Chapter Text
Tommy is a fucking idiot.
No, no, no, it went beyond that, beyond that plain idiocy, Tommy was a fucking moron.
He desperately wanted to just forget about the deal he made. It sat in the back of his mind, collecting dust and forming cobwebs. Whenever he began to think about it, whenever he opened that door and the sun would hit it with its light; Tommy promptly closed it.
But it would always just creek back open, whenever Tommy was sitting in a lecture and he felt like tearing his hair out. When Tommy had managed to hang around Tubbo and Ranboo, and he felt like screaming, throwing a fit, wanting to make his existence known. When he had come home and Tommy would make himself dinner and sit at that stupid empty table alone because Sam was working or studying.
The light would hit it, and Tommy remembered he had a bet of wills to win. Against fucking Wilbur Soot. That pretentious prick.
Tommy is a fucking idiot because he came back. The 11:25 train was coming in, Tommy was alone on this stupid platform. No old lady to distract him, to make him hesitate, no one was here this time to make him reconsider against just—
He could—
He could just—
No.
He had a bet to win.
Tommy glared at the lights, the train skidding to a perfect stop in front of him. Tommy entered swiftly when the doors opened, grabbing the same spot at the back as he did last time. There were two other people at the front. Not together, he would imagine.
He threw his leg up on the plastic seat, ignoring the nauseating feeling that was settling in his stomach. What if Wilbur was just screwing with him? What if he didn’t show up?
Why would he? There was nothing that he personally gained by showing up. It was a bet of wills. Maybe he made this deal to give himself some peace of mind, a pity play. To keep the random kid he met in the middle of the night alive, to give the man a heroic ticket. Look! It’s Wilbur Soot! He saved a child from his own stupidity! A self-righteous savior play.
What a dick.
Tommy wondered if Wilbur was thinking that way about Tommy, too. If he was waiting for the tube to come, debating whether or not he showed up. Whether or not Tommy truly didn’t make it to the end of the week, or if he thought Tommy decided he had better things to do with his time.
Tommy was determined to prove him wrong.
They were slowing. Tommy screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to glance out the window, he didn’t want to be disappointed at the lack of that stupid mess of brown hair. The doors hissed open and Tommy didn’t open them.
Tommy counted his fingers.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
“You look stupid,”
The doors whizzed shut, Tommy's eyes snapped open.
There was Wilbur Soot, with his stupid glasses and dumb-looking Bush and Reagan jumper and Tommy was wishing that he was less relieved to see the man.
“I win,” Tommy blurted. Wilbur took his place, sitting opposite Tommy. “I made it to the end of the week.” I proved you wrong.
“Think you can do one more?” What?
“I said nothing about that big man,” Tommy objected. “if you wanna do this again we’re gonna have to put money on it.”
Wilbur rubbed his face, exasperated. “I am not gambling with a child. I had a buddy for that.”
“I am seventeen,” Tommy objected. “Where’s your buddy now?” He sneered.
Wilbur shrugged. “Unavailable. I can not talk to him anymore.”
Tommy picked at the thread, resisting the urge to pull it. “Why is that a fucking pattern with you? Can’t talk to this person, can’t talk to that person— do you just get into the habit of making people dislike you?”
“Do you dislike me?” Wilbur pushed.
“I’m trying to,” Tommy told truthfully. “it is kinda a shit thing to do, though— to drop friends. Act like they don’t exist anymore.”
The train stopped. No one got on. Tommy found himself grateful for that.
“Why did you get the bee pin?” Wilbur asked, Tommy's eyes fell to said pin, resting easily in the fabric of his jacket. He had forgotten about it, truth be told. No one had pointed it out or asked about it. Not even Sam, who he got the jacket from, when Tommy saw him had pointed it out.
“Oh,” Tommy said. “The bee. Uhm.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Reminds me of my friend. Tubbo. I guess. He has this thing, yeah? For them. Since we were kids.”
Tommy remembered, when they were kids, when Tommy’s parents were still alive and Tubbo’s hadn’t split yet. They were in his yard, Tommy was throwing around a baseball. He was getting better at throwing, he couldn’t wait to show Sam— when Tubbo had yelled for him to look. He thrust his cupped hands into Tommy’s face, showing him the bee he had captured.
Tommy had been around Tubbo in person twice this week. If he saw the bee pin he didn’t say anything.
“Why are you not hanging around him then?” Wilbur asked, and Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. He knew the answer to that. He just didn’t like it.
“I don’t think he wants me around anymore,” Tommy admitted.
Another station. One of the stragglers at the front left.
“Why do you think that?”
“What are you trying to do?” Tommy snapped. “Psychoanalyze me? Am I your fucking psychology research project or something?!”
“I am trying to help, you irrational child,” Wilbur stressed.
Tommy relaxed, the glare that had grown on his face only dropping a bit. “I… I— there’s this guy, Ranboo, and I like him, alright? Like he’s cool. He’s from America— living with his cousin, yeah? One of my brother's friends. That’s how we met. I introduced him to Tubbo and—“
“They got along better than you thought,” Wilbur finished.
Tommy nodded. “Yeah,” He was picking at the thread again. “it’s not like… they completely ignore me. They still invite me to stuff. And ask me if I want to play Minecraft. But it’s third-wheeling, right? Like nothing, I say lands with them. I don’t think they do it on purpose, because Ranboo is such a people pleaser; the biggest one I know, and Tubbo's so fucking clingy. He’s a pushover, too. But they have fun together, whether I’m there or not, it doesn’t matter. So why— why bother getting into the voice call, just to sit there talking to myself while they enjoy each other?”
“So you are feeling left out,” Wilbur concluded. Tommy shrugged.
