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Tommy idly scrolled on his phone, eyelids drooping. It was late into the night now, just past 12. Despite his enervated state, his head wouldn’t turn off. He was mentally restless, and any attempt at sleep just had him awkwardly fidgeting.
So, he sat on the couch in less than ample lighting and tuckered in for the night, perched on the cushions and scrolling through whatever caught his eye.
Productive? No, horribly not… something to do that’s not laundry? Absolutely.
He was comfortably in the living room of house #4, and easily his favorite. They were kind and respectful, and Tommy, for the first time, felt like this could actually become his home- which was jinxing it, he knew. But, even as he held them from a safe distance, he cherished them.
Like all the other houses, his social worker had gone on and on about how ‘this is the one, Tommy! I know it!’ And for the first time, Tommy thought she might be right. Still, he only thought. It’d only been 7 months, which made it his longest stay, but that could always change.
He was seemingly hyper-fixated on that; the idea that this was all going to fall apart. Statistically, the odds were in Tommy’s favor, but he held out hope. They acted like a real, functioning family. A lot of it was foreign territory, but he was learning. Learning so much that when it would inevitably blow up in his face, he’d miss it that much more.
With two foster brothers plus himself and their father, they still managed to pull themselves together when it mattered and work as one group. The synchronicity in which they functioned and interacted was contagious, and everything just… fit. It was easy. They respected Tommy, Tommy respected them, and maybe he was even becoming ‘them.’ He couldn’t decide how he felt about that.
The respect was a welcome change. Even with things that might not make sense, certain boundaries or needs, as long as it wasn’t genocide (arson was acceptable), it was respected or provided.
Tommy wasn’t adverse to touch. Not in the slightest, just viewing him with his friends could easily clear up any doubt… but with foster families? Physical affection was a definite no, and they didn’t question it. Even as they’d all seen him show that affection to his friends, they still respected it.
God, it was awesome here.
One of his favorite things here was the trust Phil, the father, put into the three of them. Sure, the other two were in college and literal adults, but even Tommy got the same ‘just don’t do anything illegal and let me know you’re alive’ rule. (Only his brothers had an added ‘…unless it wakes me up’ to the ‘let me know you’re alive’ part.)
Right now, his two foster brothers, Techno and Wilbur, were out exercising that trust, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to him when there was commotion at the front door. They had gone out with friends, bowling or some other old geezer activity, and he’d been awaiting their arrival for some time now.
What continued to not surprise him was a quick knock, because of course they’d forgotten keys.
Tommy stood from the couch and swiftly made his way to the front door, hand halting at the knob as singing laughter was muffled behind it. That was Wilbur, certainly, and very… happy.
He wished he’d thought more about it before opening the door.
Wilbur was leaning on Techno, but much more giving him a lazily attempted hug than anything. Techno wasn’t doing much to hold him up besides a steadying hand to Wilbur’s back, letting the brunet cling to him the same way the scent of alcohol was to Wilbur.
Tommy took a step back.
Then several.
Flashes of hostile memories blinded him, all too similar circumstances as this ending in the same way. Memories of tears and screams and that horrible smell.
The door closed as Techno pulled them both in, shimmying around Wilbur to take his coat off.
Wilbur’s hair was messy with the sweater and dress shirt underneath horribly wrinkled. The golden frames of his glasses falling off his nose were as lopsided as the dopey grin he beamed at Tommy.
Tommy’s throat seemed to close up as Wilbur’s attention directed to him.
Unlatching from Techno, he inhaled and exclaimed a little too loudly, “Tommy! My sweet baby, come here, sunshine,” Wilbur staggered forwards, reaching out to Tommy, “I love you so much, Toms, my-“
Wilbur hesitated when Tommy jumped back like he’d been burned, or maybe it was Techno’s hand on his shoulder keeping him there.
Wilbur’s face fell into shock at the realization of what Tommy was thinking. What Wilbur had forgotten. Wilbur’s shoulders shook as he brought his hands to his mouth, tears starting to well in his eyes.
“Oh- oh darling, no, no, oh god, I messed it all up.” He rambled, watching Tommy and reflecting his horror. “I messed it all up- this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, I’m so sorry, oh, sweetheart, I’m so- no, no, fuck!”
