist, claiming that the bruising was normal and that it didn’t hurt at all.

Tubbo told Puffy.

She didn’t let Tommy leave the house until it was healed.

Maybe Tubbo should call her? He’s already halfway to the hospital, and didn’t really think to stop to tell her first. He knows she’s at work right now, but she would at least be able to swing by after.

Maybe he could get her to claim to be Tommy’s mom and get him out of there.

It’s a long shot, but maybe that could work.

Fuck.

She would honestly probably adopt Tommy on the spot, or at least try to. She has told Tubbo before that the process for getting his adoption papers took way too long, even with the court mandation.

That’s a long story.

Puffy is actually Tubbo’s biological aunt, but she will always be considered his mom. He’s been with her since he was four, his biological father (her brother) was a drunk shit and his bio mom was nowhere to be found. Social services was either going to put him into the system, or with kin that would take him.

Puffy didn’t hesitate.

The first time he called her mom was at his eighth birthday party, and she had cried while cutting the cake. He’s called her mom ever since.

Tubbo is ridiculously close to her, she basically knows everything he knows. The only stuff he doesn’t tell her is stuff about Tommy.

Tommy wants her to believe he is eighteen and doing just fine on his own, so Tubbo tries to get her to believe it. He’s a shitty liar, and Puffy can see right through the both of them, but she doesn’t pry.

Maybe Tubbo should tell her some stuff now.

He pulls out his cell, tapping in his passcode at the speed of light, and navigates to the phone app. He hesitates, thumb hovering over the recent call list (it consists of only calls from Puffy and Tommy). What should he tell her? Should he worry her?

He considers for a moment before clicking his phone off and sliding it back into his pocket.

He should ask Tommy what he wants first instead of panicking and jumping the gun.

While social services is a threat, they are also a slow ass threat. Not that they are bad at their jobs, but they are spread way too thin in this shithole city. They can’t sacrifice everything to get to a kid who is about to age out anyways. Plus, the system sucks ass.

He has been there for at least three days though.

Tubbo is against the clock.

Everything seems to blur as Tubbo boards a bus. He thinks he ran maybe 15 blocks before his legs turned into jelly and his lungs began to smolder, so he bites the bullet and swipes his bus card.

It’s a 30 minute run to the nearest hospital. 15 minutes on the bus. Tubbo scolds himself mentally, he should’ve just taken the bus in the first place.

He could’ve called an uber as well, maybe that would have been faster.

Oh well, he’s not thinking the most clearly. He should be calmer, he shouldn’t panic, that won’t help him here. But Tubbo can’t help the spinning of his gut as anxiety tugs it around.

Hey, at least Wilbur didn’t kidnap Tommy or some shit, the dumbass just hurt himself or something like that.

When the bus stops close enough to the hospital, Tubbo is out the doors.

When he steps through the automatic doors of the hospital, he buckles over to catch his breath.

Tubbo almost laughs at the concerned look a passerby nurse gives him, waving her off politely. After a minute of deep breathing to both collect his breath and his thoughts, he straightens up and approaches the front desk.

The lady behind the counter gives him a look, since she could clearly see the whole scene from before, but Tubbo just shrugs.

“I’m all good, sorry, bit of a trip to get here,” Tubbo huffs out between breaths, still catching up with them. Man, he’s really out of shape. He can practically hear Tommy’s taunts right now.

“Right, so, are you checking in?”

“Oh no, no,” Tubbo corrects, “I’m here to visit my friend.”

“Alright, just so you know, visiting hours are over in about an hour, and only three in a room at a time.”

“Sure, sure,” Tubbo says dismissively. “His name is Tommy and he’s here with a messed up leg.”

She types into the computer, eyebrows scrunching. “Last name?”

“Uh...Innit?”

She stares at him for a moment. “‘Innit’?”

“Yeah, it’s Innit ‘innit?”

She sighs, typing once again into the computer. Tubbo tries not to laugh, he’s made fun of Tommy plenty for his surname before. He honestly forgets about how stupid it is until it’s brought up.

But then Tommy will make fun of him for his surname being ‘Underscore’ so..touché.

There’s a pause in the typing. “We do not have a Tommy Innit in our system.”

“Huh?”

“There is no Tommy Innit in this hospital, dear,” she smiles, but it seems slightly forced. Honestly Tubbo can’t blame her, he knows how shitty any social service job can be, and at a hospital it’s got to be worse. But..

“Can you check the systems of other hospitals? He’s got to be somewhere, the hospital staff called his job.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why did they call his job?”

“I don’t know, he probably asked,” Tubbo leans forward and whispers, “He’s a workaholic.”

The lady snorts. “Alright, well there is no Tommy Innit in our system, at this hospital or any others under our network. Does he go to a different hospital?”

“No, this is the closest one to his home, the other place is like an hour drive so he has to be here.”

Her lips form a small smile that comes across more as a frown. “Sorry dear, he’s not here.”

Tubbo is honestly just confused at this point. Confusion and anxiety sit in an uncomfortable silence in his head as he struggles to come up with any thought. Not here? How?

Oh shit.

Did social services already get here?

Tubbo’s stomach drops. “Wait, has he been here recently at least?”

More typing and clicking. A pause. Tubbo shifts his feet nervously.

“No, sorry dear. He has never been here.”

Okay, now what the fuck?

“Oh..alright then, thanks I guess,” Tubbo mutters, turning around to sit in the waiting room rather than towards the doors. His legs still feel a little wobbly after all that running. And running for what? Tommy isn’t even here.

But didn’t this hospital call the diner? How the fuck is he not here?

Previous theories he came up with when he sprinted to the diner begin to nag his brain again.

Tubbo sits in the slightly uncomfortable chair, navy cushion doing almost nothing to separate him from the hard plastic. He glances around to see a person curled up in one and fast asleep, head tipped back onto the shoulder or someone next to them, who looks incredibly anxious. In another seat is a kid with a mask on, constantly coughing, while his mother fusses over feeling his forehead and holding his hand. That kind of reminds him how Puffy gets when he is sick.

He’s glad he didn’t call her now, he would’ve gotten her all stressed for nothing apparently.

But there is still a feeling tugging in his gut that something isn’t right. If Tommy isn’t here, where is he? Why did the hospital call then?

Are they covering something up?

Tubbo sits slightly straighter in his chair. What if that’s it? What if Tommy is here, and they aren’t telling him because social services doesn’t want to leave a trace? Is this a cover up? A conspiracy?

Oh fuck.

Tubbo has got to find him.

He glances around again, looking where the staff is placed. The lady at the desk is chatting with someone new, and everyone else seems relatively occupied. Maybe he could literally just walk past them and get through? Make it look like he knows where he is going?

He stands on shaky legs. Yeah, he can do that.

He walks forward, and nobody notices him. A phone rings, and another worker turns away from him to answer it. That’s convenient.

He walks towards the hall, back straight and eyes forward. Nobody has asked him what he is up to, he’s doing it.

Like a ninja.

His eyes glance to the plaque on the wall where the directions are. Patient rooms are on the floor above him. That’s easy to get to.

So was getting out of the main lobby.

Tubbo lets out a small sigh of relief that sounds much like a chuckle as he ducks around the corner towards the stairwell (the elevator is far too risky). He is really overthinking how much trouble he could get into inside of a hospital. What will they do? Escort him out? They can do that after he finds Tommy.

If he finds Tommy.

The stairwell is empty as he climbs up to the second floor. There’s small glass windows on the doors, so he’s able to peek within it. He pushes it open when the coast is clear, and closes it as silently as he can.

He looks around. Most of the rooms around him in the hall have the curtains drawn, but there is still a small window in the doors. He just needs to not look like a creep or like he’s up to no good.

He starts down the hall, having to go on his toes as he passes a door to actually see inside. He’s seen three brunettes and two empty rooms, no sign of a blonde.

A door opens down the hall and Tubbo freezes. He turns and sees a nurse exiting a room, back towards him. Without thinking, he grabs the door handle closest to him and pulls it open, going inside. The door shuts behind him just as the nurse turns towards where he used to be, and he breathes out in relief. A sound of surprise is what pulls him away from the window, and he turns to look into the room.

He makes eye contact with a pair of confused green eyes, and Tubbo goes still. Shit, there would be a patient in here huh.

The green eyes he stares into, stuck in shock, don’t belong to a patient, but rather the guy next to one. The first blonde Tubbo has seen, but not Tommy’s blonde. It’s more of a darker dirty blonde, and this guy is definitely too old to be Tommy. He’s holding the hand of the man in the bed, who seems to be unconscious. Tubbo really only catches stubble and dark brown hair before the blonde makes a move.

He sits up slightly, hand sliding away from the patient. “Who are you?”

“Oh shit,” Tubbo says quietly, not wanting to wake up the brunette, “sorry, I totally went into the wrong room! My friend’s room must be right next door, my bad!”

The blonde rolls his eyes. “Whatever, just get out.”

Tubbo nods his head rapidly. “Whatever you say bossman.”

He glances out the door, no longer seeing a nurse, before twisting the handle and exiting the room quickly.

Holy shit that was so awkward.

He also realizes he had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the long-care patient hall.

After checking the rest of the rooms in the other hall, Tubbo is completely stumped. Not a single one contained Tommy. Shit, maybe he wasn’t lied to. Or maybe he was and Tommy is already gone.

His throat dries slightly at the thought, and his eyes water. Fuck. Where is Tommy?

There’s only one other place he can think of to check.

This time he’s taking the bus.

Tubbo taught himself how to pick locks when he was nine. Turns out they have YouTube tutorials for literally anything, including lockpicking guides for about any lock on the planet.

Picking Tommy’s lock was simple, but he had to be careful doing it because the inside is all rusted and shit.

The lock clicks, and Tubbo smiles to himself. He had stood there knocking on the door for maybe five minutes before panic won over his patience. He was holding onto hope for some sign of Tommy, literally anything. But still nothing.

Tubbo feels like if Tommy was back in the system by now, he would have gotten a phone call. They aren’t that cruel to deny a kid a say goodbye to his friend. Right? Probably not. Hopefully not.

The door creaks open and Tubbo winces. He has never been inside Tommy’s apartment before, just outside when he would walk him home sometimes after he stayed at Tubbo’s.

It is so underwhelming.

And really fucking depressing.

“Jesus Tommy,” Tubbo mutters as he takes in the room.

The single room.

He can see a flimsy bed on the floor in the corner, and a pile of sweatshirts and jeans next to it. So all his clothes are still here, not a good sign. The sink contains a couple of forks, and one of Tubbo’s tupperware containers. He glances into the bathroom, finding a cheap toothbrush and toothpaste, but nothing else.

It’s empty.

Well, it still has Tommy’s stuff, but no Tommy.

That freaks Tubbo the fuck out.

He’s so freaked out that he needs to sit before he passes out, so he crosses the room to settle down on the small cot that Tommy sleeps in. It’s fucking freezing in here, and the blankets are cold to the touch.

His knees press against his chest, and his head falls onto them.

Fuck fuck fuck.

A gasp escapes his mouth as he thinks. And he thinks rapidly.

So Tommy isn’t at the hospital. He doesn’t think the staff lied to him about him never being there, which means whoever called the diner lied. He still hasn’t heard from Tommy, and if he was with social services he’s sure he’d be allowed a phone call. All of Tommy’s stuff is here as well, and he’s pretty sure that would have been picked up since they wouldn’t want to waste money buying him new stuff.

Tommy also has a stalker.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Tubbo cries out as his hands fist into his hair, pulling tight. Tears slip down his face as he comes to a terrible conclusion.

Tommy is missing.

And Tubbo has no idea where he is.

He could’ve been fucking kidnapped or killed or something fucking awful.

Somebody called the fucking diner saying he was at the hospital and it was a lie and Tommy is missing.

His breathing is ragged, and he chokes as a sob breaks free from his throat.

Tommy is missing.

Tommy is missing.

Tommy is missing.

His head snaps up, hand grabbing for his phone in his pocket before he can second guess himself.

It only rings twice.

“Hello?”

“Mom,” Tubbo croaks out, desperate for some sort of comfort. He’s in a full panic, sitting in the empty apartment of his best friend, with no best friend found.

“Tubbo? Baby what’s wrong-”

“Tommy is- Tommy’s missing.”

There’s a silence.

“What?”

Tubbo just nods, even though she can’t see it. Tears slowly slide down his face, falling off at the movement. “Yeah, he hasn’t gone to work in days, they said he was in the hospital but when I went to the hospital they had no record of him so I thought social services got him, but all his stuff is here in his apartment and he’s not here and I haven’t heard from him and I just-”

“Tubbo, slow down. Breathe please. Breathe with me okay? In for four..”

Tubbo inhales.

“Hold for four..”

He holds, eyes squeezing shut. He feels more tears slip out.

“Exhale for four.”

A slow, shaky exhale.

“Let’s do that a few more times, okay? In..”

It takes maybe three minutes for Tubbo to breathe normally again. He’s not prone to panic attacks, and he can tell in the tone of Puffy’s voice that she is wickedly concerned, but this is a good cause. Fuck, not a good cause, but probably cause.

“Okay, now I have a few questions, can you answer them?”

Tubbo hums, head fuzzy as the panic subsides. Deep breathing techniques always make him feel floaty.

“Okay, you said that you thought social services got to him. What does that mean?”

Oh fuck, did he say that?

Well, no going back now.

“Tommy is only seventeen,” a small sigh, followed by a soft ‘I knew it’, “I’m sorry we lied, he just didn’t want you to think he couldn’t take care of himself.”

“Well he’s clearly barely been taking care of himself I- sorry. Right. We’ll talk about that one later. Did he run away from home or from the system?”

“The system.”

“Shit okay. That’s a lot to take in. All of this is. So he hasn’t been to work?”

“No, when I went there they said they got a call from the hospital that he was out and injured. Something about his leg being messed up.”

“Why would the hospital call his job of all places?”

“That’s what the hospital desk lady asked too. I don’t know, but that also makes me wonder- what if it wasn’t someone from the hospital?”

A pause. “That’s a dangerous line of thought Tubbo.”

“No but listen to me,” Tubbo says, hands clutching onto the fabric of Tommy’s thin blanket.

He tells her everything about Wilbur, and how he’s been harassed at work. He tells her about how Tommy hasn’t called him, even though he could definitely get access to a phone if it was social services. About how all his stuff is here, and there’s no sign that he has been here since he left Tubbo’s (he figured that by not finding the hoodie Tommy was wearing that day anywhere).

There’s silence on the line.

“We need to call the police.”

“No!” Tubbo cries out quickly, and Puffy makes a surprised sound. “Sorry, but no, we can’t. If we file a report, they will find out all of his documents and stuff are fake, which is probably a crime. Plus, if they find him, they will just return him to social services and I’ll still lose him.”

“Tubbo-”

“No, we can’t.”

Silence for a beat. “It’s unwise Tubbo, the police have resources.”

“You think they are going to use them on a system runaway seventeen year old? They don’t do shit regardless, telling them would do more harm than good. They just take all of Schlatt’s funding and use it to sit on their asses all day.”

A snort is poorly hidden by the sound of a throat clearing, and then a sigh. “Okay, if that’s what you think Tubbo. But we need to act quickly, it’s already been three days-”

“Please don’t,” Tubbo’s voice breaks. “Please..I know the statistics.”

They have passed the 72 hour mark.

“It’s going to be okay baby, I’m heading home right now. I’ll pick you up from where you are, and we’ll make missing posters. We’re going to find him.”

Tubbo looks to his right at the pile of sweatshirts and pants, and grabs the red sweatshirt on top. It’s Tommy’s favorite.

Tubbo grips the article of clothing tightly, bringing it to his chest. His hand tightens around his cellphone, and he nods. “We will find him,” he says, curling around the hoodie.

“We have to.”

Chapter Text

Tommy’s head is fucking killing him right now.

He groans as a rough drum beat plays behind his eyes. Fuck.

He moves his arms to raise his hands to his face, fully intending to rub the headache away from his eye sockets, but he can’t.

His hands are tied.

Tommy’s eyes fly open, everything coming back to him in harsh waves.

Dream, dying, waking up, everything blurry, waking up again, Wilbur, fighting, and then..

“Hey mate.”

Tommy stiffens. He’s still lying in the same bed as before, and his bodily awareness tells him that his legs are tied together as well. It’s loosely done, but it’s still restraining. There’s a figure beside the bed, he can just make out the form in his peripheral.

A whimper escapes his lips as he squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe this isn’t real.

A tsk sounds out from beside him, and the sounds of movement. The figure readjusts himself on the chair he’s in. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut harder. Oh this is so fucked up.

“We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Tommy lets out a huff, and the figure sighs.

