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Chapter Text

Waking up has got to be the worst thing ever invented in the history of ever. At least, according to Theseus ‘Tommy’ Inet, professional problem child and certified biggest man of all time. 

He groans as he peels himself of what he can now see is a very dirty carpet, hissing at the overwhelmingly loud blaring of his alarm clock. Judging by his position as a heap of limbs on the floor and the sheer amount of drool covering the questions he was meant to finish for the maths class he is undoubtedly failing, he probably passed out last night while agitating Boob-boy for the answers. His friends had been single-handedly carrying him through most classes since highschool began and he couldn't thank them enough, though he would never dare admit that to their faces. His eyes are still blurry, which is most definitely a good thing, no doubt, it’s harder to see the mess that has become of his room in the past few weeks. He’s still rubbing the sleep away when he finally sees the impending doom of time- 

“Shit.” Tommy is by no means prepared for it being 8:17 already. Fuck. How was he going to even begin to explain this to his mother- she was mad enough about the whole ‘getting detention for repeatedly calling someone a furry’ (though if you asked him, Fundy was the one that fucking started it), how would she react if he told her that he was late again? She had been making herself pretty scarce recently, either by hiding away in her office or scaring him away from the living room; but he imagined that could all change if he pissed her off to just the right extent. His existence pissed her off.

Even though that seemed a little unfair. He didn't ask for his parents to fuck each other and get a child neither of them actually wanted- or maybe they did want him at first, and he was just so fucking annoying that they were unable to love him anyway. Both seemed credible.

“Oh fuck. Fuck.” he curses to no one in particular, frantically yanking clothes off the floor to try and find the least filthy items. Keeping himself looking at the very least presentable had been a hard fucking challenge these days; everything seemed to smell like cigarettes, and the only things that didn’t were either so old they barely fit or torn up from some meaningless fight. Tommy had a knack for ruining everything, including his own clothes. Even though he tries to get dressed as fast as humanly possible, throwing on a seemingly random amount of layers despite the summer hear when he checks the clock again- 8:29. He is totally, completely fucked. More fucked than he had ever been before, including that time when he was caught trying to eat Tubbo's homework during a fight he had been having with his best friend. 

He sprints downstairs, ignoring the mess of empty beer cans and unidentified mould, plucking his backpack off the floor where he had kicked it in frustration yesterday. The bag was on it's last legs- probably from the constant use of it as a football- but he didn't have the balls to admit to his parents that he needed more money to buy a new one.  Within seconds, he sprinted out of the door, pausing only to slam it shut as hard as he possibly could, before taking off down the road like he was being chased by a particularly pissed off bear. Or one of those demon cats that hung out by Pogtopia square. Or that senior he accidentally made enemies with, older sibling of the furry. Or the- the list went on an on. Being a prick had gained him quite a few enemies. Another mark for lateness was the last thing he needed right now.

He crashes into his first period class just half a minute before it actually started, a red-faced mess that looked more like a blob of sweat than an actual person. The teacher barely even looks over while he collapses into his seat in the second to last row; between Tubbo and what could have been Ranboo's seat of they bothered at actually show up today (Tommy still couldn't believe that someone as goody-two-shoes as Ranboo was skipping).

“You look like shit.” 

Tommy could barely restrain himself from smashing the other boy’s head through the wall. His best friend in the whole wide world- scratch that, the whole wide universe, Tubbo Underscore, had sadly not caught onto the idea of subtlety. However, he had mastered the 'oh im sweet and innocent and totally not a fucking arse' expression, when he gazed angelically at Tommy knowing full well he was the devil incarnate.

Although, Tubbo could never really be a devil. That was Tommy's job- Tubbo was the guy he never really deserved, could never repay for his thousands of ounces of kindness. Tubbo was the best friend anyone could ask for, even if he was a little bitch.

”Oh fuck you.” Tommy snarls at the other boy, teeth bared like a dog. He’d ran the whole way to school; a certainly high feat for a school as far away as Essempi High. The school was buried between two hills, one that lead to Greater Essempi and the other toward the general Manburg area- two areas that had been built in conflict, the kind that left ugly scars all over the barely recovering land. History lessons were full of battles and gore, and Mr. Skeppy getting a little to excited about re-enacting certain scenes.

“What?” Tubbo blinks up at him mischievously. “It’s the truth!”

In all fairness to the other boy, Tommy understood that he often looks like utter dogshit. He had barely just stopped panting from his run, covered in sweat with bags as dark as bruises under each eye. His appearance was as disheveled as always, no better than half of the kids at his school. He understood he looked like shit, but that would never stop him from arguing against Tubbo’s honesty- he would use any argument possible, including the 'its teenage dirtbag vibes Tubs, i expected you to know that'.

”Just because your brother can drive doesn’t-“ Tommy starts, ever-so-sneakily-as-to-not-disturb-the-teacher moving his chair to be closer to the other. The flimsy plastic screeches against the ground. Prime, curse the fact that nothing could be subtle when the school had made it their mission to buy the loudest furniture ever.

“I wouldn’t describe what Schlatt does as driving-“ Tubbo shuddered at the thought of his slightly deranged older brother behind the wheel. Tubbo's brother was often subject of many confused conversations, he was a specimen that could only be related to the most primitive of creatures- for one, no one knew his real name, for two, he seemed to have no sense of shame, for three; essentially anything you could possibly think was something that could be worked into the mysterious 'Schlatt's' personality. “It’s more like desperately attempting to get in a car accident.”

”At least he gives you a ride.” At this point, Tommy has already forgotten all his rage for the rude (but true) comments earlier. Grudges against Tubbo were never really his thing- unless it came to the boy blue-shelling him in mario kart, a time when he had been mad at the other for almost an entire hour. Look, it wasn't his fault that Tubbo was so clingy and needed his attention or he would cry, and it wasn't like he was completely dependant on his friend-

”He threatened to leave me in a box at the side of the road!” Tubbo exclaims. All of the ‘inside voice’ rules he learnt had gone flying out of the window, as they tended to do so when he got particularly excited, and the even the teacher stopped to look at him. Tommy couldn’t help but snicker at Tubbo’s lament, even though he'd heard the box argument so many times that he could probably rattle it off word-for-word without any mistake. Tubbo was a special kind of medicine for bad days- someone who could ease the aching in his chest, even if he was a tiny-teeny bit jealous of the fact that his brother cared about him in the weird and twisted way that Schlatt cared.

Tommy wishes that in some other universe, he might have had a brother too. A family like Tubbos, or Ranboobs, with a family who cared about him beyond the bare essentials of maintaining a child's life. 

”I’m surprised he gave you a box.” Tommy barely restrains a scream of laughter at the betrayed look on Tubbo’s face. Tommy had suggested that he join a drama club once; though obviously, this was before he had learnt of what actually occurred in that infamous group.

”Wow. Just wow. My own best friend who I trust so much doesn’t think I’m WORTHY of a box!” Tubbo gasps dramatically, before beginning to choke on the severe amount of air he’d just inhaled. Tommy uses the predicament as an excuse to do the thing every good best friend would do- hit him on the back with some extreme force that is more about being a bitch than preventing death.

”Bitch I don’t even think you’re-“ Tommy hadn’t finished what absolutely would have been a scathingly good comeback, one that Tubbo without a doubt would have immediately tried to beat, when he was rudely interrupted by a shrill voice. They'd completely forgotten that the dragon woman that called herself a fucking teacher was still in the room.

”Tommy and Tubbo, do you have something you’d like to share with the class?” 

There seemed to be only three things their physics teacher genuinely enjoyed, and all three were getting Tommy into deep shit. Tommy couldn't even remember what he had done to make her hate him, but he was sure it must have been something ridiculous, like his inability to complete homework or his tendency to run his mouth. Both boys’ heads snapped up to look at her smug face, and while Tommy liked to believe he was a world-class peddler of words, he wasn’t sure he would be able to bullshit himself out of this one.

”No?” Tubbo says nervously. Probably a good thing, Tommy wasn’t exactly known for his great etiquette- there were only about three teachers he could speak to without immediately ending up in detention, only about two students he could chat to without being beaten up.

"Have you got something to say, Theseus?"

”Tommy. Please call me Tommy.” Something in his stomach always turned at the name ‘Theseus’, a jolt of fear from a name only ever used in anger.

"Quiet."

"It's nothing, Miss-" Tubbo interrupts.

”Are you completely sure? You two seem to have a great amount to chat about- is my teaching interrupting your conversation?” She peers down at them like a vulture stalking it’s prey, her wrinkled flesh twisted into a faint smirk. Tubbo bit his lip, staring down at the table so he wouldn't burst out laughing when he caught sight of Tommy's expression. 

”It is a bit, actually.” Tommy mumbles, not quite quiet enough for her not to hear. He wasn't sure what came over him in the moment, but the huge explosion of Tubbo's laughter definitely was not helping. Their chemistry teacher- Miss Peterson, that was her name- suddenly went scarlet, slamming her hand down on the desk in front of her. Tommy imagined that if this was a cartoon, she’d have smoke pouring out of her ears already. And probably tusks. And horns. Maybe a mint for her god-awful breath.

”Get out! Go to the principal, I’ve had enough of your constant need to irritate everyone!” She screams, unaware of how Tommy flinched at the volume. Tubbo is still giggling as she marches over to his desk, gripping Tommy's arm as she dragged him to the door. His classmates barely even look to see the most recent mess that Tommy had got himself into; the boy was a troublemaker, scoundrel, and they were no longer interested in his desperation for attention.

Tommy winced as her fingers dug into an old wound. Even though a visit to Miss Puffy's never actually turned out that badly when the principal had such a clear soft spot for him, he could only guess that his day would get worse from here.

The corridors were silent as Tommy slowly dragged himself to the principal’s office, pausing a few times to groan and bang his head against the rows of lockers. Ranboo would call him a drama queen if he was here right now- and he’d be totally right, as usual. Prick. He’d barely even knocked at the Principal’s door before she opened it, sighing at the sight of him.

”Tommy.” Puffy sighs and pretends to look cross, but he could always see right through her. He was one of her favourites- or so he claimed- growing on her like a particularly annoying rash, or like the kind of mould that had been stubbornly growing in his bathroom for years. “I thought we promised you’d be on your best behaviour?”

Tommy promises a lot of things. He promises he would be a good kid, he promises he wouldn’t fight anyone, he promises he’d eat and sleep and take care of himself. He can't help it sometimes, everyone worries, and he knows that they won't feel any better until he made some outlandish promise that he would never be able to fulfil. Tommy promised a lot of things but he rarely delivered them, so frequently ruining people’s expectations that it was a wonder they bothered at all. 

“I didn’t do anything this time. You know how that bitch-“ Tommy’s voice was muffled from where he’d slumped in the chair opposite Miss Puffy, legs curled up to his chest. Maybe a while ago she would have given him a warning look to get his feet off her chairs, but those days were well behind them both. The chair was pretty much his now, he'd spent so much time in her office.

”Tommy-“ She starts, a warning tone that Tommy wouldn’t dare to cross in fear that he’d burst into tears if he made his favourite adult mad at him. Puffy's approval meant everything to his as if he was just a clingy fucking child, desperate for someone to care for him. “Her name is Miss Peterson.”

“You know what she’s like Miss Puffy. She hates me.”

”From recollection you haven’t always done much to help that, Tommy.” Puffy says quietly, and her eyes were so kind and gentle Tommy almost couldn’t bare the crawling sense of longing in his bones. Puffy was nice to him in a way that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything like it- she spoke to him with words so soft they would wrap around his mind as if it was fragile glass. 

Tommy opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He didn’t dare tell her about the fingerprint bruises that he was sure were going to form on his arms, fearing more than anything that she wouldn’t believe him and he’d lose the only adult he could really trust. 

”I did actually have something I wanted to talk to you about, Tommy.” Miss Puffy says and Tommy’s heart jumped in a way he didn’t know if he could describe. Had someone finally noticed the scars, the bruises, he terrible things that happened behind the white walls of his house? “It’s about your grades.”

”…oh.” Is all he can muster up to say. Stupid, Stupid fucking Tommy, and his need to get himself worked up over things that no one would care about. Of course it was his grades, he was a Failure with a capital F, destined to flunk anything and everything. Of course it was his grades again, he'd failed everything as usual and he was finally receiving some consequences for his chronic underachieving.

” Tommy. I’m not upset with you. I think I’ve found something that could really help.” Her eyes bore into his skull, the gentle from before suddenly overwhelmingly patronising, as if the kindness was a mocking lie for the foolish believer. “A few weeks ago, as part of our new school counsellor’s attempt to get our seniors to take more leadership roles, a few students set up a kind of ‘buddy system’ to tutor younger students of the school.”

Tommy wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. The seniors, famous for blowing up a science lab after a rivalry amongst two classes got out of hand, we’re going to lend their time to helping people. Ridiculous. He'd been beaten up by at least half of them, had arguments, and generally been a nuisance for so many years that he was surprised anyone would still want to help him.

“I think it would help you. I know you don’t have the best track record with teachers- maybe you’ll work better with students more like you?” Puffy smiles at him, making him feel more like a dumb loser than ever. He didn’t need her pity, he was Tommy Inet, strongest man ever, someone who never needed anyone or anything because he was- he was- 

“Please Tommy. Just for one week, then you can decide whether you want to continue!” She sighs, and against all better judgement, Tommy couldn’t help but feel bad about how much trouble he’d put her through. 

“Fine.” He grumbles. She wasn’t going to let this go, clearly. He would just have to pray that the seniors didn’t try kicking the teeth into his head in their usual terrifying manor.

”Okay!” Miss Puffy beams at him. “I’ll assign you a group- they’ll be the ones specifically helping you in each subject, you go to them if you have any problems- you can meet them tomorrow if you want!”

Tommy couldn’t think of one thing he would want less in the entire world than that.

Chapter Text

The drama club, by all means, was never supposed to exist. Like many things in the school it was the product of one Wilbur Soot-Minecraf's first year, after he had bothered Miss Puffy so intensely that she had allowed it creation just because it got him to leave her office. Of course, there were terms to this agreement; every play had to be approved by the school, they had to promise that the disputes between members would be solved 'without fights breaking out, Wilbur, and no name calling'. The club was formed as an compromise, and would live like one too.

At the beginning, it was just Wilbur, his brother, Eret the traitor and her younger brother Fundy. A club that lived in harmony, free from pissbaby green men and Americans (though Techno was on thin fucking ice). So harmonious, in fact, that Wilbur hadn't even protested when new people started arriving to the club's weekly practices, which had been cemented to Thursday evening in the auditorium too avoid as little conflict with other clubs as possible. New people joined the club, Niki, one of Wilbur's only friends, George, who they assumed had just gotten lost and decided to go with it, as well as a whole lieu of Americans who really shouldn't be there but could be accepted. The perfect club.

The tragedy that befell Macbeth had ruined this in one swift performance. A single play, one that would split half the club apart and that was totally, completely and utterly Wilbur's fault because if he hadn't- if he hadn't been himself, obsessed with the club and everything inside it. Maybe then Eret wouldn't be avoiding them like the plague, Dream wouldn't get to be co-president, Techno would still help him in the club and he wouldn't end up almost losing everything. He seemed to ruin everything he touched.

Though, that was an entirely different tale. One that would never be as important as the present, the now.

“Can you fucking believe this?” Wilbur bursts into the auditorium where the drama club were supposed to be rehearsing (key word being ‘supposed’. The drama club didn’t have the greatest track record for productivity.) He was wildly swinging his arms about in outrage, at one point ‘accidentally’ backhanding an oblivious Dream. On and off stage, Wilbur had a tendency of being the most needlessly dramatic person to grace Essempi high. 

The auditorium went silent, all previous chatter dying out in apprehension of what would only be assumed to be an awful meeting of arguments and Wilbur acting as if the world was ending over some mild inconvenience. They, as a group, had grown used to the average routine of their club- Quackity, Karl and Spanap would keep trying to sneak away to make out behind the bike sheds, Fundy would start fights and then run behind his ‘father’ (long story, involving a badly-done performance of ‘Annie’ and Wilbur getting too involved in his role), before Dream would attempt another coup to regain control of the club. Miss Puffy's original demands for their 'ceasefire' flew out of the window as soon as her back was turned, more often than most.

”Bad meeting with Miss Puffy?” Karl asks. He was the most sympathetic to Wilbur’s dramatic outbursts- more so than his boyfriends, who had not recovered from laughing at Dream.

Karl was regularly the least brash of the group; maybe a combination of insecurity of his role in his friend's life, or just genuinely being a nice person. At least he still turned up, even if he did get horrible stage fright as soon as the spotlights shone on him. Some of his most highlighted roles included: 'rock', 'grass' and the rather unfortunate time he had ruined a primary school production of the Nativity by sobbing loudly through Jesus's birth. 

”Terrible. Awful. The whole- everything is ruined!” Wilbur yells, climbing up onto the stage where everyone had gathered. The group, though desperate to prove otherwise, had some means of respect towards him- or rather towards his surprising ability to capture their full attention with his newest monologue on the trauma of living life as a theatre kid. “How are we meant to rehearse now?”

”Don’t be so hard on yourself big guy. It’s not like we can call whatever the fuck you losers do as rehearsing anyway. You’re not good at it.” Schlatt says nonchalantly, from his front seat in the audience where he would always watch the drama meetings from. The others shared uneasy looks- it was no secret how Schlatt and Wilbur had an intense rivalry, as captain of the football team and president of the drama club, butting heads over practice times and overlapping performances on a bi-weekly frequency.

Though to be completely honest, it seemed like the rivalry was nothing but Schlatt being his big dumb self and Wilbur being eternally offended by it. And probably the whole 'Macbeth Schlatt' thing rearing an ugly head again. There was only ever one occasion when a physical fight broke out- and even though Wilbur had thrown all 6'3 of wiry muscle and bone at the quarterback, he had lost so dramatically the principal could not bring herself to punish him further.

”What are you even doing here, Schlatt, you’re not even on-” Wilbur hisses, looking more and more like a cat ready to pounce on his prey. Within seconds they could easily have another suspension for fighting- something absolutely no one needed right now. Senior year spent confined to their houses was something the really needed to avoid. Wilbur was already on his 4th suspension- seemingly immune to the 'one more suspension and you're expelled, Soot.' rule.

”SO!” Fundy interrupts, a little too loudly as he caused a few members to jump out of their own skin. Quackity glares at him scathingly, but he ignores it easily; they all knew that Quackity had just forgotten another script and was hoping just to keep everyone distracted for long enough that Wilbur wouldn’t find out. “What is this awful, terrible, week-ruining news?”

Fundy, by all means was a valued ad respected member of the club. However, his unfortunate skill of getting himself connected to cringe situations often landed him at the butt of the joke: he was smart as a whip, sly as a fox, but had around as many social skills as your average dead fish. Most days you would be lucky to find him anywhere in the school, if not in the computer room or following his elder sister Eret around like a shadow, there was every possibility that the flash of ginger you saw in the corner of your eye was him up to his most recent nefarious plans. 

”We’ve been assigned some kid to tutor. As punishment for the whole…November.” Wilbur breaks the staring match he had going with the other man, turning once again to face the whole group with a swivel of the (very greasy) trench coat that had been created for a show of 'Heathers' that was never properly performed due to 'general dislike'.

There's an audible groan from the other members of the club. November had been- complicated, to say the least,  enough for the drama club to be given several thousand detentions and a new counsellor to be sent to the school. Not a good look for a team already struggling with their reputation. 

”Look- man that was all your fault, why are we stuck with this?” Sapnap makes a series of strange gestures. He wasn’t even sure why he was in the drama club still, he’d just joined to impress Karl and Wilbur wouldn’t let him leave. He totally didn't enjoy drama. Not even a little bit. Totally. ”You were the one who started a fire with your English textbook and pretended to be a ghost for a month!” 

Sapnap was no actor. He had been blessed with the purest ability to act as woodenly as a wardrobe, absolutely no emotion in his voice when it came to reciting lines. The only real reason he kept showing up was because it avoided being part in another family argument. 

“That’s was for BANQUO- and- well- DREAM was the one who tried to create his own group because he was mad we didn’t get to do Hamilton!” Wilbur splutters. He considered Banquo one of his best characters, that could have been marginally improved if Phil hadn't banned him from properly getting into character and wearing his costume constantly- he had to create his own ghost, which was incredibly time consuming.

Maybe that was the great flaw of the drama club. None of the members were really sure how to prevent themselves from escalating situations more- once described by his own brother as 'the worlds biggest instigator', Wilbur was by no means better than the majority of his club, especially when it meant he wouldn't have to admit to mistakes. His hamartia, some may say. His 'biggest dick in the whole world' ability, others would quote.

”Oh. Oh fuck you, Quackity tried to set up a fuckin…underground casino when we told him we wouldn’t do cabaret!” A true event, one that was quite remarkable if you looked at it from a slightly different angle. Quackity, a mere high school senior had built his own empire on a simple whim, one that may or may not still exist to this day. Incredible, however this was getting out of hand quickly. So much for ‘we’re turning a new leaf Miss Puffy, we’re not going to fight anymore.’

Still, Quackity's ambition and dedication had to be given credit. A fully working underground casino, built like it was nothing, with only a slight bit of manipulation. Said manipulation did lead to the vice-captain of the football team, Punz, swearing them his enemies because of a minor scuffle involving his younger brother's chemistry club and Quackity's need for space for his casino's expansion.

“So who are we even tutoring?” Fundy asks as he climbs out of the fortress of bags that Quackity had been assembling for the past twenty minutes, a simple ritual he would occasionally do when the events of the club were getting too boring. There was a small possibility he had forgotten Fundy was there when he started throwing bags on top of him. He grabs the paper from Wilbur’s hands, wrinkling his nose as some quite questionable notes drawn on the margins.

”Some kid called ‘Theseus’.” Sapnap has to jump up to peer over his shoulder. “Weird name. Techno would looooove it.”

Snatching the note back, Wilbur truly looks at the instructions for the first time. Miss Puffy had written suggestions already- Techno to tutor English, Dream to tutor Chemistry, Fundy for Biology, the list goes on. At the top, scrawled in what he presumed was a child’s handwriting, was the name ‘TOMMY’ in all caps. The kid must be passionate of his name- which would be dangerous if it would cause an argument with the Greek-mythology-obsessed Techno.

Techno didn't join the club. He said it was a saturated pool of losers and he was just trying to avoid contamination.

Names are important, at least to Wilbur. Something poetic about being labelled something of your own choice- in his instance, the removal of the heavy name of Orestes, the Greek tragic, for something more fitting. Maybe Tommy was one and the same. 

”Hey! That’s the asshole who kept calling me names last week!” Fundy shouts indignantly, jabbing a finger to the name at the top. 

”That asshole?” Schlatt cackles loudly- Schlatt does most things loudly, an eternal headache of a man. “He’s my little brother- don't look fuckin' shocked I showed you Tubbo like five times-’s weird best friend. The guy’s got all kinds of issues.”

”You’ve got all kinds of issues Schlatt. And you can't just 'show' us Tubbo, he's a real life boy and we've told you this before.” Karl sighs. Times like these are really reminiscent of all the times he was told to stay away from the weird kids fighting on the lunch tables. “Does anyone here actually know how to tutor anything?”

Silence casts over the stage. The most they’d ever tutored was training Sapnap and Dream’s cat, Patches, to walk from one side of the stage to the other, and even that ended pretty disastrously. The demand for them to become tutors suddenly became even more absurd- why in gods name would Miss Puffy want a bunch of losers barely scraping by to have control of a whole child?

”Fuck this.” Fundy sighs. “We should at least decide what we’re teaching the child.”

”Well, me and Minx-” Schlatt starts. Minx of course, being his friend, famous for her wildly out of hand parties and bad decisions. Most of Schlatts friends were banned from most of society and should definitely, definitely not be in charge of teaching anyone anything.

”You and Minx are not going anywhere near that child.” Wilbur, bulldozing all over Schlatt’s plans, as usual. “And you can’t bring Ted Nivison either, he’s banned. Jack Manifold shouldn't even be considered.”

”For what? Teddy is a GREAT-”

”Didnt he dare a bunch of kids to snort cheeto dust and gave them all nosebleeds?” Dream interjected. “Also, TECHNICALLY, you’re not in the drama club Schlatt.”

There was never much to say about Dream. They didn't know that much about him, other than that he went through some shit when he was younger- he'd been kicked around the foster system, actually meeting Sapnap at one of the homes he'd been dumped at- and was a huge asshole about it for years, that his last name was Taken and that it definitely wasn't Dutch no matter how many times he claimed it was. Also that he really fucking loved George. 

Schlatt had been banned from the Drama club for a while. He was originally cast for the role of The President in Hamilton- but he allowed power to get to his head and kept trying to ‘exile’ people by pushing them off the stage. Other people who were banned were Eret, who was accused of treason for joining the Art club instead, and Niki, who quit because she got a job at the bakery in town.

”For what? Pushing one kid by accident? At least I showed up!” Schlatt yells. 

“You’re not invited Schlatt.” Sapnap says simply. “Oh and I call dibs on tutoring Maths.”

”You don’t have to call dibs on tutoring maths! No one in their right mind wants to do maths!” A voice shouts from the side of the stage, making Sapnap nearly pass out in surprise.

George Not-Found, their stage manager was often forgotten about behind the scene- he was most memorable for falling asleep while in the lighting box and being forgotten about until the next day. George had at one point been an actor- he'd quit not long after being diagnosed with narcolepsy and a whole range of chronic illnesses, spending months withdrawing from his life.

Even though they'd dragged him back a few months later, it was never the same George.

“Yeah well I do, dipshit, you want to fight me about it?” Sapnap snarls, ignoring the small pleas of ‘oh god please don’t’ and ‘i swear to prime if we get another detention-’.

“Do it then.” George emerges from the curtains. “Pussy.”

The club erupted from there- Quackity starts chanting for them to start the fight while Karl struggles to hold them back, with Wilbur desperately still trying to get someone to decide who they would be teaching. Suddenly, the door to the auditorium swung open and the room went as quiet as night.

”Miss Puffy sent me here- are you the guys tutoring me?”

Chapter Text

Tommy is beginning to feel like a spectacle at the circus with all these eyes on him. All at once he’s like a deer in a lion’s den, with said lions prowling around him and growing closer by the second. Lions, that look as frightened as he does and dress like middle age dads and punk teenagers somehow at the same time. One of them, tall and dressed in a jumper so yellow it almost burns Tommy’s eyes, clears his throat loudly.

”uhh-” Tall-guy begins, eyes frantically searching around the room for some kind of backup. “Tommy, right?”

Tommy finds that suddenly his mouth has gone very very dry, tongue similar to a vast desert. He’s not used to this- he’s always known what to say, yet in this room, with those who could so easily rip him to shreds- he’s not so sure anymore.

”Yeah.” He mumbles. One of them takes a step towards him and it takes everything in his power to restrain himself from flinching when a hand is offered towards him. 

“I’m Dream.” The guy says, and Tommy has to restrain himself from bursting out laughing at the name. The guy- Dream, stares at him with solid green eyes and smiles a friendly smile, but Tommy can’t help but feel uneasy. “Sorry about these assholes. They have no clue what they’re doing.”

Dream might possibly be an actual angel. At least, an angel in the sense he's saved Tommy from more awkward silence, not the white wings and halo kind. Dream's slightly stained hoodie and scuffed nike's are anything but divine. Tommy's also fairly sure he's seen this guy eat a sandwich from off the floor.

Yellow-guy splutters at this, while other members of the room make their own little indignant noises. Dream wraps an arm around his shoulders and twists him to face everyone- he freezes at the sudden contact, there’s hands and hands can’t be gentle, can’t be kind- it seems like the whole club has forgotten about the heated debate that Tommy walked in on.

”This is Quackity.” Dream says, pointing to a guy Tommy only recognises from an assembly they were forced to endure about ‘why gambling on school grounds is banned.’ Quackity- he remembers Quackity, always wears a beanie, dresses like Adam Sandler, reason fencing club was banned, takes out glass eye to scare people- grins at him. “He’s called dibs on teaching you,,,,,Spanish.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at that. Last time he checked, he took French. 

”This is Sapnap, he’s the one fighting George.” Dream continues. His arm hadn’t left Tommy’s shoulder; the contact was beginning to burn, as if Tommy’s bones were falling apart under his hands. “Sapnap is tutoring maths. George is helping him.”

”No I’m not.” Goggles- George says bluntly. Dream stares at him, putting on his very best pleading eyes. “Really. I’m not.”

Oh. Tommy had forgotten about George Not-Found and his pretty face- which was strange, because everyone and their nan knew who George was: the town beauty so to say, attached at the hip to whatever person was the newest object of his attraction. Used to have a new one every week. Then something must have happened, because he suddenly stopped turning up to his job and charming the middle age women into giving him extra tips. Then he returned, and couldn't be prised away from his boyfriend's arm. Weird guy.

“What Gogy means, Tommy, is that he’ll think about it.” Dream whispers to him, squeezing his arm in a way that would have been much more comforting if he didn’t already fear Dream was going to tear off all of his limbs the second he did something wrong. He flinches, of course he flinches, making Dream recoil his arm back. He misses the contact like a drug.

”Anyway- this is Karl, he’s tutoring physics,” Dream points the purple-guy, who offers them both a small wave. “Techno- he’s not here, he’s sort of a scary guy, lot of pink hair- he’ll tutor English. And this is Fundy-“

”We’ve met.” Fundy growls, with arms folded over his chest. Tommy can still hear the echoes of their arguments in his ears- though in his defense, guy had ears and a tail, was he expecting to not be called a furry?

Fundy was in his grade, and by some inconceivable turn of events had ended up in the drama club. The guy was probably smarter than Tommy, Tubbo and the fleet of pigeons that followed them home combined, and he wasted all that talent in being mean to kids on roblox through hacking server codes. 

“Excellent.” Dream plows through the subtle call for a fight. “Fundy will help you with biology. Because Miss Puffy told him-”

”Doesn’t matter what Miss Puffy said!” Purple- Karl. Karl says hurriedly. “We’re here to help Tommy.”

Tommy cant bear to look any of them in the eyes. He knows they’ll only see him, stupid, failure Tommy, and he feels like he’s going to be sick on the floor before he lets that happen. He’s starting to hope that a black hole would open up and swallow him in front of all their sympathetic eyes and kind words, treating him as if he’s someone to treat with tact like sharp words would shred his skin.