Tommy flinched as Wilbur struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. Not hard enough to hurt, but quickly enough to scare Tommy, who was waiting for that very action directed at him.
All Tommy smelled was alcohol, and all he could see was the synonymous threat.
“Tommy,” Wilbur begged, “Please-“
Tommy slammed his door behind him, hardly aware he’d run to his room.
He went straight for the window.
He wasn’t going to do it. That’d be stupid. This was a good house. They were good to him, fucking great, even without comparison to the past homes.
He just thought about it, and he let the thought form into a fantasy.
Not everyone changes when they drink, Tommy reminded himself, Wilbur wouldn’t hurt me. He just smelled like he would.
That sounded stupid, even to Tommy.
Behind him, there was noise by his door, then beyond it. He found himself with his ear pressed against the wood, heart thudding and breath shaky. It was a reflex to listen after that- he needed to be ready. He needed to take every precaution possible because it-
Wilbur was crying, and Techno was consoling him. At least, he was likely consoling him. Techno’s voice was too soft and Wilbur’s too loud, and behind his bedroom door all he could hear were regretful words.
Tommy’s body was still just as rigid, the response to the scent like a dog to a whistle. He couldn’t turn it off.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Wilbur took a sharp inhale, “I love him so much, you know that, it’s so hard to not- I just forget sometimes- I messed it all up, I fucking ruined everything and now he hates me! I always fuck it up and now he thinks I’m just as bad as them and he-“ A breathy gasp, “Oh my god, what if he runs? Techno, we’ve gotta-“
There was a shuffle, then a light thud.
It was harder to make out Techno’s voice, softer and less expressive behind the door. “It’ll be…. We’ll... Okay?”
A few more moments of silence, and then right as Tommy drew his ear away from the door;
“How could I have been so stupid?”
Tommy felt nauseous.
In a way, this was his fault.
If he wasn’t so adverse to basic connection, so fearful of any past reminders, so fucked up in the head, there wouldn’t be a reason for either of them to cry. But he was all of those and more, and it seemed like an innate wrong that perhaps he was too ignorant or just too stupid to fix. He was messed up. A failure and a disappointment, and he didn’t even know how to fix it.
He curled into his bed, hugging his arms as he laid atop messy blankets. He fell asleep cold.
—
Tommy woke up to yelling.
“I don’t know. Did you check the car?”
Tommy recognized Techno’s voice, but didn’t hear the reply.
“They might’ve gotten locked in there. It was dark and-“
He tuned out of the conversation, identifying it harmless. Still, he didn’t relax. He hadn’t seemed to even in his sleep.
Begrudgingly, he got up, pulling at the clothes he’d slept in.
Once he’d changed, he left his room still carrying a sleepy aura in his messy hair and slumping posture. He rubbed his eyes, opening his door and trudging down the hall. He turned the corner, in view of the kitchen, taking note of Wilbur sitting at the counter. He was scrolling on his phone with a presumably untouched bowl of cereal in front of him.
Wilbur’s head snapped up to Tommy almost immediately, a nauseated expression on his face as he tried to speak.
“Tommy, I-“
Tommy turned on his heel and went back to his room.
“Tommy!” Wilbur called as he slammed his door.
Nope. Not today.
He landed face first on his bed, gripping at the sheets and methodically curling back up. He ignored the knocking on his door, he ignored that he noticed when it stopped, how the minutes ticked by as he just laid there. He ignored it because he couldn’t stand to acknowledge it. His emotions were too much, they hurt too much, and instead of trying to do something about it, he wanted to skip school, ostracize himself, and rot in his room.
Tommy wanted to blame Wilbur, he wanted to so fucking bad because then all this hurt wouldn’t be because he was too scared to feel it. But he couldn’t blame Wilbur, because Wilbur was good. He was inconsiderate at times, as reckless as Tommy and as stubborn as mule yet somehow easily bribed, but he was good.
He had so much contagious passion and love, it was easy to be around him. He was honest and expressive, he espoused his family's ideals of respect and privacy, and tried to emulate them as often as possible, even with a flighty memory. And he looked like he gave the nicest hugs. He was good, so much more than other people Tommy had known.