Not going to hurt him? Yeah right. How many kids get kidnapped and don’t get hurt? I mean, shit, he’s literally tied up right now. Granted it’s poorly done, each time he lightly tugs his wrists it gets looser, but the principle is still there.

He shifts his legs and lets out a hiss. Alright, moving his leg is still a definite no.

“Don’t move around too much, you’ll hurt yourself even more than you already have.”

Tommy honestly doesn’t remember much from his panic before, he just remembers punching Wilbur in the face, some pink-haired dude barging in, and then Wilbur telling him to go to sleep (which is still fucking insane).

Did he mess up his leg?

“I rewrapped your leg and adjusted the splint in there. It was really bad when Wil first brought you in, and it’s doing better, as long as you stop trying to hurt yourself.”

“Wasn’t trying to hurt myself, I was trying to hurt that creepy bitch,” Tommy hisses out. He will not get fucking lectured by one of the dudes who is literally keeping him against his will. He’s talking about it so casually too, it’s fucking mental.

Tommy opens his eyes again, and turns his head to glare at the figure. No point in pretending he isn’t there and that this isn’t real, it’s not like he can go anywhere.

He’s a little taken aback to find a new face looking at him. This is some older guy, older than Wilbur and whoever the other person was. He’s got blonde hair that falls just above his shoulder, tucked behind one ear to reveal a large emerald earring. His hands are folded on his lap in front of him, resting on top of a deep emerald green robe. He gives Tommy a small smile, skin wrinkling his red eyes at the corners.

“I’m Phil.”

Tommy just glares at him.

Phil holds his small smile. “How are you feeling?”

Tommy glares even harder, letting out a snort. “Oh I don’t know, I almost died and got kidnapped. So pretty shit.”

Phil lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, I figured as much. You gave us all quite the scare when you woke up thrashing about. I don’t want to have to keep wrapping your leg.”

“I gave you quite the scare? Are you fucking serious?” Tommy’s mouth hangs agape in disbelief. Are they seriously blaming him for his reaction?

“I understand that you are scared and confused,” Phil says calmly, his voice maintaining a steady level, “But please understand we aren’t going to hurt you.”

Instead of Tommy vocalizing his disbelief, he raises his arms out from under the covers, where the ties are still loosely keeping him contained. He shoots Phil a look, who looks a little sheepish.

“Right, ah, that was a small precaution in case you tried to fight again when you woke up. We are just worried about you hurting yourself.” Phil looks at the ties before looking at Tommy. “Are they uncomfy? Techno tied them loosely so you wouldn’t be hurt by them.”

Tommy pauses. So getting tied up loosely was on purpose? And who is Techno, was that the pink-haired dude from before?

“I am very confused.”

“Everything will be explained in time. We will have plenty of time to answer your questions, since you need to be on bed rest for another few days.” Phil gestures to his leg. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to patch it. I’m not sure what happened in that alley, but your leg was mangled up pretty bad.”

At the mention of the alley, Tommy goes pale. His body freezes up as he swears he can feel the burning hot pain all over again. The sound of salt scraping across asphalt, the feeling of his bone crunching and poking inside of him, the sound of laughter echoing through the darkness.

“Tommy?”

It’s suffocating, the darkness. It swallows him whole. Tommy takes a deep breath in, but he can’t feel any air enter his lungs. There’s a ringing in his ears, his head pounds as he stares into the endless abyss. He can’t breathe, he can’t see, it all hurts, it hurts-

“Tommy!”

A hand on his shoulder grounds him, brings him back into the dim light of the bedroom he resides in, brings him back to the present. The present isn’t much better than the darkness, but at least he can breathe.

Tommy takes a gulp of air as he roughly shrugs off the hand. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Tommy, are you-”

“What the fuck is even going on? None of this shit makes any sense!” Tommy exclaims, cutting off Phil’s annoyingly worried tone. He doesn’t want to talk about the alley, or think about the darkness, he wants answers to what is happening now, what has happened. “Some guy who harassed me at work nearly every day comes to my supposed rescue, and instead of taking me to a hospital because I mean, I can assume I was dying, he brings me home. And now I’m tied up, everyone is talking to me like everything is okay and normal but it’s fucking not! I don’t even know what happened to me, none of it makes sense! I could feel-” Tommy chokes down a sob as the memories wash through him, “I could feel the blood getting drained out of me. I was dying so quickly and it was so cold and-” he gasps for a breath, he needs to stop thinking about it. A deep breath. “Wilbur could control me with words and that makes no fucking sense either, and it’s all just so fucking confusing!”

His chest heaves with the intensity of his breaths, fighting hard to remain controlled in that sense. His outburst has hurt his throat, his rough words rubbing it raw. His chest tightens painfully, and he can feel a cramp in his side as the consequence of not taking enough breaths throughout his spiel.

A softer, quieter question spills from his lips. “What is going on?”

There’s a sigh from beside him, and a shuffle of movement. The blanket he had thrown away from his torso is lightly pulled back up to his shoulders. Phil gives him a small smile as makes sure Tommy is tucked in, while all Tommy can do is stare. He’s waiting for Phil to speak, to give him something. He’s too tired to fight against the strangely domestic move, all of his energy drained out in one fatal swoop.

Phil gestures to the space on the bed next to Tommy, an eyebrow raised in question. Tommy huffs, scooting away from him slightly. Not like he can say no.

The man takes the invitation to sit on the covers, the mattress sinking from the added weight.

“There are a lot of things you have just asked me, and a lot of them will take time to explain and understand. It’s going to be a lot, are you sure you want to know?”

Tommy scoffs. “Of course I do, what kind of ominous question is that?”

Phil lets out a small sigh, that sounds lighthearted. Tommy continues to look at him, waiting.

There’s a moment, and then Phil speaks.

“The world that you know is not the same world you live in,” he starts, and already Tommy is confused. He stays silent though, in hope that he will finally get some answers to whatever weird shit is going on.

“There are creatures that live among you, those who aren’t human.” Phil gestures to himself. “We are creatures of night, those who survive in very different ways from humans. We are capable of abilities humans dream of, but it comes with a cost. Some of us are born the way we are, some of us come to be by another’s hand.”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Phil smiles. “In some folklore and tales, I believe your kind refers to us as vampires.”

...the fuck?

Tommy snorts. “Ha, good one Phil.” He shifts under the covers. “You’re quite the jokester, but seriously, are you going to give me real answers?”

“Tommy,” Phil says, tone so serious and even that it makes Tommy look up at him. “I’m not joking.”

Tommy stares at him.

“Yeah, okay sure.”

Phil just sighs. “There aren’t many of us, and even with such small numbers we are even further spread out. It’s easy to fly under the radar as a small group, or coven, as we call it, in such a large population. Cities are the safest place to be. Manberg is one of the best, because the police are so stupid around here they can’t tell the different between natural cause and a body being completely drained of blood.”

Tommy stills slightly. “So vampires actually drink blood to survive?” He can’t believe he’s entertaining this.

“It’s the necessary evil of our existence,” Phil nods, and Tommy is finding this less and less ridiculous. Phil seems so serious about it. “We can still eat food, but very little. If we eat too much we get sick. I know Techno still forces his limits when it comes to potatoes,” There’s a small smile on his lips. “but the sacrifice of our appetites comes with the positives. For instance, we don’t age-”

“How come you look so old then?”

Phil stops, eyes snapping to Tommy’s with a soft glare. There’s a small chuckle that escapes his lips, but Tommy is still immediately uncomfortable with the intense gaze.

“I am not that old, at least I wasn’t when I was turned.”

Tommy pushes his luck. “I don’t know man, you look like you’re on your last legs.”

Instead of the glare deepening, it lets up. Phil rolls his eyes, and easily shoots back with, “At least I can actually stand on my legs.”

Tommy scoffs, but is slightly entertained. Out of all the craziness (which he hasn’t forgotten, mind you, it’s just the little things) Phil seems to be the most normal. This is all still fucked up, but Tommy doesn’t have to lose his mind every second of the way. At least not when he is getting his answers.

Those answers still haven’t really settled in his mind either, which is probably the reason he’s still calmed down.

“Anyways, we don’t age, and most of us gain a unique power.”

“Like a superpower?”

Phil huffs out a laugh. “I guess? I’m sure you know well about Wilbur’s.”

Tommy grunts.

“It can range from something small, like an increased resistance to the sun, to something bigger, like his ability to control others.”

“So not every vampire can do that?” Tommy says before questioning his words. Why is he going along with this still?

“No, they can not.” Damn, Phil is dedicated to this bit.

“So do vampires actually burn in the sun and hate garlic? That’s all I’ve heard about them.”

Phil scoffs. “Those are stupid myths spread around by misinformed fools. I actually enjoy garlic, especially in my pasta.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever man. Can you actually tell me what is going on? I’m not a kid, I don’t need any of this make believe shit.”

Phil looks at him. “First of all, you are a kid, don’t think Wilbur didn’t tell me about that.” Tommy just glares at him. “And second of all, I’m not lying. I told you this would take a while to accept, I’m not surprised you’re in denial.”

“Denial of what? That is some seriously whacky shit that you’re telling me, there’s no way it’s real. Vampires aren’t real.”

“So how can Wilbur compel you with just his words?” Phil asks, tone serious. “How come he rarely touched his food when he visited you at the diner?”

“He probably hypnotized me or some shit,” Tommy shrugs. “He’s also a picky eater. Always wasting food and my time.”

Phil just continues to look at him. “Then how else can you explain what happened in that alley?”

The words are like a knife plunging into his chest. Phil’s eyes widen at Tommy’s immediate physical reaction, arms immediately tucking into his chest in self-defense. He tries to protect himself from the feelings and thoughts that invade him every time he thinks about it, but he can’t. He can’t stop the darkness form returning, from the pain he feels, the laughter, the red eyes-

A hand on his arm startles him, and he cries out into the darkness. “Please, please, Dream, let me go-”

“Tommy! It’s Phil, you’re safe-”

“Please I’m just a kid!” Tommy’s voice shrills as he tucks into himself, trying to escape the grip on his body. He’s going to die, he’s going to die here-

“Tommy, you’re safe, I’m right here. Dream isn’t going to hurt you, I’m right here.”

Tommy’s eyes squeeze shut, and he shivers. It’s so cold and dark here, the brick rough against his palms. He’s going to die. Fear grips him, and he gasps for air.

“Tommy, breathe, you’re safe. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

“Dad? What’s going on?”

Slowly the brick softens under his hands. Tommy shudders as air fills his lungs at last, and his eyes open to reveal light once again. The brick completely fades away, replaced by the softness of the duvet he is under.

He breathes deeply, attempting to ground himself again. The hand on his arm loosens, but Tommy makes a sound. The grip remains, and he sighs. It keeps him grounded, it helps.

“Tommy?”

His head snaps over to see not only Phil, whose hand is on his shoulder, but also to a face he wishes to never see.

Tommy shoves off Phil with a movement, who lets up immediately, a guilty look decorating his face. In his moment of panic and darkness, Tommy didn’t register that a new voice had joined them.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Tommy snarls, curling into himself once more.

“Toms-”

“No! Get the fuck away!”

There’s a look on his face, one that is a mix of concern and hurt, and it angers Tommy. Phil is still at Tommy’s side, looking him over from a distance to make sure he is okay.

Tommy locks eyes with his red ones.

He chokes out a sob. “No, no, it can’t be real, it can’t be,” he stutters out, breaths deepening.

“You told him?”

Phil looks over to the brunette, who is staring at him in disbelief. “He wanted answers, and he deserves to know them, Wil. Although I might’ve taken it too far-”

Tommy shudders. All of it, the experience in the alley, his life being drained from him, the sharp teeth, the red eyes, the words laced with honey that filled his head, it all- it-

It all makes too much sense.

Tommy feels panicked tears release from his eyes as his mind puts it all together. It’s overwhelming, now that he knows. He grew up ignorant, living a lie, while surrounded by an even worse danger than the murderers that lurked in the shadows.

Something worse is in the shadows.

Something worse is next to him.

Tommy lets out a panicked sob as he moves his legs, attempting to kick Phil off the bed from next to him. He lets out a choked cry as pain vibrates up it, and Phil looks to him.

“Tommy, don’t move your leg. Breathe, I told you we aren’t going to hurt you.”

“You’re monsters,” Tommy spits out, voice laced with venom, and he sees Wilbur’s face fall. “You’re going to drink my blood or some shit, you guys are worse than psychopath killers!” His chest heaves. It makes sense now, the ties, the careful words. Them wanting his body in peak performance, like a pig awaiting slaughter. They want him to heal up so they can drink from him when he tastes his best.

Tommy lets out a gasp.

“That might be why you taste so good,” Dream hums thoughtfully, releasing his hand from his leg. Tommy yelps as the support on his leg disappears, another sharp pain shooting up his body. “The reality of how depressing this world is hasn’t hit you. The innocence is just-” A pause.

“Delicious.”

He sniffles as Dream’s words come back to him. They just see him as a meal. Warm tears flow freely. He’s going to die.

“Tommy, hey,” comes Wilbur’s voice, “We aren’t going to hurt you. Never.”

“You’re fucking liars!”

“We aren’t lying Tommy,” this time it’s Phil. His hand goes to rest on Tommy’s shoulder again, but he flinches away violently. He hisses out another ‘don’t touch me’ and Phil sighs.

“If we were going to hurt you, why would we be taking care of you?”

Tommy lets out a wet laugh, fear gripping his heart. “You guys are just making sure I taste the best I can! Innocence and health or some shit, whatever he said-”

“Absolutely not,” Wilbur makes a face behind Phil, something Tommy can’t see now that he’s shifted away. “Nobody is going to lay a hand of harm on you. I’ll fucking kill them.”

Tommy shakes his head violently. “Why else would you keep me here? Why not bring me to a hospital? Why’d you bring me home and tie me up and fuck with my head and shit?!”

There’s the sound of movement, and Wilbur is suddenly back in Tommy’s view. He comes up next to Phil, hands fidgeting at his sides. Tommy takes in a choked breath, face to face with the person who haunts him.

“Tommy,” Wilbur starts, voice carefully even despite his clear unrest, “When I found you, that bastard,” his voice raises and cracks, and he takes a breath, “that bastard was killing you. I ripped him away from you, and I swear to god I would’ve killed him if you weren’t bleeding out on the ground in front of me. I wasn’t thinking clearly, so I brought you to the people I knew would help and ask no questions.” He pauses, looking at Phil. “I was afraid that Dream would follow-” Tommy flinches at the name, “-so no, I didn’t bring you to a hospital.”

Tommy glares at him, sniffling once more. He raises his tied hands to wipe under his nose.

Phil continues on. “I told you the ties are for your own safety. If you think you can be untied and not hurt yourself, then there is no need for them.”

“Here,” Wilbur steps forward, face pulling into a poorly concealed frown at Tommy’s flinch, “let me see your hands.”

“Wil-”

“I’m more worried about him moving his legs than his arms,” Wilbur cuts off Phil. Tommy hesitantly holds up his arms, and watches as Wilbur pulls one end of the rope, it all coming loose. Wilbur holds his gaze. “Don’t go messing with your legs Toms. I want you to heal properly.”

“So you can chase me around before you eat me?”

Wilbur huffs. “Tommy, I’m not going to eat you. I don’t even really drink from people.”

Tommy’s face scrunches into a cringe. While there’s a part of him behind the fear that is relieved to know that maybe he isn’t in such danger (if he believes that), it is also unnerving for Wilbur to talk about his inhuman diet so freely.

Although, it does feel nice to have his wrists free. Tommy immediately snatches them away from Wilbur the moment the rope slips away, clutching them to his chest. Wilbur gives him a small smile. “Feel better?”

Tommy gives a small nod. His head and chest feel fuzzy, the aftereffects of panic settling in. He wants to continue to argue, to thrash around and to fight, but fuck, he’s exhausted.

“You look like you’re barely hanging on, mate.”

Regardless of the exhaustion beginning to take over, he still feels a twinge of irritation. He’s being tormented by fucking bloodsuckers who are pretending that everything is normal, when it’s not. Tommy’s whole world has been flipped upside down, and they are acting like it’s all okay.

Tommy glares at Phil with sleepy eyes, and with his newly freed hands, he flips him off. “Shut it old man.”

Wilbur barks out a laugh as Phil makes an offended noise. “Old man, he called you old man-”

“Wil, shut.”

Tommy lets out a snort as he rolls away from them, facing the opposite wall. Green curtains are pulled tightly over the windows. There are lamps and candles around the room, a weird mix of victorian and modern style decor everywhere. There’s a fireplace against the wall Tommy faces, but it remains unlit. It’s not necessarily cold in here, and Tommy has a suspicion that it is just for show. A bookshelf resides next to it, and next to that there is a worn down armchair, red leather clearly loved for many years.

This is so bizarre.