”You okay?” Karl is suddenly right in front of him, acting like a human wall between him and the group. Tommy nods, and they leave it at that.

”Oh and this is Wilbur.” Dream makes a rude gesture in yellow-guy’s vague direction. “He’ll help you with History. Now that’s over- I mean- since everyone is here, we may as well get started.”

Tommy couldn’t shake the way Wilbur’s eyes lingered on the back of his head. He found himself being lead to a table at the back of the stage (the lights were hot, burning his flesh, gazing at him while the forgiven bodies swarmed all around. He was trapped, between this group of way too loud seniors, with nothing he could possibly do about it.) with the others around him, chattering and seeming way more invested in his homework than he was.

———————————

“So, Tommy.” Quackity leans over the table, interrupting Wilbur in the middle of an over-the-top description on the Treaty of Versailles’s importance or some shit. “You got any hobbies?”

”He’s not joining your casino.” Dream states before Tommy could even open his mouth. 

The tutoring arrangement was not like how Tommy had expected it would be. In his mind, he would have already been beaten beyond belief or been humiliated by some assholes who knew for a fact he was a fucking loser- but these guys seemed pretty chill. Nice, even, trying their best to include him in their own work as well as helping him with his. Tommy was going to take this as a win, provided he didn’t end up in an on-fire dumpster by the end of the night.

”Uhhh- I like gaming.” Tommy mumbles. Gaming seemed like a relatively normal thing to be interested in- he knew for a fact that if he said something along the lines of ‘i like staring at my walls in the dark and wishing i didn’t exist’ he would be in the counsellors office before he knew it with all of his new found senior friends labelling him Seriously Fucked Up.

”That’s so cool!” Quackity’s face lit up, in an almost convincing way that made Tommy wonder if he was being genuine after all. “You should play with us sometime- are you any good at minecraft?”

Tommy nods jerkily. His neck was starting to hurt from all the nodding and head-shaking, as he feared his tongue may have rotted in his mouth with all the misuse.

”Nice. Schlatt was here earlier- he said you were friends with his little brother. Do you usually play with him?” Dream asks. There was something about his tone that made Tommy want to trust him with all his mind and soul- a kindness, similar to a brother.

”Yeah.” Tommy says, cursing how scratchy his voice sounded. “Tubbo’s my best friend… is uhhh- is Schlatt in the drama club?”

Dream shrieks with laughter, and Sapnap cackles from the other side of the table. Even Wilbur, who had done nothing but look seriously upset at the interruption of his tutoring, was smiling slightly.

”No. We had to ban him, and even then, drama isn’t really his thing unless he gets to play a king or a president or something.” Wilbur laughs, and even though he does not seem to mean anything unkindly, Tommy can’t help that feeling of ‘oh shit’ that bubbles up in his chest. “He’s just always hanging out here because his only other friends are in different classes.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Tommy says, ever-so-eloquent as always.

”What are you sorry for?” Wilbur asks, and the question makes the air thick enough the slice with a knife. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The words brand themselves in Tommy’s mind before he can even think. It’s at that moment, when he knows he’s about the fall into a pit of thoughts, that the guardian angel that is Quackity saves him.

”Do you have any siblings Tommy?” He asks carefully, and it’s not long until Wilbur launches into a rant about Techno’s love for taking long showers and hogging the bathroom, completely forgetting his lecture from before.

”So much for Wilbur teaching you.” Karl says. “Do you want to start physics? If you’re going to wait for Wilbur to stop complaining about Techno you’ll be waiting all night.”

Against his better will, Tommy agrees. He’s known Wilbur Soot for all of two hours, and he already knows just how much drama the man contains. It’s a given for the president of the drama club. Something about willingly taking out his work feels surreal, chronic underachiever Tommy Inet actually trying just because some seniors were vaguely nice to him. Pathetic.

”So what are you struggling with?” Karl asks, his eyes already scanning the many mistakes on Tommy’s most recent physics assignment.

”All of it.” Tommy groans, allowing his head to hit the table with a loud thunk. In the words of his father; “I’m just not built for it I guess. I’m fuckin- i’m pretty dumb.”

”You’re not dumb.” Karl says firmly, and if Tommy was any less stubborn he would have believed him. 

“Whatever.” Tommy scuffs his shoes against the floor. Karl didn’t say anything after that- he opened the book to the page he wanted, as if he wouldn’t dare continue to argue with the younger boy.

“So how much do you know about nuclear fission?” Karl asks. For once not knowing something feels safe, in a twisted way that Tommy had never felt before.

———————————

“As much as I love watching you struggle with these Hooke’s Law questions, isn’t it time you went home child?” Wilbur teases, despite being fully aware that Tommy Inet was a Big Man, and totally not a child.

”It’s only-” Tommy glaces at the clock, wincing when he sees the time. “6:30.”

Fuck. He was going to be in deep shit as soon as he got home- or maybe he’d be lucky, and his parents wouldn’t even be there. Maybe the universe would be merciful and tonight wouldn’t end with him nursing bruises or disinfecting cuts- of maybe it-

“Tommy?” Dream snaps him out of his own head. “You still with us?”

Tommy nods, his silence nothing but a desperate attempt to stop the bile bubbling up in the back of his throat.

”Do you live on Manberg Road?” Wilbur asks, taking the rapid movements of Tommy’s eyes as a yes. “That’s good. I’ll walk you home, I live pretty close to there.”

In a few minutes, or seconds in Tommy’s quickly accelerating mind, he had been hugged goodbye by every one of his new senior friends- it was more positive contact than he’d ever received, it hurt and it harmed and at the same time he craved more and more- and he was stumbling down the road, running after Wilbur’s unnaturally large steps. For fucks sake, what were they feeding this guy, how did he get so tall? 

“You okay there little man?” Wilbur ruffles his hair, messing up the whole look he had going on. He hisses, like an angry cat, earning a loud cackle from the taller man.

”’m not a little man.” He mumbles, pushing Wilbur’s hands away. “I’m the Biggest Man of All Time!”

“Sure you are, cretin. What number is your house?” Wilbur asks. 

“It’s- It’s number 19.” Tommy says. It’s more embarrassing than he thought it would be- Wilbur, the kind guy who did nothing but help him would see the fucking mess he lives in an immediately assume he was disgusting.

The house appeared behind them. At first glance it was beautiful, red roof and white walls, but a simple second look would prove that wrong. The white was so tainted with age it was crumbling and the front lawn was nothing but rubbish. The glass was dirty, luckily, so the street viewer would never see the horror that lurked behind closed doors. Tommy turned to Wilbur, analysing every aspect of his face to see the impending disgust underneath.

”I’ll- I’ll see you tomorrow.” He mumbles, running into the house before Wilbur could even reply.

Chapter Text

Wilbur didn’t stop thinking about the look on Tommy’s face until long after he’d left his house. He had stood there, silently, outside of his new friend’s door as if he had expected it to burst open at any moment with Tommy as happy as before, anything but the scared child he’d seen just moments ago.

He was still mulling it over that night, silently stewing in his room in a way that would be described as ‘needlessly dramatic Wilbur, please leave the house more’ by his oh-so-adoring father who’d grown all too used to his antics by now. He wondered for a split second if Tommy’s father was anything like his own- was he kind, was the fear on Tommy’s face nothing but a trick of the light? Was Wilbur exaggerating everything as usual, making a mountain out of a molehill even though everything was probably fine? Was-

“Oh god. What’s wrong with your nerd crew this time?” Wilbur’s racing thoughts were interrupted by a presence at the door, Techno, his best friend and mortal enemy. Techno is another half of him, if he was half english-literature obsessed prick who’s only hobby was fencing ‘illegally’ (an even longer story, featuring Quackity’s left eye and Miss Puffy finally banning something).

”One, they’re not my nerd crew-” Wilbur glared at his brother.

”They are absolutely your nerd crew. They’re nerds, they’re your crew. Thus, nerd crew.” Techno monotoned as he threw himself down onto Wilbur’s bed, making himself comfortable before Wilbur even had the energy to get him to move. “But that doesn’t answer my question. What’s wrong with them this time?”

Wilbur huffed angrily, furrowing his eyebrows at the other male. “Why do you always assume that there’s something wrong with them? For all you know, we could have been having a perfectly normal day!”

“Because.” Techno said, as if it was already obvious to him and Wilbur was the one being ridiculous. “You nerds are always up to random shit. Like the whole ghost situation.”

”whEN WILL YOU ALL FORGET THAT?” Wilbur made a loud noise of frustration. Techno was cackling just at the memory; his twin brother, completely addicted to his own character, almost making their (elderly) father have a heart attack by announcing his death at the dinner table.

“When it stops being hilarious.” Techno wheezed, ignoring the pillow Wilbur attempted to throw at his face. “You’ve still not told me what’s wrong though, Alivebur.”

“Fuck you.” Wilbur had to take several deep breaths to prevent himself from throttling the other boy. The only thing keeping him from shoving Techno out of his room and back to his own was the fact that technically, technically, he still needed to talk to him about the whole ‘I signed you up to tutor a random kid’ thing.

“Well?” Techno said.

 “You know how Miss Puffy said that the drama club was going to have to pay some kind of penance for the whole stress of November last year?” Wilbur began, hoping to ease Techno into the conversation, more to save his poor spinal cord from being snapped than anything else. “Well, we’ve been signed up to tutor some kid.”

 “You fuckin idiots.” Techno said with a shit-eating grin, very unprepared for the bomb that Wilbur was going to drop onto him.       

“Techno. I don’t think you understand. WE’VE signed up to tutor some kid.” Wilbur edged towards the door, ready to make a run for it whenever his brother finally worked out what he was implying. 

 “Wilbur.” Techno growled, finally sitting up from his very laid back position. “If the next words out of your mouth are anything to do with me getting involved, I swear to Prime-”

“Technically? It’s not you getting involved.” Wilbur had one foot already out of the door, currently trying to make the situation as clear as possible to his dad, stood in the hallway simply watching everything unfold. 

“Wilbur.” Techno said. A warning, best to say it now while their dad was there and ready to stop Techno from whatever chaos would come next.

”You’re already signed up to tutor him English. BUT- surely you, a caring soul- well, maybe not so caring, you’d want to- look.” Wilbur stumbled over his words, unsure as to whether to laugh or be worried about the flabbergasted look on Techno’s face. “And that’s not what I was upset about so if you still want to-”

“Will, just stop talking.” Techno sighed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose sharply. “I’ll do it. But only if I get to pick what we watch on TV for a week.”

Wilbur nodded dumbly, too shocked at the mere thought of Techno agreeing to even consider arguing back. He would much rather take a few days of endless documentaries on Greek myths and the Art of War than allow Tommy to fail under the terrible English skills of his little group.

—————————————

Tommy, as a subject, was not brought up again until dinner. Their father, Phil Minecraf (a man described only as ‘very old’ by both of his sons) was actually the one to bring Wilbur’s previous worried thoughts back into the full volume, all with a simple question of;

 “So what about this tutoring job was worrying you mate?” Phil asked casually, as if the weight of his question wasn’t similar to the weight of the heavens that Atlas had held. He smiled at Wilbur- of course he did, he didn’t know how Wilbur had seen a sudden swap in a happy kid- using the all-too-familiar ‘counsellor voice’ the twins had often heard him practicing in front of the mirror. “Is the kid much trouble?”

 “He’s more of,,, just a gremlin than actual trouble. Like, he looks like he eats mud but he’s not actually that bad.” Wilbur chose his words as best as he could. Tommy actually being in the room be damned- he wouldn’t speak bad about a kid who looked at him with such gratitude.

 “And your mates are all tutoring him too?” Phil asked, as if he had not already heard Puffy discussing her plan with Mr. Halo in the staff room earlier that day. At the time he had not said anything despite the fact he would have burst out laughing, with a million and one stories to tell about Wilbur’s old days of teaching non-sensical lessons to his stuffed animals or his poor, lovely mother who could never quite say no to his pleas.

 “Yeah.” Wilbur said, suddenly at a loss of things to say. 

“And apparently I’m now involved too. Even though Wilbur promised that he wouldn’t keep making me be part of his dumb drama club shenanigans.” Techno hissed, staring daggers while the other twin did nothing but stick his tongue out at him.

 “Techno. Will.” Phil said, although his tone was nothing but stern, no anger in his body. “Can we try not to fight?” 

 The boys stared at each other, a silent cue to continue this duel later, either with an intense screaming match or a game or Mario Kart, whichever was more dangerous. Their father, in all his love and kind words, would never quite understand the need for rage that came from having someone who was the exact carbon copy of you- he’d never understand, in Wilbur’s professional opinion, that Techno was a little bitch. 

“Sorry dad.” Wilbur said, still smiling a cheeky smile. “How was the new job? Meet any fucked up kids?”

“Will, you know I can’t share that with you.” Phil said. He smiled at the look of pure disappointment on Will’s face- a drama kid like himself would always have a certain need for content to keep his mind going. “Are you sure you didn’t have anything you wanted to tell me? You did seem pretty worried before.”

 For a moment, Wilbur considers that the constant feeling he has to save the world, he has to help everyone with no regard for the fact he is very much not a superhero, very much a mortal with the ability to crack and crumble under the weight of his problems and everyone else’s. Something in his mind wants him to beg for his father to know of the things he saw today- would he believe him? Would he ease his mind to know that the boy he met was not in danger, was completely fine despite the terror?

 He wished the windows of Tommy’s house were clear, unsullied with grime, so he could have seen what lurked behind the red door and known for himself whether the muffled noises he heard after the click of the lock were friend or foe. He would have been able to say for certain then-

 “No. Nothings wrong.” He found himself smiling, the lie thick in his mouth. He did not know Tommy, he did not know what harm he may have been in. “It was nothing, really.” 

—————————————

 By the time it reached 10pm, Wilbur had almost forgotten about the house with the red door, and the dirty windows his Tommy’s life hid behind. The only moment his stomach vaguely appeared to remember the young kid’s fear was when he received a long text from Schlatt, who had come to the group chat to complain about Tubbo bothering him because Tommy wasn’t answering any texts. He had worried, for a moment, but was quickly distracted by a call from Quackity.

”Wilbur! My friend, my love, hottest man ever-” Quackity grovelled, already leading up to asking Wilbur for something completely insane. 

“What do you want.” Wilbur groaned loudly.

 “You know how I love and adore and cherish you? Well, me and Sapnap went to a party and he’s completely shit-faced and- look, pretty pretty please can we have a ride home?” Quackity begged, and Wilbur instantly regretted his ability to pass his driver’s test. He was pretty much the designated taxi from then, constantly begged to for rides home. 

 “I hate you so much.” Wilbur said, already grabbing his keys from where he had thrown them to the floor. “Don’t fucking move from where you are. What road are you on?”

 “I love youuuuu!” Sapnap slurred from the background, and some annoyance that Wilbur had started to melt away.

 “That’s nice Sap. Where are you?” Wilbur said, turning to vaguely gesture at his dad that he was leaving. “What road?”

 “Las Nevadas Avenue. You know, it’s around the corner from Manburg, we’re just sat on the curb. Do you have any rules about puking in your car?” Quackity tried to seem casual. The gravel was starting to hurt his knees from where he was kneeled, with Sapnap’s head on his lap.

 “If your boyfriend pukes in my car, I’ll leave you.” Wilbur said. “Just stay there. I’m hanging up on you.”

 The drive to Las Nevadas Avenue is short, almost laughably so. Wilbur has no time to look at the house with the red door on his way past- maybe if he did, he would have known of the screaming match going on inside. Instead, he sat in silence, apart from the radio that had been stuck blaring the same Taylor Swift album for a week and a half. His focus right now was his dumb friends, who needed him. 

Wilbur didn’t say a word to Quackity when he finally arrived to pick them up. He could see it in his eyes that the night had already been long enough- adding his own bitching onto Quackity’s troubles would be nothing short of a dick move, one Wilbur had sworn he would never stoop too after the disastrous month of villainy he accidentally caused when he was sent to play Javert in their production of Les Miserables. He just gave the other his best pitying look, helping to bundle Sapnap into the back of his car. 

“Sapnap?” Wilbur said once they had set off, hoping to catch the boy’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Any reason why you’re getting completely smashed on a Tuesday? I thought you were all ‘I’m gonna be a good boy now’ because of the whole ‘dads being a teachers’.” 

“Skeppy isn’t my dad.” Sapnap said, the faintest hint of annoyance clear in his voice. “He’s just my dad’s boyfriend. That’s all.” 

Quackity rubbed his arm sympathetically. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see it- him, the tangled mess of gold hair in the distance.

 “Is that Tommy?” He asked, and his question fell limp in the air. The car was moving too fast now but he knew what he saw- the boy, sat on the swings of the park, nursing an angry gash to the head and talking to seemingly no one. Quackity opened his mouth, and then closed it again. 

“Never mind.”  It must have been the alcohol in his vision.

Chapter Text

Tommy breathes a sigh of relief as he slams the door shut, content that he can no longer be seen under the pitying eyes of his new friend. The house is silent, full of thoughts and weary of what may happen between its four walls tonight. The silence is sometimes more dangerous than the screaming, Tommy muses as he carefully places his bag by the door as to not make too much noise, as in silence he has no idea of what is about to come.

”Theseus.” His father stands at the top of the stairs, holding a cigarette and a steely blue gaze. If Tommy was Theseus than he must have been Lycomedes, ready to cast him off to sea. But then again, Tommy wasn’t much of a hero, and his father was not much of a king.

 “Yeah?” He slips his hands into his pockets, trying to remain as casual as possible. He’s Tommy ‘Danger’ Inet, and he’s not scared of anyone. He can tell it was probably a bad move by the day his father’s lip curled into a snarl, the way he started to march toward him.

 “Where have you been? Your mother has been worried sick.” His father hisses, so close now that Tommy couldn’t breathe without inhaling fresh poison from the cigarette. There’s something laughable about the frankly unbelievable lie of his mother being worried: she would not have seen his absence, would not have noticed his empty room or the way his belongings looked lost without an owner. 

Tommy didn’t think she would care if he was gone forever. He’s contemplated it sometimes; leaving, walking to the end of the earth and back just to be anywhere that they weren’t. At the end of the day however, he was trapped. The world was too big, and he was too small, no funds to find himself a new place until we’ll after college. 

 If he even made it until then.

 “That’s a first.” Tommy mumbles, not quiet enough for his father not to hear. He is grabbed by his collar, slammed back against the door. There’s pure hatred in his fathers glare, like he was looking at a monster, a devil, not his son. 

 “I’ve had enough of your tone!” His father roars, shaking him so hard that his head bounces against the window panes in the door so hard that they rattle in their frames. Tommy’s head throbs, wet blood already crawling down his neck. “This attitude,,, I’m sick of you, Theseus!”

 “That’s a shame.” There’s a certain anger in Tommy, one that overrides his overwhelming need to shut his fucking mouth. “I would have hoped it was a sickness you could die from.”

 His father stands perfectly still, absolutely stunned. Neither of them have reacted to what has been said, just breathing ragged breaths, ready to fight meaningless fights. Quick as a flash, the man slaps him, hard enough that the boy’s whole body is rocked backwards. Tommy gasps, cradling his cheek while squinting up into his father’s face. The man laughs.

“Leave.” The so called ‘father’ barks, grabbing a handful of golden hair and pushing it towards the red door. “Don’t come back until you’ve stopped being such an annoying shit.”

Tommy blinks, not knowing what to do. If he left until he’d ‘stopped being annoying’ he’d never return; every action he took was an annoyance to those around him, every activity just an extra step for him ruining their lives. He turns, his mouth very dry, unlocking the door with trembling hands. Tommy is quick, his shoes as fast as Olympic sneakers. Running seems like the only choice now, so he smiles his wild smile, taking off down the road. He could run forever under all this freakish release of anxiety; or at least, he could run until his father was cooled off from his rage. 

 He’s decided he may like this feeling of flying that comes with running away. He may, for a while anyway, until the adrenaline wears away and he’s left in the freezing air, no coat, just a t-shirt. Until he realises he’s in the middle of butt-fucking no-where, with really nothing to do until he’s finally deemed deserving to go home. He should text Tubbo- fuck, he should even text Boob-boy, just to have someone to hang around with for the next while.

 Tubbo texts back within a minute. Sometimes Tommy can’t believe his luck with a friend like Tubbo, someone like him should never be worthy of someone so kind and understanding like Tubbo Underscore. The text is full of smiley-faces and promises to be there in a minute Tommy, we’ll go hang out at the park!

Tommy smiles for the first time in what feels like forever, beginning to walk the short walk towards Manburg Park.

———————————————

“Tommy!” Tubbo gasps, leaping into the boy’s arms the minute he sees him. He’s careful not to touch the other boy’s face- anyone could see that doing so would only end in further struggle.

“How did you get here so fast?” Tommy asks him. He’s too tired to push Tubbo off him, too exhausted by the day to notice the burning feeling from earlier returning to his skin.

 “I asked Schlatt to drive me.” Tubbo states like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He squeezes Tommy tighter in the hug, lightly bumping him with his head. Like a baby goat, Tommy often mused, knowing that if Tubbo was anything in another life, it would be that.

 “And he just said yes?” Tommy would have furrowed his eyebrows if Tubbo was looking at his face, not pressed against him like a second skin.

”Of course. You see, Tommy, when he was six, he ’accidentally’ threw a firework at me.” Tubbo begins. He slowly peels himself away from Tommy, stealing a swing before anyone else could take them. Tommy reluctantly sat next to him.

 “And?” Tommy asks. A devilish grin spread across Tubbo’s face.

 “And, he now owes me for life. Every time I want something all I have to do is-” Tubbo pretended to sniffle, wiping fake tears from his eyes. “Oh but my face hurts so much, I can’t see out of my eye-”

“Wait.” Tommy burst out laughing, interrupting Tubbo’s great performance. “Are you admitting to gaslighting your own brother?”

“Of course not! I would never do such a heinous act!” Tubbo winks at him. Motherfucking liar. “Are you alright Tommy? Your head-”

 Tommy reaches a hand up to the gash on the back of his head, wincing when his fingers come back spotted with red. Red is such an ugly colour- violent and angry, everything Tommy didn’t want to be. He gave Tubbo his best ‘everything is fine’ smile.

”I’m great Tubbo. Honestly. Big man Tommy has seen muuuccchhh worse than this!” He boasts, but his words are empty. He knows this, Tubbo knows this. Neither of them will say a thing, however. To speak against each other would be pointless; both were stubborn as mules, unlikely to back down. “Honestly you wouldn’t believe what Puffy’s fuckin’ got me doing this time. Goddamn- tutoring with these random seniors.”

 “Really?” Tubbo’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Is it any fun? Are the tutors nice- wait! If they’re seniors maybe you can finally get a ride to school-”

“You’re getting very ahead of yourself here. Ive known them for like,,, a day? They’re not going to sacrifice themselves for me, Tubs.” Tommy says. “And they’re cool. Sort of. They’re the drama club so- they’re a bit odd.”

 “You seriously think the drama club wouldn’t sacrifice themselves? Tommy, I’ve seen their conversations with Schlatt. They’d sacrifice themselves for a potato.” Tubbo is suddenly so serious that Tommy almost believes that someone has died for a vegetable. Almost.

”Yeah. But i’m just some Freshman they’ve been left with, and i’m sure one of them has some kind of emotional attachment to the potato.” Tommy grumbles. His head is still throbbing- it feels like his brain might melt out of his ears if he’s not careful.

 “If you say so.” Tubbo’s smile falters. “But you know- you’re like my brother Tommy. Please. I will do- I’d do anything if you needed me.”

 Tommy didn’t think he could ever let Tubbo do that. He could never put Tubbo through even a glimpse of his mind; not for fear of trying, but for the idea that oh god Tubbo’s finally going to realise I’m too much of a fuck up for him, he’s going to leave-

 “Course.” Tommy replies gruffly, blinking back the emotion bubbling up in his eyes. “I bet you can’t swing higher than me though!”

 Tubbo let out a shriek, immediately kicking off the ground to try and let higher. No matter how many times Tommy beat him- he never quite gave up trying. All the effort he put in did make Tommy a little guilty; Tubbo Underscore was the greatest friend a person could ask for, and Tommy’s mean tricks to get him to stop worrying- they were nothing short of cruel.

————————————

When Tommy does eventually go home that night, he climbs through his window to avoid his parents as much as possible. He’s well trained at how to do it now; climb onto the bin placed just perfectly so he could reach up and grab the small hole where bricks had long since fallen out, then reach as far as physically possible, to grip onto the window and be home safe. Even thinking it sounds completely ridiculous, so much effort for a house that would chew him up and spit him out if it could move.

He collapses on his bed as soon as he’s able. He can never quite realise how tired he is until he’s a second from passing out- even then, he can’t sleep, just sat staring at the walls until he’s finally ready to shut down. The cycle is endless. He wakes up; he does things he stopped caring about years ago, gets yelled at, then ends up back in his bed again.

Pitiful. No wonder he’s such a shitty person. A shitty son, shitty friend, shitty student. He doesn’t do anything, in an almost maddening way as tiredness seeps his personality away. He doesn’t need it anyway. He can copy someone else for a while. 

He sighs, more to make a noise to prove he’s still alive than anything else. When he wraps an arm around his own torso he can pretend someone is still holding him- he’s safe, he’s secure, he’s not on his own as long as his eyes are closed and he can pretend his arms are not his own.

He shouldn’t be imagining their kindness anyway. He cant get attached, not to the people that only care about him because Miss Puffy makes them.

Chapter Text

The drama clubs meets early, in their English classroom, as usual. It’s been a tradition for them since even before Wilbur and Dream started to tolerate each other; though them being in the same room was a challenge then. The English classroom was the best meeting place for many reasons: many of which being that it was one of the only rooms that didn’t smell completely of Cheetos and B.O. 

When Wilbur enters the room that morning, forcibly dragging his brother behind him, he can already tell what kind of day it’s going to be. Sapnap is groaning, slumped over on the desk while Dream aggressively sings ‘CPR’ and other cupcake songs in his ears; Slimesickle looks a bit sick just at the action of being in a room with these people; and Wilbur is 90% sure a fight was already going on in the back. He grins. Today could only go two ways- complete chaos, or general disarray.

 “Good morning Sap!” Wilbur says a little too cheerily, as to annoy his friend as much as possible. He’s still gripping onto the edge of Technos jacket- for no real reason, actually, because Techno has no means to make a run for it yet. “Enjoying the hangover?”

 “Fuck. You.” Sapnap grumbles. When he finally lifts his head from his arms, it’s very clear how fucked up he is; there are dark circles around his eyes and his bandana is sloping down his face, still dirty from the night before.

 “Who’s party even was it?” Dream pauses in his rendition of ‘Squid Nose.’ Many people around the room noticeably sigh in relief- cupcake at 7am doesn’t seem popular among the group.

 “You know Jack Manifold?” Sapnap asks, rolling his eyes at the questioning look on both Wilbur and Techno’s face. “Kid who cried in maths because everyone kept saying he looked like a cartoon number four.” 

 “Why did you go to Jack Manifold’s party on a random Thursday night?” Wilbur queries, despite probably already knowing the answer. Sapnap’s dad- ‘Mr. Halo’ as they were meant to call him in school- was back with Skeppy again. Because when you’re on your third divorce with the same guy, why not give him another go?

The whole ‘Dad’s breaking up’ thing came out as a whole shitstorm in February of last year. Valentine’s day, to be more exact, when most of the school had heard the muffled argument between Mr. Halo and Mr. Skeppy. Sapnap hadnt said anything at the time. He was probably used to it by that point.

 “Because, Wilbur, I’m not a total nerd who spends his life not getting any bitches.” Not one of Sapnap’s best come backs, and both of them know that. “And speaking of total nerds- Slimesickle’s hanging out with us tonight.”

 Slimesickle- or Charlie, as his birth certificate would say, waves at the group in front of him. Slimesickle was more of a Schlatt-Quackity friend than a whole group friend, but he was still a honorary member of the drama club. He stayed with them when Schlatt and Ted were bunking off on some ‘mission’ somewhere (the mission, of course, being scaring kids away from the McDonald’s ball pit so they could have it all to themselves). 

 “Don’t be mean to him! He’s doing his best!” Quackity whines, hugging the other boy so hard that his head is almost flung through the wall as he’s pulled down to Quackity’s hug. They were an odd pair, the weird science loser and Quackity’s ‘I got suspended from the school council for suggesting a pole dancing club’ self. 

 “How come when someone’s mean to Slimesickle ‘he’s just doing his best’ but when everyone calls ME a furry it’s-” Fundy shouts from his curled up position under the desk.

 “It’s because you are a furry. We all saw the evidence.” George groans at the sudden change in volume. The evidence around Fundy’s so called ‘furry persuasion’ was a rather unfortunate photo that Wilbur had been able to get his grubby little hands on; more specifically, the photo of Fundy when he played the fox in a production of ‘The Nativity’ he’d took part in at age five.

Why there was a fox while Mary and Joseph travelled to Nasareth, none of them had any idea.

 “We all saw the evidence that your mother is a whore.” Fundy glares at the other. He looks more comical than fierce with the paint from where he had been pushed into the still-drying set still staining all over his cheeks.

 “You people make me physically sick. The fact we are the same species makes me so angry.” Techno monotones. The room goes quiet, as if the world had not expected him to deem them worthy of his words. Everyone is staring at him now- which seems unlikely, no one has ever gotten the drama club’s undivided attention before.

 “Why are you here then?” Dream sneers. Wilbur had a sneaking suspicion that Dream was decidedly not gotten over losing a fight to Techno last year. 

 “Because you losers need me. And because Wilbur will give me 50$ to do this. And because I need to protect this kid from falling into your drama-club-trap.” Techno states everything like it is obvious, despite the general protest of the validity of the so called ‘club-trap’.

———————————

 “Tommy!” Wilbur shouts the minute he sees the boy, spotting his golden hair in the crowd like the sun on a misty day. The kid is hanging around with the short guy he recognises as a Schlatt-spawn, and another guy so tall he’s having to crouch down to hear the others properly. Wilbur awkwardly starts pushing others out of the way to get the them- apologising profusely on his way.