And Wilbur probably was sorry, and Tommy believed that, he just… couldn’t forgive him. He wanted to, but he was too caught up in everything. He couldn’t see straight out of this fog, and all he knew was to run from the pain and keep running. Never let it catch up, and he’ll be fine. He won’t feel it.
But Wilbur was so fucking good (whatever that meant anymore) that Tommy must have done something to get in some god’s favor to know him. So, for once, Tommy didn’t think he wanted to run, and for some reason, even that hurt. Maybe he was just sensitive right now.
But that instinct to turn tail and bolt at the sense of danger wouldn’t leave. It had become a part of him. It kept him alive, and for that he was grateful, but now that he didn’t need to survive, that response made living a challenge.
If he wasn’t so fucked up.
—
Wilbur left for class, and even still, Tommy only came out of his room to eat and keep up his routine. He stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling, sometimes listening to music when it didn’t feel like it was scraping the inside of his head. He sent a few ‘I’m alive and well,’ texts to concerned friends, and one to the family’s group chat after Phil checked up on him.
He didn’t go to dinner that night. He took the plate outside his door and ate in his room. ‘Thanks for dinner,’ was sent to the group chat, and Phil appreciated the gratitude. Late into the night, he washed it in the sink, put it away and left no trace he was ever there.
Wilbur opened his door as Tommy closed his, and Tommy, whether or not he listened for it, heard Wilbur’s door subsequently close nearly immediately after.
Another night spent laying atop covers in a quiet room, and another morning he woke up and wished he didn’t.
Even still, he made the decision to go to school.
At 7:00am, backpack on his shoulders and a sandwich (ham and bread, what he calls his ‘lunch’) in hand, he was leaning on the door as he looked up bus routes.
Normally, he’d have Wilbur drive him. Normally, he wouldn’t be holding some weird grudge that was really just a mask for fear, so there he was, awake and ready far too early just in case the buses needed him to be.
Should he have looked up bus routes beforehand? Probably. Did he? Oh, hell, no. Absolutely not. That would require forethought, something he refused to have. Only nerds were prepared.
Scheduled at 7:44am
And nerds didn’t get 40 minutes to spare.
—
Tommy’s shoulders slumped and his head hung low as he walked through the front door. He’d firmly refused Wilbur’s offer to drive him home, making it 6pm at night. Techno was staying late for afternoon and night classes, and with one of Phil’s coworkers sick, Tommy didn’t even get the option to not rely on the unreliable public transport to get him home.
He’d missed the first bus after his math teacher wanted to chat about some work he’d already forgotten, and someone always seemed to get off and on at every stop on that bus, so he had missed the transferring bus, too. While waiting at the bus stop, he updated his family that he’d be late, not that anyone would know besides Wilbur.
Five paragraphs for English, this unit’s math project, a double history review, two science assignments, and even his AV class had to throw in a YouTube video he had to watch. All because he missed one day (Monday, but still).
He was fucking exhausted. The overwhelming toll of homework was so great, and instead of stressing about it, he just felt like sleeping. It was too much, and he was too tired. He wanted to return to laying in his bed, just breathing, and even that task seemed exhausting.
He closed the door with the sigh of an aging man, loudly dropping his backpack. He rubbed his eyes, satiating whatever it was that compelled him to.
“…Tommy?”
His heart lurched.
He couldn’t deal with this right now.
He took his hands from his eyes to see Wilbur innocently standing in the dining area, holding a plate of what could be lasagna, only… it was sloppy, spilling over the plate like pasta. It didn’t look like lasagna, but at least it looked edible, which was an achievement for Wilbur.
Tommy’s arms pressed into his sides. “I’m not hungry.” he mumbled, watching the floor as he turned to leave.
Wilbur jumped in front of him, blocking entry to the hallway. “Tommy, stop, please. Just listen.” Wilbur softly pleaded.
Tommy didn’t respond, his shoulders raised and head still diligently bowed.
Wilbur sighed deeply, carefully selecting his words as he spoke. “Look, I was… clearly not thinking straight. I am so, so sorry, and I can promise you that it will never happen again.”
Tommy knew Wilbur was sorry. He knew that, but that didn’t change how scared he was. He knew Wilbur was nice, that he’d never do anything to hurt Tommy, but he was still scared.