He just wants to sleep this all away, pretend it is all just some weird ass dream. He wants to ignore the fear prickling his neck, knowing the red eyes of predators are looking at him, at his defenseless body. He wants them to go away.

Wilbur and Phil seem to get the memo. “We’ll let you sleep now,” Phil says softly, and the blanket around Tommy moves again as it is pulled up to his shoulders. He shifts, feeling awkward once again at the strange, domestic gesture that fights the tightness in his chest. He doesn’t trust these two as far as he can throw them, they still kind of kidnapped him.

One pair of footsteps retreat away from the bed, and Tommy can feel Wilbur hovering. There’s a silence as the door opens and shuts, Phil clearly not waiting around for the brunette to get moving. Or maybe he’s giving them a moment alone on purpose.

There’s a sigh from Wil. “I am serious. We are never going to hurt you.”

Tommy makes a sound of disbelief, and he can practically hear Wilbur frown. “Whatever bitch. I just want to go home.”

That’s what he tells himself, wrapped in the most comforting pile of blankets he has ever been in. He reminds himself that this is fucked up, even as his bones seek the comfort of the plush mattress below him. The soft words and comforting touches as he was recovering and sickly do not wash away the creepiness and strangeness of it all.

There is still the cruel, harsh reality he must acknowledge now that it has been thrust into his awareness.

Wilbur shuffles in place. Soft words escape him, so quiet that Tommy almost misses it. He was certainly not meant to hear it, only meant to hear the ‘sleep well’ Wilbur says as he finally leaves Tommy alone.

The words he wasn’t supposed to catch send a chill through Tommy, one that not even the blankets can warm away. He gulps air into his lungs, fighting the immediate panic and confusion that fills him.

“You are home.”

Chapter Text

Tubbo is trying really hard to ignore the pitied looks from the librarians.

Dust dances in the air where light shines through mosaic windows, rows and rows of undusted bookshelves being the cause. The printer whirs loudly compared to the hushed silence of the warm room. A place of calm and comfort has turned suffocating when Tubbo glances up to see another small smile from the lady at the desk.

He looks back down. Page after page print out, and Tubbo’s head remains empty. His chest is tight and his face is neutral as he reads the word ‘Missing’ in a big red font over and over.

The photo, thankfully, is from the night Tommy was last seen. They were messing around with Snapchat filters, and Tubbo saved all of the pictures. He’s so lucky to have an image of what he was last seen in.

The thought of that makes Tubbo’s gut tug. Lucky. Yeah, how lucky is he to have taken a photo of his best friend before he disappeared, leaving behind only a pile of clothes and a shitty cot mattress.

This is so fucking unfair.

The last page flies from the printer, settling neatly on top of the stack. He printed 100 copies, and intends to hang up every single one.

Deep down, he knows it isn’t going to do much, but at least it’s something.

He hands the librarian five dollars, each page being five cents to print. She gives him another smile, and Tubbo forces one of his own. She offers him a small piece of tape, and he takes it, even if he has three rolls stuffed into the pocket of the hoodie. He mutters a quick thank you before turning towards the doors. He pauses briefly to hang up a paper, and tries not to cry as he catches Tommy’s printed eyes.

Fuck.

When Puffy picked him up from the entrance of Tommy’s apartment, she had pulled him into a tight embrace. She didn’t comment on the red sweatshirt he now wore over his uniform. She just hugged him tight, and used her thumbs to wipe at the tear tracks that stained his face. When they got in the car, soft words were spoken on a brief plan. They would start with hanging up posters.

Tubbo gives Puffy a small smile as he exits the library, and she returns it. Hers isn’t filled with pity, it’s understanding, which is refreshing. He hands her half the stack and one of his rolls of precious tape. Her hand makes its way into his fluffy brown curls, giving him a comforting ruffle.

“We will find him kiddo.”

Tubbo doesn’t have the energy to fight off her hand, and she notices, slowly retracting it back. He gives Puffy a twitch of a smile, which is all he can muster.

“Yeah, we better.”

They agree to meet back at the library once their stacks are gone, and Puffy heads off towards the west side of town. Tubbo sighs, gravel crunching beneath his shoes as he turns towards the east.

Most places don’t pay a second mind to a sad looking kid hanging posters on their doors, and the few that question him always immediately allow him to. They all have the same looks on their faces, the same draw of their brows, the same shape of their lips.

A look of pity.

Tubbo doesn’t know if it makes him sadder or angrier.

Time goes by slowly as he walks along the streets, hands stiff due to the harsh wind constantly berating him. He’s impressed with how he hasn’t lost a single poster to the wind, a cold promise of a snow storm later tonight.

If Tommy is out there alone somewhere through the storm..

If he’s out on the streets again..

Fuck.

Tubbo shakes his head lightly, stopping his train of thought before it sends him into another panic. He can’t be useful to Tommy if he collapses onto the asphalt in a hyperventilating fit.

He makes his way to the window of a small antique shop, giving the lady at the counter a polite wave through the window. He flashes the poster to her and holds up his roll of tape, and she gives him a nod.

She has the look.

Tubbo grits his teeth as he tears off a strip of clear adhesive, taping the corners of the pathetic paper to the glass. He would’ve thought that after hanging up most of his stack it would hurt less every time his eyes saw the “Missing” text and a photo of Tommy connected to it.

It doesn’t.

What Tubbo is definitely not used to is seeing another missing poster on the same window. He pauses, staring at the same red lettering but in a different font, with a photo of a man attached that isn’t Tommy. It’s another blonde guy, but lacks the same smile that Tommy has, and he has green eyes instead of blue.

Something itches in the back of Tubbo’s brain. For a moment he hesitates, staring at the image of the guy.

Tubbo swears he has seen him before.

His attention is drawn away from the image to look at the paper itself. The poster doesn’t look weathered down at all, it actually looks like it is fresh off a printer. His heart tugs, and he glances around for the person who had hung it. He understands this pain, maybe he can find someone who understands him.

Maybe he can avoid getting a pitied look.

Maybe he could get help.

Tubbo forgets to hang posters for a moment as he walks along the road, keeping his eyes peeled for the other, not even knowing what to look for. He follows the trail of posters, but it’s unclear whether or not he’s going the right way. It’s not even a matter of fact that they are freshly hung.

He’s not really sure why this matters so much to him. It’s such a small thing, grasping for anything to make him feel better.

After a few minutes he sighs, slowing his steps and returning back to a different shop’s window. He’s out here for Tommy, he needs to stay focused.

As he pulls out his tape roll to rip off a piece, a voice comes from behind him.

“You too, huh?”

Tubbo turns to see a man in a black hoodie and a black jacket, with a very similar stack of papers in his arms. A white bandana tied around his dark hair catches the wind, the longer piece falling forwards on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, the light fabric returning gently to its place behind his head. He has a small smile on his face, and Tubbo worries for a second that he’s going to have to face another saddened look.

When he makes eye contact, however, the guy just looks as sad as him.

“I’m Sapnap,” the man says, pulling out his own roll of tape. That’s when Tubbo realizes that this is the guy he had been trying to find for the past few minutes. He was going the right way after all.

“I’m Tubbo,” he returns the introduction, finally tearing off the adhesive from its plastic container. The poster goes up quickly, and is now set up next to another.

“That your brother?”

Tubbo snorts. “Basically. He’s my best friend.” His eyes linger on the photo of Tommy. His eyes crinkled up in a laugh, the Minecraft screen visible in the background. What nobody can see is the giant cobblestone dick that Tommy made, which is the true cause for his laughter. Puffy had said that they should crop it out. That was probably for the best.

Tubbo still feels pressure behind his eyes as he stares into Tommy’s blue ones.

This really is not getting easier.

“Yeah, my best friend too,” Sapnap gestures to his own poster, a look on his face that Tubbo can’t place. It’s somewhere between anger and numbness, a look Tubbo probably mirrors. He tears his gaze away to once again look at the same poster that he had been using to track this guy. “He just kind of disappeared on us. Police won’t do shit, so I’m doing it myself.”

Tubbo hums. “Yeah, gotta give it to the Manberg police for being the most useless pieces of shit, using all our taxes just to sit around.”

Sapnap snorts. “Yeah, for real. Wait, do you even pay taxes?”

Tubbo narrows his eyes. “Mind your business.”

Sapnap lets out a small laugh. There’s a pause, and the wind kicks up again. The next time he speaks is softer, almost covered by the intense current. “Man, it’s kind of nice to know somebody else gets my situation. Well, it’s actually kind of sad, but, you know.”

“I know.”

They stand there for a moment, each just looking at the posters of their best friends.

Yeah, this is nice.

But damn, this sucks.

“What direction are you heading?”

“I’ve been making my way east, but I should probably turn back soon.”

“Hm, yeah. I’m actually heading the other way, but hey, if you wanna exchange numbers, we could keep an eye out for each other? We are probably the only two who are actually going to give a shit about missing people anyways.”

Tubbo cracks a small smile despite how depressing the last bit is. “Yeah, yeah that would be nice.”

After they exchange numbers, Sapnap continues to head his way into the city, while Tubbo turns to head back. His phone buzzes in his hand before he can put it away, and he glances down to see the message.

Unknown Number: wassup, this is sapnap

Tubbo types back clumsily with one hand.

Tubbo: ayup

Sapnap: hey would you send me a photo of your poster that way i can have a copy instead of taking one from a window

Tubbo: ye

Tubbo struggles for a moment to adjust the stack of papers in his arms to snap a photo.

Tubbo: [image attachment]

Sapnap: thanks man

Sapnap: [image attachment] heres mine

Tubbo stares at his phone for a moment, jaw agape slightly as he processes the image on his screen.

Sapnap: SHIT WAIT WRONG PHOTO HERE

Sapnap: [image attachment]

Tubbo: lmao wtf

Tubbo swipes off of the photo, trying to remove his eyes from the sight of a neon green minecraft character with its ass edited to be gigantic using the fishbowl effect. He opens the photo of the poster, and saves it to his camera roll.

Sapnap: you didnt see shit

Tubbo: you will be receiving a bill from my therapist

Sapnap: oh shit

Tubbo lets a small smile break out on his face as he slides his phone back into the red hoodie pocket. There’s more energy in his steps now, meeting Sapnap felt refreshing. He’s someone who gets it, someone who believes him, someone who will help.

Tubbo stops to hang up another poster, and his eyes get caught once more in the printed blue ones.

Instead of immediate sadness, frustration, or even anger, Tubbo feels something different as he stares at Tommy.

He feels determined as fuck.

A knock on the door saves Tommy from all his boredom.

Healing from a fucked up leg sucks ass, because you can’t even do anything. Tommy can’t adjust himself too much, he can’t move, hell even if he tried to. There is no way Tommy can walk at all on his own right now.

On the bright side, the pain has been consistently ebbing away, turning from a sharp tear into a dull throb. He can roll onto his side now, but can’t hold it for long.

“Can I come in?”

Tommy narrows his eyes at the sound of a semi-unfamiliar voice.

Tommy isn’t stupid. It did not take him long to make the connection about Phil. Wilbur has forced him to listen to his entire life story (apparently with some missing key details), and it was pretty easy to deduce that Phil is Wilbur’s father.

From what Wilbur has told him, he has two close family members. His father, Phil, and his twin brother, Techno.

Tommy has a vague memory of someone else barging into the room when he fought Wilbur the first time, seeing a flash of pink and then a pull at his arm.

Tommy’s lips turn downwards at the memory. How pointless it was to fight there. How he failed to win, to be free. How he would’ve failed regardless when he discovered he can’t walk.

This must be Techno at the door.

“Whatever.”

He’d probably come in regardless of what Tommy said.

The door creaks open slowly at Tommy’s consent, and the light from the room reveals the visitor.

Tommy makes eye contact with a pair of red eyes from across the room. There stands a tall man, not as tall as he or Wilbur, but still decently tall. In one hand is a plate, and tucked between that arm and his chest is a book. Tommy’s eyes drift over to the main eye-catching detail.

Pink hair.

The dude has a full head of thick, pink hair. Not quite hot pink, not quite pastel pink. It kind of reminds Tommy of bubblegum.

“Uhhhh, I brought you food.”

A deep tone comes from the guy, his voice more monotone and deeper than Tommy would have expected.

The pink hair feels so mismatched. The guy’s deep voice, and very muscular appearance give him a completely different impression. Dude looks like he could lift Tommy with one hand.

Another thing feels misplaced on him, and it’s his clothing.

Tommy exhales through his nose sharply in a half laugh.

The guy is adorned in a loose white, silk shirt. It has ruffles. It looks like a shirt he could’ve robbed off of a Victorian corpse. The bottoms are neatly tucked into a pair of black slacks. He looks so formal yet extremely casual.

This guy is weird.

“So uhh..yeah..brought you this food and uh..figured you might be bored so I..yeah I’m just gonna set these here.”

And awkward as hell.

“Thanks, I guess,” Tommy says questioningly, shoulders broadening instinctively as the man approaches the bed. He sets the plate and book on the nightstand table before taking a seat in the chair Phil had pulled up earlier.

There’s a good solid ten seconds of silence before he speaks up.

“I’m Techno.”

“Figured,” Tommy replies, eyes drifting over to the plate of food. Mashed potatoes, a grilled chicken breast, and steamed carrots sit on porcelain, taunting his stomach into releasing a low growl.

“Right, uh, Wilbur told me I should check in on you and bring you food.”

Tommy scoffs. “Tell Wilbur to go jump off a cliff and die.”

Techno lets out an amused huff, and it draws Tommy’s attention back to him. This guy is physically much more terrifying than Phil or Wilbur, but he also seems incapable of human interaction. It’s amusing.

And comforting in a way.

The closer he is now, the more details Tommy can make out. There is an emerald earring dangling from his left ear, tucked behind a stray piece of hair. The rest of his long hair is neatly folded into a braid thrown over his shoulder and resting on his chest. His hands and face have the occasional scar, and Tommy is sure there is more where he can’t see.

“Why do you look like that?”

Techno just scoffs, immediately offended by what Tommy said. “Excuse me?”

“No like,” Tommy gestures to him, “why do you look like some bitch who could beat my shit, while rocking an outfit that comes straight out of a renaissance faire, with pink hair. You don’t make sense.”

There is a long beat of silence where Techno just stares at him, red eyes scrunched under his furrowed brow.

“I..I think I look nice.”

Tommy lets out a snort. There’s no way this guy is serious. And, he has absolutely no interest in being nice to anybody who is keeping him here, so fuck this guy and his weird fashion.

Tommy watches as his red eyes narrow, and his posture stiffens. This should send an alarm off in Tommy’s head, should warn him that he could be in danger, but it just feels satisfying to get a reaction.

There’s another short silence while Techno stares him down, and Tommy’s hands fidget in his lap. As much as Wilbur has expressed that they won’t harm him, this Techno guy looks about ready to go back on that.

“At least I look better than you do.”

“The fuck you say to me bitch?” Tommy exclaims, hands flying up to convey his hurt. There’s shock in his voice as well, not expecting a biting remark from a guy who could barely get a sentence out beforehand. “I’ll have you know I look so goddamn sexy all the time.”

Techno’s face scrunches up. “No, just no.”

“You’re a fucking bitch.”

“And you’re a child.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

Tommy has never felt more offended in his life. First his good looks were questioned, and now his age is being used against him? He isn’t even a child, he’s a teen, there’s a difference. Plus he’s basically an adult, seventeen is pretty damn close.

He might dislike this guy more than Wilbur.

Tommy raises a finger to point at Techno, “You’re a real dickhead. I can see how you and Wilbur are related.”

Techno, surprisingly, huffs amusedly in response. Tommy tries to not let the reaction throw him off, being angry and all, but he is momentarily confused. Techno’s posture relaxes again, now somewhere between stiff and loose, though his eyes remain narrowed.

“He told you we were related?”

Tommy pauses. “Uhh, yeah?”

“Of course he did.”

Tommy stares at Techno, struggling to come back from the major whiplash he just got. What? They aren’t related?

Now that he’s just looking at the guy, he really doesn’t see any resemblance of Wilbur. Wilbur has even said they are twins, so how come they don’t look shit alike?

“Let me guess, he told you we are twins, and that he is the oldest.”

“Yeah?”

Techno sighs, running a hand over his face. His built body leans into the plush chair, relaxing fully. Tommy doesn’t even know why the guy was so tense and on edge, it’s not like Tommy can attack him or anything. Tommy should be the one on edge.

“Right. He’s always spinnin’ that story.”

“So you aren’t twins?”

“Not biologically,” Techno shrugs. “But that isn’t the part that’s botherin’ me, it’s the fact that he’s always tryin’ to convince everyone he’s older. I’m the eldest.” He gestures to himself.

Tommy’s eyes narrow. How many lies did Wilbur tell him? How much did he leave out? I mean, shit, the whole vampire thing was a major curveball. It’s not even like Tommy cared too much about what Wilbur talked about, he just listened because he had nothing better to do.