 “Hello Wil.” The boy says. He seems tired, and when he turns around Wilbur can see a bruise forming across his cheekbone. He winces, the boy pales and attempts to hide his face. His group is huddled around one of their lockers, seemingly arguing before Wilbur interrupted. 

 “Tommy? Are you alright? What happened-” He reaches up a hand to the boy’s face, but quickly stops at the way the boy seems so frightened to have someone so close to his head. 

 “What are you, my mother?” Tommy laughs in an empty way, but his joke falls flat. “Its nothing.” 

 Tommy’s eyes are panicked, though, and he seems to stare around for anything to distract the older with. Wilbur feels his heart sink to the floor- though it feels ridiculous. Why is he so worried over something that’s probably absolutely nothing?

 “This is Tubbo.” Tommy says, gesturing to the shorter boy. “And that fuckin- fuckin giant is Ranboo.” 

 The giant, Ranboo, awkwardly smiles at him. Even Wilbur has to crane his neck to truly look the boy in his eyes, despite the his already hunched posture. On first impressions, it doesn’t seem like Tommy would be friend with someone like Ranboo, who seems quite shy compared to the boisterous (albeit clearly fake) personality he’d seen in Tommy just yesterday.

 “And uhh- guys, this is Wilbur. He’s one of the seniors tutoring me.” Tommy scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable at the silence between the group. “He’s in the drama club- remember November?” 

 Ranboo’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and despite the mask Wilbur could tell he was grinning wildly. November was not going to be forgotten about anytime soon. His mirth died at Wilbur’s sharp look, suddenly seeming very guilty for laughing.

 “Sorry.” Ranboo mumbles sheepishly, clearing his throat. “Uhh- what are you tutoring him for?”

 Wilbur opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off with Tommy slamming the locker shut loudly. The look on his face is scathing and for a minute Wilbur doesn’t recognise him- his eyes are a swirl of emotions, unnaturally upset at a simple question. 

“Shut the fuck up, Ranboo.” He hisses, so twisted in anger that he seems to forget the happy act he’d been perfectly playing up until seconds ago. He looks as if he’s ready to rip something apart- flexing his fingers like he’s ready to throttle the other boy. His emotion disappears just as quickly as it appears; he blinks, and his arms fall back to his sides, limp. “Prime, why does everyone suddenly need to know my business?”

 Ranboo puts up his hands as if he’s surrendering to the other, trying to back away, but Tubbo only gets closer. He fills the empty gap that Tommy’s anger had created. Wilbur really doesn’t know how this kid could possibly be related to Schlatt, other than by a bit of blood and a last name. Like chalk and cheese, night and day. 

 “Because,” Tubbo starts, a hint of exhaustion in the way he tries to console both of his friends. “We’re invested. You’re like our tiny Vikkstar. Especially when you’re making more friends than us, we didn’t even know you knew any other people!”

 “I can’t believe I’m an extra on the Tommy show. I mean, I’m honoured, Toms.” The nickname slips out of Wilbur’s mouth like second nature. He almost misses the flicker of a softness in Tommy’s brash exterior, the strange vulnerability he’d clearly worked so hard to preserve.

 “A shit show.” Tommy mumbles under his breath. “Wilbur, we’ve got to go- fuckin’ class and all, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

 Wilbur arches his eyebrows. Class didn’t start for another twenty minutes, last time he checked, but he was willing to accept Tommy’s terrible excuse, at least this time. They barely knew each other enough for Wilbur to begin following them around, like a worried older brother a lost dog. 

 “Yeah. I’ll see you in the auditorium- oh and I hope you like Dream singing terrible songs at you, he’s currently on a bit of a ‘cupcakKe’ phase.” Wilbur smiles, in what he hopes is a comforting way. The kid just looks more uneasy than ever.

—————————————

 When Tommy eventually turns up for tutoring later that day, he looks more run-down than ever. Everyone had already been waiting for a while before he stumbled into the room, muttering thousands of apologies under his breath, so quickly they can barely hear his whispers of ‘don’t hurt me’ and ‘I won’t do it again’. 

“Hey kid!” Dream is quick to greet the boy, speaking in a soft way Wilbur can only remember being used once before; in a conversation with Nihachu, someone so nice that even resident asshole Dream could not be mean to her. “What did you have last period?”

 “Chemistry.” Tommy stares at the floor, not looking Wilbur in the face when he sits down next to him. For a moment Wilbur is afraid that Tommy is angry at him- but this is not rage. This is pure, uncensored fear. 

“Ah. Mr. AweSamdude does ramble a lot.” Dream is oddly nice to the boy. Strange, for someone who had called Sapnap so many things that they would be cancelled a million and a half times on Twitter just ten minutes before. “You don’t have to be worried about being late, you know that, right?”

 “I wasn’t late because- I was the one that made him angry at me.” Tommy mumbles. Something in Wilbur twinges, and his stomach churns in a way he’s never felt before. He’d like to hug the boy- but knowing Tommy, that could only end badly.

 “That doesn’t matter.” He says firmly, and his mouth is very dry. “We’re not going to ever be annoyed at you for that.”

 Wilbur looks around the room, and he can see everyone’s agreements from their various positions in the room. He could not describe their emotions; if he did, he’s sure the only words he would find would be ones of horror and sympathy. 

“So what are we studying first today?” Quackity finally speaks, grinning his trademark grin to disperse as much tension from the room as possible. “Because not to be mean to your maths tutor, but he’s definitely not in the state of mind to teach a wasp, let alone a whole child.”

 “I am not a child!” Tommy says, the laughter back in his voice. It’s like a show sometimes, watching Tommy perform the role of the happy child over and over again, like a robot code.

 “Sure.” Wilbur rolls his eyes, and the boy sticks his tongue out at him. “You know how I said that Techno was teaching you English? Well, he said he could start today, if you want.”

 “Really? The Blade is willing to teach me?” Tommy says, sounding like a starstruck child about to meet his childhood hero. The Blade was the name that Techno went by in his old days when he would fence professionally, which was a big deal for their small town and it’s need for minor celebrities.

 “Yeah! We can text him now if you want, the nerd doesn’t have anything better to do-” The sight of Tommy’s blind excitement is a little endearing, even if Wilbur would never in a million years tell Techno that. “I mean- we’re all here to teach you, that’s the whole point.”

 “Also, penance. Did we ever tell you what happened last November?” George asks, but he is met with yelling protest. November is a very touchy topic for most of them. “Never mind. I’ll have to tell you later.”

 The doors to the auditorium burst open, for what seems like the thousandth time in the past few days. Techno, in all his glory, wispy pink hair and general air of intimidation all around him. Wilbur is only surprised Techno actually showed up so fast, for a man who had been described as being ‘utterly urgentless’, he got the the auditorium suspiciously fast. 

 “What.” Techno sneers, apparently surprised at the stares he was getting. Wilbur would have thought that he would be used to the drama club’s slight obsession with his quote ‘abandonment’ of last year, after he refused to join for fear of having to actually put work into stupid plays.

 “Techno!” Karl waves at him, seemingly the only person not to care about the fact that Techno could easily kill them all. Karl had spent most of the meeting watching YouTube on his phone, not really wanting to overwhelm Tommy with the group’s general chaos.

 “Hi Karl.” Techno smiles- although it looks more like a grimace. “Wilbur said I was tutoring someone called Thes-“

 “Tommy.” The boy next to Wilbur blurts out, swallowing hard as if the mention of his name made him want to vomit. “My name is Tommy.”

 Techno gives him a quizzical look, but does not say anything. Wilbur feels a flood of relief over his body. A fight with Techno, in front of his friends and Tommy, would not be the wisest choice. A fight with Techno any time would not be wise.

 “Okay.” Techno says simply. He steals the chair previously vacated by Fundy- who went home early, claiming he was ‘sick’. If being ‘sick’ consisted of just not wanting to do a history test. “So Thes- Tommy. So, Tommy, what do you uhhh- what do you find hard about english?”

 “All of it?” Tommy’s statement sounds more like a question. “I’m just- I’m a bit dumb.”

 Under the table, Wilbur feels Tommy’s hand suddenly grip his. Oh. Tommy is scared of his dumb brother, terrifying, ferocious Techno, who cried at disney movies and refused to watch any programs when the dog died, was scaring Tommy. There was nothing Wilbur could do- he held the hand tighter, ignoring how cold and clammy Tommy’s hands were. It was like holding a skeleton.

 “Why would you say that Tommy?” Techno asks, quietly, so no one can hear except him and Tommy. The others in the drama club have gone back to their own ‘studies’ (if the game ‘cookie run’ classed as a study).

 “Because I am?” Tommy mumbles. His hand squeezes Wilbur’s even tighter. “I’m just- I’m not very smart.”

 “I don’t think that’s true Tommy.” Techno is trying very hard to keep his voice level, and Wilbur can tell he’s really struggling not to get angry. He knows that Tommy will almost certainly believe that the anger is directed at him. “Even if it was. I’m going to help you.”

—————————————

 The drive home that night is silent. Neither Techno nor Wilbur know what to say; they give one word answers to Phil’s questions, too stuck in their own heads to want to speak. Phil chatters enough for the both of them; about his new job, how their mother will be back from her business trip soon, random things about his day.

 Techno doesn’t speak until long after dinner. He’s stood at Wilbur’s doorway, silent, a simple sentence on his lips.

 “Something bad is going on with that kid.”

Chapter Text

 The vat in Tommy stomach is already boiling when he wakes up, curled in his bed with tears still drying on his face. He remembers making a name for days like these at some point when he was younger, but he’s long since forgotten it. These days are simply ‘days when I want to stab myself and everyone around me and/or rip off my own skin’. He’s angry, constantly, at everything and anything.

He’s ready to set fire to his house by the time he crawls out of bed, groaning, with the injuries from last night still fresh on his skin. His hair is stuck to the pillow with blood, smelling disgustingly metallic and rotten, filling his senses from the moment his eyes snap open as if the world wants him to know; you deserved this. He’ll never have time to wash and be clean again- he’ll never be clean again. He’s ruined with blood, and he’ll never be better again.

His phone rings annoyingly loudly, with a message from Tubbo. For a moment he wants to throw his phone against the wall, smash it to pieces just for annoying him; but he doesn’t. He picks it up, gazes at Tubbo’s message- he’s offering a ride to school. Tommy smiles, knowing for definite that Tubbo has played the whole ‘firework-injury’ card again. He’d get beaten up more often if it meant he could get this- he realises how fucked up that is.

 God, he really is a complete asshole. He’s willing to make Tubbo worry for him over and over again just for a fucking ride to school. He doesn’t know why Tubbo still bothers with him- he doesn’t know why he still bothers with himself. He shakes his head- he would have to blow his brains out if he thought about this for a moment longer.

 He changes as fast as he can, not bothering to check if his clothes are even clean before he picks them up off the floor. He couldn’t give a shit anymore, couldn’t care less if he shows up to school looking and smelling like absolute shit. It doesn’t matter, who cares? It’s not like anyone would notice him. Even so, they wouldn’t think it was a cause for concern or a cry for help, they never fucking will.

 His thoughts are interrupted by a loud blaring of a horn from outside the house. Schlatt, and his obsession with being the most annoying motherfucker ever to grace planet earth. Maybe if he’d woken up and it hadn’t been such a ‘kill me kill me kill me’ day, he would have probably found it very endearing- maybe he’d even be happy for such a nice gesture of actually making sure he got to school on time. However, it is one of those days, and he can’t even muster up enough kindness to appreciate this.

 He takes his time getting out of his house. More for to save his friends from what will definitely be him screaming and fucking up the fragile relationship than to just be trying to irritate them. He picks up his bag from the same position that he had dumped it in the night before- many years ago, he started just carrying all his books around at once, too tired in the mornings to pack his stuff and too scared that he’d be kicked out and just have nothing with him for the next day.

 He slams his door shut, having to get the anger out somewhere. Dumb fucking door, always getting stuck and of course it hides everything that goes on inside so no one can come and help him and- he’s yelling at a door. He’s really lost it this time.

 “Hello friend of uh- friend of Tubbo!” Schlatt has to shout at him over the radio, blaring a Katy Perry song so loudly that most of the street it’s giving them dirty looks from their windows. Tommy climbs into the back seat, next to Tubbo who still has that annoyingly concerned expression from the night before.

 Tommy can’t find the strength in him to day anything. For the first time, in his entire life, he’s very very glad that Ted Nivinson is there to fill the silence. The older boy can quickly distract everyone with outlandish tales of what he and Schlatt will do when they skip school that day (a tale that consists mostly of McDonald’s and seeing if they can capture a pigeon). Ted is wonderfully stupid, and if Tommy was any less angry at the world he would have thanked him.

 “So, the plan is, me, Schlatt, peanut butter and around seventy pigeons-“

————————————

 The feeling only grows as the day continues. Simple things, like the way his books are slowly peeling apart and scratching his hands when he yanks them out of his bag or how his hands are still cold from the hours spent outside the night before- things that shouldn’t make him angry, but boil his fucking blood on days like today. Him- the two people who haven’t quite had the guts to leave him yet- they huddle around his locker, and Tommy doesn’t even have to turn his head to already know that they’re gazing at him with pitied looks. He groans, knocking his head against the locker beside him.

 “Is your face okay?” Ranboo asks. Prime, he’s probably just being so nice, trying to check up on his friend but Tommy can’t see anything behind hatred. He’s burning, exploding with anger and Ranboo is going to be caught in the blast.

 “Fuck off.” He clenches his teeth to fight back his urge to scream at the other boy for no reason at all. Ranboo visibly shrinks back- but nothing is left in Tommy to feel sorry for the fact he’s a literal fucking monster.

 “I was just asking.” Ranboo puts up his hands in mock salute. “Honestly. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

 Fucks sake, he just doesn’t get it. Tommy’s not upset, he knows that, he’s pissed off beyond belief and of course there’s no reason for it, he’s just loosing his fucking mind because that’s what happens to him, worlds unluckiest man. If Miss Puffy could see into his head right now she’d have a goddamn heart attack, shouting things about ‘take a deep breath Tommy,’ and ‘it’s okay to be angry’. Bullshit.

 “Just- shut up. Please, for the love of prime.” Tommy hisses. He hopes they don’t take too much offence to the fact he’s can’t listen to them anymore without hating them.

 “So- uhhhh- Ranboo, how do you feel about drinking hydrochloric acid?” Tubbo so clearly tries to diffuse the tension, smiling up at the taller boy with his award winning ‘Tommy-fucked-up-again-and-i-have-to-fix-it’ smile.

 “Please don’t drink hydrochloride. I cannot stress that enough, please do not drink hydrochloride.” Ranboo pinches between his eyebrows, sighing in a truly dramatic way. “Tubbo. Do not drink hydrochloride.”

 Tubbo makes a noise somewhere between a shocked gasp and a scream, eyes wildly looking around for someone to back him up on his quest to drink acid. He gasps again, falling dramatically to his knees in the classic ‘can’t drink acid position.’ Ranboo just looks embarrassed at his friends as he adverts eye contact with the questioning people in the hallway.

 “But Ranboo!” He wails, as people look in with confusion. “The acid! It’s my life’s duty to drink it!”

 Tommy doesn’t know whether to laugh at his friend or never speak to him ever again. Tubbo is putting so much effort into his  performance, so much effort into embarrassing himself, just because Tommy’s a little bit pissy that his parents don’t love him. Fuck. 

 “It’s not your life’s duty to drink acid.” Ranboo monotones, attempting to pull Tubbo up from his crumpled position on the floor. “And if you do drink it, you will die. You’re not invincible, dumbass.”

 “Don’t listen to him, Tubbo!” Tommy winces at the forced joy in his dumb voice. “Maybe you’ll be the first person who can drink it!”

 “Exactly!” Tubbo jumps up, yanking Tommy into a side-hug. “Big-man Tommy gets it!” 

 Ranboo doesn’t have a comeback to that, other than a set of spluttered noises of protest and a small ‘i hate you guys’. The once dedicated onlookers have gone back to their own conversation as if Tubbo’s acid need was boring them- it was almost as if they could not see how much Tubbo’s outburst meant to Tommy. Almost as if they had not been narrowly saved from Tommy actively beating Ranboo up for the crime of being worried about his friend.

 From the end of the hallway, Tommy sees an obnoxiously bright yellow sweater- fucking Wilbur. Great. He had barely spoken with the older boy other than a brief conversation in which Wilbur half explained the League of Nations to him and half complained about Schlatt’s performance during his short lifetime as a member of the drama club. Wilbur, the guy who had been so kind to him, kind in a way that meant he could only be searching for something from Tommy, he couldn’t possibly just be that nice. 

 “Shit.” Tommy says, turning to the other boys behind him. “You know how I said that Miss Puffy was forcing me to be tutored by some random seniors?”

 “When did you-” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Tommy says briskly. “One of them is coming over here. Just- don’t mention- act fucking natural.”

 He couldn’t have Wilbur finding out how fucked up he was, not when there was a possibility that they could be something of friends.

——————————

 Shit doesn’t truly hit the fan until chemistry class later that day. He’s been barely keeping things together all lesson- he can’t help himself sometimes, his emotions are so wild and big and he doesn’t know what to do, he never knows what to do- he’s not done any of value so far, other than half-heartedly stop Tubbo from drinking the various bottles of random chemicals scattered around the classroom. When he looks down at the page his brain turns to mush, just staring at jumbled words and equations he should of found easy but we’re now impossible to decipher.

 “Do you need any help, Tommy?” Mr. AweSamdude is suddenly at his shoulder, breathing down his neck in a way that makes his skin crawl. Tommy curses, knowing that the teacher has definitely seen the frankly shocking amount of work he’s done in the past hour.

 “No.” He says bluntly. “I was just- I can do it.”

 “Are you sure Tommy? I don’t mind helping if you need it.” Mr. AweSamdude is not relenting to Tommy’s silent pleas for him to just go away. Tommy tries taking a deep breath, and another, doing his best not to scream and cry and destroy everything in sight.

 He can’t help himself to this incurable anger that rests inside him. It’s like every once in a while, he stops being sad or numb and just gets wallowed up by a black hole of nothing but rage, and there’s absolutely no way out other than to seriously hurt someone- or himself. Everything suddenly becomes the very thing responsible for all his pain and suffering and he just wants to tear something with his bare fingers so he can for once be vengeful, for once have the power and the agency to dismantle the thing that has been slowly killing him since he was born.

“Tommy?” Mr Awesamdude asks, his eyes so full of pity and that sickening ‘oh i’ll fix you’ expression. “Is everything alright?”

Tommy Danger Inet is many, many things. A scoundrel, a curse, the bane of many people’s existence- anything but a fucking pity project for some teacher to pretend to care about for a couple of weeks until he gets too tough for them to handle. Something, deep in his chest, snaps.

 “For fucks sake!” He yells, slamming his hand on the desk. “Why do you even care! I’m not even- you’re not- fuck off!”

 He’s panting, chest rising and falling so quickly his mind doesn’t have time to comprehend the air going in his lungs. Everyone is looking at him- judging him, and Mr. AweSamdude just stands in silence, stunned by the sudden outburst. Tommy digs his nails into his palms just to feel something, a reminder that time hasn’t stopped completely.

 “Go to Miss Puffy’s office Tommy.” Mr. AweSamdude says quietly, and Tommy is just surprised he’s not yelling. He should be screaming, escalating the fight more- but he just stands there. Quiet, unmoving, face void of any emotion that could be the kindling to Tommy’s fire. “We can talk about this later.”

Tommy grabs his bag, not even bothering to collect his worksheet from before. He’s not going to actually do it anyway, and it’s not like the notes he made were of any use whatsoever. As he leaves he slams the door, blinking back hot tears that threaten to pool in his eyes.

So he ends up inside his principal’s office, for the second time in just two days. Miss Puffy no longer has to ask him why he’s there; she just sighs, gestures the the empty seat in front of her and adds another note to his personal file of ever growing pile of fuck-ups.

 “What did you do this time.” She asks, but her words have no real harshness to them. Just utter, genuine concern.

 “Fuckin- Mr. AweSamdude. You know what that assholes like, Miss Puffy, he acts like it’s my fault that his husband left him and that’s why he’s such-” Tommy starts to ramble, curses falling out of his lips like second nature. Puffy holds up a hand to stop him.

 “Tom. Be honest.” She’s definitely becoming too good at guessing Tommy’s lies and attempts at deflection. “What happened?”

 “I told him to fuck off.” He says, defeated. “But it was only because he kept pestering me, he was trying to make me seem dumb and-”

 “I’m not sure that’s completely true. Tommy, I know that you’re probably upset but- well, you can’t go around insulting your teachers. He was there to help.” Puffy says. Tommy has to hold back from laughing in her face; Sam wasn’t there to help, he was trying to make Tommy seem dumb because that’s all anyone ever does-

 “Sure.” He says, agreeing more to just keep the peace than anything.

 “Tommy, I have been thinking about your- situation. As much as I enjoy having you in my office everyday, I can’t help but wonder if you’d need any help from someone who is-” She started, as Tommy’s stomach dropped to the floor.

 “Please don’t send me to another set of seniors. The drama club are good but- Miss Puffy Sapnap literally told me the answer to the whole Miss Peterson problem was to steal her cat.” Tommy blurts. The drama kids were more than over-the-top sometimes, from what he’d learnt in just over 24 hours of knowing them.

 “Not another set of seniors.” She smiles at him. “The new school counsellor- Mr Minecraf? He’s offered to meet with you.”

 “No. Absolutely not.”

 “You’ll get to miss last periods every time you meet.” The magic words, at least for Tommy, getting to skip some so called ‘valuable learning time’.

 “Fine.” He says, already nervous for the shit-show that will become of counselling sessions. With any luck, he’d have the police knocking at his bedroom door before he could even start telling him of the catastrophe that was the Tommy Inet lifestyle.

 “Thank you, Tommy.” She’s so genuine, so happy, and Tommy knows it’s going to sting like a bitch when he lies to the counsellor and has to have her on his conscience. “You can go now. I’m sorry for keeping you so long, the final bell’s already gone.”

 Tommy is ready to vanish, running away to the drama club before one of them notices he’s late- oh prime, oh prime they’re going to be so mad, they’re not going to want to be friends- are they friends? Do they even care about him- what if he’s deluding himself?

 “Tommy?” Puffy asks. “One last thing- is everything alright at home?”

 Tommy wonders, for a second, if he should tell her. He’d only ever told one real authority figure about this before- a random teacher who’d put plasters on a particularly nasty cut on his cheekbone, asked him if he was alright- it hadn’t gone well. Both of his parents were skilled in painting him as the bad guy, the kid causing trouble for no reason at all just because he could. If he told Puffy, would it happen again? Would she wonder if he was really just a troublemaker and finally stop her kindness? Or worse, he could be taken away, forced to live somewhere else- were his parents even that bad, or would they just believe they were two struggling people with a son too intent on ruining their lives?

 He wants to tell her. He can’t, because can they really be so bad? They feed him, clothe him, what goes on isn’t bad enough that anyone would really help. His dad would end up being so mad- it would only get worse if he went around spreading rumours about them. It would only ever get worse.

 “Fine.”

Chapter Text

 Philza, or Phil as he was more commonly known, hadn’t known he wanted to be a therapist until well after he had graduated university.

 He was working a silly little office job and going really no-where in his life, sad to be so stuck going nowhere but too worried about what would happen if he attempted to do anything else. He hated the job, but he could admit that he lived a nice life; nice apartment, new girlfriend he loved to bits, friends who cared deeply about him. He couldn’t help but miss the days before giving up and accepting a desk job despite how lucky he was; he missed the feeling of being young and free, and he missed having a purpose in life.

 So when the opportunity came for him to go back to school, he jumped at the chance. At first, he just took a plain community college class on psychology- the place where he realised his passion for helping people, where he was introduced to the idea of becoming a therapist. His fiancée, Kristin, supported him when he finally committed to a career that he knew would make his life more fulfilled; she helped him study in the long nights, watched him walk across the stage for graduation in a class full of kids years younger than him. They were married just weeks after, and he cried the whole time as he realised the incredible luck he had been given to be allowed a chance to meet anyone half as lovely as her.

 He and Kristin bought a new house, and he got a new job in a company that specialised in therapy for difficult cases. They had two children, twins, and their life was bright and wonderful and everything that Phil had ever dreamed of. After many years, he left his company in exchange for a new carrier as a school counsellor; his boys grew up; and Kristin was offered her dream job, halfway across the country. They had both known, deep down, that the opportunity was too good for her to miss. She left, promising to be back at least once per month.

 She was true to her word, because above all things, she was as deeply in love with him as he was with her. Today, Phil spends his days texting her the most important updates of their home life; neighbourhood gossip and pictures of Wilbur and Techno looking completely unimpressed with the sudden photograph. He awaits her visit in two week’s time: he will tell her about his new job at the twin’s highschool, and of all the events she has missed since then.

 ———————————————

 “Wilbur, mate, if you’re not ready in the next five minutes, I’m going to have to leave without you!” Phil calls, downing the last dregs of his coffee in one gulp. Every morning has been much of the same since he’s started driving the boys to school with him; he sits at the kitchen table waiting for at least twenty minutes as Wilbur tries and fails to wake up on time for school. Techno will often sit beside him, ignoring him and typing on his phone.

 “He’s not going to be ready.” Techno drawls, but he does not look up from his furiously typed conversation.

 “He might. He should be, we can’t be late.” Phil begins to pace the kitchen, periodically stopping to check if Wilbur is already waiting by the door, ready for them to leave. “I have an appointment to see first period, I really need to get there and set up.”

 “I know that.” Techno replies. They both go back to waiting in silence, while Phil sorts through papers just for something to do with his hands while he waits. Wilbur has been doing god knows what for fifteen minutes despite how much Phil has been yelling to hurry up.

 When Wilbur does finally emerge from his room, completely covered in printer ink and shaking what he describes as ‘the most fuckin bullshit I’ve ever written into an essay’, they have just over ten minutes to get to school. Phil is panicking, Techno is completely indifferent, and Wilbur has yet to regret starting his essay that morning as he woke up. The usual morning, at least for the Minecraf household.

They hurry out of the house; more for Phil's benefit than anything, the man loathes being late and is very likely to break several speeding limits in order to get where he is going on time. He thinks that his rather relaxed attitude towards traffic laws may have formed a certain 'need for speed' in his twins as he was cursed with their constant energy and begs to drive faster, even though he had said multiple times that no, Techno, crashing into that old woman is not worth going a little bit faster, stop asking that.

The traffic is light, thank god, and the drive is spent listening to Wilbur's rant on anything and everything; how Quackity keeps beating his scores in law class, his detention for laughing at Dream falling off his chair (a whole ten minute tale involving him being called a 'World Class Instigator' and the teacher being called a 'Piece of shit prick'), how much he hated having to do maths first period. Wilbur could talk until his face turned blue and still have something to say, which Phil found more endearing than anything. His other son, Techno was quieter- as twins they were like chalk and cheese, polar opposites in every way- until he was able to talk about something he really enjoyed. 

He has almost completely forgotten about his anger by the time he gets to school. Key word being almost; as soon as he thinks he has given up on being slightly pissed off that Wilbur was so relentlessly obsessed with doing everything last minute, his son just has to set him off again. Wilbur turns to him, one hand on the car-door handle- ready to make a very quick exit from the scene.

"Dad, the printer is broken." He says as fast as he can, before ripping open the door and leaping out. Phil doesn't even have time to register what his son has said before he is gone, running away across the grass.

"The printer is wHAT-" Phil yells, but it is much too late already. Wilbur has disappeared in a crowd of other teenagers, ducking down so that his so-called 'signature' beanie couldn't be seen. God, these kids were going to be the absolute death of him.

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

 “Ah- Tommy, you’re on time!” Phil beams, trying not to come off as completely desperate on his first meeting with the boy. Although, his frazzled appearance and the general state of his office may give away some clues to the chaos he experienced just moments before trying to find the kid’s file.

 “Uh- I am, yeah.” The boy shuffles his weight from foot to foot, unsure what to do. Phil feels a pang of sympathy in his chest; he’s meant to make the boy feel comfortable, and so far he’s done anything but. He opens the door wider, gesturing the boy inside.

 “Do you want to come in? You can sit anywhere you want, I’ve even got a few beanbags in the cupboard if you prefer.” Phil smiles widely. Tommy looks ready to throw up just at his presence, even though Phil would really like to think that he was one of the less intimidating teachers. It’s probably nerves, Phil thinks to himself, knowing the fear of meeting a new person often overshadowed rational thoughts.

 “You’re Mr. Minecraf right?” Tommy asks, hunching over on himself and staring intently at his shoelaces. He sat on the very edge of the couch- an obnoxiously green thing that had taken upwards of twenty minutes of heaving around to get into the office- refusing to make eye contact with the elder man.

 “Call me Phil, Mr. Minecraf makes me feel old.” Phil says, very glad that neither of his sons is here to make the ‘old man philza’ joke. “I want you to know that everything you say in these sessions is confidential, and I won’t say anything unless you tell me to. Do you feel comfortable sharing why you’ve come to counselling?”

 “Miss Puffy made me. I didn’t even do anything this time, I swear!” Tommy explodes, shocking Phil with his sudden display of emotion. “And you know me, I wouldn’t upset her, so I just went with it.”

 “That’s very sweet of you Tommy.” Phil read Tommy’s file extensively before he arrived; so far the boy hasn’t seemed to live up to the tales that have been written. He was expecting a menace- but he supposes there’s still time for him to get to know that boy better. “Is Miss Puffy your favourite teacher then mate?”

 “I think so. Mr Awesamdude probably doesn’t like me anymore.” Tommy sighs, dramatically flopping back. Phil was glad to be watching him slowly overcome his nervousness- the kid was bright, vibrant, and definitely not suited to be afraid of simple conversations with adults.

"Why do you think that, Tommy? Did he say something to you?" He asks. The boy makes a face like hes just been slapped and Phil immediately curses his carelessness with questioning; hes just met Tommy, he barely knows him well enough to pry. He has to remind himself that this is the unfortunate side to being a counsellor, the not knowing what may become a difficult topic.

"I said something to him. He probably doesn't like me anymore." Tommy groans, rubbing his eyes with a hand so covered in plasters and bandages that its hard to see any skin on it. His hands rake through his white-blonde hair; a little too harshly for Phil's comfort, they snag and claw at his scalp in a desperate manner that in no way could be painless. "I told him to fuck off. He deserved it at the time but i was just- I got so angry and I didn't know what to do."

