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They’re sitting in Techno’s cabin, chatting amiably while the fireplace roars and snow falls gently by the window. It’s warm in here. Even with a large sweater wrapped around his body, Tommy somehow feels cold – not the kind of cold that just pricks at your skin or makes you shiver once every now and then, but the kind of cold that is more akin to a chill deeply set into your bones.
His stomach twists itself in knots while he tries to remind himself that he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to know about their affairs as his family ignores him. Tommy doesn’t have to care because he knows they’ve long given up on loving him, but he can’t help listening attentively despite his mind screaming at him to numb himself.
It’s Wilbur’s sweater encasing him in warmth, but Wilbur has started feeling cold ever since he was revived. It was easy to imagine that perhaps, in all of his viciousness and madness, the Wilbur in Pogtopia still loved him. In Pogtopia, Tommy was his soldier and his brother – his steady presence in an otherwise unstable time.
But when you’re revived, you go cold and Tommy knows more than enough about that.
“Tommy,” Phil addresses him out of the blue, “do you have any plans today?”
“Yeah. I was thinking of maybe seeing Sam today. Puffy told me that I should try sorting things out with him,” he answers, sinking into his armchair and focusing on Phil while Techno and Wilbur’s gazes turn sharp with the mention of Sam. He knows immediately what’s coming next.
“Why?” Phil frowns, his large wings brushing the ground as he shifts closer towards Tommy. He’s seated on the carpeted floor, right in front of the coffee table while Techno and Wilbur are sitting on the sofa opposite Tommy. The door is to his far right, right behind that sofa so making a run for it might be a good decision. He knows that they like a good chase.
“It’s meant to help me recover,” he says that last word carefully, stressing it with just enough force and a touch of uncertainty. “Sam still scares me though,” he adds, just to get them going.
“If Sam scares you then you shouldn’t go,” Techno drawls. “What’s the point? Just stay out of his way when you walk around the server.”
“Puffy says that it’s important to confront people when needed.”
“Puffy told you this, Puffy says that – for the love of Prime, will you stop going on about her? Is she even licensed to conduct therapy?” Wilbur huffs – it’s a noise full of irritation, a clear sign that Tommy should reel it in now before his general annoyingness pisses them off.
He’s something like an investment, knows. As one consumes a product, marginal utility derived from that product begins to decline with every additional unit consumed. And once that marginal utility is zero, the consumer stops consuming.
He can’t afford for his family to stop consuming, because the threat of Dream finding him is one that hangs heavy over his head like an anvil.
So he stays quiet while Phil speaks over Wilbur.
“Why don’t you go another day?” His pseudo-father suggests.
“Why?” Tommy replies, wary. It’s important for him to understand their intentions.
The three are quiet for a while, before Wilbur answers him. “It’d be nice to have someone watch the house while we’re out. We have Syndicate business today.”
Syndicate business is code for ‘family time’ for them, you know, without Tommy. Like, with Ranboo or Niki or whatever. Watch the house means stay at home where they can be sure that he won’t be running off to find other people in his life. Truthfully, they’re using each other but only Tommy knows that. He thinks that his family likes to pretend that it’s all real – that protecting him from Dream isn’t conditional.
However, Tommy will swear up and down that when the time comes, he’ll betray them before they can betray him. He did it once with Techno, when his brother was willing to hand him over to Dream for a favour, and he would do it again. Even if something in him doesn’t want to leave this fragile family.
His heart twists, but he shoves that longing aside. It’s important for him to know his place.
“Yeah sure. I’ll visit Sam another day then,” he replies, bringing his knees up onto the chair to hug himself for warmth. He doesn’t promise to not see Sam at all, because the teasing idea of Tommy seeking solace in Sam’s presence is his leverage over them. As long as they feel threatened by the thought of him willingly walking away to find a different family, they would keep him in sight – under their protection, where Dream wouldn’t be able to get him.
And when they’re gone for ‘Syndicate business,’ Tommy will have the house to himself. It’s okay, because he has a way of coping with the crippling loneliness. A tiny habit he had picked up ever since Pogtopia. He knows he’s ruining his body, but he reckons that dying three times does the kind of damage that can’t be beat by a few harmful substances. He can’t help it, when the taste of nicotine reminds him of the Wilbur that loved him – it’s the only kind of love he has ever known and ever deserved.
Puffy and Sam have shown him a different kind of love – the same type that Tubbo and he used to have, and the same type that he has betrayed time and time again.
And they’re leaving again. Phil standing up and collecting his satchel from the table; Wilbur and Techno moving together in sync to wait by the front door. Then they’re out of the door and Tommy is alone.