But if he lied about that..

Did he lie about not hurting Tommy?

“You are home.”

Tommy shivers under the thick comforter, nothing to do with the temperature. It’s actually incredibly warm in his room, and he’s thankful for it. He can hear the wind whistling outside, and the room makes the occasional creepy wind noise. Turns out the fireplace is not just for show, and can maintain an actual fire in it. It’s added a gentle, warm glow to the dark room, color palette doing it no favors in holding light. The sound of cracking wood fills the silence that comes after Techno’s correction.

Tommy shifts, finally deciding to reach for the porcelain plate on the nightstand. Now he knows one of the rules of being kidnapped is to watch what they give you, but Tommy is fucking starving. Plus, if he is to make a bolt out of here, he’s going to want to have his energy.

He’s spent the day that he has had to relax and heal up to come up with a shitty escape plan. From what he can tell based on noise is that they are still in the city, in a decently crowded spot. Tommy can only hope they are somewhere he recognizes. Considering Wilbur has access to visiting the diner every night, he wants to bet they are close.

He can’t actually see outside the window, since all of the curtains are still drawn. He has no idea if the window behind them has bars, a lock, or just some weird way of keeping him in. He also doesn’t know if this is an apartment building or something, and Tommy is not taking his chances with jumping down more than two stories. There might not be a fire escape.

But those unknowns are much less scary and much more doable than it is to escape out the door. Tommy has absolutely no idea what the layout of this place is. He hasn’t been anywhere other than this bed since he came to, and is probably gonna stay that way until he can stand.

The idea of healing makes him hopeful, but also worried.

Will they stop being so nice to him once he has healed? Will they have to tie him up or lock him away if they keep him? Are they going to keep him here? Will they injure him, release him into the streets, and then hunt him down for sport?

As he grabs the plate, he can’t help but notice that they have given him plastic silverware to eat with. The disappointment must’ve shown on his face, because Techno speaks up.

“Yeah, sorry about the bad cutlery. Phil doesn’t want to risk you hurtin’ yourself.”

Tommy looks up at him, eyebrows quirked. “You aren’t worried I’d stab you fuckers?”

Techno shrugs. “Not like it would do any real damage. Vampires naturally regenerate quicker.”

“Oh, right,” Tommy frowns slightly, looking back down to his food. He’d forgotten about that.

“Uhh..yeah, Phil told me you didn’t take that well. Makes sense, not an easy thing to wrap your head around.” Techno’s hand scratches the back of his head, a sign that he is once again uncomfortable. His muscles have also tensed up once again.

There’s more silence as Tommy picks apart his food with a plastic fork.

“Uhh..”

“Why are you still here?”

Techno looks at Tommy, meeting his eyes.

He shifts his posture in the chair, looking incredibly awkward once again. “Well..uh..like I said Wilbur wanted me to check on you-”

“Right, you’ve done that.”

“Right,” Techno says stiffly. There’s more silence.

“So..?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says bluntly, taking a mouthful of mashed potatoes. The flavor is perfect, the texture is perfect, and Tommy very hurriedly takes another bite.

He lets a small smile grace his face.

The company may be shit, as well as the circumstances, but hey, at least the food is good.

“I made the potatoes. Kinda my specialty,” Techno says, making a move to stand from the chair. Tommy just looks up at him, cheeks stuffed with food.

There’s another second of silence between them, the sounds of chewing and a crackling fireplace being the only relief.

“Right..uh..so I brought you that book,” Techno points to the one on the nightstand next to where the plate was, “Don’t know if you like to read, or even can-”

“I can fucking read-”

“But I figured you’re probably bored, bein’ on bedrest and all. So..yeah.”

Tommy looks over to the book, and then back to the pink-haired guy. He’s completely up now, posture back to being stiff and awkward, hands tucked into his pockets.

“..thanks, I guess,” Tommy says after a moment. He does kind of appreciate the thought.

Tommy looks back down to his food, and completely misses the look that crosses over Techno’s face. He misses the way his eyes shine, or the way his shoulders roll back into a slightly more confident stance.

“Right, well, I’ll let you eat then.”

The door shuts, and Tommy lets out a sigh as the wind whistles again.

They are all so fucking weird.

He continues to eat until he feels like he’s going to burst. Tommy has never been one to waste food, but he also isn’t used to decent portions. He regretfully sets the half eaten dinner back onto the nightstand, and his fingers linger by the hardcover book.

After a moment of considering turning away from it, and dejecting any ‘kind gesture’ or whatever from his kidnappers, he grabs it.

He feels suffocated in this room, and hell, he is bored out of his mind.

As he flips it open to figure out what type of book it is, something slips out of the pages and onto his lap. Tommy pauses, finger hooked into the pages to hold his place as his other hand reaches down to grab it.

What Tommy thought at first was a bookmark is actually a photograph. It looks old as shit, not even in full color.

It looks like one of those old Victorian family photos. Two boys stand in the front, and it takes Tommy a whole three seconds to realize he’s looking at a younger version of Wilbur and Techno. His jaw drops slightly as he looks at them.

Techno’s hair is much shorter, and from what he can tell with the colorless photo, it doesn’t look pink. Wilbur’s hair is cut down so short you can barely see his curls. Behind Wil stands a man, with his hand posed on Wilbur’s shoulder. That’s gotta be Phil. They are all dressed in severely outdated clothing, like the 1800s style of clothing.

Next to Phil is someone Tommy doesn’t recognize. A woman, with dark hair and a wide smile, who has both arms tucked around Techno’s shoulders. Techno looks awkward, but there is a smile on his face regardless. She is mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with joy. In fact, almost everyone is showing a different degree of happiness. It makes Tommy feel strange, an emotion he pointedly ignores bubbles in his chest, threatening to be a bitch. Tommy tries to focus on the photo rather than address that. The woman is wearing a large hat and has pearls adorning her arms and neck. Even bent over she’s still taller than Phil, in fact she’s taller than everyone in the photo. Granted Wilbur isn’t a giant quite yet, but still.

Now he knows where he gets it from.

Tommy flips the photo over, and feels his stomach do a similar sensation as he finds and reads the writing on the back.

The Watson Family, 1857.

Oh shit.

These bitches really are immortal.

Chapter Text

Somebody has to have noticed that he’s missing by now.

Tommy frowns as he sits up from bed, the tiniest sliver of sun sneaking through the curtains to reveal that he slept until morning. The book that was laying on his chest flips over onto his lap, and Tommy catches it before he loses his page.

Surely they have noticed he isn’t coming to work. That’s gotta be a huge red flag.

Dust dances in the light as Tommy stares longingly at the window. The cool lighting with flecks of shadows reveals the snow storm Tommy had anticipated. Wind howls and knocks on the wall, sounds seeping through unseen cracks.

Surely they’ve noticed.

Tommy works so many shifts there is no way they would brush him missing four shifts. Or maybe he’s already been fired.

Even if they aren’t looking for him, Tubbo certainly is.

Tommy has missed four calls now, and there is no way Tubbo hasn’t noticed. With how clingy he is? No way.

Tommy shifts as he moves to set the book back onto the nightstand, where he meant to set it last night. After gorging himself with dinner, he read maybe a chapter before he passed out.

It’s some Greek mythology book, and Tommy was surprised with how interesting it was. He’s never really been one for reading, but when his choices are either pick up a book or stare at a wall, he will pick up the book.

Especially since he spent all day yesterday staring at a wall.

Yesterday was overwhelming and confusing. He starts out by waking up to Phil, gets his whole world flipped upside down, Wilbur came in and was a bitch, he fell back asleep, and then he gets dinner delivered to him by the most awkward man he has ever met, Techno.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, glancing over to the book. The photo he found last night is slightly protruding from the pages, functioning as a very good bookmark.

Wilbur had talked about his family plenty of times to him, always talking about his “twin” and father, but now that Tommy thinks about it, he never mentioned his mother.

Tommy wonders where she is, if she’s aware of the fucked up shit her family is up to. How her son snatched up a kid on the brink of death and stole him away.

Tommy wonders what Tubbo is going through right now.

Fuck, Tommy was supposed to meet him this week. Was it yesterday? Two days ago? Fuck, he has no idea. He doesn’t really know how long he was out for, though he’s pretty sure Wilbur or someone told him at some point. It couldn’t have been more than a week, maybe four days? Five?

He was supposed to meet Tubbo at the store, he was supposed to follow him around and pick on him. He was supposed to show Tubbo his cool new coat (his gut twists at the recalling of the sounds of rips and tears), supposed to find a way to figure out what he would want for Christmas.

Oh shit, Christmas.

Tommy is supposed to be there for the holiday. He’s supposed to play Minecraft with Tubbo, watch his friend open the totally amazing gift Tommy would’ve gotten him, and eat a shit ton of Puffy’s amazing food.

And now he’s here, with a fucked up leg in this fucked up home with a bunch of fucked up people.

Fuck.

Tommy lets out a choked sigh as he reaches a hand up to his face, wiping off the warm moisture from his cheeks. He rubs his fist into his eyes, collecting the unshed tears from his eyelashes.

This is so fucked.

Tommy looks back to the window, barely able to make out anything through the bright light shining through. He sighs, and shifts his legs.

It doesn’t hurt as bad.

Tommy pauses in his shifting, eyes glancing down to his leg. Granted, it still hurts, but maybe, just maybe, he can move.

Slowly and very carefully Tommy slides his legs towards the edge of the bed. He can do this.

Tommy lets out a sound of pain as they finally swing over, his knees bending as they are left to dangle off the side of the bed. The covers slip off of his lap as he rotates his torso to meet them in position.

This is a terrible idea.

Tommy glances back up to the window. It’s not that far, right?

He looks back down to his leg. The wrappings are done very nicely, better than what Tommy has ever done to himself. The ties that used to bind his legs are gone, and have been since before Techno arrived. Wilbur or Phil must’ve removed them after he fell back to sleep.

He looks back to the window, then to his leg, then to the window, then his leg.

What is the worst that could happen? If it hurts too much, he could just fall back onto the bed.

He has to know where he is. He has to see if he recognizes any shops or buildings around them, maybe even a street sign.

Tommy takes a deep breath.

He can do this.

No jinxing.

His hand grips the side of the mattress for support, and he stands.

A cry and a crash follow suit.

Tommy groans as he hits the floor, leg burning below him. He had grossly underestimated how much that would fucking hurt, and how little control he would have over his body in such intense pain. Tears slip from his eyes and drip onto the hardwood as the rest of the impact settles in. His palms burn from where they had smacked the ground in a failed attempt to break the fall, almost every muscle in his body pulls and burns after days of little use, and of course, his leg.

Fuck, this hurts so bad.

More tears fall as Tommy tries to move his arms under him, a weak attempt to push himself up. Bed rest made him weak, and his arms wobble uselessly before giving out, his chest smacking the floor once again. Another yelp of pain escapes him, forgetting that this was supposed to be a stealth mission.

The door to his room slams open with more force than Tommy had hit the ground with.

So much for being sneaky.

“Tommy?! What happened?”

Tommy lets out a groan in response to Wilbur’s panicked voice. He hears hurried footsteps, socks against cold hardwood as Wilbur makes his way over to Tommy quickly.

“Why are you out of bed? How badly are you hurt?”

Tommy swallows the lump in his throat to respond. “I thought my leg was getting better.”

He hears Wilbur’s exasperated sigh. “It is getting better, but only because you are resting. You can’t be moving around!”

“I can’t fucking lay in bed all day!” Tommy half shouts, tears still gently falling onto the floor. He lets out a noise of protest when he feels Wilbur’s hands on his shoulders. “Don’t-”

“I have to help you get up Toms, you obviously can’t do it on your own.”

“I am just fine on my own!”

“You are definitely not.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy grits as Wilbur gently rotates him over. Tommy lets out a hiss of pain and can’t stop as the warm tears continue to trickle down, now spilling onto his cheeks as Wilbur slowly moves him onto his back. He can’t move to fight when he feels his head gently lifted to Wilbur’s lap, now forced to stare up at the bitch.

Wilbur’s hand makes it into Tommy’s blonde curls. “You can’t be hurting yourself Toms,” he says softly.

Tommy’s body freezes up from the contact. He tries to wiggle away from his hands, but feels a throbbing pain in response from everywhere. So he lets out a small sound of panic.

“Shh, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Tommy says softly, gulping when he feels his voice threaten to break. “None of this is okay.”

Wilbur doesn’t respond, he just continues to gently play with Tommy’s hair. He absolutely hates it. He doesn’t feel calmed by it at all, no. It doesn’t make his head feel fuzzy with warmth and the pain seeps away from his body. No, it's absolutely terrible.

Tommy leans his head into Wilbur’s hand.

He hates this.

“This is all so fucked up,” Tommy half whispers, and Wilbur’s hand stills briefly. “I almost died. You saved me, but now you won’t let me go.”

Wilbur’s hand tightens its grip in his hair, but not so tight that it hurts Tommy.

“I can’t let you go.”

Tommy feels more tears escape at Wilbur’s confession. There’s more silence as it sinks in, the dread building in his stomach.

This is it.

Wilbur’s hand resumes its gentle movements, and Tommy chokes on a sob.

He’s never going to return to his shitty apartment. He’s never going to clock in for another shift at the diner.

He’s never going to celebrate Christmas with Tubbo.

“Oh Toms, don’t cry. It’s better here! You have people who will take care of you, people who love you-”

“I had people!” Tommy cuts him off, but doesn’t miss what Wilbur said.

“They weren’t taking enough care of you! You are skin and bones Tommy.”

“And you’re taking better care of me? Keeping me locked up in this room with no awareness of the outside world? Forcing me to do things by mind control?”

“I never wanted to-”

“But you have!” Tommy cuts in once more, words harsh but barely above a whisper. “You have. You took me away from my life to force me to stay here with you. I just want to go home, I just want to see my friend again.”

There’s a pause in both Wilbur’s response and his hand. “A friend?”

“My best friend,” Tommy says softly. “You took me away from the only person I care about.”

Another pause.

“I’m sorry Tommy, I didn’t know. I thought you were all alone out there.”

“Well you were fucking wrong,” Tommy snaps. He finally has the energy to push Wilbur’s hand away from his hair, and attempts to shift off his lap.

“Woah, hey don’t hurt yourself-”

“I don’t fucking care,” Tommy bites out, continuing to shift away. “Just help me up, this floor is cold.”

He just wants to get away from Wilbur. Wants him to go back through the door so he can pretend like this isn't real. Like this isn’t true. It isn’t true that he’s never leaving here, that he will never escape Wilbur. Even if he gets out, they are fucking vampires. They will find him.

All he wants is to talk to Tubbo one last time.

Wilbur’s arms gently wrap under Tommy’s armpits, lifting him up. Tommy hisses as his leg burns, clenching his jaw. Fuck.

Wilbur lets out a heavy breath as he lifts him up, and carefully leads him towards the bed. Tommy didn’t end up too far away thankfully, his leg constantly buckling from under him. The pain dances up his muscles, lighting his nerves on fire.

When he finally makes it back onto the mattress, the fire burns for a moment before it begins to smolder to ash. He lets out a sigh.

Much to his dismay however, Wilbur sits down beside him in the chair.

“Please go away.”

“I can’t do that Toms,” Wilbur says softly, helping Tommy get back underneath the covers. “You might hurt yourself again.”

“I just want to go home.”

Wilbur sighs. “This is your home now.”

Tommy bites his lower lip, eyes watery but struggling to release any more tears. He’s let so many fall that he’s run out.

“What is going to happen to me? To everything I had?”

“You’re going to be safe,” Wilbur replies, hand twitching in his lap as he struggles to not reach out again.

“But my apartment? My job? My life?”

“We can get your stuff from your apartment and pay the rest of the rent with ease,” Wilbur answers without hesitation. “Your job is currently under the impression that you are in the hospital.”

Fuck.

That means that nobody there is worried about him, or looking for him. They think he’s doing just fine, resting up in a plain white room with beeping machines and perfumey nurses.

The only person who has probably noticed that he’s missing is Tubbo.

But then Tubbo would have checked the diner, and they would have told him about him being in the hospital.

Tommy musters up a few more tears.

Nobody is looking for him.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Tommy whispers, more to himself than to Wilbur. Wilbur still hears it, and finally gives in to his urge to lace his fingers in Tommy’s hair once more.

Tommy leans into it again.

Gentle movements ease Tommy back into that warm state, his muscles relaxing against his better judgment. Why is he allowing this? Why does..why does he like this?

After a moment of silence, Wilbur lets out a sigh. Tommy looks over, and his eyes go wide when he sees Wilbur fish his cellphone out of his pocket.

“Maybe..maybe you can.”

Tubbo isn’t going to work today.