"Do you know why you were angry?" Phil queries. He had been making small notes so far; a habit he picked up well before his therapist days, when he tried to impress his wife by seeming like he was smart with his many meeting notes. Nowadays the notes are more important, small observations and general information he feels are most useful for getting to know a person.

"I was just having a shit day and he wouldn't leave me the fuck alone- he was doing that- that thing where he acts all pitying when really he's not and I couldn't- I wanted to be left alone." Tommy says, such a defeated tone in his voice like his energy was seeping away with just the mention of the previous day. He looked at the older man, tired gaze searing holes into his skin.

"That's understandable. Mr. Awesamdude won't hate you because you were upset and lashed out- what you did wasn't right, but it was forgivable." Phil starts. He wishes his words could mean more than just words sometimes; he knows that it is hard to see past guilt, and even harder to accept that people are not black and white with their feelings. Tommy sees in intensity, hating and loving as powerfully as each other and flipping between the two like a light switch.

"You don't know that. I'm a very hateable person." Tommy mumbles. Phil feels something inside him jolt uncomfortably; he has seen this situation before. In his friends, in his patients, his son, and now the boy in front of him. It's the knowledge, whether true or not, that you are worthy of being hated that drives many people to the kind of sadness it is impossible to shake.

"I don't think you are. I don't hate you, Miss Puffy doesn't hate you. That's two people." Phil swallows to hide the lump of sympathy in his throat. "Nobody is ever completely hated, even if they think they are."

"I dunno Phil. I have a certain skill for making people pissed off with me. I'm annoying like that, even my parents say so." Tommy's eyes are starting to wander anxiously. He does not stay still for long, Phil muses, maybe he is not as adjusted to meeting people as he claims. He's a good actor, and Phil will give him credit for that.

"Well they're wrong, mate." Phil says simply. He has to hold back a laugh at the cartoonish look of shock on Tommy's face. "You're a good kid, Tommy. Better than you give yourself credit for."

"How would you know that? You've barely even met me yet." Tommy snaps, but his uncertain tone betrays the brashness of his phrasing. Phil has been a therapist- and more generally a decent person- for far too long to berate the boy for his righteous refusal to accept what he says over the words of his parents. Accepting fault in your own ideology is difficult; accepting it from the people who you idolised in your childhood is even harder.

"That's true." Phil shrugs, pretending not to see the confusion Tommy exhibits when he does not rise to the baited beginning of an argument. "You probably don't know me that well either. But, if you want to get to know each other better, we can."

Tommy pauses for a minute, mouth opening and closing like he was not sure what he was supposed to say next. "And you won't tell anyone?" He asks, whole face full of so much hope and trust that Phil begins to wonder how his simple promise of secrecy could ever warrant such a reaction.

"No, unless you were in real danger or wanted me to, I wouldn't say anything to anyone." Phil states firmly. Privacy and confidentiality are the main components of therapy, he has learnt over the many years of training, knowing that many others may not see the same. Tommy deserves to be treated with respect.

"Okay then." Tommy leans forward slightly, having slowly inched himself away from the very edge of the couch. He sits like a frightened cat- ready to bolt at any moment. 

"Maybe we should really introduce ourselves then. I may have been too hasty with the actual therapy at first- I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." Phil smiles at Tommy, pretends he isn't delighted to see the boy smile back. Apologies are always a start. "My name is Philza, but everyone calls me Phil. I have a wife and two sons, my favourite animal is the falcon."

"My name is Tommy. I don't have any siblings. I have a Tubbo."

Chapter Text

George has started to feel very wary when he sees Tommy, even in passing.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the nerves of having a new person to have responsibilities over when he can barely take care of himself, or whether it’s the mysterious bruises that litter the boy’s arms and face, but either way he struggles to feel anything but a constant sense of worry when he’s near him. It’s nothing like the usual worry he has for the more normal things, like whether the things his eyes are seeing are real or just another dream, whether tonight will be the time he sleeps and just doesn’t wake up or whether his grades will drop further than they already have. Normal worries, for an (almost) normal kid.

A week has passed since the first time he met the boy, since their first and shockingly least awful tutoring session. One whole week of hanging out with him, hours and hours of ‘tutoring’ as well as the occasional much needed visit to bother him in the hallways. All these hours and yet he was no closer to even vaguely knowing Tommy at all- he was a world-class performer, with a different personality for each member of their tutoring group. George had seen him be everyone, acting better than the whole group combined- he would be jealous, if the boy’s concerning ability to change his whole being wasn’t absolutely fooling him as well at times.

Despite this, he still believes that Tommy is a good kid. A good person, at least, he seems pretty kind and genuinely sweet; he’s loud and funny and George can already tell that he’s melted Wilbur’s big heart. He definitely doesn’t live up to the stories he’s heard from teachers and students around the school. He doesn’t seem like the evil kid that they say he is, doesn’t seem like he should have rumours about his misdeeds spread around the school like he’s a particularly scary ghost story. Tommy is a good kid, at least in George’s mind.

Which makes it particularly surprising when he sees him wandering aimlessly in the halls, twenty minutes after class had started. There was no mistaking who it was, Tommy’s gold curls stood out like the sun through the clouds, bright against the bland grey of the hallways. The boy notices him almost immediately; George could imagine him like a deer in headlights, in a fond way of course, his expression animated akin to something drawn in a comic book.

“Tommy?” George asks, unable to stop himself from smiling just at the sight of the boy. “What are you doing here?”

 Tommy’s eyes dart around the room nervously, never quite meeting the older boy’s face. He looks sickly in a way that George feels he would be worried about if he saw it on anyone else, but on Tommy it is nothing out of the ordinary. “You know just- getting to class?”

 “Calm down, Tommy, I’m not going to tell on you if you’re skipping.” George says. Tommy visibly relaxes at the declaration of loyalty- prime, he reminds him of himself just a few years ago, all too aware that anyone could be an enemy. “You’re our friend.”

 “I’m not- we’re- I’m not on the drama club though.” Tommy splutters an excuse; his worries still not eased despite George’s best attempts at genuinely comforting the boy. “I’m just- I’m just some kid you picked up.”

 “So?” George asks, his eyebrows furrowed as if Tommy’s insistence that he was nothing was a particularly angry migraine he was struggling to get away. “Half of the group is just some kid we picked up. We found Slime in a bin somewhere. Techno is just Wilbur’s brother who sometimes helps us with fight scenes. I don’t know where Fundy came from but he won’t leave us alone now.”

 “But,,, you’re all- you’re friends.” Tommy says, a weak argument and both of them know it. George puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, contorting every fibre of his being into the most non-threatening thing it could be.

 “And now you’re our friend too.” He shuts down all that is left of their altercation, giving the boy a small side hug. He’s become unnaturally aware of how little Tommy seems to breathe when someone is physically affection- so aware that Tommy trembles under his hold.

 “Thanks. I mean, you’re my friend too, if that’s- you’re my friend, Gogy.” Tommy says. He’s smiling so wildly that George no longer has the heart to yell at him for his use of the nickname he tried so hard to get rid of. Tommy is happy, and for once, he looks like he is truly alive.

 “George to you, gremlin.” He says, ruffling the boy’s hair. There’s no menace in his words, and he knows that if Sapnap or Dream were here they would have called him soft even though they had clearly begun to see the boy as a brother despite knowing him less than two weeks. “So what are we going to do while we skip?”

 “There’s not much to do anyway, big man.” Tommy replies, although he does not protest the idea of hanging out with the older boy, nor the complete mess that is becoming of his hair now George is messing it up.

 “There’s a vending machine behind one of the auditorium wings.” George rambles, leading the boy by the arm wrapped around his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure the stuff in there is only ten years out of date. Basically brand new!”

 “I think I’ll pass on that one Gogy. Thanks, though.” Tommy smiles even though it makes his cheeks hurt. In his short time of knowing the group of losers that call themselves the drama club, he has grown very fond of their antics and strange jokes. He’s can understand Tubbo’s laments about Schlatt now- his pseudo siblings have the same amount of chaos crammed in as Tubbo has described for many years whenever he was able to complain about his brother.

 “Suit yourself. Why are you skipping Mr. Awesamdude’s class anyway?” George asks. 

"Oh I pissed him off and I don't want to deal with the consequences." Tommy tries to be as casual as possible- though George doesn't seem to care much about what his friends get up to when they're fucking around without him. Prime knows he wouldn't have it in him to be disappointed in his friends, the man considers Sapnap 'Dream dared me to drink lighter fluid and I'm not a pussy' one of his best friends.

"So you're just going to avoid him so he won't do his whole 'you know you can talk to me, okay?' pity thing?" George grins. "I went through a few of those speeches last year. I was diagnosed with narcolepsy and I guess he wanted to be supportive."

"He acts like it's my fault that Mr. Ponk left him so Yeah- But I didn't know you were..." Tommy starts, stumbling over his words.

"Yep, haven't got any hypocretin. Absolutely none." George says. "Which is inconvenient."

"Wilbur calls me a cretin sometimes." Tommy says, completely misunderstanding the complex biology behind the condition. George would have burst out laughing if he wasn't so afraid that it would hurt Tommy's feelings. It was quite like trying not to upset your little brother; with Wilbur as the so-called 'parent' that Tommy would definitely run to the second George upset him.

"Because you are a cretin. One that doesn't do his fucking work." George replies. There's never any malice behind his words; after all, Tommy is just a kid and even George would think that the relentless insults that sometimes come with being friends with the drama club could be confusing for an outsider- because despite how well he fits in with the group, Tommy is still pretty new to the madness.

"Bitch! I did my chemistry work yesterday! You can even ask Charlie for fuckin proof!" Tommy screeches. Prime, this kid swears like a sailor- must be why Wilbur was always complaining about seeing him in detention. 

"There's no need for proof. I believe you." George shrugs. By this point, they're already at the doors to the auditorium- after many years of being friends with the tallest people in the fucking world (and having to tun away from problems said ridiculously tall people get him in), he's developed a outstanding ability to walk fast. "By the way, there's a ninety percent chance that someone- Sapnap- is already skipping class in here."

They swing open the doors. It's incredible how George has never quite gotten used to the thick smell of mothballs and sweaty teenagers; the smell still slaps him in the face every time he enters the room. It's the main reason why he chose to be stage manager instead of an actor, the smell lessens when he's in his lightbox, and he no longer has to deal with the constant noise that come from such a large group of assholes in such a close proximity. Well, that and the fact that he didn't have to suffer the embarrassment of last year's disastrous production of Macbeth, were at least half the cast had a fistfight on stage because of Schlatt's wild divergence from the script.

He sometimes forgots that Tommy will not know of the same horrors of performances that he does. The boy has a knack for acting like the best friend you know all the secrets of- in reality, George could not confidently guess his favourite colour, let alone understand his deepest secrets. He feels himself spilling random tales from his life at Tommy like nobody's business but he's never heard the boy speak of himself in return. Strange, that should be something that he lets the boy do more.

"Tommy?" He asks. The boy's head snaps up to meet his eyes. "What's your favourite colour?"

"Red." Tommy replies without a moment's hesitation, like he's practised the answer many times before this. 

"Any particular reason?"

"When I was- like five? Maybe six, I came to my school on my birthday and I was really upset because my parents forgot, and I didn't have any presents and I felt really sad because everyone always asks 'what did you get?' and I was embarrassed to say nothing." Tommy began, stumbling over words like the memory was not distant enough for it not to hurt anymore. "And my six year old brain couldn't think of a solution other than to hide in a cupboard until i could go home."

"Brilliant solution." George smirks. Tommy throws a bag at him, missing by an inch or so.

"I was six! Anyway, Tubbo, my best friend in the entire world, found me and was like 'why are you crying' and so I said, 'because it's my birthday and my parents forgot and didn't get me a present'. Tubbo, because he is the best ever, made me this little bear-thing out of red play-dough and said it was my present. So whenever I see red I think, oh wow, I have the best friend in the world." Tommy finishes, grinning wildly at the thought of that old bear and it's very misshapen form.

"That's actually really sweet." George has to pretend that the tale isn't making him feel all kinds of shitty feelings inside. What kind of parents leave their only sone to feel unloved on his birthday- as a child, no less. "I didn't know big-man Tommy had it in him to be so soft."

"I'm not soft!" Tommy barks, familiar joking nature back. 

"So when is your birthday, Tommy?" George asks. 

"Oh I don't remember. My mum says I'm too old for that shit now- she's kind of right, birthday parties are lame anyway. She got so pissed last time Tubbo and Ranboo came over to celebrate- she threw my cake at the wall, and I was grounded for sooo long." Tommy says. He is so casual that it makes George wince. Something- everything about a child being told that they are too old to have a birthday doesn't sit right with him. "What about you, though, Gogy? What's your favourite colour?"

"UH- unfair, I'm colourblind!"

George does not think about their conversation again until hours after school, when he is sat at Dream's desk, doing the man's homework in exchange for the cookies that Dream's mum always makes. Dream claims that he hates them but even George can tell that he's just saying that as an excuse to give them to him every time they hang out at lunch under the guise of his mum packing them by mistake. He's on his third cookie by the time the topic finally comes to mind.

"Dream do you think- have you noticed anything a bit weird with Tommy?" He asks his boyfriend, who barely looks up from the essay he is being forced to write ( titled 'Why not to play Freeze-Tag in the middle of a hallway'). 

"The fact that he insists he's 6'1 when he's 5'10 at most?" Dream replies, eyes still glued to the paper. If he'd looked up, for even a second, he would have seen George do the world's most dramatic face palm.

"He said something really weird today- something about him not being allowed to celebrate birthdays, apparently his mum yelled at him for it?" George says, finally gaining the taller man's attention. "It was really weird. He didn't seem upset but it felt really off."

"That's not uhhh- that's not normal." Dream's mouth gapes open, like a fish as he tries to compute what had just been said. "It's probably nothing- Tommy's a pretty open kid, if something bad was going on, wouldn't he have told us?"

Perhaps it was this ideology of Tommy as the perfect, blabbermouth kid that prevented their worries. It was truely a shame that Tommy's acting skills had fooled them both- no matter how sick they felt, no matter how worrisome Tommy's behaviour become; they wanted to believe that the happy kid that Tommy had portrayed himself as was the reality. 

George still thought something was wrong, despite the calming words Dream whispered. He needed to go to someone that would really help, the leader who didnt care about uncomfortable emotions for as long as if meant that his friends would be okay.

Gogy -> Wilbur

         hey wil im kind of worried about tommy

Chapter Text

The worst thing to wake up to, in Tommy's most professional opinion, is the sound of yelling downstairs. 

Actually, scratch that. The worst thing to wake up to is the sound of yelling, your phone being completely dead so the alarm didn't go off, messages from your best friend saying that he was too ill to come into school and that Schlatt was 'unable to drive because Slime got chased by a raccoon', and the realisation that he could end up in Miss Puffy's office before the day had even truly begun as a result of his chronic lateness. That was the worst way he could possibly wake up, and by his oh-so-wonderful luck, that was the way he did wake up that morning.

He curses, scrambling across the floor to grab all his textbooks from the night before. There's an overwhelming sense of deja vu; he feels like he is an extra from groundhog day, repeating the same mistake over and over like a broken record until eventually- nothing. There's no chance in hell that he'd break free of this cycle of fucking up each aspect of his life in their own special way. He'll be like this for the rest of eternity. He shakes his head, trying to throw the thoughts out. Wallowing in his own self-pity never gets him anywhere- especially not to school with only a few minutes until he's meant to be in his first class.

He ties his shoelaces as fast as can, desperately hoping that the water he splashed over his face had washed away the greasy look he'd been stuck with for the past few days. He probably shouldn't have stayed up all night writing a physics essay that was at least 90% Karl's work and 10% him changing words slightly so it could seem he'd at least tried to have an original thought. Except he hadn't. He could barely spell original, especially at 4am when half of his laptop keys are broken- but that doesn't really matter. His teacher would be very lucky if he handed something in at least.

He almost collapses the second he picks up his bag. Prime, he always forgets how heavy it is; he's in the habit if taking all of his books to and from school out of pure laziness and the fact that he dropped his timetable in a puddle many months ago and now completely relies on his friends to drag him to the next class. However, that results in him having to break his back every time he attempts to run to school. Times like right now, thundering down the stairs while simultaneously hating his own stupid bones for hurting despite the fact he was literally bouncing heavy textbooks off them. 

He sprints off down the street, only having to stop twice to pick up a loose sheet that had magically fallen out of his zip-less bag. He didn't know what possessed him to attempt to save the detailed drawing of boobs and the note Dream had written telling him all the ways he was going to fuck his mother. It's not like either of them were particularly useful; but they made him oddly sentimental and he couldn't stand the thought of letting them go. 

Well, he couldn't stand being yelled at by Miss Puffy on a slightly more pressing scale. The third time the boobs fell out he had to leave them behind, already running at such a pace it was a wonder that the soles of his shoes weren't catching fire with all the friction- Karl would be so proud he remembered that, he'd have to tell him later- he was producing as he sped down the rather long L'Manburg road. Even with all his effort, it would be unlikely for him to actually get there on time.

But he tried his best, and who gives a shit about lateness anyway?

Apparently Mr Skeppy, who lectured him outside the class for at least ten minutes. You'd think that a history teacher such as himself would be able to accept that mistakes are sometimes inevitable- Prime knows he'd be droning on about it when they talked about the Weimar Government- but clearly Tommy's three minute absence was the end of the fucking world as they all knew it and the boy should just be crucified already. Though it was very hard to take the teacher seriously when he was wearing the equivalent of a derp mask and trying to look menacing.

When Mr Skeppy finally came to his senses and realised he was wasting more of his lesson yelling at Tommy for wasting time not being there, the boy breathed a sigh of relief. He'd tell Sapnap about this interaction later; the older boy probably had a little storage of 'Skeppy is an arse' jokes. 

"Toms!" Ranboo breathes the second he sits down next to them, using the special nickname only the most important people called him. "Thank fuck man, I'd run out of excuses why you weren't here, I said that you and Tubbo were probably in traffic again-"

"About that. It's just me and you today, Boob-Boy." He gave the other a toothy grin, not quite as fake as it used to be. As much as he ripped on Ranboo for being not as big of a man as him, they were a pretty good person, and a good friend. Also a bitch.

"Oh God. You're not going to get us in trouble again are you? Because my moms already think you're a bad influence and-" Ranboo, unfortunately, had never quite realised that in becoming friends with Tubbo and Tommy all those years ago, he had accepted that he would become a new magnet for mayhem. Most of the time the chaos came in completely unintended ways; but it was like common sense flew out of the window the second something went wrong and all they could do was create bigger messes that cancelled out the first ones.

"When have I ever done that?" Tommy asks in his best mock-innocent voice, fooling absolutely no-one. Sometimes he does feel a bit jealous of Ranboo, who has two mothers who love him enough to be overbearing- a kind of love that he only dreamed of having. "I'm a perfect angel, Boob-boy, you know this."

"You have been calling me Boob-boy for the past hour." Ranboo monotones. Their words go in one of Tommy's ears and right out of the other- the boy looks befuddled, as if he hadn't been silently cackling to himself about his own Boob-joke. "Never mind. You're an angel, Toms. I can't believe I am in the presence of such a holy being."

Tommy grins a cheshire-cat grin. "I knew you'd come around eventually, Ran."

"So now you're calling me Ran?" Ranboo can't help but smile back, even if the other boy won't see it- he'll probably know anyway, recognising all of their emotions without them even needing to perform them. "Such an asshole. And to think that I was going to give you my cookie."

"You'd give me it anyway, bitch." Tommy snatches the sweet treat the second Ranboo passes it to his side of the table, jamming it in his mouth before they can change their mind. Ranboo has long since given up on the 'mom packed too many and I don't like them' lie- lies that comforted a previous Tommy with much more pride than he needed, who would never accept charity from anyone, even when he was starving. 

"I would." Ranboo sighs. "Are you hanging out with the drama club tonight?"

"You know I have to, Ran. I'll take you with me, if you want. I know you get lonely without my presence." Tommy smirks. The drama club had never seemed to care about new members; in fact, Techno had repeatedly tried to tell him that the club was a kind of hive mind that would brainwash anyone who tried to join. 

"Yeah. Or, maybe youre just clingy." Ranboo replies.

"ME?!"

"Tommy!  Ranboo! This is not more important that my lesson, unfortunately." Skeppy shouts from the front. The man looks absolutely defeated already; perks of being a teacher, getting asked the question 'sir when are we going to learn about updog' only for it to be a pun. 

The drama club is as busy as ever when Tommy finally turns up later that day, gripping Ranboo's hand like a death grip. Slime is back again, George and Dream have been exiled from the stage due to PDA, and Quackity is sat at the make-shift studying table, obviously very ready for tutoring. The auditorium set up has always been very odd, particularly for those not too well known to the club. Despite the fact that the so called 'seating area' is just a separated part of the stage, everyone seems to have their own individual spots that they become very protective over whenever someone moves just a little too far into their designated space. The area is littered with props- and a tall table is pushed to one side, the tower built for the infamous 'Macbeth', a bed that Techno tried to convince everyone was Dream's. 

It smelt like smoke and moth-balls and far too many bad decisions- a scent that was quickly becoming comforting, too comforting for a kid who swore he couldn't get too attached to his tutors. He can't help that Quackity always helps explain the problems in a way that doesn't make him feel like he's being ridiculed- can't help that he feels so much less like a burden or a fuck up when they're so kind.

"Miss Puffy finally selected the play for the summer!" Wilbur yells, kicking open the door to the auditorium. All eyes are immediately on him, hanging onto every word that he may say as if it was their lifeline. The selected play is always very important; it decides just how civil they will all be for the next few weeks, especially among those who's play suggestion was rejected. 

"And?" Sapnap huffs, bored of the dramatic pauses that always come before announcements. 

"Midsummer Night's Dream!" Wilbur exclaims. More passionate than Tommy could ever imagine anyone being- Wilbur is elated, leaping up onto the table that had recently been converted into a studying area. "Shakespeare's finest work- no I don't just say that about everything, fuck off- a tale of forbidden love, of mischief and magic-"

"Oh, I've seen that film. Tubbo made us watch it last year, scared the shit out of me." Tommy interrupts. Wilbur looks at him as if he's grown three extra heads and started speaking in tongues. 

"Tommy that's Midsommar." Ranboo hisses, though his tone is not malicious. But Prime, if Tommy doesn't feel like the worst fucking moron in the world. He should have just kept his fucking mouth shut, avoided making everyone think he was stupider than he already was.

"Which is still a cool film. One of my favourites." Karl says quickly. He's trying to make Tommy feel better, of course he is, because everyone is now thinking that he's the dumbest person alive- leaning past Quackity to put an hand on his shoulder in a comforting way. "Wilbur, what were you saying?" 

"Midsummer Night's Dream! I've already got some roles in mind, so long as no one wants to audition for anything." Wilbur is back to his former happiness; Tommy feels a little guilty for taking away that joy, even for a moment. He's been taking a lot from everyone these days, draining life from everyone like a parasite they wouldn't shake after he latched onto them.

"If I don't get to be Oberon I will bite your ears off." Dream monotones, glaring right into Wilbur's face. They stand, just staring, at a metaphorical stand-still while the club watches in bated breath. 

"Fine. You can be Oberon." Wilbur groans, and the other man lets out a triumphant cheer. "I was thinking we get Niki or Eret to be Titania. Sapnap, you don't want to put effort into it-"

"That is correct." Sapnap barely lifts his head from Karl's lap. He had expressed his hatred for effort and Shakespeare many times, a combination with English-teacher daddy issues and genuine dislike for having to read long texts. Tommy was still surprised that he remained in the club; maybe he needed the company like Tommy did, desired the love same way Tommy ached for it.

"You can be Egeus. You're a father, congratulations. Quackity, you can be Duke Theseus- Karl you can either be Hippolyta or we can try some gender-bending bullshit, I'm Lysander-" Wilbur starts again, rattling off names like the play was part of his mind, as if he was just words and stories instead of flesh and bone. But saying this, the constant use of his full name is making him feel a little ill.

"I don't want to be Duke Theseus." Quackity whines. "Theseus is boring, I want to be Hermia!"

"I don't want you to be my wife!" Wilbur replies, sounding more like a petulant child than a leader.

"I don't care! I'm not being some old man!" Quackity continues his lament, despite the fact he's clearly holding up the process.

"You are a little bitch. Fine! Quackity is Hermia, I am Lysander- Prime we need more girls in this club- Eret is Helena, George- George you can be Demetrius, he's asleep half the play, and.. Tommy."

"Yeah?" He blinks. It's become a habit for him to stay silent, particularly after doing something dumb. He fears further rejection, being popped in the mouth for his relentless need to talk, talk, talk, boring everyone to madness with his stupidity.

"You can be our Puck. If you want to be, of course." Wilbur looks delighted with his own idea- other members of the club are nodding in agreement. A stone in Tommy's stomach sinks; he's been in this situation before. They're trying to make him look bad, trying to get him to fuck up in front of everyone so that he can thoroughly humiliate himself.

"I'm not an actor." He finds that it's too hard to get his words out, he's stuttering and stumbling more than he ever has before. Ranboo looks at him with concern- but they do nothing.

"How do you know that?" Wilbur asks quietly.

"Because- I've never acted before." Tommy replies. It's just so obvious that he's being set up.

"So? You can learn." It's so painfully genuine. Everything about this situation screams that it's some kind of trick- except no one is snickering behind his back, they're all,,, agreeing that he should be part of the production. "We'll help you, Toms."

"Yeah. You're one of us now, no matter what. Like an emotional support child." Dream jokes. The concept of an us feels so foreign to him. It's almost always been Tommy, vs the world.

He's just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He walks home with Wilbur again that night.

"Let's take the scenic route back, yeah? Through the field, there's a shortcut that comes out about a two minute walk from your house." The older man says, the wind lightly tousling his dark hair. The evening has barely just arrived; it's still warm, but the sky is a dusty mix of pink and purple. At least there's still something beautiful in the rotten town that was Essempi.

Tommy doesn't even register that he's crying until the tears are gliding down his cheeks. He's hit by a wave of embarrassment as he tries to wipe them away as quickly as possible- but its far too late already. Wilbur is looking at him with eyes that look far too loving to be laid on someone as truly loveless as Theseus Inet, with worry and sadness and unimaginable sympathy that could never feel pitying when Wilbur did it.

"Tommy?" He asks and Tommy would be absolutely lying if he said that the simple acknowledgement didn't make him want to burst into tears. "Why are you crying? Did we say something wrong?"

Tommy shakes his head. He's very aware of how full his lungs feel; like he's being drowned in his own emotions, encased in pain of his own imagining. One moment completely fine, the next crumpling like a paper rose in the damp air- he lives like he is ready to give into the intensity he always feels building inside, yet he never gives into the release of allowing them to escape. 

"Sunshine?" Soft nicknames, the kind that tear every fibre of Tommy's heart apart, fall so easily from Wilbur's lips like it was natural to offer the younger boy such gentleness. "Is it about the play? You don't have to be in it if you don't want to, I promise."

"It's not about the play, Wilbur." Tommy sniffles. He's well aware that he must look pathetic, just a snivelling mess that Wilbur has been stranded with. "I don't know how to describe it."

He did know how to describe it. He felt like hammers were being thrown around in his chest and his grief physically ached, like an old wound that had never really healed. He wanted to be slammed to the ground and torn apart just so he could feel something other than the overwhelming numbness of being alive- he wanted to be shattered into a thousand tiny piece just so someone could pick him up and fix him to be better than he was ever before; he needed to feel young, dumb and so helplessly alive so that he wouldn't need to grow up knowing that his childhood wasn't what it was supposed to be. He felt all these things but he could never tell anyone, not without feeling so raw and vulnerable that he would never be able to recover.

"What is it about?" Wilbur asks quietly. Tommy can't help but feel like a small child, sobbing in front of his older brother like his problems would magically go away if he cried for long enough.

"Just- it hurts, n' shit. Everyone is so nice and I dunno- I don't think i really deserve it." Tommy whispers. 

"Oh Tommy. Can I hug you?" Wilbur coos. Tommy just lets himself fall- Wilbur's sweater is impossibly softer than he could have imagined, muffling the meaningless cries that wreak his whole body.  "You deserve people being nice to you, sunshine. You deserve it more than anything."

Tommy wishes more than anything that he would be able to accept Wilbur's words.

When he gets home that night he still feels the ghost of a hug in his bones. He doesn't mourn the missing comfort for too long; his mother's pale faced figure stands at the door to the kitchen, ice-cold eyes unblinkingly locked onto him. She doesn't ever seem that mad at him, but Tommy still has no idea where this conversation could go. He either drowns in her poisoned affection or burns in her loving wrath. 

"Theo, my baby." She whispers. The terms of endearment make Tommy's skin crawl- they feel forced, too heavy and thick in his mind. "Your dad told me you had a bit of an argument."

"Something like that." Tommy says stiffly. He beat the crap out of me, mum, you know that. She walks forward until she is close enough to reach out, taking his cheeks in the palms of her hands. A soft movement; contrasted so beautifully with the feeling of her sharp nails digging into his skin. She smells of smoke but not in a tender way like how Wilbur's sweater smelled faintly of a campfire, like cheap cigarettes and uncaring lungs.

"Oh, Theseus, you know mum loves you very much, right." And Tommy supposes that would be true if love was defined by ruining a child into submission, taking the humanity of comfort for a way to wrap yourself away from the mistake of a baby you made. Love, at least in his mother's eyes, is cruel.

"Yeah, I know, mum." He says, but he really doesn't. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur Soot, contrary to popular belief, is absolutely useless at answering text messages. 

So useless, in fact, that when George texts him on Wednesday night, he doesn't actually get around to even looking at it until the Friday of the same week. He's a busy guy between arguing with his brother and trying to set up a drama production, he has essays to bullshit and a band he has to practice with. A busy man, useless at texting, and useless at apologising to an old friend he repeatedly yelled 'TRAITOR' at for a month and a half. Useless at apologies in general, if he was absolutely honest.