It takes him a while to steady himself, before he’s getting up from the chair and heading to his bedroom. He’s been very careful with his habit – it’s meant to be a pick-me-up for him, just something to let him sink into a reverie while the world moves on around him.
Sinking to his knees, he feels around for the loose floorboard that he is well-acquainted with at this point. The wood is a welcomed texture against his skin, all rough and sandpaperish. As he pulls the board away, it reveals packs of cigarettes that he got from Quackity. (He told the other man that they were for Wilbur and that had quickly shut Quackity up)
The lighter is always on him – it’s Wilbur’s, with his brother’s initials scratched onto the side: W. S.
The little carving always makes him smile, until it is swiftly wiped away when his mind tells him that his brother is long gone, lost from the moment he had that sword slicing through his stomach.
Flipping the paper lid off the pack, he pulls out a stick and flicks the lighter on. The flame glows in his dim bedroom, a comforting warmth that could temporarily ease the chill in Tommy’s heart. Outside the cabin is a snowstorm, typical of the tundra’s climate. He pushes the window open and in comes winter, snowflakes and glacial breeze. The fire burns on as Tommy lights the cigarette.
The smoke that enters his lungs is a reprieve from how numb he has been feeling. He only smokes when he’s stressed and even though something in him is screaming to cut the habit, no one is stopping him from relapsing whenever he starts.
Closing his eyes, he drifts off into his head and lets that placid feeling rest in his chest.
He doesn’t notice the shuffling of footsteps through thick layers of snow that seemed to be getting closer and closer. When there’s a shadow looming over him and a heavy presence–
“So that’s where the cigarette butts are coming from,” Phil remarks, his wings gently shaking off the snow as he rests his forearms on the window sill.
Tommy is frozen, cigarette stick still in hand while the bitter nicotine stains his insides. There’s the sound of the door clicking open and the thud of footsteps soon follow. He doesn’t have the courage to turn around and face his older brothers. The acrid scent of smoke mixes with the fresh wind that blows past his father’s figure and into the room.
The jig is up and he doesn’t know what to do, except for the one thing that he was particularly good at during exile.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, a shaky tone that develops into full on rambling as he says his apologies, “I couldn’t help it and I’ve been trying to cut the habit but I can’t stop– I don’t know why and it just helps me relax, it’s not hurting you all anyway so I thought it was okay, but I should’ve been upfront about it and–”
“Tommy,” Phil cuts him off, face full of disappointment. “Where’s your stash? Wilbur used to smoke too and there’s always a stash.”
He doesn’t attempt to lie.
“Under one of the floorboards.” One of his brothers begins to look around behind him, prying at each floorboard until they can find the one he’s referring to.
“Anymore?” His father is thorough as ever, raising an expectant eyebrow. It must be the experience of raising Wilbur, who hasn’t had a smoke ever since his revival due to being under Phil’s watchful eye.
“There’s a pack. Underneath my bed.”
Wilbur himself looks for it, crouching and looking underneath the bed, eventually finding it by lifting the mattress up.
“Techno likes to make sure that the area around the cabin is clean and recently he’s been finding cigarette butts every time he returns home. It’s strange, because they’re never there on days that Wilbur’s around and he had assumed that they were from Wilbur,” Phil states, leaving the story unfinished as he keeps his gaze level with Tommy’s.
Tommy doesn’t get to defend himself – what is there to defend? – because Wilbur fills in the blank for him.
“And we were horrified to find out that perhaps, it was our youngest that had been smoking in our very own home, whenever we were away,” his brother sneers. Tommy doesn’t get to see his face, or Techno’s, but he doesn’t want to – from Techno’s silence and Wilbur’s tone, he reckons that their expressions should be twisted in hatred.
He feels dirty, as if he’s truly ruined their impression of him this time. He’s a traitor that they keep around because they can’t stand the idea of him finding a new family. He’s theirs but they’re not his. However, when your possession ends up being filthy, it’s time to discard it.
It’s embarrassing how the panic rears its head in his chest, over the fact that he’s going to be alone against Dream. Wilbur likes Dream, Techno has plans to break him out and Phil doesn’t care at all. Now that they’re throwing him away, he’ll be found and killed over and over and over again until Dream himself gets bored of him.
His breaths come quicker as his hands drop the cigarette to the ground. Fuck, usually in times like this, he’d go for a smoke but his hands feel too shaky to grip anything properly and Phil is still looking at him like that and WIlbur and Techno are waiting as well.