His legs are folded into his arms as he listens to Puffy in the other room on the line with his manager. He’s leaning against the pillows of his bed, deep navy blue sheets sunken below him.

“He’s just really not feeling well, I might even call off of work to stay and take care of him.”

Tubbo shifts his weight, eyes staring into the darkness of his room, curtains pulled taught over his window.

“Mmhmm, yeah, he has a fever.”

Tubbo in fact does not have a fever. When he woke this morning to Puffy’s soft knocking and the smell of waffles, he wasted no time in telling her that he doesn’t want to go to his shift. His conscious and subconscious are only focused on one thing:

Finding Tommy.

Tubbo’s sleep was constantly intruded with dreams of Tommy. Tommy being all over the news after a body was found in a back alley, Tommy being found and safe and celebrating Christmas with them.

He can’t focus on anything other than Tommy.

He slowly stands from his bed, feet landing on the soft rug below. He’s going to try going to the diner again today. He can’t shake the unsettling weight in his gut that something is still terribly wrong. He was brushed off last time, told that Tommy was in the hospital.

He wasn’t.

So Tubbo is going back, and he’s going to get some answers.

The red hoodie that he slept in stays on, the only thing Tubbo changes is his pajama pants for jeans.

His feet slide into his sneakers, shoe laces already tied. It takes more effort to retie shoelaces than it does to force your foot in. Does it ruin the shoe? Only a little.

Puffy’s voice grows louder as Tubbo cracks open his bedroom door to slip out. He glances down the hall towards where the kitchen is, where she is. He can see her pacing back and forth, hair messy. Stress had been eating at both of them. Last night's dinner was silent for the first time in a long time.

She’s trying to stay strong, Tubbo knows, but he also knows that Tommy’s disappearance has hit her harder than she’s letting on. She considered him a son.

Tubbo starts to walk towards her, or more towards the front door that she is pacing near.

She glances at him, mouth open like she wants to say something. They catch each other's eyes for a moment.

“I’m going to the diner.”

She nods as he swings the door open with a weak arm.

Tubbo is not convinced. That buzzheaded fuck at the diner may have been convinced that Tommy is in the hospital, but he isn’t.

His steps down the stairs get faster.

If Wilbur is behind this, then maybe something happened after Tommy’s shift. That’s the only place Wilbur and Tommy would really interact, and Tubbo wouldn’t put it past that stalker to learn his friend’s schedule.

He huffs as cold air hits his face as he shoves past the front doors of the complex, subconsciously patting his pockets to make sure he has his key card. His pace picks up, anxiety fueling every move.

Before he knows it, Tubbo is pushing his way into the Nook’s Diner front doors.

“Hello! Welcome to Nook’s Diner, table for one?”

Tubbo snaps into reality at the words, looking up at the soft face of another one of Tommy’s coworkers. Her blonde hair is pulled into a clip behind her head, with a few pieces falling out to frame her face. She smiles sweetly at Tubbo.

“Uh.. I’m actually here looking for Tommy.”

Her smile falls. “Oh.. Tommy still isn’t back yet. You must be Tubbo.”

A look of surprise catches his face and she gives him another smile. “My name is Niki. Tommy doesn’t talk about his personal life, the only thing I could ever get out of him is his friend Tubbo. Considering you’re looking for him, I just assumed that was you.”

Tubbo fights a snort at the idea of Tommy actually opening up about his life, but feels a small warmth with the knowledge that he talks about him to other people.

That warmth is replaced with cold dread when he remembers what he came here for.

“Right, well I don’t actually believe that Tommy is in the hospital.”

Niki gets a confused look. “What makes you say that?”

Tubbo wildly gestures his hands in the air in frustration, the movement reminding him of how animated Tommy can get when he talks. “I checked every hospital in the area. I checked his apartment. He’s nowhere to be found.” Tubbo pulls a crinkled piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Niki.

Her face falls as she unfolds it to read the giant font.

“I think something has happened.”

Niki stares at the missing poster in her hands for a moment, silence between them.

After a while, she clears her throat, folding it back up and handing it to Tubbo.

“So, if you think he’s missing, why are you here and not at the station?”

Tubbo sighs. “Tommy could get in some deep shit if the cops get involved, plus they wouldn’t do anything anyways.”

Niki frowns, but nods in understanding. “So you’re here because?”

Tubbo tucks the paper back into his pocket, straightening up a little. “Right. I think something may have happened here after his shift. He’s been having problems with this guy who kept harassing him at work, and I was worried something would happen after Tommy told him off.”

“Are you talking about Wilbur?”

Tubbo freezes. “Yeah, you knew about that?”

Niki nods. “Oh yeah, I felt bad because Wilbur would come in when I was hosting and would request Tommy. I can’t really tell a customer ‘no’ so I was the one who would break the news to Tommy each time that he was here.” She leans forward across the host counter towards Tubbo, lowering her voice. “You think he did something?”

Tubbo nods, eyes darting around the diner. “Do you guys have security cameras?”

“We do! They all have motion sensors and all the data is recorded onto the computer in the back office.”

“That’s great, can I see?”

Niki hesitates. “Uh, I don’t think random customers can go into the back, especially the office.”

Tubbo gives Niki a serious stare. “Niki, what if Tommy is in danger?”

She sighs, and turns away from Tubbo. He feels his heart drop for a moment, before hearing the sounds of a drawer opening, and keys being jingled. She turns back to him, a keychain with a label card and a single, silver key dangling from her hand.

“Okay, let’s go.”

She leads him into the back, walking into a back area through a swinging door. Tubbo follows closely behind, glancing around to see if anyone is paying attention.

Unfortunately, somebody was.

“Niki, what is a customer doing back here?”

Niki stops in her tracks, turning to look at the buzz headed guy Tubbo had dealt with the other day. Tubbo’s eyes narrow at him.

“Oh, Jack! He uh, we uh, well- you see, we- uh-”

“Mind your business,” Tubbo huffs, arms crossing in front of his chest.

Jack looks taken aback. “Excuse me?” He looks at Niki, who has a little bit of shock on her face. “Who is this kid?”

“This is Tommy’s friend Tubbo.”

A look of realization falls over Jack’s face. “Oh I see, that makes sense then.” He huffs, and looks at Tubbo. “Weren’t you just in here the other day asking about him? I told you where he was, why are you here?”

“Jack-”

“He wasn’t there. He wasn’t at any hospital,” Tubbo bites, a sudden anger crawling up his throat.

Niki turns to Tubbo. “Hey, take a deep breath okay? We will find him.” She turns back to Jack. “We are going to check the security cameras because Tubbo here thinks that Tommy could be in trouble.”

The mask of frustration on Jack’s face falls slightly, before returning. “Trouble? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Jack,” Niki sighs, almost sounding annoyed, “this could be serious, okay?”

Jack hesitates, the mask falling once more, and concern flashes across his face.

“Okay, that’s fine, but I’m coming with to make sure this kid doesn’t swipe anything.”

“Hey-” Tubbo begins to exclaim.

“You’re Tommy’s friend, I wouldn’t put it past you,” Jack cuts him off with a look.

Tubbo just throws his hands in the air in defeat. Whatever, as long as he can get his answers he can deal with anything. He swears Tommy has talked some mad shit about this guy before, because the name Jack is ringing some bells in his memory.

The three find themselves somewhat squished together in the tiny office, the only light coming from the monitor in front of them. Niki is typing and clicking away, while Jack is leaning against the door, staring Tubbo down. Tubbo is pretending to not notice the heat on his back from Jack’s eyes, instead focusing on the monitor in front of him. Multiple scenes of different areas of the diner are displayed, each from a different camera.

“Okay, so what day am I looking at?”

“The last day Tommy was here for work, I’m not sure what day that was-”

“It was four days ago, or maybe five? He hasn’t been here for four days so..try five days ago,” Jack cuts in. He catches the look Tubbo gives him. “What? Who do you think had to cancel his plans to work his shifts?”

Niki types some more, and pulls up a file from five days ago. She opens it to see a lot of video files with different time stamps. “Okay, so our security system is motion sensored, like I’ve mentioned. These are all from different times from different cameras.”

Tubbo lets out a low whistle as she scrolls down the endless list of files. “Oh wow, that is gonna take a while.”

Jack huffs. “How long will this take? May I remind you Niki, we are both on the clock.”

Niki playfully rolls her eyes. “We’re so dead in here Jack, I don’t think you even have a table right now. If you are so worried though, you can step out.”

Jack crosses his arms across his chest and glares at Tubbo, but doesn’t make a move to exit.

Niki shakes her head slightly at him, “Alright then, let’s get started.”

Tubbo’s eyes burn as he stares at the screen. They are finally looking at clips from around seven that night.

“So Niki, did Wilbur come in this night?” Tubbo asks as they go past a clip of her at the host stand speaking to a blonde guy.

“I don’t think he did,” she answers, skipping to the next file.

It’s a camera from the back corner of the dining room, overlooking a majority of the tables. The motion was triggered by Niki walking the blonde guy to a booth.

Tubbo straightens up, getting closer to the monitor.

“Wait wait, pause it.”

Niki hits the space bar and glances up to see what Tubbo is looking at. He squints at the screen before hastily pulling his phone out of his pocket to open his text messages.

He looks back up at the screen, then down to his phone, then back up.

“Oh my god, I need to call somebody.”

“But we haven’t-”

Tubbo lifts his phone to his ear, ignoring Jack.

It rings maybe three times before it gets picked up.

“Hello?”

“Sapnap! This is Tubbo.”

“Yo Tubbo! How are-”

“You need to get over to the Nook’s Diner as quickly as possible.”

“I- wha-”

“Hurry,” Tubbo says before hanging up the phone.

There’s a beat of silence before Jack speaks up.

“Wow, way to sound urgent and give us literally nothing.”

Tubbo huffs and clicks on the photo Sapnap sent him the other day, showing it to Jack. Jack looks at the phone, then to the computer, then back.

“Well shit.”

“What’s going on?” Niki asks from the chair, leaning over. She has a similar reaction to Jack, whispering something under her breath as she looks at the screens.

Tubbo explains that as he was hanging up missing posters he ran into a guy, Sapnap, who was also looking for a missing person. They made a deal to help each other out and to call if they ever found something.

Tubbo never thought he’d find something so quickly.

The diner doors chime roughly five minutes later, the first time in a long while. Niki excuses herself from the office to go see if it was Sapnap, and returns a minute later with him in tow.

“Oh great yeah, let’s just keep bringing strangers back here. I’m sure Sam would be pleased.”

“Oh come on Jack,” Niki huffs, cracking the door open to reveal a sweaty man with dark hair.

“Tubbo,” Sapnap says through labored breath, “I ran here as quickly as possible, what the fuck is so urgent that you literally hung up on me for?”

Tubbo opens his mouth to answer, but doesn’t get the chance as Sapnap looks up to the screen behind him, pushing in.

“Holy shit.”

Everyone sits in silence for a moment as Sapnap stares at the screen.

“Is it actually..?” Tubbo starts to ask.

Sapnap gulps, his eyes flaring as his face becomes full of rage. “It is.”

Tubbo is taken aback at his reaction. “Sapnap, are you alright?”

There’s another moment of silence as the man takes a deep breath, tearing his eyes from the screen to look at Tubbo. There’s a mix of emotions in his eyes. Hurt, anger, fear, and sadness.

“I’m fine, it’s just..complicated.”

His gaze returns back to the screen. “I just don’t understand why he first appears here of all places. We used to come here all the time, he’s either stupid or has some fucking balls.”

“I was wondering why you looked so familiar,” Niki gives a soft smile, sliding back into the chair at the front of the desk. “It was hard to recognize you without your two friends in tow.”

A dark look crosses Sapnap’s face again. “Yeah..”

Conversation dies down as they watch the rest of the clip of Tommy coming out to serve the guy at the table, Dream, as Sapnap has down on his missing posters. His stomach twists as he sees Tommy on screen, it never getting easier each time.

While Niki clicks off to continue surfing through files, Tubbo fills Sapnap in about what he is even doing here in the first place. He word vomits about Wilbur, how he thinks Tommy isn’t safe, and somehow remains decently composed as he spills the whole story.

When he is done, it isn’t even Sapnap that speaks up first.

“Finally, some fucking context,” Jack huffs, now even more uncomfortably squished between them and the door with an extra person in the room.

Sapnap lets out a low whistle. “Yikes man, that is some shady shit.”

“Hey guys? This is strange, look at this.”

Everyone’s heads turn to Niki, face painted blue with the light from the screen. She double clicks a file, and it opens to the camera from outside the diner in the back alley.

She frowns. “We never really get videos from back here, only on delivery days, so I think it could be something.”

Everyone goes silent as they watch the screen, waiting for something. It’s dark, the only light provided coming from a street lamp at the end of the alley. After about ten seconds of looking at the video, a figure walks into the alley. Tubbo’s eyebrows scrunch. He catches a glimpse of blonde hair, but the lighting is too poor to tell anything. Besides, the figure just doesn’t look like Tommy.

While he has this reaction, a hand on his shoulder squeezes. Tubbo looks up at Sapnap to see him looking angry once more.

“Sapnap?”

“What is he doing there?”

Tubbo turns to Niki. “Hey, do these cameras have audio?”

She bites her lip slightly. “Kind of, the audio is really shitty on these things, so it really only picks up super loud sounds. It’s also never very clear because this one is outside. Let me see if I can figure out how to unmute this.”

She clicks around at a couple settings, but stalls when another figure appears on screen, approaching the alley.

Tubbo’s heart stops.

“Tommy.”

There is no doubt that this flash of blonde and blue is his best friend. There he is, in full health, hands tucked into his brand new jacket that he had just gotten, running into the alley.

The screen is plain once more, Tommy hidden in the shadows of the brick walls.

Sapnap squeezes his shoulder again, a look of dread filling his eyes. Tubbo looks at him confused, and then-

“Oh, here’s the audio!”

It’s silent for a moment, the only sound the crackling and popping of the mic being hit with wind, and then-

Everyone’s face falls to terror as the volume kicks in, and an undeniable sound curses the air around them.

It is the sound of a blood curdling scream.

Tubbo’s blood runs cold, his heart drops, and his legs would’ve given out if everyone wasn’t so close together that Sapnap was essentially holding him up already.

It doesn’t stop. Tubbo’s ears ring as he listens, head dizzy as he leans his full weight into Sapnap, who catches him.

“Niki turn it off!” Jack yells, hands covering his ears as he stares in horror at the screen.

She hits the mute key with so much force the keyboard is pushed backwards on the desk, face frozen in shock.

“Tubbo? Tubbo??”

Tubbo stares at the darkness of the screen, mind foggy.

That was Tommy. That was Tommy screaming.

There’s a moment before that thought registers, denial coursing through him.

And then Tubbo breaks down.

Sapnap clutches onto him as Tubbo heaves a sob, dangling from the embrace as he just can’t feel his legs. His head spins as he gasps for air, panicked gulps between cries. Jack looks in shock at the scene, and then looks to the door with a face of worry. Tubbo’s phone begins to vibrate in his back pocket, but he barely registers it as his entire body goes numb.

Niki is frozen for a moment before standing from the chair to help hold Tubbo.

It’s chaos in this tiny office. Tubbo screams and cries and digs his fingers into Sapnap’s shoulders, whose face is of just pure horror. Everyone is in shock as the sounds of sobs do little to make them forget the pained screams of Tommy.

“Th- That was TOMMY!” Tubbo cries, shaking. His head throbs as the worst case scenarios now come to focus, bearing their teeth of truth. “No, no, no,” he shakes his head violently.

“Tubbo,” Niki’s voice breaks, her own tears sliding down her face.

Everyone stands and watches as there is nothing they can do to calm the brunette down.

It feels like it has been minutes to everyone, shock stretching time for them, while in reality it’s been mere seconds. With no mercy to the situation, the phone begins to ring.

Niki immediately glances over to the phone on the desk, then back to the distraught form of Tubbo. Tubbo heaves breaths as he sobs, muttering and shaking his head as if this would all go away if he shakes harder. His panicked thoughts spill from his lips, but everyone only hears an incoherent mess of syllables.

“I’m sorry I-” Niki chokes up a little bit, “I need to answer the phone.”

Tubbo nods, and places his feet on the ground, still putting a majority of his weight into Sapnap, whose arms are shaking from holding him up. At least that’s what he thinks. He covers his face with his arm, continuing to sob silently as he gives Niki a thumbs up. That’s right, they are in the diner, they are in the office of the diner and they still have to do their jobs. They are in the diner, that’s where he is.

The whiplash from having to sober up his crying makes his head pound even more, the crazed thoughts doing nothing but making it worse. Tommy got hurt, Tommy screamed, Tommy could be dead.

Niki gives him a sad look as she grabs the phone.