The original plan was to have Fundy try and get Eret to agree to joining the club again, leaving Wilbur to take the easy route to get Niki to be in the show also; but alas, Fundy had told him he had to apologise and everyone had agreed on it. Despite the fact that I'm the president of this club, you dickheads, technically I make the plans, he graciously concurred (he whined to Techno for an hour and a half). Unfortunately, this ordeal may have made George's frequent texts slip his mind, an occurance he would likely regret.

So when he wakes up for school on a wonderfully sunny (its pissing it down) day, absolutely on time (he's overslept) to the sound of birds singing outside (his dad's awful shower singing). He sighs so hard his lungs burn. Recently, he'd been trying to get into a more Shakespearean mindset to adjust to the theatre show season- though the task was becoming increasingly difficult when dealing with a family who so clearly didn't care about his creative experience. Or in Techno's words wanted him to 'fuck off and stop eating all the kitkats'. Really, being a creative genius could be such a burden, heaven knows Shakespeare wouldn't have been forced to finish his politics essay; Shakespeare was free to let his imagination take him to wherever he needed and frankly it was-

"Wilbur, if you're not in the car in the next five seconds, I'm making you walk to school!" His father so rudely interrupts his train of thoughts. Shakespeare wouldn't have dealt with this. Though, Shakespeare would have had to walk to school then, and that is the only thing Wilbur would have never stoop to.

"Dadza, please just give me a minute." Wilbur whines, jostling the printer in futile attempts to get it to print his scripts faster. He'd sent everyone the PDF copy, but half of them probably still had him blocked because of certain tragedies that-must-not-be-mentioned. The printer growls back at him as it leaks a nasty load of black ink over his desk. 

"A minUTE?" Phil squawks, outraged. "Mate, I've been waiting half an hour!"

If there was a camera there, Wilbur likes to imagine he could have stared into it in the Jim-Halbert way he perfected after his third or fourth re-watch of the office. However, there wasn't, so he was forced to gaze upon the slightly-smoking printer, which had thankfully finished printing the magnum opus that would soon become of midsummer's nights dream. This was the drama club's year, he could feel it, finally a show that could go off without a hitch.

"Wilbur!" Phil yells again. Shakespearebur- shit, he'd really have to work on that nickname- rolls his eyes so hard they could have fallen out. He turns to grab his phone from where he had thrown it the night before (after a long night of writing mean comments on anteater's wikipedia pages), watching messages flash up as his friends desperately attempt to contact him.

             >from; gogy

hey wil, im kind of worried about tommy

His heart gives a little jump at the message. Tommy had been a sore spot recently; the boy- child, just a child- was pretty much a member of their silly little club at this point, and he couldn't help but feel a tiny little bit overprotective of him. A teeny, tiny bit. The smallest amount.

"WILBUR!" Phil shouts. Wilbur jumps in surprise, promising himself that he'd respond to the text as soon as he had calmed down his (very old) father. Too bad that he was as terrible at promises as he was at answering his messages.

He shoves his phone back in his bag, completely forgetting about the half-typed message he'd attempted to write out.

It takes less than thirty seconds to spot Eret in a crowd. For one, she's very tall, for two, she dresses like she belongs in a castle somewhere, definitely not in a tiny highschool filled with only the sweatiest of teenagers. Ethereal, maybe. They also look a little bit like they're ready to rip his skull out and use it as an elaborate wine glass. 

"Wilbur Soot-Minecraf." She says, the tightest of smiles on their face. Wilbur audibly gulps, feeling very intimidated- his history with Eret had been anything but sweet, and he was at least 90% sure that the other still held a grudge against him for the whole 'getting too involved in the idea of betrayal in theatre and turning against her' bullshit last year. Maybe he had taken exiling her from the club too far. "To what do I owe the misfortune?"

"Eret, my favourite person, esteemed actor-" Wilbur begins to grovel, very close to just dropping to his knees and begging for their presence in his plays. The drama club had a show to put on, and they weren't about to allow lack of interest in joining the club stop them from having a successful performance. Even if that meant that having to apologise to people.

"What do you want, Wilbur." They demand, tone so cold it could have frozen the man where he stood. They stand to her full height, which, although slightly shorter than Wilbur's, was pretty fucking scary. Wilbur knew that Eret had a metaphorical bounty on his head, and pissing her off could end with him being hurled off castle walls. Or down a few flights of stairs. 

"Well, I know you and me left on bad terms, but please, please Eret, come back to the club, just for this show please!" Wilbur implores. He wasn't as good at puppy eyes as Tommy, but he did have the power of making outlandish promises he would never keep. Eret was all he needed, the key to his show going off without a hitch, the last star to complete a galaxy, because after all he was an artist and artists desired perfection (perhaps in the form of a full cast and Techno promising not to throw things at them on stage.)

"I can't do that Wilbur. For one-" Eret began, barely restraining her mirth at the once proud Wilbur on the verge of tears in front of them. She did have some form of longing feeling in her chest, she'd been harbouring it since she left the club a year ago. The art club was nowhere near as exciting as the drama club had been, and definitely not as chaotic.

Leaving the drama club was hard. they hadn't even wanted to leave in the first place; even though they had planned to do art on Wednesday and drama on Thursday, she was helpfully told that the drama club was a full-time commitment. She had argued with Wilbur, who took their new club as an fierce betrayal, and left without saying goodbye to any of their friends. That proved to be an incorrect decision, as they wouldn't talk to many of the original group after that.

And she missed them like one may miss a limb, or another half of their heart. She missed having to deal with madness, missed having to stay up all night watching the group breakdown in the groupchat. They had been a major part of her life, and the art club had only been a half-hatched attempt to mend the hole that the drama club had left.

"Please, Eret. Our future depends on you, I'll do anything!" Wilbur begs, clasping his hands like Eret was some kind of goddess and not the same person he had heavily slandered for the best part of a few months, as if he hadn't created a malicious plan to steal their brother until Phil found out and made him stop.

"I have no doubt in that, Wilbur. However, after the situation last year," Eret sighs. She had a soft spot for her drama club's antics, one they had desperately tried to heal over since her departure from them. She simply couldn't help that she was very weak with the thoughts of nights under the too-warm spotlights.

"Eret I swear to you, I will never stoop to such levels again." Wilbur looks up at them with eyes he really hope look as remorseful as he truly is. Eret didn't mean to betray them, he's sure.

She didn't betray them. Or she might have, but in a way that wasn't designed to harm. Wilbur wasn't that sure anymore; he couldn't say he didn't miss someone with the skill level that Eret possessed, someone who truly cared about the club and the productions in the way that he did.

He probably shouldn't have treated them the way he did. He was mean, he gave her cruelty they didn't deserve. It was just an art club for Prime's sake, but it was also a declaration that the club wasn't as important to her as it was to him. His club, made from nothing but care and dramatics, was not as important as some dumb art class.

"...Fine." They say after a short pause, radiating fondness that they've desperately tried to smother with faux-anger. 

"Eret you are an angel, a goddess, the light of my life and the greatest person alive too-" Wilbur is practically weeping on the ground, relief that his show-his baby, his creation- wouldn't be the worst disaster since Slime and his frankly appalling fashion sense.

"You have to do something for me first." They demand, folding their arms over her chest. 

"Anything, anything at all."

"Apologise to my brother." She states calmly. Wilbur has to try very, very hard not to gape his mouth open like a fish. He's never mean to Fundy, everyone knows that he only calls the boy a furry when it's strictly necessary. Prime- Fundy is his son, in more ways than just a role in a show.

"What- Fundy? Look, I get you're biased but Eret he really is a furry have you seen him-"

"Well, he told me that you were being quote 'a total dick' about picking his roles in the show." 

"Why didn't he tell me? Actually no, why is he even upset about the role?" Wilbur asks. 

"It's complicated. He might tell you the reason, but he might not. Just apologise." She folds their arms across their chest. Wilbur can see a small smile creep across their face, even tough she'd kill him if he told her outloud. "Then I'll join your show."

Wilbur could have thrown himself to the floor at their feet and wept. He would have, in fact, if it wasn't for the fact that he could see the sour face of the witch that called herself a teacher glaring at him through the hallway- she wouldn't understand why it was just a requirement to grovel over Eret's great sacrifice. So he just stands, suppressing his grin, allowing Eret to leave to her next class without so much as a sonnet confessing his love to them.

Though he would be lying if he said the interaction wasn't the cause of his jubilant mood for the next few periods.

He keeps that elated feeling well into third period, the next time he sees Fundy. By then he's already received more messages of good news than he would in a week; Techno agrees to tutor tomorrow, Niki says she would be happy to take part in the play as long as Jack Manifold could be there too, and he watches Schlatt fall off his chair during economics. A great day, one he hopes to continue further- provided he can correctly apologise to his friend.

"Fundy! My little champion, esteemed actor, how are you today?" He grins.

"Wilbur- uhh, my sister- Eret said they agreed to be in the show." Fundy smiles back, baring his canines just a little too aggressively. He has yet to look up at Wilbur; eyes completely glued to whatever piece of hacking coding he's currently doing, occasionally having to blow strands of ginger hair out of his eyes.

"About that. Fundy, I'm really sorry about upsetting you when I was casting roles. Seriously- I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, I- I didn't consider what I was doing, I just-"

Fundy stops typing suddenly, the absence of computer clacks suddenly making the air feel thick around them both. His eyes are sharp; focused completely on Wilbur as if he had laser vision and could see right through the man's feeble attempts at apologising despite having not a clue what he did wrong.

"You have no idea why I am upset do you?" Fundy asks quietly. "I'm trans, Wilbur. It really pisses me off when you keep making me play the female roles."

Wilbur just sat, gaping like a fish. He had a feeling this might have been one of the emails he deleted solely because he was stuck in a spree of getting rid of amazon alerts. 

"Ah."

"That's all you've got to say?" Fundy asks. "I would have expected you to have launched into a little speech by now."

"I could-"

"Don't."

He tutors Tommy during the lunch period. Not like thats a chore, he loves spending time with his friends and the perks of having a kid to tutor mean that he is allowed to leave his class 10 minutes early. Which makes the day even better than it already has been; leaving class and smugly waving at his friends left behind, and seeing his favourite little brother.

Perfect, except Tommy didn't seem to be having the same kind of luck.

"It's no use Wil. 'M just dumb, I can't do this." Tommy groans, letting his head hit the table with a loud thunk.

Wilbur knows a lot about what to say, all of the time. Tongue of silver, some may describe it as, lying son of a bitch, others would say. Being a good liar has never helped around Tommy: the boy, someone akin to a brother, someone who Wilbur cares for so diligently was just impossible to sway with a honeyed tale. Wilbur would open his mouth, and his word would fumble under the weight of the fact that Tommy trusted him so completely. It was hard to know what to say when you know there could never be enough words: like describing to the sun how bright it truly was.

"You're not dumb, Tommy." A meagre attempt to console him. "You know all this shit it's just- have you ever thought that you might get in your own head too much?"

"Huh?" 

"Because- look, you know all this, you definitely do." Wilbur stutters. He's not doing a great job at convincing Tommy so far- so much for the student capable of convincing Miss Puffy to keep the drama club intact.

"Nah. 'm just fuckin'- got the IQ of box of crayons, y'know." Tommy continues, smiling a rather sad smile up at the elder. Wilbur couldn't bare the thought of even pretending to look happy at his friend's stupidly low views on himself. Prime, this boy just could not seem to grasp the idea of being a perfectly nice human being, one who made mistakes. Often, it seemed like Tommy had inherited the Wilbur tactic of only seeing things in black and white- which would be a strange thing indeed judging by the fact they were not really siblings, Wil.

Wilbur didn't even know where he got these ideas from. Tutoring Tommy was a fucking walk in the park; he could answer pretty much anything they threw at him with ease, even Dream's super dumb questions (more often than not related to just how attractive George was). Tommy was smart, and pretty funny even if Wilbur would not admit it. It just didn't make any sense, how could one kid spend all day in school being reminded of the genuine joy he brought to people and immediately go home and forget it-

Oh.

Of course.

The flinching. The constant apologies. The fact that Tommy looked like death rolled up into the shrunken form of a moody teenager. The horror stories he would tell under the guise of 'innocent childhood memories'. George's message. Techno's concerned looks. The terrible looming feeling in his gut that something was going badly, badly wrong.

It was never Tommy at the root of the problem. It was his bastards of parents.

"Would you like to come study a bit more at mine tonight?" He blurts. "We can play WiiParty."

Chapter Text

"And you're sure?" Techno asks, a quiet voice in the sombre silence. "You're absolutely sure that's what's going on."

Wilbur nods miserably. He's never been so sure of anything in his entire life, never been so utterly struck to his core, burnt with the tragic knowledge that the pain his friend could be experiencing was much worse than anything he could have imagined. The moment he left his lunchtime tutoring session- stopping only to push Tommy towards the nearest drama club member for a friend to walk with- he had run to Techno, so full of emotion he felt he may burst. 

The only issue was that if even he didn't know what to do, there was not a single chance in hell that Techno would know either. Not the slightest fraction. His efforts were futile if he had come for a solution, but for an easy place to vent before trying to fix everything alone? Perfect. Techno may not be the sharpest tool in the shed regarding emotions, but two heads are always better than one when confronting a teenager because you've found out about his abuse.

"What are you going to do?" Techno asks, gnawing at the skin of his lip. He didn't look so big and scary right now; he was just a kid with fading pink hair, one that knew he could do nothing but watch a child wither away. 

Prime, he didn't even know Tommy that well. He'd done maybe two or three tutoring sessions with him, even though the kid had barely been able to mutter a word in a mixture of awe and not-quite being loud enough for the drama-club-calamities. He didn't even remember his last name.

Yet he allowed himself to be dragged to the mould-ridden lockers under the stairs, just because Wilbur said the magic words 'The kid needs help, Tech, please.'

He was going soft. 

"What can I do? It's Tommy, for Prime's sake, we can't just let him- Techno, they have to pay." Wilbur stutters, dragging a hand through his hair. He exhales sharply.

"Wil, I highly doubt you have the athletic prowess to take on two adults. That's how you get yourself a lawsuit." Techno adds. His brother gives him a scathing look, one that would have struck him down dead if this was a fairytale or something of the like. "Look, I'll sort something out. You and your group of nerds-"

"Actors."

"Complete nerds- just look after the kid, make sure he doesn't get in trouble." Techno kicks himself off the locker he had been leaning against. The day was only half-done, and as much as he loved indulging Wilbur's heroic fantasies, he needed to get to class. 

"You suck." Wilbur sighs.

"Die. Dad's making pasta tonight." And with that he was gone, disappearing into a gaggle of freshmen girls and a lone Jack Manifold. 

Wilbur yanks his phone out of his pocket with an eye roll, faced with the usual notifications of his HayDay farm being in desperate need of a harvest and the consequences of his last angry rampage through TikTok comments. One of his favourite bonding activities with one Mr Quackity was to pretend to be ex-lovers on TikTok, and argue publically on videos selected at random. Hours of delight, though that was a story for another time. He flicked open the drama club's group chat. 

Wilbur

everyone b very nice to Tommy

dream

why

Wilbur

bc, i said so. and im worried.

dream

about what?

Wilbur

ill explain later.

read by Dream, Fundy and 10+ others

Honestly.

Some day, he was going to lose his mind at the constant questioning of his authority. He didn't pester Miss Puffy for so long that she still complains of headaches when he walks past for nothing, damn it. 

He cares about his drama club like his own child. This is why Midsummer Night's Dream must be perfect, must go off without a single hitch. For so long, his club had been ridiculed but this show- Prime, his show- was going to be perfect. He knew it. It was a special feeling in his bones, coursing through his blood, searing his skin like a sacred jewel of his mind. The play no longer felt as if it was just a mere production, it was a second life.

A new beginning. For Eret, who had been so kind and gracious in her return, for Niki, for the club to move past old mistakes.

Nevertheless, it would be a lot of work. His plan was to use this free period to haggle with the art club to do some of the set for him, but 30 minutes were already lost to worrying about Tommy and considering murder for the scum of the earth that had become of the boy's parents. He tore at the skin of his lip- why the fuck did he become a director, this was far too much work-

He'd need a new plan. New ideas, new changes, this club was all about new things so it really was a blessing to occasionally shift things about- his thoughts raced in his head. There were the costumes, the script changes, and edits to the character list (he still winced at the thought of how he'd hurt Fundy), the set, and an ever-increasing list of other tweaks he needed to fix before the opening night. And they hadn't even started on rehearsal yet.

Though he should probably consider moving from under the stairs at some point soon. His legs were beginning to ache from being curled up too long. He could practically taste the mould on his tongue. He also really, really needed to get to the art club while they were still in a good mood and listening to The Smiths- he'd learnt his lesson on arriving in Mitski (or dreaded Salvia Palth) hours when the club were most likely to be upset about past wrongdoings. 

He makes haste to the art club. They're at the very top of the building, three floors up, in the rooms that are always too hot in the summer and freezing absolute balls in the winter. By all means, the drama club is very lucky to have the auditorium for rehearsal.

Wilbur is very lucky to have the drama club.

He doesn't end up seeing Tommy again until the last period. Between rushing around begging favours from various art students and abusing Mr. Halo's printer for his scripts, he just hasn't been able to spare a minute to bother his favourite cretin child. A tragedy, honestly, one of his greatest pastimes has become simply messing with Tommy in the hallway- much superior to pissing Techno off, at least with Tommy there's no chance he'd be thrown out a window.

When he arrives at the library to do work (if said work consisted of watching youtube and playing copious amounts of solitaire), Tommy is there, hunched over a sheet of English works while Quackity mutters encouragement in his ear. By the look on the boy's face though, it wasn't going well.

"Quackity. Fancy seeing you here." He grins widely at the other. "And Tommy, my favourite person, esteemed-"

"Esteemed actor, rocket scientist, engineer," Tommy finishes. He blinked up at Wilbur through dead eyes- an expression sorrowful in the contrast with Quackity's look of determination.

"Ah. I didn't know you knew the lines already." Wilbur says cheerfully. It did make sense that the kid would know his little spiel by now, after all, Tommy was often the first person to hear his pre-prepared speeches. Strange, how close he had gotten to the boy, knowing they had only been friends for a few weeks. "How is it going king?"

"shit."

"It's fine!" Quackity is grinning just a little too much. He tends to do that when he lies. "Me and you Tommy, we're going to get this done in no time."

They both stare at each other for a few beats. Tommy's head is firmly planted in his arms, and Quackity's muscles are just a bit too tense- there is no way in hell this had been going well, no way this work was getting done. Which, alas, has become rather typical of Tommy's tutoring sessions; the kid had no motivation, despite his talents.

"So, why isn't Techno helping? I did ask him if he could-" Wilbur tries his best to diffuse the tension in the room, and Tommy makes a muffled noise of anguish.

"He scares the shit out of me. You know Wil-"

Wil.

Wil

Perhaps the kid would never know how much it meant to Wilbur. Tommy, closed, standoffish, Tommy had given him a nickname, like friends- as brothers did. He can't hide the way his face softens, but he can pray that Tommy's focus would be too intensely on the work that he would never see. 

"He cares about you really, he's just a bit..." Quackity trails off. "It's Techno, man, he's only scary because of the whole...fighting thing."

"Fuckin terrifying." Tommy says. Quackity gives a snort of laughter.

"I know. You shouldn't be the one scared though, if anything he'll want my head for teaching you English behind his back." Quackity laughs, with a gentle shove to Tommy's arm.

Wilbur is very grateful, once again, for his drama club and Alexis Quackity's proficiency at reading his messages. You can tell when the guy is worried, though he tries to hide it as much as he can. It's in the need for contact- more likely to comfort himself than the other. He's a good person. Too good, especially for how often Wilbur tends to overlook his efforts to make their club better. 

"Of course." He says. Tommy's smiling, just a bit. "We all know how much Techno dreams of teaching little gremlins how to use hyperbole."

"EY!"

The rest of the period feels lighter. Less like Tommy is a fragile being that needs to be handled like a delicate flower (of course, Tommy was not fragile like a flower, but fragile like a bomb). He's Tommy, the kid who likes to argue and threaten and call all Quackity's attempts to get him to memorise a passage from the script 'indoctrination good sir!'. 

It's the first time that Wilbur feels that he is really being very helpful in tutoring- they're having fun, and that's far better than Tommy being on the verge of a mental breakdown the whole time. Even if it means he has to look at Quackity's smug 'i-told-you-id-be-a-great-tutor' face.

Asshole.

"So, Bitch boy, what are we doing at yours tonight?" Tommy asks, shoving paper in his bag so hard that they tear and crumple with the pressure. The grin spread over Wilbur's face before he can even register what he is doing.

"Well, obviously we have to do some tutoring bullshit." He says. The groan Tommy lets out is almost comical. "Only for a little bit!"

"You're killing me, Wilbur. Your own bro- you're killing your bro." Tommy hesitates- his eyes snap onto Wilbur and his breath pauses; a cautious response, expecting Wilbur to be angry. If only he knew- if only- that the drama club were as fond of his as they were of the theatre they lived through.

"Oh, so we're bros now?" A teasing grin spreads over the elder boy's face. With that, Tommy's happiness returns- like he'd forgotten the fear from just moments ago.

"Nope, not anymore. Not after you betray me like this." He replies, stubborn and angry like a petulant child, though his tone is joking. Wilbur doesn't grace him with much more than an eye roll, pushing him by the shoulders through the crowds of students in the hallway.

(The physical transporting was an unfortunate side effect of being friends with one Wilbur Soot. Call it what you want; sibling instinct, annoying behaviour, using you like a snowplough to get rid of all the people in his way, any reason could be applied to the man's unreasonable acts of goodwill.)

Tommy is still jabbering insults when they exit the building, marching across the car park to where Mr Minecraf is sitting, drumming his fingers against the dashboard of his car. Wilbur half expected his father to be steaming from the ears at the slow pace at which they had arrived at the car- though Phil was never one for anger.

"I sincerely apologise. My dad might force you to have dinner with us- he loves the good host act." Wilbur has to lean down to whisper in Tommy's ears. He doesn't even know why he did it- there was nothing secretive about his sentence, but the idea of admitting defeat in front of his family made him shudder. They would never know that Tommy Danger Ines would be the first person to make him yield.

"Fuck yeah. I believed you promised WiiParty?" Tommy squints up at him through the sun.

"Such a child. But yes, we will play WiiParty. I'm not making you an avatar though." He is lying through his teeth- the look on Tommy's face is utterly priceless, as if Wilbur would ever deny himself the opportunity to bully the child via Mii-

"What?! This is cruelty!" Tommy squawks. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur can see Techno wandering around the car park. The guy has probably been doing it for a while, just waiting for the embarrassment of his brother loudly fighting with every teacher's (and student's) worst nightmare to die down.

"Is not." 

"It is! It's a violation of my civil rights!" Tommy insists.

"Wil, mate, can you get a move on?" Phil sighs. Unknown to both the boys, he had been silently listening to the conversation unfold- not by choice, of course, in between facepalming and wishing his son came with time management built in. 

Always the last one out of the car park.

Wilbur should have known from the start that no work was going to get done.

He led Tommy to his room, silently hoping that it wasn't as messy as usual, already with little to no intention of doing anything other than Wii Fashion Plaza and eating the M&Ms Phil thought he kept well hidden in the old teapot. Tommy was mesmerised- in a way that was slightly painful to see, for Wilbur's room really wasn't that special, it was just a room, made with love and oh Prime Tommy acted as if he had never been anywhere as magical in his life-

"Aren't you meant to be helping him with homework?" Techno says from the doorframe, staring at them with bored eyes.

Of course, he was helping him with 'homework'. If said history homework was teaching him the history of Nintendo, not the very-dead founders of this boring village. 

"Technoblade, a man with culture such as yourself should know that some things are infinitely more important than old dead people." Wilbur drawls. 

"So is he distracting you, Tommy?" Techno asks. Weird. Techno never usually addresses guests- or anyone for that matter, he's the reserved sort of guy. This must be an attempt at being nice.

"He's shy," Wilbur says lamely.

"And shit at Highway Rollers." 

"Am not!" Tommy bursts, though it lacks the usual biting tone it would have held if it was Wilbur saying it. He sounds defensive, like a caged animal prodded with a stick, ready to lash out and tear the world to shreds. As if Techno, with his caring heart and stiffly protective nature, would hurt him in horrific ways.

"Sure. I could beat you any day. Wilbur, add me to the game." Techno huffs, stretching out on Wilbur's bed.

"No, we're already like halfway through!" Wilbur whines. Halfway through, AND he was over a hundred spaces ahead. If Techno joined the game now there's no doubt he would have made him play fairly.

"I do not care."

Phil drops Tommy home that night.

Wilbur pretends he couldn't feel him shaking when they hugged goodbye. Pretended that he hadn't seen the edges of tears in Tommy's eyes, that he hadn't heard the desperation in the silence. He let them drive away.

"Dad." He sits on the top of the stairs, the same one he'd frequented when he was a little kid waking from a nightmare. "Dad there's something I have to tell you."

And he thinks about Sally, dragged away from her whole life when the system finally took notice. Tommy has a life, and people who desperately love him- Wilbur has to use it as a last resort. He can fix this on his own.

Wilbur Soot is selfish, and he would not know it until it was too late.

"Yeah?"

"Nevermind."

Chapter Text

Rehearsal the next evening is the first time that Wilbur will perform his show. He drags Tommy there as soon as the bell rings to signify the end of the day, buzzing with the preemptive excitement of his production finally coming to life. Forgetting, of course, the immense guilt in his chest. Pretending like he is handling this on his own, not crumbling under the weight of his own complex.

"Everyone!" Wilbur calls, leaping up to his usual place for addressing the masses, standing on top of the table (helpfully placed in the centre of the stage, for easy access).

The drama club had a tendency to steal furniture from past shows, and the dumpster near Dream's mother's house. The largest piece they had was a rather ugly green couch, one that the members would have to fight over every week whilst the losers collapsed over pillows and bags strewn over the floors. 

Tommy sat on the couch that day, with Tubbo staring anxiously from the floor. 

Which was a sweet gesture. He sat on the best seat in the auditorium, between Karl, Sapnap and Eret, like the drama club had a silent way of expressing their desire for him to feel better. Maybe the club could be not-such-massive-pricks sometimes.

"Wilbur!" Jack beams at him. The auditorium falls into silence; an awkwardness certainly not helped by George experimenting with lights and pointing the brightest one at the offender of the unspoken taboo. Jack's eyes widened in fear. "Are we not meant to reply then?"

"Jack Manifold. What are you doing here Jack Manifold?" Wilbur asks. He's long forgotten his authority- standing rather dejectedly, seemingly dazed by the new member. 

"Niki said she wanted me to come too." 

Of course. The two were inseparable- a dynamic duo that never seemed to get into any trouble despite the mischief they dabbled in on a regular basis. Wilbur suspected that the teachers had a soft spot for Niki Nihachu (really though, didn't they all).

"Ah. Jack Manifold is in our club." Wilbur blinked slowly, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You know you don't have to say my full name every time right?"

"Moving rapidly on! As we all know, this production is the most crucial, most essential and no-doubt defining moment of all of our lives." 

"Dramatic." The stage manager drawls. Rather- he shouts very loudly from the top of the auditorium where he controls the entire theatre. It is increasingly hard to take George's sarcasm seriously when he is but a mere speck in the distance.

"Shut up, prick. As I was saying, we need everything to go according to plan. For the next few weeks, I will require that you all live, breathe, eat and sleep, Shakespeare. If there comes a single moment in which you are not-"

"I can't breathe Shakespeare." Dream interjects. Around a week ago he 'lost' his usual white mask (if the part of 'lost' was played by 'Sapnap threw it in a puddle'), and his face had looked strangely naked since. "I've got asthma, Wilbur, you know this."

"I didn't actually. Now if you'd let me-"

"I knew he had asthma." Sapnap cuts in. He is barely phased by the dirty look he receives.

"Yes, thank you for that Sapnap," Wilbur replies through gritted teeth, baring his smile like a bloodstained weapon. "The short of it is, learn your goddamn lines. Don't fuck it up, I will report you to the police if this ends up as another Macbeth disaster."

"How would that even work?" Fundy asks.

"Remember Schlatt?" Today. Today may be the day when Wilbur finally loses his shit with these morons.

"You killed him?!" Tubbo spoke up for the first time in that entire meeting. Wilbur didn't think he had ever heard the boy speak so much as a word before- he'd seen him in the hallways, heard the odd teacher complain about his hijinks, but never taken the time to speak to the kid himself.

"No! I paid Hbomb three bags of skittles and a handful of rocks to keep him away for as long as possible. The same fate can and will befall the rest of you." He turns around to the eager eyes watching him, opening his arms as if to embrace the thoughts carried in the air. Also to make his coat do that cool spinning thing.

"All of us?" Eret smiles lazily at him. She sticks to her promises, and that is honourable. She also dresses like a queen, which is probably why everyone else was so stunned and gave her the couch.

"Not you Eret. Or Tommy, he'd legally required to be here. I can also forgive Niki's sins." Wilbur replies hastily.

"Fundy, how do you feel about this sudden betrayal from your own father?" Eret declares, their brother (who obviously did not get a real seat, relegated to lying over the collection of bags in the corner) shooting them the dirtiest look in response.

"He's not even my real dad!"

"Whatever you say, son. We need to start! Quackity, Karl and uhhh- Jack Manifold, you're on stage first. Everyone else, fuck off. Let's get this bread." Wilbur announces firmly, leaping down from the table with all the grace and decorum he can master. 

George, ever the perfect member, dims the lights immediately- like the knowledge of stage management is engraved in his mind like a soliloquy on a tombstone. Despite how many mean things Wilbur says about him, no one can deny that George holds the club somewhat together. The stage is bare once more; the chairs and pillows and old furniture are shoved away, just an empty space and three actors. 

Quackity, gripping Karl's hand like a lifeline, his other hand with nothing but a script. He is Theseus, the young lover, full of ambition and desire.

"Now, fair Hippolyta!" He cries, close enough to Karl that they share a single breath. "Our nuptial hour draws on apace; four happy days bring another moon; long withering out a young man's revenue!"

Wilbur's breath catches in his throat. He had a good feeling about this production- god, he's glad he could bribe Quackity to just play Theseus. 

Karl's eyes are gentle in his face; they do not see his audience, only his lover and the life they were cursed to never fulfil, just as Hippolyta and Theseus had been burdened with those hundreds of years ago. 