He just wanted a normal relationship. One attachment with no repercussions, but he couldn’t. He wanted it so badly it hurt him, so bad he could cry, but he was too scared. Damn it all, he was still a scared little kid, too scared to live his life. Imagine that, scared of being alive? What a fool.
Wilbur wasn’t at fault here. Wilbur was sorry, and maybe he should be, but he doesn’t need to be forgiven. When Wilbur didn’t do anything wrong and it was Tommy’s reaction, Tommy’s inability to heal that caused all this, Wilbur was innocent.
Wilbur took a hesitant breath. “I made lasagna?”
Tommy looked up, taking in Wilbur’s expression. The trepidation, the uncertainty, the hopefulness hidden underneath it all.
Wilbur looked at the food and smiled, a little sadly, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“So…” Tommy started, frowning at the food then looking back up to Wilbur for confirmation, “This is lasagna?”
Wilbur pursed his lips, “Um… yeah. We didn’t have any lasagna sheets, though, so it’s… angel hair lasagna…?”
Tommy grimaced.
Wilbur sighed, “Pizza Hut sound good?”
“Cheese.”
Wilbur narrowed his eyes at Tommy, “I’ll make it half and half.”
“Half cheese, half double cheese.” Tommy intelligently proposed.
“No, you child,” Wilbur scolded, moving to the kitchen only to throw the plate on the counter and b-line for the couch, “Half cheese, half pepperoni.”
Tommy followed him, berating him with complaints. “Half cheese and half rotten, gross, disgusting, rancid-“
“Pepperoni.” Wilbur corrected, flopping on the couch.
“Exactly.” Tommy joined him on the couch, facing Wilbur in a way that would make a teacher pleading for their students to practice ‘active listening,’ cry tears of joy.
“It’s only pepperoni, Toms.” Wilbur chided as he opened the app, easily navigating it and selecting their order. “It’s not like you have to eat it.”
Tommy shook his head, “Nope. Its proximity is enough to make a good man lose their appetite.”
“Mhm,” Wilbur hummed, tapping a few more times before setting his phone down. “Too bad we got brownies, then.”
Tommy squinted at Wilbur judgingly, “Don’t toy with my emotions.”
Wilbur shrugged, “Whether you believe me or not, there will be brownies on our doorstep in twenty to thirty minutes.”
Their conversation awkwardly descended into silence for a moment, a serious tone befalling them.
After the playful demeanor had been stripped from the both of them, Tommy softly asked, “Do you remember what happened?”
Tommy didn’t extrapolate, but Wilbur seemed to know exactly what he meant.
The older ashamedly looked out the window, clicking his tongue and avoiding Tommy’s eyes. “Ah, not clearly, just mostly how you reacted…” He trailed off, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck. “I must’ve said some pretty clingy shit.”
Tommy hummed, taking his turn to look away and staring at the cushions. “Drunk words are sober thoughts.” He idly mumbled.
He thought he spoke too softly for Wilbur to hear, but the man visibly stiffened. Tommy looked up at the reaction and Wilbur awkwardly cleared his throat.
Tommy ignored the blush forming on his cheeks, and even as he felt like his throat was closing as he said it, he assured Wilbur, “Which is okay.”
Wilbur immediately relaxed, softly smiling at Tommy and gazing at him lovingly, all the while Tommy seemed enamored with the wall.
“Yeah?” Wilbur asked.
Tommy nodded once. “Yeah.”
Wilbur propped up his arm on the back of the couch, leaning his head on his hand with a smile. “Thanks.”
Tommy wasn’t really sure what he was thanking him for.
“Don’t mention it.”
With Wilbur’s eyes on him, Tommy nervously curled up. Not completely, but his legs were up to his chest and his arms crossed, hands clinging above his elbows. Wilbur frowned, opening and closing his mouth several times.
Wilbur decided on a curious, “Do you really not like touch?”
No. Tommy immediately thought, It’s vulnerability I don’t like.
In lieu of spilling his heart, he shrugged, hugging himself tighter.
He prayed Wilbur took the noncommittal answer, the cues to cease.
“Do you hate it?”
Wilbur clearly couldn’t give a shit.