“Hello this is Nook’s Diner, how can I help you?”

There’s about one second of silence before there’s a gasp.

“Tommy?”

Tubbo snaps up from Sapnap’s arms, world tilting from the bloodrush as he stumbles backwards into Jack. Jack lets out an oof as Tubbo’s elbow digs in, hands reaching up to his own face to brush tears away.

“Tommy, is that really you?”

Tubbo stares at her as she stares back, mouth slightly agape.

“Wait, wait one second, slow down, let me put you on speaker for everyone.”

Niki sets the phone down face up as she presses a button on the machine. Tubbo clutches his chest, attempting to quickly calm his breathing.

“-would rather not have everyone hear me, especially Jack-”

Tubbo lets out a gasp as the familiar snarky voice fills the room, “Tommy?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Tubbo?”

Tubbo lets out a small cry as he stumbles towards the phone. Tommy’s voice sounded small, weak, and surprised. Tubbo tries to get as close as he can, accidentally elbowing Niki as well as he falls into the chair in front of the desk, dragging the phone machine closer to him.

“Yeah it’s me Tommy, it’s me!” Tears still fall down his cheeks, but with a different purpose now. His head still spins as he speaks, confusion filling his lungs as he tries to take some deep breaths.

“Tubbo I- I tried calling you- you- you weren’t answering-”

“Well I’m here Tommy! I’m here. Where are you?”

“I’m-” there’s a sound of rustling and whispering, and Tubbo’s eyebrows furrow, and for a moment he remembers the screaming that he had just listened to a few seconds ago.

“I’m..in the hospital.”

Tubbo straightens up, immediately able to tell that something wasn’t right. Everyone matches his same posture, full attention on the phone. His head pounds.

“But Tommy, I couldn’t find you at any hospital,” Tubbo says slowly.

“Oh well that’s weird ha, ‘cuz I’m definitely at one! Yep! Anyways, why are you at the diner?”

Tubbo feels a sense of dread as he hears more whispering in the background of the call. Tommy’s voice sounds strained, and coarse. The sounds of his screams fills Tubbo’s head once more.

“I came looking for you. Like I said I couldn’t find you- what hospital are you at?”

There’s another moment of silence in the office as more whispering picks up over the phone.

“So I was calling to let you guys know that I’m okay but definitely won’t be back for a while, Doc here says I won’t be walking for quite some time,” Tommy says shakily.

Tubbo leans forward.

“Tommy, where are you?”

“I miss you Tubbo, I miss you so much. You don’t know what this has been like without you here. I’m sorry I might miss Christmas, tell Puffy I’m sorry.”

Tubbo shakes his head, panic filling his lungs all over again. “Who cares about Christmas right now? If you miss me I’ll come see you, where are you?”

More whispering.

“Tommy? Tommy where are you?”

“No I- stop- I’m not done! Tubbo! Tubbo I-”

The line goes dead.

Tubbo grabs the phone and holds it to his ear.

“Tommy? Tommy?!”

A hand goes over Niki’s mouth as her gaze falls back to the screen.

Tubbo begins to cry again as he desperately calls out to Tommy, looking through the call history only for it to be an unknown number.

“No..Tommy..”

“Uh, Tubbo?”

He looks up to Sapnap, looking around to realize that everyone’s attention is back on the monitor.

He twists around, looking to see that the feed was never paused, just muted.

His hand grips the phone with a steel grip as he stares at the screen, heart pounding against his chest.

No, no it can’t be.

Tubbo lets out a shaky breath as he processes the scene on screen.

There’s two figures on screen. One, blonde hair shining in the light, without a doubt is Tommy.

No, please no.

The phone slips from Tubbo’s grip as the light from the alley shines onto the second figure.

A figure who is holding Tommy in his arms, lifeless.

An outline of a yellow sweater, red beanie, and brown curly hair are visible. The figure is tall, clutching onto Tommy as he walks quickly from the alley.

The video is fuzzy, but it’s undeniable.

This is the worst case scenario.

Wilbur has Tommy.

Chapter Text

“I wasn’t done, please Wilbur I-”

Wilbur stands, stiff as a board with his phone clutched in his hand.

“Wilbur- Wil please-”

“Don’t.”

The word is cold, and harsh, Tommy stops in his tracks, silent tears running down his face as his outstretched arm falls back to his side.

He wasn’t compelled, just surprised to hear so much anger. All this time that Wilbur has been with him he’s been so strangely calm, so sickly sweet that he’s made Tommy want to hurl. It’s been confusing, how no matter how much Tommy hit, screamed, and swore, Wilbur never fought back.

It’s honestly terrifying, this sudden shift. Tommy gulps.

“I knew this was a bad idea. I try to do something nice for you, and you almost fucking blow it.”

“Please, I didn’t mean- I was just doing what you told me-”

“Well you fucked up Toms,” Wilbur turns, red eyes flashing as he stares down at Tommy. The blonde shrivels under the intensity of his gaze.

“When Tubbo didn’t answer I let you call your job to tell them that you wouldn’t be able to work there anymore due to your injury. Instead you find yourself talking to Tubbo, on speaker mind you, who wouldn’t stop asking you where you were. Don’t think your friend didn’t notice how you spoke to him, he kept grilling you for your location and you fucking blew it!”

“I didn’t mean to okay! Tubbo is just that kind of friend, he worries-”

“When I said you get to talk to Tubbo it was to tell him goodbye, not that you would miss Christmas with him and to go on about how you missed him and were sorry!”

“I couldn’t help myself! He’s all I have-”

“WE ARE ALL YOU HAVE NOW!”

Tommy falls silent in shock at Wilbur’s raised voice. Silent tears continue to run as he stares into the rage of Wilbur’s eyes.

“When will you understand that we are your family now? Huh? We have to keep you here to protect you, and that means that you can’t go giving away anything to anyone! You can’t go to work, you can’t see your friend, you can’t do anything!”

Tommy is silent for a moment.

“Why..why are you doing this to me?”

Wilbur huffs, a hand going under his glasses over his eyes to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“We are doing this to protect you.”

“Protect me?” The tears stop as Tommy feels a wave of anger crash into him. “Protect me?? From fucking what Wilbur? From the only people who I’ve ever cared about? From the life I was making on my own? What have you done to protect me? All you’ve done is FUCK UP MY LIFE!”

Wilbur lets out an incredulous laugh. “Fuck up your life? I saved your life. Or have you forgotten? Have you really forgotten what happened that night?”

Tommy shivers. “Fuck off Wilbur.”

“No, I don’t think I will. You needed me that night, and I was there,” Wilbur says harshly. “And now I need to protect you.”

“From what? What the fuck are you protecting me from?”

“From Dream Tommy! From Dream!”

Tommy goes pale at the name, fists gripping at his sheets.

“He got a taste for you Toms, that psychopath got a taste of you and won’t stop now until you’re dead, or I rip his head off. Do you understand? This is a game to him now. Any loose thread needs to be cut off to keep you safe. Your job, your friends, your life. It all has to be cut off.”

Tommy stares, tears returning to pool in his eyes. There’s silence that fills the room.

“So that’s it? I’m stuck here forever?”

Wilbur sighs, anger slowly fading, “Until you are safe, yes.”

A sob of disbelief leaves Tommy as he falls back into the bed, back hitting against his pillows.

Wilbur comes closer, words warm as he attempts to comfort the blonde. “Oh Toms, don’t cry, this isn’t like a prison. This is your home!”

“No,” Tommy snarls, infuriated at the switch in his tone, “no it fucking isn’t! You guys are fucking crazy, you kidnapped me and you’re crazy! You didn’t save my life, you ruined it!”

Wilbur stands, the comfort and warmth in his voice fading away, staring down to Tommy with a deep, cold look in his eyes.

“Everything I do is to protect you. It’s because I care about you. One day you will understand that.”

He begins to walk to the door, purpose in his step. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow, and he calls out. “Wait! Where are you going?”

Wilbur pauses, hand on the knob of his room.

“To fix what you’ve done. I’m going to cut off some loose ends.”

The door shuts, and Tommy is now alone in his room.

It takes a moment for Wilbur’s words to sink in.

It takes another moment for him to realize what he meant.

Sobs break his body as he screams, fists hitting the bed over and over because it’s all he can do. He can’t stop him, he can’t move because every shift burns pain up his leg.

“NO! NO PLEASE WILBUR DON’T! PLEASE DON’T!”

Wilbur shakes his head as he walks down the hall toward the stairs, passing Techno on his way down.

Techno raises his eyebrows at Wilbur, clearly hearing the screams of disdain from Tommy’s room.

“What did you do?”

Wilbur frowns. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“DON’T KILL HIM PLEASE! WILBUR PLEASE COME BACK! PLEASE WILBUR!”

Techno frowns as Wilbur continues down the stairs, and glances up towards Tommy’s room. A wave of confusion washes over him. Wilbur always talks about how much he cares for Tommy, his new little brother, but right now, there’s just a cold look on his face as he walks away from Tommy’s screams.

He sighs, taking his reading glasses off his face and closing the book in his hand.

“I’LL DO ANYTHING! WILBUR PLEASE!”

Techno turns and follows Wilbur down the stairs.

Tubbo sits at a table, coffee in hand.

Sapnap sits across from Tubbo, his own coffee in his hands. Both can faintly hear Niki and Jack bickering in the back room.

“If Sam finds out we closed early he will have our heads and our jobs!”

“Oh please, this is Sam we are talking about. He would understand, this is an emergency!”

“We should call the police! Let them handle this!”

“We aren’t going to do that Jack, Tubbo explicitly told us not to because of the trouble Tommy could get in!”

Their voices fade out into a murmur as Tubbo zones out at the mention of the blonde.

He stares blankly at the designs in the wooden table. The way the lines of planks swirl to create faces.

Screaming faces.

Tommy’s screams.

“Tubbo.”

His head slowly rises to look over at Sapnap. The raven haired man is staring at him, concern in his eyes. “How are you holding up?”

Tubbo shrugs. “Don’t know, I kinda feel like my best friend has been kidnapped by some psychopath stalker and is being held against his will.”

“But he’s alive.”

Tubbo sighs and shrugs again. “Yeah, he’s alive.”

As if that makes anything better. Tommy sounded so scared, so desperate on the phone. His tone changed the moment he heard Tubbo, and it broke Tubbo’s heart.

“Why would Wilbur take him? What could he even want with Tommy?”

Tubbo whispers that to himself more than to Sapnap. Pieces of the puzzle had revealed themselves, but he is still missing so much. Tubbo is having a hard time wrapping his head around a possible motive, because there could be so many. Stalkers are unpredictable, they can become violent, obsessive, and who knows what they would do after being told off, like Tommy had done to Wilbur.

And then there’s the business with Dream in the alley. They rewatched the footage after seeing Wilbur leave with Tommy, since nobody had been paying attention to when he entered the picture. Tubbo was incredibly hesitant to watch with audio, but after hearing Tommy alive he decided it was a necessary evil.

It was still incredibly hard to listen to, but everyone listened as closely as they could to see if they could hear any words at all. If there was any conversation or helpful dialogue, it was all overpowered by the unrelenting sounds of wind that abused the mic. Tubbo did have to step out to throw up at the sounds of Tommy’s screams when they played the second time, all the anxiety, fear, and anger bubbling up and out into a trashcan.

It is all so confusing. In the full video, or the multiple clips of files, Dream enters, then screams for help can be heard crackling through the audio. Everybody in the room had looked worried, except for Sapnap, who looked ready to throw up (he managed to keep it down, unlike Tubbo). Then Tommy enters, and there’s a long stretch of silence. Tubbo braced himself for the pained screams and shouts that followed suit, but he still wasn’t prepared enough. Everything was dark, so nobody could see what had happened on the feed. Had Dream gotten jumped by somebody and killed? Is that why Sapnap is so upset? Did that same person..did they hurt Tommy?

And then Wilbur enters, fully sprinting into the alleyway. More shouts can be heard, along with some other sounds that were just pure static to their ears.

Then Wilbur is seen leaving with Tommy in his arms.

Dream doesn’t reappear.

Tubbo gulps as he looks back up to Sapnap, knowing that this all must be hard for him.

“Hey, Dream could still be okay. There’s a lot we couldn’t see in the footage, so maybe whoever attacked him..and Tommy..maybe Dream is okay.”

Sapnap’s face grows dark. Tubbo’s gaze drifts back down to his coffee, worried that he did little to comfort and just poured salt in the wound. Not everybody needs or wants optimism. Hell, who is Tubbo to talk right now, trying to stay positive? Nothing about this is positive, this is the worst case scenario, and he’s living it.

Tommy is living it.

After a moment, Sapnap speaks, voice steady.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I hope it’s something to tell all of us because I am mighty confused over here!”

Jack storms back into the dining room, untying and throwing his apron onto the table in front of them. Niki is following behind, readjusting her blonde hair back into the clip behind her head.

“Explain to me why we shouldn’t just call the police? They are equipped to handle this kind of thing, not us.”

Tubbo opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by Sapnap snorting. “Oh believe me, the Manberg police are not equipped to deal with this.”

“Huh? It’s literally a murder and a kidnapping,” Niki and Tubbo frown at the carelessness of Jack’s words, “how would they not be equipped to deal with this?”

Sapnap sighs. “Because I can guarantee you that the thing that hurt and the thing that kidnapped Tommy isn’t human.”

Everyone stops.

“What?”

The confusion comes from Niki, eyebrows furrowing.

Jack snorts. “Not human? What kind of crack do you smoke?”

Tubbo just grips his coffee tighter.

“You guys are going to want to sit down for this one,” Sapnap says, tone serious.

Everyone except Sapnap looks at each other before any movement is made. After a moment, Niki shrugs and carefully places herself next to Tubbo, while Jack rolls his eyes and takes a seat next to Sapnap. The scraping of the chairs only adds to the feeling of unease rolling through Tubbo. Sapnap just looks so angry, and Tubbo is slowly starting to piece together that maybe it's not directed at who he thought.

“So, what I’m about to tell you is 100% real shit. I still have difficulty fully wrapping my head around it, but it’s the reality I live in, and it’s about to be all of yours too.”

“Yeah whatever, get to the point,” Jack scoffs, leaning back into his chair with his arms folded over his chest.

Sapnap gives him a glare. “Dude, you can leave if you want, I don’t have a problem with that.”

Jack’s back straightens as his cheeks get slightly red. “No, sorry, fucking just- just continue.”

Sapnap turns back to the rest of the table. “So, this is going to be a lot, so I’m gonna start before I knew any of this shit.” He stops and glances over to Niki. “I used to come in here all the time with my two closest friends, Dream and George. We would literally do everything together, including live together,” his face grows sour.

“One night, maybe three weeks ago, Dream came home late. He stumbled into our apartment, knocked a bunch of shit over, and woke us all up. We thought he was drunk or some shit, only to see him covered in blood.”

“Say what?”

Tubbo barely registers Jack’s interjection as the gears in his brain start to turn.

“George basically freaked the fuck out, checking him for injuries and shit, asking him what happened. Dream was just silent, in some kind of shock. He was bleeding from his neck, and had blood all in his mouth. We were scared it was some internal bleeding and almost forced him back out to go to the hospital, but he told us he was fine.” Sapnap’s mouth pulls into a thin line.

“Let me guess, he wasn’t fine?”

“Oh no, he was,” Sapnap answers Jack’s snarky comment with a look, “but not in the way we wanted. Next morning he woke up sweaty and looking like shit. His face was all drained of color, his head wouldn’t stop hurting, and his eyes were so bloodshot they basically looked red. George was in a panic about getting him to the hospital, but when we checked Dream for the injuries he had the night before, they were gone.”

“That’s strange,” Niki whispers, clutching onto her own cup of coffee that was on the table.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Sapnap looks over to Tubbo, checking to make sure he was paying attention. “You with us Tubbo?”

Tubbo nods slowly, still staring into the deep umber of his coffee as his brain works. “Mmhmm.”

“Aright.” Sapnap clears his throat before continuing, “That was the first weird thing. Dream became really erratic after that night. He was kind of freaking us out. He kept pacing in the middle of the night, sleeping all day, always had the curtains drawn, would constantly complain that he was hungry, would eat and then throw up, and all this other shit. George thought he was sick with something, I thought he was suffering some sort of trauma or some shit. He never told us what happened that night, we just assumed he got mugged or something.”

“He was getting paler, sicker, sweatier, and it was honestly terrifying. We thought he was dying.” Sapnap pauses, a look of anger lighting in his eyes.

“It would’ve been better if he was dead.”

There is a tense silence that follows that statement. Nobody moves, knowing how to react to that, except for Tubbo who looks up from his cup.

Sapnap takes a deep breath.

“A week ago, George and I had sat Dream down to try to convince him to go to the hospital. He got so angry, and we didn’t know why. But George kept pushing him, he was so worried, and cares about Dream so much.”