"Four days will quickly steep themselves in a night; and then the moon, just like to a silver bow new-bent in heaven shall behold the night of our solemnities." His voice is quiet. Crushed. As hopeless as their love.

Quackity's hand rests on his cheek, fingers twisted in the hair behind his ears like the two were intertwined in more than just love. For a second, they stand, breathing. On stage, they are barely themselves; they loved like star-crossed lovers would, like Hippolyta and Theseus were another half of them. Quackity jerks away. 

"Go, Philostrate." He turns to Jack, his voice but a whisper. "Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments, awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth, turn melancholy forth to funerals."

Jack leaves without so much of a word.

"But I will wed thee another day." Quackity is back to Karl like a moth to a flame, hands on his hands, lips feather-light on his cheekbone. "With pomp, with triumph and with revelling."

The room is silent for a moment. It seemed that in the aftermath of the disaster they had all forgotten their love, genuine, deep love, for the beautiful art of theatre. 

"That was fuckin great man." Tommy blurts suddenly. Karl goes bright pink, mumbling a series of indistinguishable nonsense about how 'it could be better' and that he 'definitely fucked up one or two lines'.

"He's right, though," Sapnap responds. He can't quite seem to look at his boyfriends. "It was really good."

"Exactly!" Wilbur cries. "It was incredible! Though, we do have to move on to the next scene so- Tommy, Dream- Niki did you decide on Hermia or Titania?" Wilbur is far too excited now, interrupting even himself in his haste to get back into the thrill of watching his show unfold. It's like a drug.

"Hermia, please, Wilbur." Niki smiles up at him. It's a perfect choice really- Niki does not have the bite for Titania, the anger, the hatred. She was far too lovely to not be the fairest maiden.

Which is the strangest irony when really thought about. Niki, who arrived at Essempi High with spikes growing from her skin and a lust for a reason to burst with anger, was now nothing if not kind. If Wilbur had not experienced it himself, he may have never believed in her brutality, which seeped from cracks in her beauty. 

But Niki smiles at him now, and she is just herself again, the one who battled tooth and nail for the drama club to exist. Just Niki. 

"Perfect. Eret if you wouldn't mind- We'll start with Tommy's soliloquy, then your scene."

Wilbur, so caught up in his production, had forgotten that he never did get around to teaching the kid the ins and outs of acting- never even found out whether he could act, merely brought him into the show as an actor by proxy. 

Tommy bites his lip nervously. 

"Wil, I'm not sure that's a great idea." He hesitates to say. Wilbur is by his side in an instant, leaning down so just Tommy can hear him when he speaks.

"You'll be fine. I swear on my whole life- look, no one here is perfect, especially not their first time." He whispered. It was true; he could tell horror story after horror story of awkward voice cracks and faceplants in the middle of the stage, though there was a high chance his head would end up hanging from a flagpole. "I'll even let Tubbo do a scene with you."

Tommy nods jerkily. 

"Tubbo! You're a fairy, get on stage!" Wilbur yells over his shoulder.

"What did you just call me?" 

The curtain rises again. During practice, the scenes don't have to be in order- in fact, it is much preferred that they are a jumbled symphony of drama and performance (to everyone but George, who is always grumbling about not knowing where the lighting should be.) Dream is stood, smiling, at a stone-faced Eret. They opted to go first to give Tubbo more time to get ready.

"I'll meet by moonlight, proud Titania." Dream's voice transforms. It's smooth, eerily sickly-sweet like thick honey that could easily make you choke. He extends an arm to Eret, fingers caging her elbow as he smiles his threatening smile. Oberon, the rightful king of the fairies, and his headstrong wife. 

"What, jealous Oberon?" Eret snaps. She radiates anger, her shoulder stiff and their spine made of stone. Even stretched to their full height, Dream towers over her. "Faires, skip hence, I have foresworn his bed and company."

"Tarry, rash wanton, am I not thy lord?" Dream snarls in reply, yanking her closer until they are just inches apart. They stare at each other with such anger that it is a wonder that the stage has not erupted into flames. Not that Wilbur wishes in any way that would happen, as he had not seen their fire extinguisher since Punz's weird brother took it for an experiment and didn't return.

"Then I must be thy lady: but thou hast stolen away from fairyland, and in the shape of Corin sat all day, playing on pipes of corn and versing love to amorous Phillida! Why art thou from the farthest steppe of India?" Eret has this wild look in her eyes- she's angry in the way no one has seen her before, dangerously upset in a way that couldn't be 'just acting'. 

"How canst thou thus for shame Titania!" Dream yells. his voice is loud enough to carry throughout the entire auditorium without the need for a microphone- terrifying, his eyes so overwhelmingly sharp against Eret's skin. It's a wonder they can stand their ground. "Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus! Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night From Perigynia whom he ravished?" 

Eret- rather, Titania, does not say anything in reply. They look at him defiantly, head held high, just as a queen should stand.

"And make him with fair eagle break his faith With Ariadne and Antiopa?" Dream continues. Wilbur can't think for one moment why he had ever thought that Dream should not be Oberon- he was a great villain, though it would kill Wilbur to admit that to him.

More silence. The auditorium holds its breath.

"Give me that boy and I will go with thee." Dream says quietly, so softly in comparison to his previously violent tone. He holds a hand out to his queen. 

She does not take it. "Not for thy fairy kingdom, Oberon."

The lights dim again. The scene finishes- by Prime, what a scene it had been, enthralling, the theatre Eret had been missing. The acting was a space beyond herself, beyond their dickhead friends and the shenanigans that took place just moments ago. In another life maybe, she would have never been so foolish to leave the club- though, in that life, Wilbur Soot would have to have been a lot less... Wilbur.

Dream is smiling again now. It suits him much more than all the yelling and intimidation.

For Wilbur, this is a perfect moment.

His club, after years of struggle, is finally going to succeed.

He's so distracted by this fact that he doesn't even see Tommy and Tubbo leaving out the side door, or Quackity following them just seconds after.

Chapter Text

The forecast says rain, thunderstorm to be exact.

Tommy knew even before he had checked his phone. The hills were dark with clouds, the air smelt thick and the stifling humidity choked all those who tried to breathe it in. It had been way too hot for the past few weeks- the drama club had resorted to practising outside under the shaded canopy of the old oak tree, but the practice was cut short when members simply couldn't concentrate, the heat messing with their patience. The days were short and hijinks were at an all-time high; Quackity's attempt to organise a water fight in the middle of class, Jack Manifold's short-lived 'Lemonade Empire' that was shut down the minute the teachers found his bathroom-stall-turned-shop. After weeks of nothing but sweltering sunshine, tempers were at a peak; A thunderstorm was due, of course.

A thunderstorm that would begin with a simple history test.

Maybe, just maybe, if Tommy hadn't forgotten the test, everything wouldn't have gone wrong. If he hadn't had to stay up all night in the uncomfortable warmth of a house with a broken AC, hadn't fallen asleep in class because of this, hadn't forgotten to read Tubbo's reminder, everything wouldn't have gone wrong. He knew that he had panicked in the test, fucked everything up. The questions were so basic, things that he should have been able to do with his eyes shut; yet he forgot everything when the paper was put in front of him. Mr Skeppy smiled at him as he walked past, gave him a tiny thumbs up, and for a moment Tommy was full of confidence. 

So full of confidence that he forgot that he was Theseus 'Tommy' Inet, a failure forever. He looked at the first question, the next, and the third. Nothing. He didn't know a single one of the answers. He stared at the paper until his vision was blurry with tears; until he was certain that he was doomed. All of Wilbur's hard work was lost on him like the man had not spent hours doing his level best to stop Tommy from fucking his whole life and crashing and burning before he'd even left high school. Wilbur tried so hard, and Tommy was about to fuck that up in a single history test.

He handed in the paper blank, tear-stained with nothing but inky scribbles in the margins. He swore he could feel Mr Skeppy's disappointment before he even left the classroom; the teacher's crestfallen look like he was just realising that Tommy was nothing but a lost cause. Wilbur would realise that too, as soon as Tommy told him. He'd know that Tommy was a fuck up and realise he was wasting his time.

"Toms!" Wilbur beams, wrapping an arm around his shoulder the second he escaped from the classroom. The man seems happier than ever, shaking with the pride of knowing that he had helped an unhelpable thing. He was going to ruin all of that.

"Wilbur!" He replies. His voice sounds too fake. His cheeks hurt when he smiles like this. He's about to let Wilbur Soot, the man who showed him nothing but kindness, down. He's letting his brother down.

"How was the test? Did you do well?" Wilbur continues to ask.

He looks happy. Dear Prime, Wilbur looks so happy, like everything is right in the world and Theseus Inet has not just ruined his entire life. Tommy would not dare ruin that. He grits his teeth, giving the other man the best smile he could. The guilt in his eyes is outshone by his faux-joyous nature.

"Fuck yeah." Liar. Wilbur won't even notice.

Wilbur looks at him like he hung the stars in the sky. In seconds, he’s pulled into the tightest hug he might possibly ever have been given, Wilbur practically buzzing with happiness.

”I knew you could do it Toms!” He beams. The guilt rots further. “I’ll see you at rehearsal, yeah? This is so great, you’re doing so well, everyone is going to be proud-“

Tommy doesn’t think he’ll be able to utter a reply without throwing up.

He takes Tubbo to the rehearsal. He didn't even want to act, but Wilbur was still so happy, still dancing around with the joy that came with theatre. He watches Karl, Quackity, everyone, and their incredible talents, and he knows that if he doesn't leave immediately, something very bad will happen to them all. Namely, he will start crying and never stop until his blood runs dry.

Tubbo holds his hand too tightly for him to just let go when he runs away, so he takes him with him. Dragging him down, like he always does.

"I lied to him." He blurts out, as soon as they're out the hot theatre lights, trying to choke in as much air as his lungs can take.

"What are you talking about?" Tubbo asks. He's stupidly loyal, as always. Here, sat on this filthy fucking pavement, just because Tommy is too weak to get through his performance because of his own dumb actions. "He said he didn't mind about your acting, it's just a-"

"Not about the play." He says quickly. "About- Tubs, I fucked it all up."

Quackity swings the door open, panting, still gripping his script in one hand from his own scene earlier. He's clearly run all the way here- Tommy's going to be sick now. He's taken too much from everyone, like a leech that just won't leave. Tubbo is rubbing circles on his back. Quackity is holding vigil over them. Tommy is a terrible person.

"Whats-" Quackity begins. He never finishes.

"I told him I did well on a stupid test." Tommy interrupts. He sounds so ridiculous, a snotty kid upset because he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A real dickhead, crying and tearing everyone away from a play they were so excited to do.

"He won't be upset." Tubbo tries to reassure him.

"You don't understand, I'm lying to you all. All the fucking time and it doesn't even matter to me- I can say anything and you just believe me, why the fuck do you just believe me?"

The other two look stunned. He stands up, takes a breath. He's on stage. This isn't real.

"I'm awful Tubbo, I need- I need to be dead so I stop ruining everything-"

"Please don't say that," Tubbo pleads, sobbing. Quackity wraps an arm around him, torn between trying to keep all the broken pieces of two boys together.

"I'm a fuck-up, Tubbo, you know this. I'm a fuck up, and everyone has been working hard for nothing because I can't help all the fact I'm no good at anything!" He could be crying. He can't really feel anything when he's this deep in his pathetic little rant, really to spill all his empty thoughts for Tubbo to be forced to deal with.

He stops. Tubbo's eyes are as big as saucers, gazing just over his shoulder. Quackity's hands are shaking.

When he turns around, Wilbur is standing at the door, eyes glowing a dark black storm instead of a stained-glass masterpiece. He has heard everything; because of course, why would Tommy get the luck of Wilbur never finding out? Why did he deserve to let Wilbur live in blissful ignorance when he could find out and let his whole life implode? Really, it was only a shock that Techno, Dream, and all the others weren't also allowed to view his downfall so they could savour the death of a vermin.

"You fucking lied to me," Wilbur says, so quietly that Tommy has to strain to hear him. "You fucking lied to me."

”I had to.” He says lamely. Liar. Liar. Liar.

”I’m not a fucking monster, Tommy, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Wilbur looks angry. Upset. His whole face is screwed up into a frown. “I’m not going to freak out, fucks sake.”

Quackity steps in front of him this time, blocking him slightly with his body. The man smells like stolen cigarettes. Tommy is going to suffocate.

”Wilbur, I’m sure it’s not like that at all-“ He says carefully. 

Tommy finally snaps. The rage, the pure, brutal rage at this stupid situation finally bubbling up in him- it’s everything, the fact that Wilbur’s only worries are a stupid show, that Tubbo pities him like a fucking animal, that Miss Puffy never understood and his mum never cradled him and told him everything would be alright. Theseus Inet is spiteful. He is a wild dog, one that will not bend its feral head for another.

”It is like that!” He screams. He slaps Quackity’s hand from where it rested on his shoulder. 

“You all treat me like I’m mentally fucking deficient because I’m a stupid pity project for you to feel better! What, did you think I really believed you were my friends? I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

His chest heaves. The world stands still.

They don't stop him when he picks up his bag and walks away. Out of the school gates, past the old park, further and further until his house is a speck in the distance. He doesn't even acknowledge his legs moving until he is at the train station, the sun painting what is left of his life a sickeningly bright gold. He must be delirious by now- he's not sure why he had just the right amount of money for a ticket in his hand. He would swear that he never planned this, even if it felt like he did.

So he looked to the town, the place he had been born and raised in. The park, the roads that separated his friend's houses from his own- the fields in which he had grown accustomed to spending his days in, listening to the schemes that the club had planned, hanging out with Tubbo and Ranboo and doing his level best to be young while he still had time. He thought about his friends and the life he lived trapped in the scraps of land that made up the town- he realised they were all, in many ways, just temporary distractions from the suffering of his permanent misfortune. His friends had left as soon as they arrived, they hated him as he hated himself for losing the few good things in his life. Oh, Prime, the town; one that barely noticed what had been happening.

How could they? The red door, no matter how simple it may seem, had blocked their view. A pretty face to hide the monster that lurked beneath. He could leave today, and never return. Perhaps he would go to the beach, to see the white sands he had dreamed of visiting since he was young enough to believe that he stood a chance of ever leaving to somewhere better. He could go to the seaside and live his life once again in solitude; far enough away from civilisation that he would not be able to ruin more lives than he was sure he already did. Maybe he would travel; walk a long road with no destination, be alive to live instead of living to be alive. If that made any sense.

He'd have to leave. No goodbyes, nothing. Who would miss his presence? Who was left to mourn his departure? For a split second, he wondered if he should at least text Tubbo- but the boy didn't need his half-assed words of disembarkment when he had his older brother's health to worry about. Tommy would definitely miss feeling at least a little bit happier, but he didn't deserve Tubbo in any way. Ranboo either- he'd been a parasite for long enough, ruining both of their high school years.

So Tommy looked at the town, and bade it a silent goodbye. He was going to ride the next train as long as he had to until Essempi was a distant memory. He was going to be a bird finally free.

Chapter Text

You have -8- new messages.

-beep-

-Two new messages from -Wilby-

Tommy it's Wilbur- where are you? I've been waiting about twenty minutes and I- I called Tubbo and he said that he hadn't seen you either. Can you call me when you get this, sunshine? I'm kind of worried. 

-beep-

-One new message from -Tech no blade-

Kid, Wilbur is kinda freakin' out now. He- we just want to know that you're okay. I know that you're probably just skipping or ill or something but- just call someone, Tommy, we need to know that you're okay. Not that I'm scared or anything- look, it's dangerous for a fuckin' child like you to not be within five feet of these losers so uhh- please call soon.

-beep-

-One new message from -Sapnap-

Tommy, where are you?! No one is- Tommy no one has seen you all day, Slime even went looking for you and he couldn't find you- we're worried, I am, Quackity and Karl too. I'm sorry if these messages are pissing you off but we're just- call someone. Please, for the love of Prime, call someone.

-beep-

-One new message from -Big D-

Tommy please, please pick up. I don't care if you're busy I really, really need for you to call me back- Tubbo and Ranboo are saying you aren't texting back and Miss puffy says that your parents aren't answering either and Wilbur said that he tried to knock on your door to see if you were home but you weren't- this is kind of scary, Toms. Did we upset you? If we did I'm so sorry, but you really need to pick up the damn phone. Me and George are going to drive around for a while to try and find you so if you're- call me, I'll find you.

-beep-

-One new message from -Unknown Number-

Tommy, mate, everyone is a little bit worried now. It's alright if you're scared too, but it's really important that you tell someone that you're alright. No one is going to be angry mate- you've just given us a bit of a scare, okay? Please. Let someone know that you're okay- and if you're not, don't be scared to call for help. You're not in trouble okay? Please call back soon.

-beep-

-One new message from -Big Q-

Tommy, pick up the phone, for the love of Prime pick up the fucking phone- I'm really worried now. Miss Puffy said that your parents told her that you're not home, and that they thought you were at Tubbo's for the night- Tommy, this is fucking serious. I'm scared, kiddo. Karl and Sapnap are going to run back to your house to see if you come back- I'll wait at school. I'll wait forever if I have to, so please just come back soon. Please, man, were kind of going crazy here.

-beep-

-One new message from -Wilby-

Tommy, sunshine, are you- did something happen? Did we do something- if it's about the test I don't fucking care anymore, I shouldn't have been angry in the first place because- you were trying not to hurt my feelings and that was so sweet of you and- fuck, I fucked everything up. Please, sunshine. I just want to know that you're safe- you  can fucking hate me all you want but please just be safe- I love you, sunshine, we all do.

-beep-

-One new message from -Tubbo-

Tommy, it's Tubbo. I know that you probably already know that but- Tommy it's serious now. We had to call the police and they- they reported you missing. They used your school picture for the fucking- whatever it's called and I'm so sorry I told them not to because you hate that picture, you always hated that picture. I told them and they wouldn't listen because- Prime, Tommy, they kept making it out like you were some kind of menace and that's true but- they kept talking about my Tommy like you'd done this on purpose to hurt everyone. They don't listen, Tommy. They always ask the same questions when we've answered a thousand times- Wilbur was screaming at them, he was crying. Everyone is so worried, Tommy, and-

I had to tell them. About your parents. Everything. I'm sorry for that, and you can hate me for it, but they wouldn't understand that you ran because you were frightened, not because you wanted to cause trouble. I'm so, so sorry. If you- when you hear this, please know that I really need you to come home. Remember when we were little and you promised me we would be best friends forever and ever and nothing would ever change that? We were going to live in a house together until we were old, going to see each other every day until we died- I don't want to pressure you, bossman, but you're- you're screwing up that plan.

Tommy, I miss you so much. I'm scared. We're all scared. Please come home.

Chapter Text

Tommy's cheeks were becoming sodden with tears. He couldn't feel a single muscle in his body, apart from his heart, which ached as if holes had just been stabbed through it. He'd been drifting around for days- first a train ride to Kinoko (bitter thoughts in his mind, looking around and hearing Sapnap's stories of growing up there) where he hoped to get a bus across to El Rapids, which was pretty much the furthest thing from Essempi. That was the plan, anyway, the vague idea that he had struggled to put together in the midst of weeping and trying to will himself away from throwing himself off a bridge.

Kinoko wasn't what he thought it would be. Sapnap described the overall town very well; it had white and red houses like mushrooms, and the streets were silent and void of cars. However, he'd missed out on the fact that Kinoko had barely any signal for being in the butt-fuck middle of nowhere- Tommy had wanted to call Tubbo, even though he was aware he shouldn't be worrying his friend when he had just blown everything up.

This had been poorly planned, yet he couldn't bring himself to care. For the first time in his life, he was free, like he had been chained to the ground and was just learning how to fly. He alternated between giggling and crying, stumbling over the streets and ignoring the befuddled looks of the residents of this small town.

He had never so much as left Essempi's borders before. He grew up on Manberg Street, trapped in his own little hell- a house that smelt of fear, that froze in winters and boiled in summers, that reeled him in with gentle apologies and struck him with heavy hands. He had left. He was free. 

Freedom was cold. Freedom was being trapped in some form of jittery mania, unable to let your mind rest even for a second for fear it would tell you of all the ways it wanted to stop your existence. Freedom was turning corners and seeing that your hometown really did look like any other. Tommy knew he didn't have much money left, and that he'd have to figure out a solution fast.

He could do that, he was Theseus Kraken Danger Careful Inet, and he could do anything. He could wrestle with angels, scream in the face of monsters, and create whole new life on nothing but the clothes he had on his back. Sure, people may have told him he was useless, but Techno always-

It didn't matter what Techno thought. Or Wilbur. Or Phil, or Tubbo, or any of them for that matter. Tommy didn't need them to lie to him to know that he could do this. 

He wanted to reimagine himself. New name, new face, new everything. Get rid of all his hair if he needed to, and turn his eyes into different colours. His schoolbag was too heavy, filled with useless papers he never understood anyway. He dumped the contents out in a bin somewhere. He knows he has to be fast now- trains to El Rapids are only one every two hours. The bag slowed him down when full of shit.

"I want a ticket to El Rapids. A single, please." He says sharply, dumping his handful of coins and sheets onto the ticket officer's desk. The man- Richard, as his name tag stated- narrowed his eyes at him.

"What's your name, son?" Richard asks, suspicion evident in his tone. Something in Tommy lurched.

"Henry." That hurt a little; the real Henry was still in that house, stuck with his parents while Tommy ran free. Tommy would never be able to get him to safety- Henry would be trapped, forever, if his parents hadn't already gotten rid of his things now he was gone.

"Where are you from?" Richard didn't seem to get the hint that Tommy didn't have time for this. The El Rapids train left pretty soon.

"El Rapids."

"Shouldn't you be in school?" 

"I'm eighteen. Why are you asking me this?" Tommy snaps. He knew how to be angry, how to make the man uncomfortable with wild fury and blood-sullied teeth. Angry in a way that wasn't just defensive, but frustrated and powerful. He was Henry Soot Inet Thomson. He could do anything.

"Kid went missing in Essempi. Matches your description."

"Ah." Tommy's heart thundered. He didn't know he would be reported missing so quickly. He would have thought that his parents would wait another week or two. "I'm sorry mate, but it isn't me."

The officer believed his lie. Everyone believes him like he's not known for just making shit up simply because he wanted to. Maybe they just didn't care enough to try and help- Mr Awesamdude tried. Miss Puffy tried. Phil tried. - because accepting a lie was much easier than having to put up with his snivelling. Richard hands him the ticket to his new life; he gives him change that is probably far more than he is owed, probably because of how pathetic he looked.

He smiles wryly. The train will leave in a few minutes- just short enough so that he won't have to think too much about what he's going to do. He'd never been to El Rapids before. Ranboo was from there, but he described the city very vaguely; Tommy would have to have an adventure, just what he wanted. Travelling to a new land, scoping out the area like an explorer.

The train rattles into the station. He can barely believe that he's been free for almost two days already; that he's skipped two towns, lied to god knows how many people, left the drama club in the dirt, not even spoken to-

He can't think about him right now. He climbs onto the carriage which seems the quietest, tugging at the collar of his hoodie. It's suffocating; he regrets leaving wearing these clothes. His cargo trousers are dirty, his shirt was Ranboo's, and his hoodie was a drama club member's from when he was shivering too much in a tutoring session. It could have even been Techno's, but he had it for so long that he didn't know anymore.

On his way to his seat, he passes a sign for free wifi on the train- great, he should probably text Tubbo to not save him a seat anymore, leave him a proper, heartfelt goodbye. Tubbo deserved to keep living. Tommy could see the way he had slowly killed him over the year, like the parasite he was. When he started again, he wouldn't be as clingy. It wouldn't feel right to cling to anyone that wasn't Tubbo.

His phone sparks to life as soon as it connects to a signal. He's on less than 30% battery- Prime, he knew he kept a charger in his bag for a reason- but his phone is exploding with information, message after message after missed call and voicemail. He is deeply fucked.

300+ messages.

87 missed calls.

8 voicemails.

His hands are shaking. He clicks on the first one. Wilbur's honeyed voice fills the carriage.

Tommy, it's Wilbur- where are you? I've been waiting about twenty minutes and I- I called Tubbo and he said that he hadn't seen you either. Can you call me when you get this, sunshine? I'm kind of worried. 

Wilbur was stuttering. He only ever did that when he was really nervous, when he was standing outside Miss Puffy's office trying to think of excuses for what the club had gotten themselves into. He must've gone to his house, thinking that Tommy would be there, not halfway to an entirely different city. Tommy felt sick.

He clicks on the second. 

Kid, Wilbur is kinda freakin' out now. He- we just want to know that you're okay. I know that you're probably just skipping or ill or something but- just call someone, Tommy, we need to know that you're okay. Not that I'm scared or anything- look, it's dangerous for a fuckin' child like you to not be within five feet of these losers so uhh- please call soon.

Why the fuck did Techno have to be so kind when he spoke, so gentle- he was meant to be angry, to threaten, to hiss insults so Tommy wouldn't feel bad about leaving. He was being too nice, saying kind things like Tommy hadn't just fucked off and forced them all to pretend to want to get him back. Techno was meant to be rolling his eyes, wishing good riddance. He wasn't meant to want him home.

The third.

Tommy, where are you?! No one is- Tommy no one has seen you all day, Slime even went looking for you and he couldn't find you- we're worried, I am, Quackity and Karl too. I'm sorry if these messages are pissing you off but we're just- call someone. Please, for the love of Prime, call someone.

Sapnap. He was a shit student too. He wanted Tommy to feel better about not really being designed for school. Wanted him to learn how to just laugh things off, to stand up to teachers and maybe, punch Mr Skeppy in the face if he ever got the chance. There was no joking tone to Sapnap's voice.

Four.

Tommy please, please pick up. I don't care if you're busy I really, really need for you to call me back- Tubbo and Ranboo are saying you aren't texting back and Miss puffy says that your parents aren't answering either and Wilbur said that he tried to knock on your door to see if you were home but you weren't- this is kind of scary, Toms. Did we upset you? If we did I'm so sorry, but you really need to pick up the damn phone. Me and George are going to drive around for a while to try and find you so if you're- call me, I'll find you.

Tommy was about to be very, very sick. He scared the shit out of everyone, forced them to run around like headless chickens to look for him, and made Miss Puffy get involved. He was a terrible person. He just didn't think that anyone cared that much, and he only realised they did when he was hurtling further and further away at every passing moment. 

For some sick reason, he felt like he had to continue. It was like a punishment, to hear that he really had fucked everything up this time, to make sure that he knew he was a terrible, evil person that needed to change when he started again. When he had scrubbed all the imperfections away and left himself with just raw nerves and slashed skin. Beautiful.

He can't inhale enough air. Number five plays without his hands even moving to stop it.

Tommy, mate, everyone is a little bit worried now. It's alright if you're scared too, but it's really important that you tell someone that you're alright. No one is going to be angry mate- you've just given us a bit of a scare, okay? Please. Let someone know that you're okay- and if you're not, don't be scared to call for help. You're not in trouble okay? Please call back soon.

He curls into a ball, gripping his hair in his hands, folded in half. He's making strange little gasping noises, choking and crying and desperately hoping that this is all just a dream. He's starting to think he should have thrown himself in front of this train. 

Tommy, pick up the phone, for the love of Prime pick up the fucking phone- I'm really worried now. Miss Puffy said that your parents told her that you're not home, and that they thought you were at Tubbo's for the night- Tommy, this is fucking serious. I'm scared, kiddo. Karl and Sapnap are going to run back to your house to see if you come back- I'll wait at school. I'll wait forever if I have to, so please just come back soon. Please, man, we're kind of going crazy here.

His chest heaves. His throat aches and his sobs are now so loud that he's filling the entire carriage. His hands, legs, entire body tremble with emotion, vomit pooling at the back of his throat already. He wails, dragging his nails against his scalp in the hope to drag out any kind of blood. He needs to bleed. He deserves it.

He sobs through Wilbur's next voicemail, mind moving too quickly to take any words in. 

Oh but Tubbo's voice. Tubbo, his best friend, the person who sat next to him through thick and thin. He would be able to hear it if it was a whisper in an avalanche, across the Atlantic ocean and from earth to heaven. The world stand still.

Tommy, it's Tubbo. I know that you probably already know that but- Tommy it's serious now. We had to call the police and they- they reported you missing. They used your school picture for the fucking- whatever it's called and I'm so sorry I told them not to because you hate that picture, you always hated that picture. I told them and they wouldn't listen because- Prime, Tommy, they kept making it out like you were some kind of menace and that's true but- they kept talking about my Tommy like you'd done this on purpose to hurt everyone.  They don't listen, Tommy. They always ask the same questions when we've answered a thousand times- Wilbur was screaming at them, he was crying. Everyone is so worried, Tommy, and-

I had to tell them. About your parents. Everything. I'm sorry for that, and you can hate me for it, but they wouldn't understand that you ran because you were frightened, not because you wanted to cause trouble. I'm so, so sorry. If you- when you hear this, please know that I really need you to come home. Remember when we were little and you promised me we would be best friends forever and ever and nothing would ever change that? We were going to live in a house together until we were old, going to see each other every day until we died- I don't want to pressure you, bossman, but you're- you're screwing up that plan.

Tommy, I miss you so much. I'm scared. We're all scared. Please come home.

He screams.

It's dark outside. He hasn't stopped crying yet, his hoodie drenched in tears and snot and blood from where he's been tearing at the skin on his fingers. His phone is gripped in his hand, occasionally buzzing with a message he's too exhausted to check. He doesn't know what to do. All the high from earlier is completely gone; he's just a scared kid, who fucked up so dramatically that they're now having to move halfway across the country. He must be almost as far as Pogtopia by now. Maybe further.

His phone chimes with an incoming call. It's Techno- for some reason, Tommy forgets everything about keeping contact as few and far between so that no one figures out he's started again. It's like he's a little kid, calling for his brother to come and save him from his own actions. He just wanted to hear someone say he was going to be alright.

"Tommy!" Techno gasps. He sounds like a seventeen-year-old, one who has run on no sleep all night. "Tommy, you're- are you okay? Where are you?"

He can't respond. His mouth is full of sawdust, he's not breathing, he's going to die.