There is a silence that he’s meant to fill with his begging, but he can’t when terror chokes up his throat like a clogged pipe.
Techno is the one who approaches him, resting his hands on Tommy’s shoulder as he commands, “Breathe. Slowly, in and out.” The heavy weight on his shoulders is grounding, but the way that Phil is looking at him is messing with his head – Phil looks sad, so so sad as Tommy is caught up in his panic. Maybe it is disappointment that he has to let Tommy go.
“Sorry,” he apologises again, his voice raspy with shame and a rising sorrow. He isn’t allowed to be upset that he can’t be with his family anymore. They don’t love him back and by clinging onto them when they need to let him go, he’s being troublesome.
“What’re you sorry for, Toms?” Wilbur asks, sitting on the bed with his hands clasped over his knees. He’s hunched over, brown curls obscuring his eyes from Tommy. He sounds stiff, probably the angriest out of all of them.
Techno rubs comforting circles onto his shoulders and Tommy is confused – he’s getting mixed signals from all of them. Techno shouldn’t be comforting him, Phil shouldn’t be looking sad and Wilbur shouldn’t be keeping so quiet when previously, he would be lashing out and yelling.
“I’m sorry for smoking behind your backs. I should’ve been upfront about it but I wasn’t. I’ll do better next time,” he replies hollowly. There will be no next time. They’re letting him go now and they won’t lift a finger when Dream comes.
“There won’t be a next time,” Phil confirms for him. Then he confuses Tommy again–
“We’ll be taking all of that,” his father gestures to the cigarettes, “away. And I don’t give a shit about what Puffy told us about giving you space, because from now onwards, you’re not allowed to be unsupervised by at least one of us, mate.”
Huh?
“I don’t mind volunteering to watch him all day,” Techno mumbles, his arms wrapping around Tommy’s shoulders and resting on his chest while Techno places his chin on Tommy’s head.
Huffing, Wilbur interjects, “Of course you don’t. But Phil, if Techno gets to skip out on his usual work, then so do I.”
Still puzzled by the situation, Tommy allows a tiny bit of hope to blossom and he says, “So you’re keeping me?” His voice is small, louder than it used to be but with enough uncertainty that it draws a frown from Phil.
“What do you mean keeping you?” Tommy can feel the steady rhythm of Techno’s heart right behind him and he unconsciously relaxes into his brother’s hold.
“As in, you’re not throwing me away?” His voice is even quieter, humiliatingly shaky as his courage wavers.
The surprise on Phil’s face is even more frustrating. Why are they all so shocked, as if they didn’t view him as an object to be passed around?
“Dear child, what makes you think we’re going to throw you away?” Phil exclaims, the way he’s still standing outside the window is somewhat comical but Tommy can’t even laugh when he’s just so fucking confused.
“I thought you guys would give me back to Dream. Once you get bored of me,” Tommy mutters, eyebrows pulling up together as he stares back at Phil. Wilbur scowls.
“What,” his brother says, “in the world is going on in that head of yours? Why would we be giving you away to Dream of all people?”
“But you like Dream!” Tommy latches on to Wilbur’s second question – it’s easier to protest against, compared to explaining what exactly has been going on in his mind. How does he explain to them that they don’t love him and that he’s being realistic and using them in order to keep himself safe?
“I liked Dream. Past tense. We’ve been trying to find a way to kill Dream, why would we hand him to you?” Wilbur is raising his voice now, on the verge of yelling. It sparks something angry and upset in Tommy and he doesn’t even hear that line about killing Dream and soon he finds himself shouting too.
“Because you don’t even care about me! I’m just something you guys keep around because you can’t bear to see me find a new family!”
“Then why would we give you to Dream?!” Wilbur yells back, standing up with his fists clenched and repeating himself like a broken record.
“You can have a thing that you don’t really use or don’t really like, but when someone else takes it, that’s when you get pissed off,” Tommy snarls and his face is burning from all the emotions that are running through him. He’s angry and confused and he’s ashamed of admitting it all out loud. “And I’m that thing.”
Phil and Techno are watching them in silence. Phil looks as confused as Tommy feels and Techno isn’t moving at all. And Wilbur– And Wilbur looks heartbroken.
“I love you,” his brother says, his voice cracking through the syllables of l-ove. It’s wavering, hesitant as he meets Tommy’s eyes but there is a sense of resolution in those words that his brother is trying so hard to convey to him. I love you.
Tommy is at a loss. ‘How could you love me?’ is what he wants to say, but Wilbur, for how cold he has been ever since he was revived, burns so brightly at this moment, that Tommy cannot find the shame to say those words aloud. I love you sounds like a fact – they’re Tommy and Wilbur and brothers and Wilbur loves him.