“Before I knew it, I was in an ambulance, and it wasn’t Dream that was going to the hospital.”

Niki let out a gasp, and Jack’s face grew serious. Tubbo just continued to stare, analyzing the expressions on Sapnap’s face. An intense sadness draped his face, so close to a look of grief.

Things were starting to piece together.

A clouded memory begins to resurface in his head.

“He just..jumped on him. It happened so fast- everything was so confusing. I just saw Dream bite into George’s neck, scratching at his skin, holding him down. George was screaming something awful, and I tried to get Dream off of him. But he threw me back with so much strength for a skinny motherfucker. I watched Dream stay latched onto George’s neck, and as George grew paler, Dream grew tanner again. It’s like he was draining the life from him.”

Rage fills Sapnap’s demeanor once more. “I started to see shit, like straight up hallucinate. I was screaming for help, for Dream, for George, but nothing. After what felt like hours, I came back to reality with George lifeless on the ground, and Dream nowhere to be found.”

His fists clench. “George has been in a coma since. I spent the first two nights in his room, keeping him company, begging for him to wake up-” Sapnap’s voice cracks as he chokes up slightly. Jack attempts to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, that really just looks awkward, but Sapnap doesn’t move it off.

“Wait,” everyone turns to look at Tubbo as he speaks up, “do you have a photo of George?”

Sapnap gives him a quizzical look. “Yeah I do..uh..” he shifts to pull his phone out of his pocket, “That’s the three of us.”

Tubbo stares down at it for a moment, and then his mouth forms a small “o” shape.

He looks up to Sapnap. “I think I’ve seen both of them before.” Sapnap looks confused for a moment before Tubbo continues, “When I was searching for Tommy in the hospital, I think I might have seen them. What hospital is George at?”

Sapnap scrunches his eyebrows. “St. Kinoko.”

Tubbo straightens slightly as the memory finally finishes forming. It was such a brief interaction, one quickly forgotten by the rest of the day's events, swallowed by the panic, anxiety, and the brief embarrassment of everything. In his frantic search for Tommy everything seemed like a blur, and he had pushed this to the back of his mind.

Tubbo looks back down to the photo on the phone, and then back up. “No, yeah, I was maybe not somewhere I was allowed to be in when I had to quickly hide from staff, and ended up throwing myself into a random room on the second floor.” He points to the photo. “It was George in the hospital bed, I’m sure of it, and Sapnap..I think Dream was there.”

There’s an immediate rage that flares in Sapnap’s eyes, that quickly devolves into pure panic. He snatches his phone back with intense speed, and types frantically onto the screen. Within moments the phone is by his ear.

“Hello, I am calling to check in on a coma patient that you have in your care. George Davidson, room 233.” Sapnap’s knuckles turn white as he grips his phone. “Just checking in to see if he’s okay since I won’t be able to visit him today.”

There’s silence as everyone looks at Sapnap’s face, analyzing his facial expressions to try to gain context without being able to hear the words from the other end.

Everyone watches as his shoulders slump, and relief floods into him.

That same relief floods into everyone else.

“He’s okay? Well I mean- obviously still in a coma and that’s not great and all but he’s still stable so- yes, thank you. Thank you so much. Have a nice day.”

Sapnap taps his screen and slowly sets his phone back down on the table. There’s more silence.

“So he’s okay?”

Sapnap looks over to Niki, who is still giving her mug a death grip. He nods at her.

“Yeah, yeah George is fine.” He inhales sharply, fire burning in his eyes once more.

“That motherfucker, how dare he visit George after what he did, how dare he come anywhere near him after he almost killed him. He- that fucker.”

Sapnap’s head falls into his hands. He grips at the bandana wrapped around his dark hair, almost as if he’s using it to ground him as soft curses leave his lips. There’s anger in his words, but under it is confusion and sadness.

Jack gives Sapnap another pat on his back, his hand still awkwardly there from before. Everyone lets the silence carry on for a while longer, letting Sapnap work through whatever emotions are stewing within him.

Of course, after a while, Jack is the one to break the silence again.

“So..can we get the rest of the story?”

Everyone feels the movement of Niki kicking him from under the table, sending him a harsh glare. Jack lets out a hiss of pain, returning that look as he mouths a silent complaint.

Sapnap lifts his head up slowly, hair falling back into place over the white fabric of the bandana. His face is stern, like he’s slipped back into the serious tone from before. He nods at Jack, whose face still wears a grimace from the sting of his newly forming bruise.

“Right..sorry uh..so after those first few days I almost went mad thinking about what had happened, trying to figure out what made Dream lose it like that.” His eyes narrow. “The pale skin, nocturnal behavior, always hungry but not able to eat, and the way he attacked George just made me think something that sounded so ridiculous, I couldn’t fathom it.”

“Then articles started popping up in papers. Bodies being found completely drained of blood, bodies broken in ways that just weren’t right. Every single day there was a new body, some fucked up horror story. The Manberg police called them murders, not serial, and weren’t connecting the pieces. But I knew. I knew it was Dream. And I knew what he was.”

Sapnap locks eyes with Tubbo from across the table and his fists clench.

“Dream is a vampire.”

There’s a long silence.

And then a snicker.

Everyone turns to glare down at Jack as he finally lifts his hand from Sapnap.

“No, I’m sorry, but no-” he snorts, “you had me until right there.”

Sapnap looks angry again.

“Dude, this isn’t a fucking joke.”

“Right, okay, right. Vampires? Be serious Sapnap. Your friend probably just got rabies or had a psychotic break or something.”

“Rabies doesn’t do that to a person, he would be dead by now, and he looked pretty damn fine in that security footage, didn’t he.”

“He looked fine in person too,” Tubbo looks down as he mutters, and misses as Sapnap’s gaze darkens.

Jack shrugs. “So your friend is a psychopath murderer, doesn’t mean he’s a vampire.”

“He’s not my friend. Not anymore. Not after what he- I- you think I would just say all this shit if I didn’t think it was 100% true?”

“Absolutely I d-”

“Wilbur had red eyes.”

Jack falls silent at the interruption, pausing his bickering with Sapnap as everyone’s attention is brought back to Tubbo. Sapnap straightens his posture. “What did you say Tubbo?”

Tubbo’s grip turns to steel around his ceramic cup, and a small thought in the back of his head warns him about shattering it. This stuff should sound ridiculous to him, just like it does to Jack, but he can’t deny the genuinity in Sapnap’s words, the pure rage in his tone, or the way it just kind of makes sense. Tubbo has always had an open mind, due to his love for science, you kind of have to take everything with a grain of salt.

Including reality.

“Wilbur, he had red eyes. That’s something Tommy told me in a random rant about the guy, thought it was weird.”

Sapnap’s jaw clenches, and he closes his eyes as if he is trying to remember something. Jack attempts to open his mouth again.

“This is just-”

“Dream had red eyes too,” Sapnap effectively cuts Jack off, who looks incredibly irritated at being constantly interrupted. “He used to have green ones, but ever since he came back..they weren’t the same.”

Jack throws his hands down on the table with an exasperated sound. “Nope, this is ridiculous. Tubbo, come on, you can’t be buying this bull?”

Tubbo slowly turns his head to Jack, face solemn and serious. He swears he hears a crack come from the mug in his hands.

Everything isn’t always as it seems, he heard that in a true crime podcast once.

It’s a podcast that he listened to for hours every day for weeks, and was the main topic of conversation between him and Tommy. Tubbo would rant about each episode for hours, and Tommy would smile and make fun of him for being such a nerd.

He swallows a dry lump in his throat.

“I’m buying this Jack.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving huff. “Oh come on, his roomie is clearly just a rampant serial killer who had a psychotic break!”

“Who is also a vampire,” Niki adds, speaking up for the first time in a while.

Jack looks taken aback, betrayal in his tone, “Niki, not you too.”

She glares at Jack, who instinctively flinches. “Can we really rule this out? You know that folktales come from somewhere, right? I mean, people believe in a God in the sky, why is it so implausible that vampires could be real?”

“Because- because that just defies the laws of nature?”

“Are the laws of nature really so unchanging?” Tubbo says quietly, and Jack’s attention is turned to him. “Maybe we don’t know nature like we should.”

“I just- I- I need some solid proof or something-”

“Okay, I can get you some solid proof,” Sapnap says, slamming his hands down on the table and standing. Everyone flinches at the sound and Jack shrinks even further into his seat.

“I’ll bring you some proof when I bring you Dream’s dead body.”

“I..” Jack looks up, unease on his features.

Tubbo looks up at Sapnap, amazed at the level of pure anger on his face.

“I am going to kill that motherfucker for what he did. To George, to everyone.”

He pauses, and looks down at Tubbo, meeting his gaze.

“For what he did to Tommy.”

Tubbo is floored by the genuinity in Sapnap’s words. His posture, his tone, everything about it screams that this guy is dead serious.

And then Tubbo processes what he means, and his gut tugs. Fuck, he could be sick. Of course, of course it was a ruse. A scream for help, an unsuspecting passerby being led into the dark. Tommy fell for it.

He remembers the screaming.

The pieces slide into place.

Tubbo stands, setting his cup down on the table. Sapnap looks surprised at the movement, along with the other two.

“I’m with you. I believe you. As much as some of my brain wants to fight this, I can’t deny that this information has created new possible motives that just make sense.”

Everyone stares at Tubbo as he takes a deep breath.

“I want them to pay. I want Dream to pay for what he did, for whatever he did to make Tommy..” Tubbo shivers, hearing the screams all over again, “I want him to pay. And I want to find Tommy. I want to bring him home safe, and when I find him, when I come face to face with that psychopath that took him away, I want to drive a stake through his damn heart, or however the hell you kill one of those things.”

His jaw clenches tight. Tubbo can’t deny the very real possibility that Wilbur saved Tommy’s life that night. He can’t deny that the shouts after Wilbur enters the alley sound like a fight, and while he’s not sure who is shouting, he can’t deny the real possibility of it being Dream and Wilbur.

The scene of Wilbur holding Tommy in his arms, gently carrying him bridal style as he quickly runs out of the alley plays in Tubbo’s head again.

Not everything is as it seems.

His fists clench at the sleeves of the red hoodie he wears. Tommy’s hoodie.

“I want to save my best friend. So I’m with you, as long as you are with me.”

There’s a pause from everyone, Jack sitting with his mouth agape, Niki with a sadness in her eyes, and then Sapnap, who stares at Tubbo for a moment, taking in the pure determination radiating from the brunette.

Then he smiles, and reaches out a hand.

Tubbo grabs it.

“You got yourself a deal. Now, who wants to hunt some fucking vampires?”

Chapter Text

Winter is Techno’s favorite season.

He glances up at the clouds in the grey sky, strategically placed to carefully cover the sun’s harmful rays.

He misses winter in the countryside. He’s still bitter about Phil’s decision to move here. Things were just better on the farm. He had his dogs, his potatoes, and solitude.

He understands why they can’t go back. Why it became too painful for Phil to leave his bedroom. Why he could only have Techno bring him “food”, and why he avoided seeing Wilbur.

Techno isn’t his biological son.

He wouldn’t remind him of her.

Techno frowns as he tucks his hands into his pockets beneath his deep red cloak, tilting his head down to hide his face underneath the large hood.

Things were different then. Phil was different. Wilbur was different.

She made them different.

He stares ahead of the street, eyes catching a familiar red beanie weaving through the crowd, before ducking into an alleyway.

Techno sighs, steamy breath leaving his mouth and floating away into the air.

Wilbur wasn’t so stupid before.

Pretty sure his brother left a few brain cells back in the countryside when they moved here a century ago. He was different, but who wouldn’t be, after everything.

After what happened.

But the bloodlust became a problem quickly. Even Phil couldn’t stop him. It’s been decades, but Techno will never forget the look in Wilbur’s eyes as he had to pull him off of stranger after stranger.

Techno is no stranger to bloodlust, what it does to a man. Techno battles himself every day to not rip into a random passerby on the street. But he had to get himself together, because Phil couldn’t handle two rampaging sons on the streets of Manberg. So Techno became the babysitter, the better one.

And once Wilbur was better, they laid low for a while. Moved somewhere different.

But Wilbur was insistent that they come back to Manberg at some point. Phil was so against the idea, not wanting to go to the same place twice, but Wilbur had begged.

And now here they are. They’ve been back for barely a month, and it already seems like Wilbur is going off the deep end again. It’s like a pattern. Something with this city infects him.

Techno doesn’t enjoy the pit in his stomach at the thought. He doesn’t enjoy Wilbur’s recent behavior, and how it’s so similar yet so different from back then. At least this time he isn’t killing people.

Just kidnapping them.

Except for right now. Tommy’s screams echo in Techno’s head, begs and pleads while he watched Wilbur just walk away. Techno thought he cared for the boy, so it confused him when Wilbur was clearly harming him in some way.

It also didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was going to do.

He ducks into the alley, trailing Wilbur at exactly thirty seconds behind.

Wilbur’s off to kill somebody. After years of being clean, living off of blood bags and animals, he can’t seem to help himself when they come back to a large population with little wildlife. Techno can’t say he blames him, cities are always a terrible idea for their kind.

He follows the footprints in the slush, checking corners to make sure he isn’t getting too close.

After about ten minutes of trailing, the footprints stop.

Shit.

“You think I wouldn’t notice you following me?”

Techno sighs, his breath turning into clouds as he looks up to see Wilbur sitting at the edge of a building above.

“Wilbur, how you doin’?”

His brother huffs. “Go home Techno.”

Techno untucks his hands from his pockets as he looks for a way to scale the building. It’s around thirty feet tall, bricked, with two apartment windows. No fire escape on this side.

Wilbur follows his gaze.

“Can you stop following me?”

Techno leaps forward, grabbing onto a windowsill, then places his foot below him to push off, effectively jumping around twenty feet up, and lands roughly next to Wilbur with a grunt.

The brunette grumbles. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Techno huffs, dusting off his cloak as he sits himself down next to Wilbur. “Who are you killin’?”

“Just a loose end.”

Techno’s eyes narrow. “Didn’t sound like a loose end to Tommy, now who are you killin’?”

Wilbur sighs, tilting his head back. “Some kid named Tubbo, Tommy’s best friend or whatever.”

Techno chokes on the cold air, lurching forward to cough. Wilbur cautiously pats him on the back as he gets it all out, only mildly concerned that he was about to fall off the building.

“I’m sorry- you’re killin’ Tommy’s best friend?”

Wilbur scoffs. “Yeah, he’s suspicious that Tommy isn’t where he says he is. Somebody digging into our business is bad, especially if Dream tails him. Imagine if Tubbo actually finds Tommy and Dream was using him? Then what?”

“Then we rip Dream’s head off! We don’t- you don’t kill Tommy’s best friend!”

Wilbur pauses.

“Wow, I haven’t heard you raise your voice in years.”

“A necessary evil for when you’re actin’ like a fool Wil,” Techno shakes his head. “You want that boy to trust you? You don’t kill his friend.”

“He can make more.”

“Wil-”

“It’s dangerous to have loose ends! You know, you trying to talk me out of killing somebody is surprising. You used to love it.”

A dark look crosses Techno’s face, and Wilbur immediately looks nervous. The chilly air gets colder as a hand snatches his sweater, and Wilbur is pulled close to Techno’s serious face.

“You’re actin’ impulsive. Makin’ some bad choices, includin’ antagonizin’ your much stronger brother who is prepared to throw you from this roof top,” Techno growls the threat, red eyes flashing with malice.

Wilbur’s hands fly up in surrender, and Techno releases him. There’s a sigh of relief from Wilbur, who looks away to the cloudy sky. He shivers a little bit, always forgetful of the rage constantly brewing in his brother.

“I fucked up, I’m just trying to fix my mistake.”

“What did you even do?”

“I let Tommy call Tubbo.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then a thud and a gasp as Techno’s fist collides with Wilbur’s gut. There’s a satisfaction that courses through Techno briefly at the look of pain on his brother’s face.

“You did what?”

“I- fuck-” Wilbur coughs roughly.

“You let your kidnapped child call somebody? And thought it was a good idea? You’re more foolish than I originally gave you credit for.”

“I was- fucking- I was trying to be nice!”

“Look where that got you.”

There’s a moment of somewhat silence as Wilbur heaves and coughs, attempting to regain the wind that was knocked out of him. The brunette shakes his head after one more deep breath, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth.

“I just wanted him to smile for once. You should have seen how bright his face was back in the diner. How his eyes would crinkle slightly and his laugh would make you laugh. He was the sun, and I just wanted him to have his fire back.”

Techno sighs, deeply contemplating his next move as he looks at his sad, idiotic little brother. He reluctantly throws an arm around Wilbur’s shoulder and fights a cringe on his face from the contact. Even if they are family, it’s never been something he’s comfortable with. Even Wilbur has a small look of surprise on his face.