Tommy paused. He could lie, but Wilbur would know it. Wilbur had seen him enough times with Ranboo and Tubbo. He could tell the truth, and Wilbur would take it and run- no, not run, sprint. Of course, he had to be caught home alone with the clingiest and most sensitive of them.
Tommy shrugged.
Wilbur softly breathed in, leaning towards Tommy, “Even now?”
All the voices that he’d kicked into silence were fucking screaming to say yes, to jump into Wilbur’s arms right then and there, to forego any previous caution so he could feel another living thing hold him and tell him those stupid affirmations, the ones he tried to tell himself. To let Wilbur run his hands through his hair and never let him go, to fully trust Wilbur to keep him safe. To be vulnerable, and be safe in that vulnerability. To trust someone wholly.
To be held like a kid, because that’s what he was.
Lost in thought, Tommy nodded, mostly to himself.
Wilbur crawled over the cushions to Tommy, adjusting to sit on his legs, a hand suspended hesitantly toward the boy. “Is that a yes?” Wilbur whispered.
Tommy’s eyes were glazed over, his breath held in his throat as his thoughts raced by like speeding cars on a freeway. He was so exhausted, he just wanted to feel okay again. But it was too dangerous, too vulnerable, too weak, too, too, too.
Everything was too loud, he wanted it to be quiet, why couldn’t it be quiet?!
He wanted it calm, he wanted to stop hurting, he wanted to be brave and face his feelings and he wanted to be held like his mother never held him.
He was so scared all the time. He just wanted to rest, just for a little while.
He nodded.
Slowly, but to Tommy it was so quick, Wilburs arms slinked around his torso, picking him up from the cushions and pulling him on Wilbur’s lap. Tommy was uncomfortably stiff, his breath caught in his throat with the beginnings of tears in his eyes.
He was so stupid, so stupid he couldn’t see that this was just a game to Wilbur. This is what they do, they get close and promise they’re different until you trust them, and then, and only then, do they take the stab.
This wasn’t a hug, this wasn’t safe, Wilbur wasn’t safe. Wilbur wasn’t different and Tommy was going to get hurt because he was still stupid and naïve, because all those adults had treated him wrongly but they had been right when they said Tommy was nothing if not pathetic. He ran to the first sign of safety and trusted it because he was still a dumb little kid, and- and… And there was a hand gently carding through his hair and a warm breath running down his neck.
And Wilbur was holding Tommy to his chest like he loved him, and Tommy melted.
Tears fell, staining the same shirt he was clinging to like it was holding him up. He cried openly, his eyes burning and his shoulders shaking.
If Tommy could heal, if could be better, maybe he wouldn’t have to hurt who he loved. Maybe he wouldn’t be hurting. He was just born wrong, if anyone could be. Born with the inability to heal. It was just his fucking luck then, that he couldn’t be better than a sobbing, insecure mess. So, he sobbed. God, he could have screamed.
Wilbur gently shushed him, breathing soft comforts into his hair, ones that were overused and lost their value over time.
But when Wilbur told him, “It’s alright, I’m here, everything’s alright.” At that moment, Tommy wholeheartedly believed him.
There was a gentle hand, steadily rubbing his back as Wilbur’s other arm was tight around his waist, keeping him close to Wilbur, which was the only thing in the entire world he wanted right then. Tommy blubbered nonsense, even unsure himself of what he was trying to say, what he was trying to apologize for and blame, but Wilbur knew.
Wilbur still whispered, “I know, it’s not your fault. You’re forgiven, darling, none of it was your fault.”
And Tommy blindly believed Wilbur, because he wasn’t a liar. He was hugging Tommy, holding him up when Tommy couldn’t even do that for himself, and he wasn’t a liar.
Wilbur was so good, and Tommy wasn’t. Tommy couldn’t be that, even for his brother.
“‘M sorry.” He whimpered, unable to say more as he wept.
“No, sunshine, don’t be,” Wilbur muttered, “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re the sweetest boy I know.”
And hell, if that didn’t make Tommy cry even more. What gall did Wilbur have to say things like that to an emotionally unstable teen?
Wilbur began to lean back, holding Tommy on his chest like a parent with their child. Tommy eventually calmed down, sobs evolving into sniffles and a squeeze around Wilbur, to which he always returned.