"Toms?" Techno sounds just as scared as he feels. He can't believe he's calling his English tutor for help like Techno isn't a senior with much more on his mind than idiots who run away and destroy everything. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to die." He announces. His voice is too high-pitched. He hears shuffling around on the other end of the line, Techno screaming for Phil. "Stop looking for me."

Techno makes these soft shushing noises, like he's a child that needs to be consoled. He can't pull himself out of his mind for long enough to beg him to stop, to just give up on him as everyone else did. Like Wilbur should have.

"Where are you, Toms?" Phil is on the phone now. All Tommy can hear is that Phil sounds eerily like his own father, but caring and gentle. In another life, Tommy would have loved to have Phil be his dad.

"Don't come looking for me." He repeats. His voice is wobbly.

"I'm afraid I have to, Tommy. It's dangerous." Phil coos. Tommy bangs his head against the train's window, trying to hit some clarity into his mind. His thoughts are violent. 

"You'll send me back." He sniffles. "I'd rather be dead, Phil."

"I would never send you anywhere you didn't want to be. I want you to be safe, Tommy." 

"I don't want to be Tommy anymore." 

"I know. You can be anyone you want, son, but we need you to come home."

"I can't. I'm too far."

"I'll go to the end of the earth and back if you want, Tommy."

"Would you go to El Rapids?"

"I'll meet you there by morning. Hang tight, Tommy, do you want me to stay on the phone?"

"Don't leave, dad." He whispers. His battery dies in his hands.

Chapter Text

Wilbur had let him leave.

He let him go. Watched him walk out the gate, watched him turn from a person into just a speck in the distance. He knew Tommy was upset, that he was hurting, and he still let him go. Tubbo cried out, begging them both to come with him to follow Tommy- if not to find out what had happened, then to make him feel better. the next words Wilbur spoke would be engraved on his mind forever, like carving on a gravestone.

"Let him go." He said, his voice foreign with anger. Quackity opened his mouth as if to say something, but he was silenced with a sharp look. "You heard him. He doesn't want us around him."

Looking back on it, Wilbur thinks that might have been the biggest lie that had ever come out of his mouth. Tommy loved being a member of the club; it was the first time he was really happy, other than when he had Tubbo by his side. Maybe if he hadn't been so fucking stubborn, always believing he was fucking right- maybe if he'd taken Tubbo's pleas for help as what they were; desperate attempts for someone to save his friend. Maybe then Tommy wouldn't have ended up where he did.

He'd returned to rehearsal in silence. Tubbo barely calmed down the entire night, teetering on the verge of panic attacks and checking his phone every ten seconds to see if Tommy would ever text him back- the kid didn't really have anywhere to go. He lived too far from the school to walk home, so he was trapped waiting for Schlatt to finish whatever detention he was doing. Even George climbed down from his lightbox to ask him if he was alright.

The show continued. Scenes were sloppy, poorly acted and stiff as a board. It was clear everyone was shaken by the sudden change in atmosphere- as much as they tried to continue, everything would just get worse and worse. It was like someone had cast a spell over the club, dooming them to fall apart; within just an hour of Tommy's outburst, Eret and Wilbur had argued three times, Niki had backhanded Dream in the head during her scene, and the beginning of a fight was sprouting between Quackity and Sapnap. It was total carnage.

"Fucks sake!" Wilbur yelled, a lot louder than he intended. His hands found their way to his hair, threatening to pull it out chunk by chunk. "Why can't we do anything fucking right?"

"Maybe we should just call it a bad day-" Slime crept up behind him- he was far too close, Wilbur could feel the man's breath on his skin like knives, all his nerves stood up on edge. Slime tried to touch him. He jerked away.

"Fuck- fine then, everyone just come back tomorrow." He hissed. It didn't take much more than that for his actors to scurry out from the auditorium, and within minutes he was in solitude once more.

He liked it that way. He could finally breathe, try and get through his racing thoughts without the added nuisance of his pathetic acting club. It was like nothing could ever go right for him; first, Tommy stabs him in his back, the fucking traitor (why was he so frightened, why did he feel the need to hide from him), then his show collapses to dust before his eyes. He's a useless director; Miss Puffy had been right to question his ability. All the rumours about his club being a harbour of a godawful lack of talent were true.

He didn't think about much else for the rest of the night. Phil tried to make conversation in the car, but he ignored it, choosing to stare out of the window in silence instead. He didn't mention what happened, and blamed his jittery composure on the stress of the upcoming performance, instead of on Tommy's sudden disappearance. Techno stared at him with narrowed eyes, but never questioned him further.

The real issue didn't start until the next day at school. The drama club were huddled together in the hallway, whispering amongst themselves, though they were immediately quiet when Wilbur appeared. Something was very very wrong- Wilbur didn't even have time to register what was happening. His eyes found the space that Tommy would usually fill; the trio with only two members.

"Have you seen him?" He asked, aware that he looked more than a little deranged. He was probably blocking half the hallway, but it didn't even matter to him anymore. Nothing did. "Tubbo, have you seen Tommy?"

"I was about to ask you that." The look of horror on Tubbo's face was too real for Wilbur to believe this was just a prank. 

"Has- he texted you, right? Please tell me he texted."

"I've been calling all night. He won't pick up."

"Have you seen him at all since yesterday?" Techno interjected suddenly. His hands were shaking, drifting towards the hem of his sweater so he would have something to fiddle with. The question was redundant, the look on Tubbo's face was answer enough. Tommy Inet was missing.

Wilbur yanks out his phone. He calls Tommy once, twice, twelve times. Each time, straight to voicemail. His heart slams against his ribs, crushing his lungs tighter and tighter with every beat. He turns to the club behind him; feeling every pair of eyes, every silent beg for an explanation. His tongue is very dry, and when he does speak, his tongue is heavy in his throat.

"He's not answering." He said, dully. His voice was too high pitched, too shaky, sounding so far from the calm that even he was astonished. "We should- okay. Get Miss Puffy. She knows... she'll help."

They tore down the hallway, sprinting as fast as possible. They must've looked like kids, too caught in a game of tig to notice that the rest of the school had gone back to lessons. The entire drama club, bar Jack and Niki, seemed to have the same thought; Tommy Inet is in Trouble with a capital T, and there is nothing they could possibly do to help him.

Wilbur couldn't help but think that it was a bit like watching a drowning man from a cliff. You can scream, beg, run like lightning- but in the end, you would never be able to get to him without dying too.

"Miss Puffy we need to talk to you it's very important!" Dream hurried out in just one breath. As the quickest runner in the group, he made it there first, which was lucky considering Miss Puffy's very noticeable soft spot for him. The theatre group was certainly a sad sight to behold; panting, panicked, looking like they'd just wandered from the trenches and were still shell-shocked from the bombs.

"What's going on?" She asked. Her office certainly wasn't large enough for such a big group, and the world certainly wasn't small enough for Tommy to be right under their noses. 

"Tommy. No one knows where he is. He argued with all of us yesterday and ran off, and no one has seen him since." Ranboo said in that same stilted tone they would use whenever they had to talk to authority figures. Miss Puffy's eyes blew as wide as dinner plates, and she stood up abruptly from her desk.

"Am I the first person you've reported this to?"

"Yes. Techno went to get Mr Phil as well." 

"Have you checked his house? Called his parents? Has he reached out to any of you?" Miss Puffy's normally calm demeanour seemed to vanish. Each question was more desperate than the last, as if she knew the answers already just by the disheartened faces of the forsaken club. 

"We don't know what to do." Ranboo was hunched in on themself, looking and sounding impossibly small for his normally large presence. It was easy to forget that he was as much a part of Tommy as Tubbo; each of them was not complete without the others, absences feeling more like missing a limb, a part of themselves, than a friend.

"Okay. Those of you who can, drive around and look for him. The rest of you- either stay here or go back to class."

"Miss, are you going to call the police?" Tubbo asked. He was young, naive, and still trying to protect Tommy from his secrets- it was easy to forget Tubbo was a child too, still convinced that he was strong enough to split the earth in two if he could find Tommy. He must've been the only person in that room who wasn't already imagining the yellow tape, and the black body bag Tommy could be carried home in.

"If his parents haven't seen him, and we can't find him, I'm afraid I'll have to."

The hour was tense, for those who stayed in the office. Tubbo alternated between staring at walls and furiously typing on his phone, barely responding to anyone around him. At one point, he fell to the floor, sliding down against the wall- he never got back up. Schlatt crouched next to him, cracking jokes, telling him lies that their friend was safe, trying to pry him back onto his feet. When it didn't work, he just left him to grieve.

Miss Puffy stepped outside to call Tommy's parents, coming back almost grey with worry. They thought he had been at a friend's house, all night. Tommy never got home. The sliver of hope that Tommy had just missed his alarm, that he was ill and in bed, any situation where he was still in some kind of safety, was gone.

Another half an hour passed. At that point, many of the original search parties were returning; each brought the same news: Tommy was nowhere to be found across the entire Essempi. Slimecicle took Quackity all the way to the abandoned prison, being the only person who could get through the woods without a map- he knew how easy it was to end up diverting from the path, how easy it was to lose your footing and get lost. They found nothing. Sapnap and Karl had gone door to door, asking whoever was home if they'd seen Tommy wandering. They came back with nothing but useless information and sympathetic smiles from well-meaning old women.

Wilbur took Eret to Tommy's house. He was endlessly grateful for her company- if she hadn't been there he doubted he would have had the decorum not to break down in the middle of the pavement. Tommy's house was as dilapidated as it was before, void of all life; the air around it tasted like fear, and Wilbur could see that Eret had gripped Fundy's jacket so hard her knuckles went white. Moments like these really showed them as two sides to the same coin, two siblings doing their best to pretend everything would be okay.

They went back with nothing, but Eret's hand found a way to hold his in a way that would be comforting if the entire world hadn't crashed down around them. The office was almost full again- it would never be quite right without Tommy. 

But Tommy never answered his phone. They never stopped trying.

"We checked everywhere- fuck, Dream even went to the community house, and that's miles away. It's like he just- vanished." George said. The atmosphere was a sombre one, as the group tried to come to terms with the fact that Tommy wasn't just off hiding, ready to come back at any moment. They'd all seen the statistics. It'd been over 20 hours since he went missing. Tommy wasn't coming home.

"Alright." Phil nodded. Wilbur could see his father clearly now; he looked old, tired, like he had already prepared himself for this situation but was still shocked when it played out. He turned to Tubbo, who had barely left the catatonic state he had been in since the search party had been sent out. "I'm sorry mate, but we have to go to the police now. Whatever's going on- they'll be able to help."

"They won't!" Tubbo is as pale as a ghost. His frantic eyes lock onto Wilbur's. "You- Wil, you know Tommy wouldn't just leave-"

"That's why we have to go to the police," Phil said firmly. "You know that Tommy wouldn't just leave. That means he could be in danger."

Tubbo made a strange noise somewhere between a wail and a scream of laughter. 

The station was quiet. Sterile, all clean white surfaces and rickety plastic chairs. Their little group seemed to be the only ones in there. They were certainly a sorry bunch; no one could decide who would be coming to the station with Phil, who would have to surrender any delusion that Tommy Inet was going to just walk through the door- he'd throw his back onto the pile with all the others, complain about homework, cling to the nearest person and beg for them to help him with work because Tommy was young, and he was endlessly in need of affection. Everyone else was instructed to go home and rest; though it was unlikely they would actually be doing that.

Wilbur didn't even have the energy to fight Techno for the front seat. He sat in the back between Quackity and Tubbo- the kid had put up a hell of a fight to be taken to the police station since he knew Tommy the best, and Quackity had been the poor soul that stood closest to the door. Wilbur had looked at him with pleading eyes and he was weak. Quackity didn't lie to him. He kissed him on the head, and kept smiling even when it felt like his cheeks would fall off. He didn't want Wilbur to feel any worse, even if it meant he had to let his heartbreak in the process.

They were led to a small room, where a police officer looked at them over wire-rimmed glasses as he typed onto an old computer. He looked tired. Wilbur wondered if he even knew that he would have to find the most important person in his life, the sunshine in the clouds. Whether he knew that the world had stopped turning when Tommy left. Whether he knew that Wilbur would likely drown in guilt.

"I need to file a missing person report."

"Who is this for?"

"Theseus Inet, 15 years old. He didn't show up for school today, and he didn't come home last night."

"Description?"

"He's just a kid- he's about 5'9, 5'10, he's got blond hair and blue eyes- does anyone know what he was wearing?"

"Cargos. His jacket was green, but his shirt underneath was red and white. He left school yesterday and that was the last time we saw him, so I don't know if he changed."

"Tommy Inet?"

"Yes. Yeah, that's him, have you seen him?"

"Not as of late. He'll come rolling home like a bad penny."

"Tommy isn't bad." Wilbur hisses. He's sort of glad that Tubbo isn't around to listen to this officer's comments- his brother would go feral. Tommy would go feral; in a way, it felt ritualistic to be flying off the handle in his friend's honour. When Tommy- if Tommy came home, he'd tell him about this.

"Calm down, son. I didn't mean to upset you. In cases like this, the kid always comes back once they've calmed down."

"Tommy is missing, we searched everywhere-"

"Is there a chance he's just been at a mate's house?"

"WHY WON'T YOU FUCKING LISTEN?" Wilbur exploded, finally, slamming his hands on the table in a sudden fit of rage. Who the fuck did these officers think they were, talking about Tommy like he was just... a pest, someone who wanted to cause pain in the most dramatic way he possibly could. Tommy is a good person, and he needed help. No one ever helped him.

He never helped him. He fucking knew what was happening in that house, and he never told anyone- Prime, he had held Tommy and felt nothing but thin bones and tears against his shirt, but he still never said a word to anyone. He had never felt so ashamed in his entire life; he was far beyond caring about making a scene in front of the entire police station. He can be wild, make them listen now like it isn't far too late for his honesty. 

At one point, he's led outside by Quackity, after screaming and having a meltdown in front of some poor police officer. Quackity offers to shotgun him a cigarette, trying to make him laugh. They must've sat there for hours and hours on end- they don't learn that Tubbo had taken over answering the questions until Techno stumbled out, looking half-stunned, whispering stories of horror so quietly they had to strain to hear. Tubbo told them every brutal detail. 

The clock on the dashboard read 7:30pm. 

It had been 24 hours.

They didn't go to school the next day. They just searched, driving miles and miles through empty fields and dying woods.

The police had found Tommy's school books in Kinoko. They were basically mush, dirt and rainwater splattered against the paper, glueing it to the ground like a paste. His bag was never found- they assumed it had been taken with him or that he dumped it a little further along. The news ended there, and Wilbur spent much of the day just walking through every nook and cranny of the Essempi streets as if this was an elaborate game of hide and seek and Tommy was the ultimate hider. 

If he stopped moving he would have to think about how this was all his fault. He shouldn't have been so angry over a stupid test, should have made sure that Tommy knew he didn't care about grades, that he loved him because he was a good person and not because he was a canvas for him to force to be the shape of a student. He shouldn't have let him go. He felt like Ophelia, slowly being dragged under the tide of his own actions. 

He came home late, and sat on the stairs because he was far too exhausted to force himself up the stairs to weep in his room. Phil was out, he'd gone to meet with social workers about Tommy's condition at home, and Techno had been locked away since he got back. His mum was halfway across the world, with no idea of what had happened.

He just waits. Phil opens the door- the sun is setting outside. 

"Dad." He croaks. His throat is dry, his face is wet with tears. 

"Christ Wil, you almost gave me a heart attack." Phil still smiles at him, even though he looks so frail in the empty night. The house is weirdly quiet. A period of mourning has fallen over the entire club, a stark contrast to their record of detentions for surpassing noise limits. Wilbur knows his thoughts will be too loud for a while.

"Dad, I knew what was happening." He swallows thickly. It's the truth. It's too late.

"What?" 

"I wanted to help him." He says. He's crying again- Phil wraps him in a hug like he's still a little kid, even though he has to kneel on the stair to reach him. He wonders if this was the same as the hug he gave Tommy the night they walked home together. "And now he's probably gone and it's all my fault."

"Tommy... he's not well, Wilbur." Phil sighs. "No amount of love can help the fact that he's in a very dark place in his mind. I understand that you wanted to protect him."

"But I should've told you."

"Yes. But there's no use dwelling on what we could've done." 

"I don't know what to do." He never really knew what to do. He only pretended like he was an actor trying to keep the show running even through the messed-up bits. There were too many of those fuck ups these days.

"There's not much we can do. We'll keep looking, we're not giving up on him." 

"But what if-"

"PHIL!" Techno screamed from the top of the stairs. Phil was on his feet within a second, running up to his youngest son's room- he hadn't heard Techno yell like that since he was a child who pushed his cousins too hard off the bed.

"Tech?"

"Tommy's on the phone!"

Wilbur's heart stops.

Chapter Text

Phil's voice dies in Tommy's hands.

He can't get over the shock. He left Essempi. Everyone went to look for him. He ignored them. Tubbo finally stopped burying their secrets. Phil sounds like everything his dad could have been like. He's fucked everything up. He's too big to pretend his mum doesn't smell of exhaustion when she hugs him, too big for her to hold him like a little doll to give up on whenever she gets bored of loving him.

He's left Essempi, travelled hundreds of miles away and is still hurtling further and further by the minute. Phil had promised to meet him at Las Nevadas- but Phil was hours away, and his train would arrive ages before anyone else could come. Tommy had made his bed, and for the best part of the next few hours, he would have to lie in it. He'd never really been left with his thoughts since he 'joined'- joined was still a strong word to describe it, he'd just been an unfortunate witness to the murder of several members' dignities and thus become a subject- the disgraced Essempi drama club. 

He'd been thinking, sure. He just never appeared to be alone. Someone was always trying to get him to join their side in an argument, or failing to teach him formula, or asking him to film their seventh attempt at a backflip- he wasn't allowed to just dwell when they were there, surrounding him like a suffocating blanket his stupid mind begged to hide under. It felt so painfully childish to be loved so completely, to feel a kind of care so horrifically merciful that Tommy had no choice but to believe it was fake.

The wheels screamed beneath the carriage. They'd arrived in Las Nevadas, into the city of fortune- Tommy had never felt so unlucky, never experienced such a crushing feeling of the realisation he was completely alone in the world. Who's stupid fucking idea was it to leave Essempi, why the fuck would he go to Las Nevadas of all places? It smelt of smoke. He hated smoking, his house tunk of the stuff and his lungs were already half-rotted with years of breathing it in. His parents were covered in it. Wilbur-

Wilbur smelt of smoke like the kind you would get from a campfire. Tommy still had room to breathe. Fuck, the guy was terrifying when he was angry- Tommy never meant to piss him off, honestly, but he just seemed to have a knack for doing so. 

The station was quiet. That was expected, it was a Thursday night, no one in their right mind would be in Las Nevadas station on a Thursday night. Tommy, however, was by no means the picture of mental health; tears ran down his face in wave after wave of self-pity, blood crusted across his fingernails from where he'd scratched at himself too hard. Phil was going to do one of those disappointed little sighs when he saw him. The ones he'd do when Tommy turned up to his office after hitting a whole other level of fucked up.

He'd hit rock bottom years ago. Right now he was just ricocheting repeatedly off the ground before slamming back down again, like a particularly shit bouncy ball. His phone had no battery, so there was no chance he'd be able to entertain himself until Phil arrived, or comfort himself with the idea that they were just a few minutes away. He leaned against the wall, his legs slowly collapsing until he was curled up on the floor, cheek pressed to ice-cold tiles. This was rock bottom.

He must have fallen asleep at some point. When he wakes up again, the station is almost pitch black aside from the occasional light from passing trains. A man stands at another platform, clearly staring at him- judging by the way he almost jumped out of his skin as Tommy moved, he probably assumed the sleeping kid was in fact a dead kid. Tommy wouldn't blame him. He wished he was a dead kid at moments like these. Dead kids wouldn't start sobbing on the phone to their school tutor because they made a dumb decision. 

There's a clatter of footsteps. He pulled his knees up to his chin, eyes covered with his fringe. His brain had stopped functioning since the phone call, by Prime he could've made better choices than just sitting at a station. He could have left. He could have been less of a pussy. He could have ignored their messages. He could have done so much. Alas, he was a failure with a capital F, so much so that he couldn't even carry out his own plan.

A familiar yellow jumper flashed across his vision. He jolted to his feet- Wilbur Soot-Minecraf, his Wilbur, was at Las Nevadas Station. Wilbur had come to save him. They met eyes. Tommy blinked, his mind barely able to keep up with what was happening. Wilbur was suddenly just feet away from him- he looked tired, almost as messed up as Tommy felt. His face lit up.

Tommy's feet moved quicker than his thoughts. He crashed into Wilbur's open arms, ignoring how damp his face was beginning to feel with the weight of every fucking emotion coming out at once. 

"Fuck- Tommy, you're okay-" Wilbur whispered. He sounded so happy, so stupidly fucking happy, just at the action of being with Tommy again. He would never understand how Wilbur could be so nice, even when Tommy was actively weeping into his clothes, even when Tommy had ruined his life for two whole days for no reason. 

"I am so sorry." He tried to say. The words came out in a series of choked gasps. 

"You don't need to be sorry," Wilbur replied- he kept squeezing Tommy tighter, as if he wasn't really sure whether he was really there or not. Tommy wasn't sure if this was a dream or not either, but the hug was the closest he would get to being okay again and he didn't want to be let go just yet.

"I didn't think you'd look for me," Tommy mumbled. That was the truth, but apparently not the one that Wilbur wanted to hear. He felt a tear drop onto his hair from where Wilbur's head rested against his own.

"I'd do anything for you, Tommy. You're like my brother." Wilbur's voice wobbled. 

"I'm so sorry."

"Please don't say that, I will cry," Wilbur said. By the sound of his voice, he already was. "You're not hurt, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."  He wasn’t quite sure how to respond- he could say he wasn't, and lie to Wilbur who would undoubtedly ask more questions, or he could say he was and have to admit some rather painful truths in front of the only person who didn't think he was a total nutter.

Phil would have his head if he knew Tommy was calling himself crazy again. Coping mechanisms, he always called them. Not great ones at that, but you're trying to cope mate.

"You're not fine." 

"I'm not."

And that was that. It was all over, like a cheesy film. It felt like he was walking out of a nightmare, staggering alongside Wilbur back to a car he'd seen all too frequently the past few weeks. Phil and Techno waited outside for him- none of them knew what to say. What could they say, what was the appropriate response to having someone's trauma violently revealed to them in a sudden but not shocking testimony from his friend? What do you say to the people who drove hundreds of miles to snap you out of a bad dream?

Nothing.

You sit in silence. Climb into the car, sandwiched between two brothers like the strange extra part to an otherwise perfectly normal family, try and accept that they're all thinking about how stupid youve been. Let them stare, let them watch and whisper like everyone always did, allow yourself to be the spectacle at the circus for everyone's entertainment. 

Think about whether this will be the last time you see their faces. Try and memorise every little detail, so you'll always be able to recognise the hand that fed you even as you snapped and bore teeth. 

"What's going to happen to me now?" Tommy asked into the dark. His voice was very, very small. He hadn't sounded this pathetic in a long time. 

"Well, for obvious reasons, you're not going back to your family." Phil made this half-hearted noise that sounded a little like a chuckle- he was tired, clearly unable to deal with Tommy's antics anymore. That was a shame, because Tommy had really liked when Phil was kind to him. It made sense that he probably wouldn't be Tommy's greatest fan anymore. "Me, Miss Puffy and a social worker are trying to set you up with emergency foster placements."

"Can he just stay with us?" Wilbur asked. In the dark, his arm tightens around Tommy's shoulder. Protectively, his heart lies. Angrily, his mind corrects.

"I'm afraid not. Fostering someone takes thousands of hours of background check and your mother and I- we're not even vaguely qualified yet." There's a hint of genuine upset in Phil's voice. That must be fake. No one would want Tommy in their house willingly. Wilbur did. Tubbo did. Drama club members offered to steal him from the street.

"Am I going to have to leave Essempi?" 

"We don't know yet, Tommy. We'll do everything that's possible to stop that." That was a yes. Phil was far too nice to tell him the truth outright; his face told it all. For the first time all night, Tommy felt Techno's hand grip his own. 

They all knew he was going to be as distant a memory as the sunset by the next morning.

The car fell into silence. 

"You know what they say," Techno said into the emptiness. Tommy's eyes, full of exhaustion, rose to meet him. "The lord gives his tastiest of children to his hungriest of Pitbulls."

The silence in the car got impossibly quieter. Techno could feel the horrified look on Phil's face spread, heard Wilbur's breath hitch and Tommy-

Tommy was laughing. Real, joyful laughter, not anything like the manic retching of earlier; it was quiet but it was there, like the sun through the clouds on a dark day. Techno would be lying if he said that he hadn't been rehearsing that joke on the way there, just hoping that a situation arose where he would be able to say it.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Wilbur asked. Tommy snapped his head between the two, trying to find the slightest hint of a joke on Techno's face. He knew very little about his English tutor; he had no doubt that Techno might be deathly serious about feeding small children to Pitbulls.

"You could be very tasty." Techno said, simply. The horrified look on Wilbur's face matched that of someone who had just watched a car crash in HD.

"What?" 

"I'm just saying. Pitbulls, am I right?" The eldest Minecraf brother continued. Wilbur shrunk back, pulling Tommy away from his possibly-murderous-counterpart. 

"Phil, Techno's being mean to me," Tommy whined. 

"Am not!"

"He's threatening to feed me to Pitbulls."

"A thought Pitbull was a rapper? Techno, stop being mean about his music taste." Phil replied. The confused look on his face only spread as the car erupted into laughter, even Techno giving the joke the smallest of smiles. 

This was what family felt like. Tommy wished to Prime that he could have been born as Phil's kid instead of being his father's son. He wished he could have felt this kind of happiness every day- of course, he was never designed for that kind of love. He was destined to be the parasite child of scumbag parents, fated to be the crappy friend, the shit actor, the terrible student. He just wished he could have been those things with Wilbur's family instead of his own. 

"It would be an honour to be mentioned in the same breath as Mr Worldwide."

An hour later, Tommy had almost forgotten what it felt like to be sobbing his eyes out for two days straight. Almost.

"Have you texted the club?" Techno whispered to him in the dark of the car. They're so close together, hunched in the back seats of the car, but for once, Tommy doesn't feel trapped in the proximity- it's almost comforting, knowing someone is finally by his side. Wilbur sleeps in the passenger seat, having moved there during a short break from driving, whilst Phil's eyes are glued to the long road ahead of them; it feels like the whole world is just him and Techno. A quiet conversation that no one else would hear. 

They're sat facing each other, backs to the car's windows, Techno's legs sprawled across what is definitely Tommy's side of the seats. If Tommy had ever had any connection to his parents, he'd like to imagine that this would have been how it would feel to have a family. Safe.

"No, why?" He replied after a second's pause. 

"They're worried. They want to know you're okay. They're total losers." Techno had a habit akin to Wilbur's, of just listing off points to make in a conversation without really bothering to link them together. They were very similar, no matter how much they tried to deny it, or how often Techno called everyone in Wilbur's general area a 'loser'.

"They don't like me that much." He mumbled. Techno's eyes bore into him- he could see the other man's discontent even in the pitch-black.

"That's not a nice thing to say." Techno monotoned. 

"What?" Tommy's heart lurched very painfully. For a brief moment, he considered that this might finally be the moment when the other shoe dropped; they were going to reveal that they were angry with him after all, going to finally snap and tear him to shreds for everything he'd caused. Techno was fucking huge. He could eat him alive.

"They spent two days looking for you. You mean the world to us- assuming they did that all in spite is pretty mean." The car didn't feel so small anymore. If anything, Tommy felt like he was a feral animal, curled in the corner, with Techno distancing himself so he wouldn't get attacked simply for stating the truth. 

Tommy was selfish. Techno just happened to be blunt enough to point that out.

"It just feels-" Tommy took a deep breath. The warm light of lamposts streamed into the car, making the pink of Techno's hair a soft orange. "Sometimes it feels like I don't really deserve it that much."

"Why?" It's too dark. The light casts shadows over Techno's face- Tommy can see the whites of his eyes, empty of any emotion other than a deep-set pity that would sicken him if he didn't crave the idea of being cared about.

"Because. I'm a bad person. I fuck up, and I hurt people." He continued. Like a line from a script. He's memorised it for years, repeating it over and over like a broken record. Tommy Inet is a bad person. He'd hurt anyone if he had to.

"Big deal. You don't do it on purpose." Techno huffed. Tommy can't mask his shock.

"I know, but I still do it and they still get hurt." He gasped, as if that could explain every thought in his head. Techno didn't seem to understand the extent to which he'd ruined lives. His parents, young and free, were forced to take care of his whining. "And I never apologise. Even when I know they're really upset. I make it worse."

"You made Wilbur better. He's sufferable now he knows he's got to think about someone that isn't himself." Techno shrugs. 

"That's a mean thing to say." 

"It is. And I don't feel sorry. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No."

"Then you're not bad either. You and I are the same." Techno pressed further. A devilish smile spread over his face. "Besides I've done much worse than you have. One time, Dream really pissed me off-"

"Techno." Phil's tired voice called from the front. Tommy had almost completely forgotten that his therapist? father figure? was there. It felt like it was just him, Techno, and the massive guilt they other way forcing him to confront. 

"Dadza, it's a great story!"

"Technoblade, it ends with Dream having a permanent Play-Dough stain in his hair."

"Exactly. A great story."

They got to the station just under 45 minutes later.

The whole building smelt wrong. Of disinfectant and bleach and the inherent sadness of knowing that you're more attached to your hometown than you thought you were. Wilbur had woken up in time to put his arm on that oh-so-familiar place on Tommy's shoulder, telling him exaggerated tales of 'winning' a fight against Schlatt. Wilbur talked and talked, filling any silence there could have been- in some way, it felt like Wilbur was trying to comfort himself as well as Tommy, by pretending like it was completely regular to be at a police station on a Thursday night.

Tommy let his head drop down onto Wilbur's collarbone. Sooner or later, one of the enigmas that made up the Soot-Minecraf family would have to acknowledge how slim Tommy's chances at staying in Essempi were. Wilbur would run out of words, Techno wouldn't have any more light to change the mood, Phil would use up all his wisdom. It would be like Tommy was a black hole, slowly destroying each of them.