“Wil, he’s been through some traumatic stuff. He needs time to get better, you can’t just force him to.”

“Technically I could,” Wilbur half whispers to himself.

Techno’s eyes narrow. He can’t believe how foolish his brother is being. “Is that what you want? A relationship built on control and lies?”

Wilbur’s shoulders slump. “No.”

“Listen, I’m still no good with people, even with how long I’ve been around. They are weird and feel way too much emotion for me to be comfortable. But I’ve read multiple libraries, multiple psychology textbooks, and recovery from what he’s been through takes time. He’s just a kid and he’s havin’ flashbacks from a near death experience. Then every time he comes out of it he’s back in an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar people who he believes kidnapped him- which isn’t wrong,” he pauses to pointedly look at Wilbur, who gives him a sheepish smile but has no regret in his eyes, more a soft look of pride.

“He’s terrified. You got to make him not terrified.”

Wilbur is silent for a moment. “Well, what do I do?”

“Let’s start by not killin’ Tubbo.”

Wilbur huffs. “But-”

“Nope, not hearin’ it. That’s just an awful idea.”

“Not killing this kid is going to come back to stab us, you hear me?”

Techno shakes his head. “What kind of harm could a kid do against a family of centuries old vampires?”

Tubbo huffs as he carries two canisters of gasoline down the sidewalk.

“Do we really need all of this?”

Jack begrudgingly trails behind, heaving breaths with multiple plastic bags decorating his forearms. Niki walks next to him, no bags in her hands, because Jack insisted he could carry them all.

Sapnap doesn’t turn his head around to look at the group behind him, just sighs. “Honestly, no idea. I’m not an expert with this shit, but the more the better.”

Jack grumbles, waving Niki off once more as she tries to take some of the bags from him. She frowns, and picks up her pace to fall in line with Tubbo. She gives the brunette a small smile, and holds out her hand.

Tubbo gladly hands her a canister.

After some more tense words in the diner, the four had made plans to shop for some supplies and head to Sapnap’s apartment. Tubbo was hesitant at first, considering Dream knows where that is and used to live there, but Sapnap assured him he’d have to be a stupid motherfucker to return. Niki was on board much like Tubbo, but Jack took more convincing. They spent ten minutes arguing with him, and he really didn’t cool off until Niki agreed to help.

“I just want everyone to know that just because I agreed to help does not mean I believe any of this!” Jack calls from the back, fighting for his life to catch his breath underneath the weight of all the bags.

Niki rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry about Jack, he’s always been very cynical.”

Tubbo shrugs. “Can’t really blame him. I honestly am not really sure how I’m so okay with all of this, I mean I’m not, but I am?”

Niki smiles. “That’s kind of how I feel right now. Part of me is like ‘wow, this is crazy,’ but the other part of me just can’t look away from the truth of it.”

Tubbo’s eyes stare into the back of Sapnap’s head. “Yeah..I mean his story was so genuine, and the things Tommy would tell me about Wilbur..it just kind of made sense. I’ve never needed solid proof to believe in something, science would get nowhere if that’s how all people were.”

“You a big fan of science?”

Tubbo nods. “Yeah, science, true crime, technology, all that nerdy stuff that Tommy likes to pick on me for,” he smiles, “When he isn’t picking on my height that is.”

“Sounds like Tommy.”

“Ha..yeah..”

They continue their trek through the streets of Manberg until they stop at the entrance of an apartment building, maybe five blocks away from Tubbo’s own place. Sapnap shifts the paper bag in his arms to dig into his pocket, pulling out a keycard.

“I’m on the fourth floor, room 411.” The slot turns green as he puts his card through it, and the door clicks. He pushes on it, awkwardly putting the keycard in his pocket and pulls out a silver key. Everyone follows him to the elevator, which thankfully opens the moment he presses the up button.

It’s a tight squeeze in there, but not nearly as bad as the office was at the diner.

Jack has a look of relief on his face when the doors reopen, being the first to push past to get out. “I have had enough of being in confined spaces with you lot today.”

Sapnap chuckles, walking down the hall to his door. He slips the key in with practiced ease and kicks the door open.

“Welcome to mi casa.”

First impressions are important, they say a lot about a person by how they first handle a situation.

Tubbo kicks his shoes off as he walks in, once again creasing the backs of them without a care. Sapnap’s apartment opens in the living room, and what a room it is.

Tubo looks around, and the first impression he gets is..well it’s something.

Sapnap looks sheepish. “Uh..sorry for the mess, haven’t had company in a while.”

Jack steps in after Tubbo and lets out a low whistle. “Jesus man.”

Blankets and pillows are scattered in various parts of the apartment. The whole apartment has been rearranged to be facing the front door, and all the windows are covered with curtains, which are pulled tightly shut. There is no natural light in this place, instead the light comes from the TV that is still on, and a lamp by the couch. There’s dirty dishes on almost every surface, and even the sink is full in the kitchen.

Now a mess isn’t a big deal, Tubbo’s place is rarely clean. With him and Tommy being something short of tornados, and Puffy always working, the place is always a bit of a disaster.

What stops everybody is the giant board in the living room leaned against the covered windows.

It’s a fucking conspiracy board.

Tubbo sets the canister down on the floor, and moves towards it. His jaw is slightly agape as he looks over everything. There’s printed wiki articles on vampires, exsanguination, the clippings from the bodies that have been found, and at the center, a missing poster for Dream. Everything is connected with red yarn, some with green, others with yellow.

“Oh wow..” comes Niki’s voice from the front door.

“Yeah uh..if you couldn’t tell before..I’m very serious about this.”

Tubbo turns his gaze from the board to look at a very sheepish Sapnap.

“Dude..this is so fucking cool,” Tubbo says slightly in awe. He had always wanted an excuse to make his own, but never had a good enough reason.

Sapnap’s face goes a light pink as he sets stuff down on the kitchen counter, and then moves to flick the light switch on. “I’m uh..sorry for the mess. I’m rarely home and when I am..” he trails off, staring at a very clear indent on the couch now illuminated by the warm lighting from the kitchen.

“It’s okay, we get it,” Niki smiles, setting the canister down. “I’m sure that this has been very draining for you.”

“Yeah, yeah it has,” Sapnap murmurs, beginning to unpack his bag. There’s a lot of clatter and an intense rustling of plastic as Jack drops his off, huffing.

“You got water?”

“Oh yeah,” Sapnap points to the front door where a case of plastic water bottles is. “We were trying to switch off of plastic, but I haven’t had the energy to do the dishes.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jack mutters, and Niki shoots him a nasty look.

Some snacks and general groceries are unpacked from Sapnap’s bag, all stacked on the counter around to get them all out rather than put them away one at a time. Jack crosses the room to grab waters for everyone, and Tubbo finally leaves the board to join with everyone in the kitchen.

Sapnap turns to the plastic bags from the hunting store. The cashier gave the four of them some serious looks while they were piling stuff into baskets, and especially when they checked them out.

The store had been completely barren, because who in their right mind runs a hunting store in the middle of a city?

Luckily for them, Manberg is that city.

Sapnap pulls wooden stakes used for “camping”, chains, a couple boxes of matches, two axes, some hunting knives, and a couple boxes of ammo.

“We have a gun in the apartment. We’ve never had to use it, but it is technically mine so I’m sure George wouldn’t mind,” Sapnap says as he adjusts the ammo cases to stack on top of each other. His lips pull into a small frown.

“Honestly, I don’t really know how to kill one of these things. I figure if you mess the body up enough, that will work.”

Jack makes a gagging sound from the entrance of the kitchen, and Sapnap turns to him.

“These things we are hunting aren’t human, don’t forget that.”

Jack rolls his eyes, “Right.”

Sapnap turns to the groceries stacked, and grabs the small bag of garlic he grabbed. “Don’t even know if this would work. Some cites said it would, some said it was bullshit, but it’s good to be safe. Same with the stakes,” he gestures to the wood.

Tubbo looks to the box of matches, and then to the gasoline canisters on the floor.

Sapnap follows his gaze and gets a sheepish grin. “Oh yeah, every single cite however was in agreement that setting them on fire would be a good way to stop them from healing. I figured the fact that vampires have unnatural healing is true because of the way Dream magically had no wounds the morning after he came home. I think if we can injure Dream enough to immobilize him, then set him ablaze, that could kill him.”

“Okay this is getting really fucked up,” Jack says, crinkling his water bottle in hand. “Like..how are we even sure that they aren’t just human? Vampires and all this talk- it’s just- this is taking it to an extreme.”

Sapnap turns to Jack. “Extreme? I didn’t even mention decapitation yet. Now it’s messier, but that would for sure stop them from healing.”

Jack grimaces as he looks over to the axes on the counter.

Niki takes a swig from her own water bottle, and looks to Jack. She shrugs at him. “Jack, you don’t need to be involved if you can’t handle it.”

He sends a glare her way, crossing his arms. “Oh I can handle it, I just want to get Tommy back as soon as possible so he can start working his shifts again. That’s why I’m here.”

“What an interesting way to say you care about Tommy.”

“I don’t-”

“Mmhmm sure-”

“Niki-”

She waves her hand in the air at him.

“I’m particularly excited about setting stuff on fire.”

Everyone turns to Tubbo, who had gotten his hands on a box of matches and struck one, staring intently at the flame.

Jack grumbles. “It’s not gonna be stuff, it’s gonna be people.”

“Jack, grow a pair,” Niki says sharply. Everyone looks surprised, all turning to the short blonde. She looks at everyone. “What? Jack, seriously, if you can’t handle this, then go. Tommy’s life is in danger, and I actually care about that. So if the idea of getting your hands a little dirty to not only save him but countless others scares you, then go.”

Tubbo shakes the match in his hand to extinguish it before it burns his fingers. Everyone looks at Jack now, who is frozen at Niki’s harsh words. There’s a long stretch of tense silence as the two stare each other down.

“I..damn,” he looks down, cheeks going red. “I’m just slower to accepting this than all of you apparently, so to me it sounds like we are planning a murder more than a rescue mission.”

Sapnap gives Jack a firm pat on the back, the latter flinching slightly. “You good, I get it. This is a lot, I mean hell, look at how I’ve handled it,” he gestures around his apartment, referencing the mess. He turns back to Jack, “But we haven’t even gotten to the plan yet, so don’t go doubting us yet.”

Jack looks back up at him. “So, what is the plan?”

“Our priority should be finding Dream-”

“Wait, our priority should be Tommy.”

Sapnap looks over to Tubbo, who is frowning as he sets down the matches. “Tommy has been kidnapped, and I don’t want Wilbur to have him any longer. Who knows what he is doing to him?”

Sapnap’s eyebrows furrow. “Tommy is alive Tubbo, to me it looked like Wilbur saved him that night, or at least brought him back to health. People are still dying while Dream is roaming freely.”

Tubbo inhales. “I respectfully disagree. What if Wilbur is torturing Tommy? Drinking his blood or whatever fucked up shit vampires do? Just because Tommy called and was alive doesn’t mean he is okay. What if-”

“There’s a lot we don’t know about that situation, but we do know that Dream is dangerous on these streets,” Sapnap cuts him off flatly. Tubbo squares his shoulders.

“I think the fact that we don’t know that much about Tommy’s situation is the reason why he should be the priority,” Tubbo shoots back.

“Boys, please,” Niki interjects, setting her water bottle down on the counter. “Don’t forget, there are four of us here. We can do both at the same time.”

“But-”

Niki cuts Sapnap off smoothly. “We aren’t going to start an argument over this. Finding Tommy and bringing him back, and finding Dream are equally important. We need to work on this as a team, so let’s cool off.”

Both Sapnap and Tubbo look at Niki, then at each other. Tubbo shrugs. “Niki is right, sorry. I’m just..I’m just so worried about Tommy.”

Sapnap gives Tubbo a firm nod. “I get you man. I’m sorry for snapping at you, I’ve just been so obsessed with stopping Dream it’s just-” he gestures around his apartment, “it’s just consumed me.”

Niki lays a hand on each of their backs. “Glad that resolved quickly and efficiently. Now,” she steps back, hands moving to firmly sit on her hips, “I know where we should start with this plan.”

Everyone looks to her, and Sapnap raises his eyebrows. “You do?”

Niki nods. “Yes,” she walks over to the sink, and starts the faucet. “First things first, we can’t be working in a–no offense–messy environment.” Sapnap shrugs, expressing that there’s no offense taken.

Everyone stands still as she grabs the dish soap and a sponge, and begins to clean the stacked plates and bowls in the sink. She pauses as she starts on a plate, soap already sudsing up her hands. She turns slowly to the boys.

“What are you standing there for? Get cleaning you three.”

Everyone immediately moves, splitting off without saying anything to begin different tasks. Jack takes her side with a dry towel, drying the clean dishes off and stacking them neatly to the side. Tubbo and Sapnap busy themselves with tidying the living room, stuffing trash into bags and folding blankets to set on the couch.

Sapnap is fluffing a pillow when he looks over to Tubbo, who is shoving empty styrofoam ramen cups into a black trash bag.

“Hey man, I’m still sorry about before. This all sucks a lot, but I at least had more time to process the whole ‘vampires are real’ thing, and then you also gotta deal with the fact that Wilbur is probably a vampire and has your friend as hostage, and-”

“Sapnap, I’m fine,” Tubbo cuts off the rambling man, giving him a reassuring smile. He’s not really the type to hold grudges, and this whole situation is high stress for everybody.

Sapnap’s shoulder’s relax, giving Tubbo another nod before he turns to set the pillow down onto the couch.

Tubbo looks back down to a pile of empty plastic water bottles. They crinkle and crunch as he grabs them, shoving them into the bag.

Tubbo lied. He’s anything but fine. He’s not upset with Sapnap, and he’s believing all of this, sure, it’s not hard to believe.

But it is hard to accept.

Tubbo is trying hard to maintain a calm, determined facade. He’s not sure if he’s doing that to reassure the others, or to reassure himself. He’s not even sure if anyone is buying it. He keeps telling himself that this is fine, that it’s all okay, but it’s not.

Nothing about this is okay.

Tubbo grits his teeth. He’s taken in too much information too quickly, and now he has to deal with it. He wants to let the pieces fall into place, but there’s just too many that it’s overwhelming.

The video, Tommy’s screams, Sapnap’s story, the phone call, Tommy’s desperate voice, Wilbur, all the information Tommy ever told Tubbo about him, vampires- it’s all so much and it just continues to pile and pile.

He grips the bag as he drags it to the other side of the room, closer to the curtained windows.

Closer to the board.

Tubbo looks up to it again, biting the inside of his cheek. Maybe that’s why people make boards like this. Too much information to keep track of in the mind, so maybe it’s easier to have a visual representation. Tubbo stares at the lines of red yarn, the abstract piece they create as they weave between newspaper clippings and photographs.

This board is a mess.

Tubbo smiles slightly.

I guess it would be a good reflection of his mind.

Sapnap glances back over to Tubbo, who is still paused and staring at the board.

“You know, we should add all the new stuff up there about Wilbur and Tommy.”

Tubbo doesn’t take his eyes off of it, just nods. “Yeah..yeah I think that would help.”

Sapnap gives Tubbo a small smile behind his back, and turns back to stacking more dirty dishes to carry to Niki.

Tubbo stares at it for a moment longer before returning to his trash duty.

Niki is right. If he wants to clear the mess in his head, he must first clear the mess they will sit in.

He silently hopes to himself that dirty dishes and trash is about as messy as this situation will get. He hopes that the axes, stakes, matches, and all of that is just precaution, not a necessary evil.
Tubbo hopes that he won’t have to get his hands dirty, that there will be a clear way to avoid all of the mess and to get Tommy home safe without getting blood on his hands.

Unlike Tommy, Tubbo isn’t used to jinxing things.

Chapter Text

I'm sure many of you have figured by now that this fic will unfortunately not be completed. Due to an obvious unfortunate series of events, Jinxed It is officially a discontinued fic.

Those unfortunate events including but not limited to:
- Technoblade's passing (never dies)
- Wilbur fucking Soot
- the DreamSMP community is dead
- and a lot of yikes.

I no longer wish to write any fanfiction that includes Wilbur Soot as a character. I no longer wish to associate with that man and many other previous Dream SMP members. Now the other three of the SBI are treasures and I will forever hold them dear to my heart. There may be a time I return to the SBI fanfiction game. For now, this is a goodbye.

If you'd like me to post bullet points of what was going to happen so you know the original idea and ending (while it was still a WIP, there was an idea), please comment below. I still love and appreciate all the comments I receive on this fic, even after all this time. I may not be out of the fanfiction game forever, so if you like other fandoms and my writing style, stick around.

Thank you for all the support.

<3