The thoughts were still there, the ones that hissed his worthlessness, how broken beyond repair he was, that he was so irreparable he must have been born like that. But, when Wilbur was whispering how wonderful Tommy was, how strong and brave and good Tommy was, it was hard to hear anything else. The praises didn’t silence the racing thoughts, and maybe nothing ever would, but it hushed them. It made them quiet- it gave Tommy space to breathe.
And god, how long had it been since he could do that?
Tommy’s eyes dipped closed, the weight of the world now off his shoulders and passed onto Wilbur’s, and Tommy was letting himself be tired. Wilbur was awake, cuddling Tommy just as lovingly as before, occasionally reminding him of the fact.
Tommy’s head lay on Wilbur’s shoulders as he sighed, all his energy seemingly leaking out from the exhale. Tommy had a hold on the collar of Wilbur’s shirt, his fist loosely pulling on the material.
Wilbur turned to kiss the top of Tommy’s head, sweetly mumbling, “I love you, I love you so much, you’re the best little brother anyone could ask for.”
Tommy didn’t have the thought nor the energy to call Wilbur a sap. And when Wilbur tipped Tommy’s chin, angling his head to the older, Tommy only leaned into the touch.
It was only when a kiss was placed on the tip of his nose did he react, face going beet red and eyes shooting open.
Wilbur was softly grinning, holding the side of Tommy’s face and brushing his temple with his thumb.
Tommy squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in Wilbur’s shoulder, causing the older to chuckle.
“No need to be embarrassed, dear.” Wilbur said, moving his hand back into Tommy’s hair.
The languid weight laid back on him with each idle scratch on his scalp. He slipped into an entirely unreceptive state, laying limp and letting Wilbur hold him however he wanted.
It was comforting, relaxing, wonderful, to trust someone else for a change.
And Wilbur seemed to gather that.
So, he stayed awake, focusing on Tommy as the boy fell asleep in his arms, laying so adorably on his chest he thought his heart might just explode. He never stopped reminding Tommy how much he loved him- he had a lot of lost time to make up for, after all.
After Tommy’s breath had slowed and he’d begun to snore softly, just little huffs here and there, Wilbur actually did think his heart exploded.
Tommy stirred as a sudden, tinny ring broke the atmosphere. Tommy propped himself up, blearily looking up at Wilbur.
“Hm?” Tommy hummed.
Wilbur peered at the screen of his phone for half a glance before setting it down. He returned his attention to Tommy, smiling on reflex as he cupped the younger’s cheeks in his hand. Tommy lazily leaned into the touch, contently closing his eyes.
“It’s nothing, my love.” Wilbur promised with another kiss to Tommy’s forehead. “You can go back to sleep.”
Wilbur tilted Tommy’s head to his, aligning their faces and pressing their foreheads together. Wilbur closed his eyes with Tommy as the boy sighed. Tommy’s head grew heavy in Wilbur’s hands as Tommy moved to lay back down, easily falling asleep again.
Wilbur eventually slipped away too, his head tilted back and a hand in Tommy’s hair. The full weight of a teenage boy lay on his chest, but he never felt lighter.
—
Techno turned to Phil, a frown forming. “Did you order anything?”
Phil walked up to the door and mirrored Techno’s confusion, “No… do you reckon it’s the neighbors?”
Techno squatted down, peeling the receipt off the top box and squinting as he read it. “Nope.” He shook his head, “Definitely not the neighbors.”
Phil peered over his son’s shoulder and wheezed. He pulled himself together best he could and picked up the pizza box with the smaller one atop it. “C’mon, let’s go bring the ‘wife stealerz’ their cold pizza.”
Only, when Techno finally found the keys and pushed the door open, the house was eerily silent. It was 8 at night, which, by most standards was normal, but hell if their house was normal.
Techno’s confusion piqued as Phil walked further into the house and his father gasped with a smile. Phil motioned with his head (he was still holding the boxes) for Techno to come to him, to see what he was seeing.
Lo and behold, the wife stealerz were in a tight cuddle pile on the couch, both knocked out and most likely going to suffer immense back pain in the morning.
—
Phil eventually forgave them for using his credit card to buy food they never ate.