Two officers came into the waiting room. One of them, a tall woman with one of the hardest stares Tommy had ever seen, held a file around the same thickness as his head. A file, helpfully labelled 'THESEUS INET'- presumably filled with all the ways he'd fucked up over the past few years.

"Follow me this way, Theseus. We have some questions for you regarding your parents." The officer said. She reminded him of his mum. Sharp features, constantly exhausted- he wondered if her hands were gentle, or whether they too hit and tore when necessary. He wondered if she would have done the same as his mother, whether she would have snapped under the pressure of loathing her own child.

He untangled himself from Wilbur's arm. The officers left without a word, leaving him to trail after them like a lost puppy. His mum had a habit of wandering without him too. 

Their shoes clicked on the linoleum floor. He was brought to a tiny room, down corridor after corridor. It has metal chairs and a big wooden desk like the one in Miss Puffy's office. Tommy hoped that Miss Puffy wouldn't be too cross at him for his disappearing act- maybe she'd pretend to be, but she was never truly upset with him.

"The time is 10:32 pm, conducting the interview is Detective-"

It was all over quickly. A social worker came in shortly afterwards, looking completely dishevelled from the stress of hunting a child across two towns- his name was Sam, like the infamous teacher, and even though he spent the majority of his time rambling apologies for Tommy's situation, he was quite nice. He found Tommy a place to stay in no time.

He was placed in an emergency home in Pogtopia. 

It was an hour and a half out of Essempi. He was going to have to transfer schools if he was planning on staying there longer than a week or so- Prime, this was such a sickening way of getting what he wished for. He was never going to see his friends again, all because he was too selfish to think about them when he ran away, because he couldn't pick up the fucking phone when asked. He destroyed the only good things in his life.

His belongings, his phone, everything was taken into evidence. He felt like someone had taken all his insides could with a spoon, leaving him disgustingly hollow. He didn't even have the energy to answer all the officer's questions, even when Phil crouched down by his chair to try and explain them to him- that didn't even make sense, Tommy wasn't stupid, he'd just given up. Protesting at this point was futile. Tommy Inet was a failure with a capital F, who had finally fucked up to the degree that he finally got what was coming to him.

This story doesn't have a happy beginning or a happy middle- it made all the more sense that it wouldn't have a very happy ending either. Tommy just wished that he might have sent one last text; a simple 'I'm sorry' to anyone that was forced to drag themselves out of their routines to search for him. An 'I didn't deserve you.' for Tubbo, to apologise for ever thinking that Tubbo wouldn't want him back.

An hour and 45 minutes after returning to Essempi, Tommy was forced to leave again.

He never saw the drama club again.

(Until,)

Chapter Text

Tubbo's best friend in the entire world had fucked off one random Thursday, and he couldn't care any less.

It all happened before he could have time to think. One day, Tommy was there- then he got in an argument with some pricks from a club no one liked, and he disappeared. He went all the way to fucking Las Nevadas. Tubbo couldn't fathom a single reason why anyone in their right mind would go to Las Nevadas; it was famously a shithole for anyone who didn't feel like drinking their life savings away. Tommy swore he'd never leave Essempi.

But that didn't matter, because he swore a lot of things. He swore he could talk to cows. He swore he'd hand his physics homework in the next day. He swore he'd always be there for Tubbo, even when they were old and grey.

He swore all those things, then fucked off and left. No note, no text, no nothing. Wilbur had come to him like a dog with its tail between its legs, faking a tear over Tommy's history and how sad he was about Tommy never telling anyone. He forgot, of course, that Tubbo had known for years and years and was managing fine looking after the both of them BEFORE he came along.

Wilbur cried loads. Something in him considered the fact that Wilbur might not be faking about seeing Tommy was as much of a brother to him as he was to Tubbo.

Tubbo didn't know why he wasn't crying yet. 

Life continued without him. Even though he begged and begged and begged, his mum still made him go to school on Friday. He'd tried to scream, fight, and break everything under the sun but in the end, the adults were always right and he was always wrong. He never cried, so his grief clearly wasn't real enough to constitute missing school. Tommy wasn't even dead, so why care about the fact he was probably as lonely as Tubbo was?

Schlatt turned the music up a little louder in the car so he wouldn't have to hear the aching silence from the back seat. His stereo only really had two volumes- too quiet for even a mouse to hear and blisteringly loud- and the only songs he had expired in 2016. It was nice to hear something other than his thoughts for once. Blond hair and devilish smiles had been haunting him wherever he looked.

They didn't drive past Tommy's house that day, even though it was on the quickest route to school. They turned left at the corner- there was no reason to go right, because Tommy Inet was more of a concept than a living being now. They picked up Charlie Slimecicle instead, who was far too happy too fit the silent vigil the two brothers were trying to hold.

Realistically, this was not the end of the world. Techno said he was in Pogtopia, for now. He was somewhere miles better than with his parents. 

Tubbo just wished that the place could have been a little closer to him. He wished Tommy would have picked up the phone when he called him. He wished that Tommy Inet was smart enough to sneak his phone out of evidence so they could play stupid games on call and pretend everything was fine. 

In one way, Tubbo absolutely hated him for being so cowardly. The Tommy he knew didn't run away from problems. He ran into them, attempting to bring them down with screaming and hitting- even though it killed him in the process.

In another way, Tubbo had been a coward too. He'd watched Tommy leave and he did nothing. He was a fool, one that assumed his best friend would always be waiting at his doorstep once he'd cooled down. Cowardly, loyal Tubbo, who never expected Tommy to save himself. 

Ranboo didn't seem to know what to do with himself either. They stood at the end of the table nervously, as if he was struggling to decide whether to take Tommy's seat right next to Tubbo or leave the space in between. They didn't move until Mr Halo came in again, screaming at a particularly rowdy group of kids to stop trying to stick Pritt Sticks to the ceiling.

Mr Halo was nice, sometimes. He had a dog and a son, and a husband he seemed to switch between loving and hating every ten seconds. Ranboo liked him a lot, so naturally, Tommy decided to be his worst nemesis. 

"Are you okay?" Ranboo whispered to him, yanking him from the rabbit hole of thoughts. Ranboo never whispered. He shouted, because Tommy was making too much noise and Tubbo was competing to match the screaming completion going on.

"I'm alright." Tubbo grinned back at him. He wasn't really sure why he was smiling, he really didn't feel like smiling at all. Smiling was high up on his list of things not to do, like get into a tap dancing competition with a centipede or run away to fucking Las Nevadas.

"Are you sure?" Ranboo pressed further. They looked more concerned about him than he would have liked.

"Not really." He sighed. His face was starting to hurt with how much he had been smiling. He was making himself look like a complete tit in front of the one friend he had left. "I miss him so much."

"I mean, its not like he's dying." Ranboo said, making everything a thousand times worse. "He's just in Pogtopia. Without his phone. We'll see him again."

"It feels like he's dying again."

"You're very clingy, have I ever told you that?"

Mr Halo made a soft noise, like he was clearing his throat, gesturing to the board in front of him. Tubbo had a theory that an email had been sent out informing teachers of something along the lines of 'don't be mean to Tubbo today, we don't want another kid running around like they're going to off themselves'. He gestured to the questions on the board, clearly trying to get the two students to continue along with their studies even though there were much more serious things to bother themselves with.

Tubbo looked down at the sheet in his hands. All the words flowed together like water from a stream, exploding across the page. The thought of even picking up the pen was exhausting. He was close enough to the door that he could make a run for it if he wanted.

Ranboo looked up at him. The look of horror on his face as he realised Tubbo's plan was magnificent. Almost enough to push him from the deep sorrow he'd been feeling ever since that fateful argument, since he'd sobbed into Quackity's shirt even though the smell of cigarettes made him sick. 

"I am not bunking off with you again." They sighed. They hadn't done any more work than he had. 

Mr Halo didn't so much as look up when he wandered out of the class, like a housecat suddenly deciding it no longer liked its owner. Tubbo had no real plan for the rest of the day; maybe he'd walk around the halls until he saw one of his brother's stupid friends, or until he saw a member of the drama club to take his anger out on. He could walk forever. There was no chance he was going back to lessons to suffocate in loneliness.

It turned out 'forever' was ten and a half minutes. Miss Puffy caught him kicking a stray pencil around near her office, and instead of sending him back to class, made him go and talk to Phil.

Now, Tubbo had some qualms with one Philza Minecraf. These qualms mostly stemmed from Tommy's Phil Rants, which ranged from everything from the man's constant need to ask dumb questions, to him being really quite an old man. 

He would rather do anything than English, even if it meant talking to the father of the man he was definitely planning to fight, at some point or another. He probably shouldn't tell him that, though, because Phil would definitely try and put a stop to his rage before he could punch Wilbur in his stupidly smug face.

"How are you feeling, Tubbo?" Phil asked.

Tubbo was beginning to feel some of the anger that Tommy was always describing. His hands were sweating. The whole room smelt like hand sanitiser and mould. He stood up abruptly, surprising both Phil and himself, to some extent. 

"It doesn't matter! Because he's gone, and its all your fault!" He hissed, sounding more like a quickly deflating balloon than someone to fear. Tommy was the scary one, and he was the peacekeeper, and that was the way things always were. Tommy wasn't here anymore.

"Why do you think that?" Phil seemed too calm. It made sense for him to be so unbothered- Tubbo, he'd been the only person that ever cared for Tommy beyond all his screaming and causing havoc. Phil's questions were dumb. 

"You were the one who forced him to join that stupid drama club- he never- he- they were the ones that made him leave!" His fists curled into balls. Schlatt taught him to punch on his first day of school to make sure no bullies would fuck with him. He was too young to understand why he'd need to beat people up then. He was old enough now.

"Tubbo, please, take a breath. Why do you think it was the club that made him leave?" 

"Because it was!" Tubbo yelled back at him. It felt good to be shouting at someone that wasn't himself. Fuck Phil, fuck his stupid questions and stupider observations. Fuck all of them. "Your fucking son- he ruined my life!"

"Tubbo-"

"He's playing fucking hero now like he wasn't the one that messed everything up!" 

Tubbo's legs felt shaky. He slid to the ground, just like he had in Miss Puffy's office, face buried against his knees, fingernails dug into handfuls of his hair. Last time, Schlatt and Quackity had taken turns in stopping him from crying himself dry. Phil just sat there, enough space between them to fit a galaxy of words.

"Why didn't Tommy call me?" He croaked. The tears were finally beginning to fall. 

Wilbur got the phone call. He got to give Tommy the last hug, tell him things were okay. He didn't deserve it.

Tubbo was the one that Tommy trusted more than everyone else in the whole wide world, he'd said it himself. He's been there since the beginning, when they still had gaps in their teeth and dreams of owning a treehouse AND a pool. Every friendship bracelet he'd ever made had been for one person. 

And Tommy didn't even reply to his messages when he needed him the most.

"He- I don't think he knew how." Phil tried to reply kindly. Tubbo could tell that he was bluffing.

"Of course he did. He could've said 'hey Tubbo, I'm still here' or 'hey man I'm not fucking coming home'." He snivelled. He couldn't tell if he was shouting or screaming, if he was angry or sad, if he was in the right or in the wrong. "He could have yelled at me and been angry or anything- I wanted him to just be there."

"I'm so sorry Tubbo. I don't think he ever meant to hurt you." 

"Am I a bad person?" He asked. The question hung heavy in the air. God, he probably was clingy, if he was starting to even sound like Tommy too.

"No." Phil said firmly.

"I knew he was being beaten up. I never told anyone because- because he said so." He rubbed his eyes, trying to think of a way he would pretend he hadn't been crying if Ranboo was to ask him later. "I wanted him to be safe but all I can think about is how much I hate him for leaving."

"Wanting to be with your friend doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you a person that likes him a lot." Phil sighed. He dropped down the floor in front of him, kneeling so they were at the same level. "Tommy wasn't well. You couldn't be expected to make all these big decisions about his future- Tubbo, you were a kid too."

He didn't reply. He didn't know if there was anything else to say.

"Everyone's been letting you both down." Phil kept making these brief statements, as if Tubbo hadn't known all of these stupid truths already. "I swear, Tubbo, I will find a way for Tommy to see you again."

Tubbo didn't think of Phil as a liar.

Chapter Text

Wilbur felt glum. Despondent. Sorrowful. Downcast. Miserable.

In short, Wilbur had barely stopped blaming himself since that stupid argument. He made sure everyone in his vicinity knew this; Prime, Techno and Philza hadn't gotten a break from his constant bad mood, and that certainly wouldn't be changing for at least another eternity. No amount of mental maths could prevent Wilbur from the definite truth- he was entirely in the wrong, and now he was suffering because of it.

He had to go back to school just a day after. He had exams, he had a stupid group of losers ready to wrap their grubby little hands all over him for the safe of 'comfort'- disgusting, Wilbur didn't think he'd ever emerged from Sapnap's grip clean of whatever smoke was left from his chronic arsonist phase, and fuck knows how Slime managed to be so sticky all the time. Wilbur had a life, one he couldn't just put on hold to wallow in regret, no matter how many times he begged Dadza.

He spent most classes with his head down, face smushed against the desk. Schlatt only laughed a bit when he saw the pitiful state that had become of his debate rival (how that man joined the debate team was a greater mystery than the assassination of JFK); he would have laughed more, but the threat of Niki blasting him into next week was much too frightening. She'd already given Jack a taste of her wrath that week (a long story, main characters being most of the pens in the drama studio and a sleeping Wilbur's hair) and even though Schlatt had around the same amount of dignity as a dampened greyhound, he was still smart enough to avoid that embarrassment.

"Wilbur!" Quackity leant over to him in the middle of some failed Physics lecture, using the same light tone he usually utilised in order to stop him from pouting. In any normal situation, Wilbur would have replied with a simple 'Quackitee!' and they would have gone about their day in a happier fashion. However, normalcy these days was an abstract concept.

"What?" He groaned. He sounded like a toddler.

"I'm trying to get you to smile," Quackity replied. His desk was considerably closer to Wilbur's than it had been when the lesson began. They were close enough that Wilbur could have counted the freckles on his ridiculously joyful face.

"Why would you bother with that." Wilbur sighed- he wasn't smiling. He didn't want to smile. He was sad, and he wanted to stay that way no matter how hard Quackity would try to prevent his overwhelming need to sob his eyes out until the guilt was slightly less.

"Because, you've been moping around all week. You haven't come to rehearsal in ages. This summer won't mid itself!" Quackity laughed, sounding forced and hollow like he was merely a salesman trying to sell him the sweet relief of happiness. A damn good one, but a salesman all the same.

Wilbur hadn't been to rehearsal in two days. Hardly ages, unless you're clingier than the average STD and belong to what was once named 'the living proof that drama clubs were created by the devil'. 

Missing two rehearsals was hardly a big thing. He'd missed the last four equations entertaining this stupid conversation. He'd missed his bus so often in his first year that the bus driver forgot who he was. He frequently missed the goal when he was forced to play football in PE. He'd missed a lot of things.

"Are you calling my productions 'mid'?" 

"Absolutely."

Wilbur couldn't even tell you what page he was supposed to be on anymore. He had exams to do. He couldn't sit through this bullshit, pretending to be cheering up. He wanted to die the admirable way, having a heart attack in the middle of an exam hall and being given an A out of sympathy.

"I don't want to come back anyway." He sighed. A bit too dramatically, judging by the smile Quackity couldn't quite repress. "What's the point?"

"There is no point, get over yourself." 

"You get over yourself!" Wilbur hissed. His face was roughly the same colour as a fire engine. "Quackity, this play is shit! We're shit! We only do this out of some sadistic need to embarrass ourselves!"

"Exactly, fucklord, it's meaningless." He exclaimed, slamming his hands on the desk. From two desks away, Slime let out an incredible screech of surprise that would never be repeated in quite the same hilarity as the first time."Look, Wilbur, my love, dickhead, our tutee won't come back just because you're sad about it. You still have us."

"Are you angry at me?" Wilbur probably still sounded too whiny. He didn't really care. Jack was too loud, Eret was too up-her-own-arse, Sapnap was too stupid, Tommy was too stubborn. Who gave a fuck if he embarrassed himself over problems he caused.

"No! I mean- Fundy's a bit pissed but that's because Dream's been in charge the past few days and he's still angry at the whole 'Romeo and Juliet' fiasco.."

As much as Wilbur would have loved to continue his lonely sulk, he had to admit that leaving Dream in charge would be a bigger insult to his pride than the unfortunate occurrences of his childhood karate days, in which the instructor had to personally pull him aside to kindly ask that he look for a different sport. Dream was the Duncan to his Macbeth, the Clytemnestra to his Agamemnon, the Hector to his Achilles. 

To put it shortly, Dream was a fucking dick.

However, if there ever happened to be an 'I hate Dream' club, Fundy would be president. No one quite knew the cause of all that hatred; be it the Sour Patch Kids Debacle, the I Promise Your Bag Is Not In The Lake Crisis, or because of the very regrettable incident in which Dream had 'forgotten' to show up for the final performance of Romeo and Juliet. An act that would have been fine, had he not been cast in the role of Romeo.

Two years later, Fundy had still failed to let that one go. It was a frequent cause for fights breaking out during rehearsal. 

"And you say I need to get over myself." Wilbur grumbled. 

"Come back to the drama club. For me. And your precious show." Fuck, Quackity was a good haggler. He had a certain charm that made Wilbur want to go against everything he believed. It was probably the mullet. Or the kindness. 

"I'm coming back for the show." He lied, rather spectacularly. Quackity probably believed him. Probably.

"Excellent." A look of relief spread over the other's face, like a warrior that had fought many a battle being told he had finally paid off his debt. Or like a ratty teenager being told his bossiest boyfriend was returning to his dictatorship in the drama studio. Either worked.

Quackity slithered an arm around his shoulders, yanking him in close enough to taste smoke and hairspray in his mouth. Some genius at the back of the class started making retching noises, as if the PDA occurring was any less revolting than their physics teacher's jorts.

Mr Foolish was a lovely man really. A good teacher.

Well, he was a decent teacher.

He was a shit teacher. Wilbur couldn't remember being taught anything in his many days at this school- granted, he did spend most of his time gossiping with Big Q, but the mere fact that he had not been able to gain any information even through casual listening was shocking. From what he knew, Mr Foolish was just the same classic menace to society that tended to frequent Essempi's bizarre population. He spent too much time with Punz's weird little brother, building rockets that totally wouldn't be thrown at students.

Wilbur would let all that weirdness slide though. Mr Foolish was really, really hot.

Though speaking of hot things, Wilbur was going to boil to death if Quackity didn't stop breathing right down his neck, scanning his page full of stupidly wrong answers as if he'd find anything of value to copy from. He wouldn't, except if he counted the rather nice drawing of a giraffe as substantial evidence of Wilbur's physics prowess. 

"You're lucky you're a pretty man, Wilbur," Quackity smirked, having read the utter fiasco of a paper several times already. "This is Bullshit."

Wilbur didn't have the heart to reply. He owed Quackity one. Several ones, really, if he counted all the other ways he'd been bailed out of problems he created. Several more ones, if he counted all the damage control he did to prevent Wilbur from looking foolish in Spanish class.

He had more to thank him for now. For one, Quackity had dragged him out of his slump, for two, he was allowing Wilbur to follow him around like some overgrown puppy. Held his hand like a toddler, pitiful really, making sure he didn't throw himself out of a window and got to their business class on time. 

Though, if he was being pedantic, Wilbur would have said that it didn't matter at all whether he was in business or not. He never made any notes. He'd only taken it because Techno said it was easy, and he should have guessed that he was a Massive Lying Liar from the town of Liarsville who Lied. 

It was not an easy option. Techno would regret that practical joke as soon as Wilbur could work out how. The bottom line was; an actor, a pedlar of the theatrical arts, a bard such as himself shouldn't have to be pissing about with percentages, but would do so anyway to prove he could. Business was simply a time for him to stare into space and imagine that these past few days hadn't been real, that he was still not quite the worst friend in the world and not quite the worst leader. 

His thoughts were opioids for his guilt. In his mind, he'd never exploded with anger over a simple mistake, he'd told someone about what he'd seen in Tommy's expression when they spoke about home. 

Eret had kicked the back of his chair to wake him up at the end of the period. It wasn't real. 

The club had a tendency to overcrowd a room, some may complain. Some may complain that their assistance on all cramming onto one lunch table was 'borderline insane' and 'a health and safety concern, Wilbur, so stop offering to fight people to the death for more leg room', as Mr Halo had so delicately put it when he walked past. They were in the very back corner, far enough away from others that no regular student could be infected by their seemingly chronic embarrassing tendencies. 

Today, Schlatt had thrown himself into the very centre of the bench, wicked little smile on his face like he was about to make a devious little speech. Eret to his left, pretending she wasn't affiliated with the rest of the table, and Karl to his right, making obnoxious joke after obnoxious joke to ensure the entire cafeteria knew exactly which gaggle he belonged to. Techno was the direct opposite. His spine was rigid, every nerve tensed. He didn't tend to enjoy stupidity, or Wilbur's loser friends.

But he respected his brother's clinginess, especially after the fiasco that had become of a certain tornado of a child. Maybe that was why he allowed Fundy to sit next to him without making the boy into a Fundy-flavoured soup.

"You know, back in the olden times, I'd say around '99 or so-" Schlatt started, the moment Wilbur sat down. There was an audible groan from many members of the table. Schlatt didn't even seem to notice.

"I don't want to hear about you brutalising people again." George grumbled, stabbing at his lunch with a crappy wooden fork. He brought his own fork from home, once. It ended up lodged in Sapnap's leg within the first ten minutes of him getting it out. Since then, he had been relegated to the quote 'inferior' utensils until he could learn to get on with others.

Speaking of Sapnap, he was yet to turn up to school. According to Quackity, he either a) had fallen into a coma, b) couldn't be fucked coming in, or c) had been brutally bored to death by his father's most recent lecture on the importance of getting your grades up. For the sake of the play, Wilbur really hoped it was B. A catatonic member could cause serious problems. Catatonic Egeus would be particularly difficult.

"I wasn't going to say that!" Schlatt retorted, a smug tone to his voice.

"When did you brutalise people?" Slime asked, so squished by the general arrangement of the table that his face had become an extension of Fundy's shoulder. The other was too focused on his little computer project to care.

Fundy spent too much time on his computer. He used to offer to play video games (only the best of the best, Roblox and the like) but was beaten so dramatically by his sister that he no longer did so.

"Slime, shut the fuck up." Schlatt hissed. 

His relationship with the gunky boy was unknown. They had a podcast together. Schlatt frequently tried to throw salt at him just to see if he'd melt like a slug. They were like friends, but much worse. 

"Get to the point." George yawned, folding over himself on the table. The surface was so sticky that Wilbur was surprised the other wasn't already trying to tear his face off. George didn't seem to give a fuck about anything, these days.

"Essentially, before I was rudely interrupted, back in the olden times, people would have these phones that they plugged into the wall-"

"Landlines?" Techno suggested.

Schlatt paused, letting every muscle in his face fall. For an average person, this would be a strange enough action to confuse them and prevent them from acting further against Schlatt's ideas of a perfect audience. For Techno, this was akin to applause, a desperate beg for him to continue.

"What is it with you people and interrupting my story?" 

"You're the one who can't wrap it up." Techno interrupted, yet again. It was like an unstoppable force against an immovable object. A senseless deranged lunatic against someone that wanted to see what a senseless deranged lunatic would do next. 

"Not my fault I have to dumb it down for some people here."

"What the fuck is- Jack, I swear if you touch me one more time- what the fuck is that meant to mean?" Quackity snapped, his mouth curling into a sneer. He'd clenched his fists so hard his knuckles were white. 

"It's meant to mean that-" 

"Schlatt, get to the point or fuck off." Quackity sighed. His hair was getting long enough that he could do a pretentious little hair flip, one that looked somewhat dafter than what he had probably intended. 

"Now you better watch your fucking language, asshole, wouldn't want someone to call Two-Faced-Teddy-" Schlatt hissed. He sat back, clearly very proud at his insult- all other members looked completely blank. Whatever inside joke this was, it clearly only existed in Schlatt's head.

After a few more seconds of silence, Schlatt had the humility to sigh. 

"Last night, Tommy's social worker got him on a call with Tubbo. He's doing good." He said. A certain pressure seemed to release from the atmosphere, like a weight had been lifted from all their shoulders. 

"Good?" Techno asked. There was no emotion in his face. If Wilbur didn't know him any better, he would have assumed he was completely unaffected by the news. 

Wilbur knew him very well. This wasn't the blank expression of someone being told umbrella prices had raised. This was the overjoyed, celebratory, delighted blank expression he saved for family pictures and fencing tournaments.

"Yeah. They got him a therapist that isn't just your dad." 

"My dad is a great therapist." Wilbur said- more, shouted- indignantly. Several heads turned to look at him, but he paid them little attention. 

Schlatt was simply so good at getting under his skin. It was a talent, really, his ability to push buttons and prod soft spots until his victims were forced to react. It's why he was such a good debate captain. 

"Sure." There was a certain slyness to his tone. Wilbur would have leapt across the table were it not for people pinning him to the bench on both sides, for Mr Skeppy staring daggers into his neck and itching to pull out his little pad of detention slips. 

"He's really doing fine?" Niki broke the tension. Her brows were furrowed with concern.

"Sort of. Tubbo wasn't that descriptive."

Finally, all the anger Wilbur had in him bubbled up. He'd spent hours wallowing in guilt, and the only reassurance he got was 'hes good'. Fuck Jebadiah Schlatt and his stupid stupid contributions.

"Why the fuck not?" He asked. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jack try and put his hand on his shoulder- a rather difficult task, considering how many other people were in the way. He missed at least three times, grabbing handfuls of Slime's hair.

"Because he's like twelve!" 

"He's fifteen." Slime said. He didn't seem to have noticed the animosity forming- or he did, and was simply relying on his position of Overall Favourite Puppy to protect him from the nuclear war that could break out. 

Wilbur didn't even think Slime had ever been in a real fight. He's been close, even breaking his nose when Purpled had swung his arm out too far and made him a victim by proxy. Mostly he was just the human bait if they ever needed someone to chase a wild animal away. 

"Shut up, Slime, God, you people are just insufferable." 

"Go sit somewhere else!" 

"Fine!"

Despite his best judgements, Wilbur did end up back in the studio come rehearsal time that night. The stage looked strangely bare without the usual explosion of homework across it, and there was a certain dampness in the air that couldn't be traced back to the mould in the rafters. It was a dampness most acquainted with grief, with missing what could have been but was not. 

He almost bolted out of there. Had it not been for Dadza's stream of proud text messages for his return to routine and the look on Dream's stupid face when he realised he couldn't be leader anymore, he probably would have quit altogether. If it hadn't been for Techno leaving for his stupid English club, he would have immediately been begging for a lift home, crawling back with his tail between his legs.  

Wilbur Soot Minecraf was a quitter, in all regards. President Wilbur, leader of the drama club, however, definitely wasn't.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" He yelled- projected, if using drama club terms. His trenchcoat did a wonderful twirl as he climbed onto the table, one he really hoped his club would take notes of. "After a short absence, rehearsal is back!"

There was one, singular little cheer from Jack Manifold, forever ignorant to the inherent taboo of making noise through Wilbur's speeches. Normally, he would have had a book to the head- but Wilbur was in a good mood, so he'd save that for when Jack inevitably fucked up his lines. 

"Today, We shall start with act two-" Wilbur began. Somewhere in the thrill of the situation, he'd forgotten the most important element of his scheme.

"Wilbur?" Karl laughed nervously. His eyes darted around, as if looking for someone to back him up. "We don't have- Tommy was Puck, remember? We can- we'll start from Demetrius and Helena, right?"

Wilbur didn't respond. His hand flew up to his hair, gripping it like the tug of the strands could yank a thought into motion. 

"Are we going to have to recast?" Niki asked. 

Truth be told, Wilbur did not know. He didn't really know anything anymore. His cast has been a perfect vision before his eyes, Niki, brave yet kind, the fair Hermia, Sapnap, commanding and stubborn, Egeus, Tommy-

"Hopefully not." He finally said. He grits his teeth into a smile. 

"The fuck do you mean hopefully?" Fundy sighed. "It's not like he's going to magically re-appear!"

"Maybe he will. Shut up." 

"The drama club is only for people attending the school. Tommy doesn't." The way George had to scream from the lightbox was almost comical. They used to call him the voice of Prime, before he started abusing his power to scream insults over their acting.

The comedy was somewhat lost in this situation. 

"Really?" Wilbur asked.

There was a beat, and no one said anything. No one knew what to say, as this type of restriction seemed beyond their regular scheming powers. Convincing Miss Puffy to give them further chances was one thing. Convincing her to bend the laws of the school for them was another.

"Is that a real thing?"

"Yeah." 

"Shit."

"We'll- we can think of something else. Who has any other ideas?" Quackity finally collected his words, standing from where he had thrown himself across the couch. 

"In the meantime, what should we do to make this show not suck?" Jack joked. He probably hoped to diffuse the situation, probably didn't mean to sound as punch-able as he did. "Or in general. Always asking for life advice."

"We're going to be calm and collected and listen to what the people in charge say." Wilbur said, firmly. He didn't even try to hide his smirk, knowing his club would see through him like glass. 

"What are we actually going to do?" 

"Scheme, mostly." Wilbur grinned. "Demetrius and Helena, on stage."

As they began to assemble, shifting old props and throwing bags, it became abundantly more clear to Wilbur that he could not give up. His fuck up had not make him any less himself, any less of the belligerent kid he had been when he fought for the very existence of this club. He would get his show, he would get his cast, he would get his brother back.

Tonight, Tommy was simply a saved space in the front centre of the auditorium, a careful promise to never be forgotten. 

"I love thee not, therefore persue me not! Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me, thou told'st me they were stolen to this wood!"

Chapter Text

hello theatre nerds!

it’s been a long few years since i last posted. to give you a slight catch up:

- had surgery (twice)

- spent time at rehab

- got a cat

iys been a long few years….

recently, i’ve got a good few comments asking for this fic to be continued. 

on the one hand, this fic is littered with figures i don’t really want to support-

but on the other, you, readers, have supported this book through so much, and i want nothing more than to give you all the ending you deserve.

so would anyone be interested in a (very) late ending?