“You’re not a thing, Theseus,” Techno says from behind him, his voice quiet. All Tommy can hear is the beat of his own heart, his heavy breathing coupled with Wilbur’s and Techno’s steady voice. “I can’t imagine why you’d even
think
that.”
And Tommy cries, because when he looks at Phil again, his father is trembling ever so slightly, his wings tucked closely to his body as his lips part in order to form words that he cannot find the strength to say – and Tommy cries, because he thinks that those words are ‘ I love you’ and he’s been wrong this entire time, so horribly and so brilliantly wrong.
So Techno confirms it for him, leaning down and declaring it right into his ear – far stronger than Phil or Wilbur could’ve managed at that moment – “I love you, so much more than you could ever imagine.”
With tears wetting his face, he turns and sobs into Techno’s chest. His heart is soaring, far above his yearning to be loved like he was promised a long time ago and far beyond his limit for that love. He doesn’t dare to count how many seconds he takes to cry into his brother’s shirt; he doesn’t dare to collect the evidence of how many ticks of courage he could even muster up to let himself feel. And damn it, Phil is still at that fucking window.
“I didn’t know that,” Tommy warbles, “you never said it.”
“Puffy told us to give you space, so we thought it was best to leave you alone,” Phil answers, taking in a deep breath. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you so we focused on getting rid of Dream instead.”
“I thought you just didn’t like me,” he whispers, “and Wilbur is always so mean.”
“I was angry,” his brother mumbles, having taken his seat on the bed again. “I was pissed at Dream and everyone was telling me to give you space because you’re going through a lot and I just missed you so much.” Wilbur’s face crumples, twisting in grief and want. “I want to be there for you, I want to be around you and I want to just hug you and never let go but I’m supposed to give you space.” He spits out that last word resentfully.
“Oh,” Tommy breathes and fresh tears are stinging his eyes again. Techno chuffs comfortingly, in an attempt to soothe him. He’s an open wound, tender and vulnerable to their bitter confessions; he bleeds in hope-filled exhales and relief soaked tears.
“I’m sorry that we’ve hurt you,” Phil says, wringing his hands together while snow continues to pile on the windowsill. He used to be cold and the biting chill from the world outside used to make it worse, but his heart is ablaze now. “I love you so much, Tommy. You mean so much to me; you’re ours.”
Techno guides him to the bed and they sit together with Wilbur, who gingerly takes Tommy’s hand and Tommy squeezes his brother’s hand back to tell him ‘I know’. Phil finally gets into the house and when they’re all in Tommy’s bedroom, he doesn’t think he has any need to cry anymore, not when he’s so undeniably loved.
Tucked into Wilbur’s side, he finds solace in the rumble of Techno’s chest and Phil’s soothing humming. Wilbur is the one who leans in, whispering into his ear, “I’ll never let you go. Not to Dream and not to anyone else.” Even with his whispering, Techno’s sharp hearing catches it and Tommy’s other brother scoffs in reply, “We. We won’t let you go. And don’t think we’ve forgotten about the smoking thing.”
“Right, that,” Phil sighs, “you’re not allowed to be without supervision anymore. Clearly giving you space was the wrong idea since it only gave you the opportunity to hurt yourself. I can’t imagine why you’d pick up smoking–”
Wilbur looks down, his eyes flickering to the cigarette that was dropped to the ground. Tommy knows that he knows.
“--And shame on you, Toms, for ever thinking we didn’t love you,” his father continues, frowning while Techno wraps an arm around Tommy’s waist.
“Don’t even think about stepping out of the house from now onwards,” Techno mumbles, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder. “Not that Wilbur would even give you a chance, but you’ll be here, safe from Dream or anyone else who could ever hurt you, because you have us. You’re ours, not like an object – you’re our youngest.” With his family so close by, his heart feels as if it's blooming, in colour flowers that can only scream of love.
In contrast, he’s unable to admit that he loves them too. How do you tell your family that you were wrong, and that you’re so bloody happy that you were wrong about them and you are loved, despite everything you had thought? Undeniably and unequivocally so? Oh, Tommy realises, I’ve just put it into words.
Yet, as he looks at the way Phil watches him so tenderly, the way Techno is just leaning against him without saying anything and the way Wilbur grips his hand so tightly, as if he’s afraid Tommy will disappear and slip from his grasp, he thinks – maybe words aren’t needed to express how love runs like water, trickling from their hands and easily seeping into each other's' hearts.