“Yeah, I guess. It’s why I like talking to you.” Tommy admitted. “Because you listen to me, the things I say have a bigger impact than a pebble on the pavement. With you it’s— it’s like a crater. But I don’t need to be a world-destroying asteroid when I’m talking to you. I can just be a pebble and still get my point across. You listen to what I say and you respond.”
With them, it was like he was a ghost. Like in Phasmophobia, or something. They’re trying to communicate with him, but are only hearing every other word. Incoherent babbling. With Wilbur, they’re both ghosts— making fun of the idiots with their magic boxes trying to communicate with them.
“Aw, Tommy,” Wilbur cooed. Tommy threw his hands up.
“And you ruined it, you’ve ruined it, Wilbur Soot. You are terrible, downright awful. I’m never saying anything positive about you again.”
Wilbur grinned mockingly. “Oh, Tommy— it is alright that you like talking to me!”
“Fuck you!” Tommy retorted. “You’re a fucking wrongen!”
“I like talking to you too,” Wilbur offered.
They stopped again, someone had gotten. They spared a mere glance at Tommy before sitting in the midsection.
Tommy crossed his arms. “You’re okay I guess,”
“You should probably get on that though,” Wilbur said, Tommy looking at him questionably. “talking to your friends, I mean. Figure things out. I mean, they are doing it on purpose, they are shit friends.”
“They are not!” Tommy hissed. “They’re not doing it on purpose. They wouldn’t.”
And he was right, they wouldn’t. He’s known Tubbo forever, they’ve been stuck together since Tommy could count— so what if Tubbo might have gotten sick of him, just a little? It’s not on purpose, he knew that! But he had someone new to hang around, someone else to laugh with, someone to tell the same jokes he told Tommy and they would laugh because they would be new. Tommy gets it. He does! That doesn’t mean Tubbo was—
That didn’t mean Tubbo was a bad friend. It’s not on purpose. It’s not.
Ranboo was well, Ranboo. That guy couldn’t hurt a fly, even if he wanted to. He had been in the UK for a few months at this point, Tommy did his job of being the placeholder friend— he showed him around, he was his friend when he didn’t have any; now he did. He still cared about Tommy. Tommy knew that! The— the stupid fucking good morning texts, the ridiculous little signs he’d leave in Tommy’s house in Minecraft, the checkups. Ranboo was a good person.
And Tommy? Tommy wasn’t. But he tried.
So if he was jealous of that, of that relationship, of that quick forming bond— he kept his mouth fucking shut.
“They’re not,” Tommy repeated. “I don’t want to ruin their fun.”
“But you are not having fun,” Wilbur pointed out. “and if they are your friends they should care about that.”
“And what am I supposed to do then?” Tommy cried. “They’re all I got! If I— if I lose them then have nothing. I’d rather sit and deal with it than just lose them.”
Tommy meant it, in the most literal way possible, that he would rather die than lose them. He’d rather have died knowing they still cared about him even just a little bit than live not having them in his life.
Another station and Tommy glared at the doors, daring anyone to enter.
No one did.
“You are scared,” Wilbur said.
“I don’t like being alone,” Tommy admitted. He shook his head. “Nope, I’m done talking about this. I’m done.” Topic change, topic change… “Why are you wearing that stupid jumper again?”
Wilbur looked down, pulling at said jumper. “It is… my Tuesday jumper?”
“That’s lame.” Tommy deadpanned. “Of course you correlate your outfits with days of the week.”
“You are literally wearing a varsity jacket, you do not play a sport.”
“Hey!” Tommy exclaimed. “It’s my brothers! And— and why the fuck do you have a Reagan and Bush sweater, anyway?! You’re fucking British!”
“It is cool,” Wilbur dejected. “A friend and I used to go on eBay and buy American President jumpers.”
“Nerd.” Tommy yawned. It was late. “Lemme guess— you don’t talk to this guy anymore either?”
“Yep.” He said, popping the p. “He stopped visiting me a while ago."
“It’s because he buys U.S President jumpers off of eBay.” Tommy pitched his voice lower. “Sorry, can’t pay the bills this month Sandra! I just couldn’t resist this two hundred pound Obama sweater.”
Wilbur stood up, and Tommy realized that the train was slowing. Oh. Were they going back to that shop then?
“Come on,” Wilbur gestured. “you can get another pin or something.”
“I’m going to get scammed again,” Tommy grumbled, bouncing his legs as he waited for the doors to click open.
“You are helping a small business,”
“‘You are helping a small business’, shut up.” Tommy drawled. Someone who was on the platform entered the front, not sparing a glance at Tommy.
Tommy walked alongside Wilbur, exiting the station. They passed a woman who was standing outside a pub, smoking. Tommy only nodded at her.
“Can you tell me what got you banned now?”
“I do not think I will,”
He groaned. “Oh, you cryptic bastard— what if I do the same thing you did and get banned too? Who am I supposed to go to in the middle of the night to get pins?”
“You are gonna get pins again?” Wilbur asked. Tommy nodded his head.
“I think so. I kinda like the bee, and nothing else in there has really interested me, ya know? Could use more of them on this,” He gestured to the front of his jacket.
The blinking sign came up, Tommy standing underneath it. “I will be here,” Wilbur said.
“This is ridiculous,” Tommy complained. “what happens if you go in? Can’t bygones just be— bygones? Is that how ya say it? Jack seems nice. I’m sure he’s not as much of a prick that you’re making him out to be.”
“Nope,” Wilbur shook his head. “No can do, Toms.”
“Ugh,” The bell rang, the door shutting behind him with a thud. Jack Manifold sat at the counter, face leaning on his hands. His eyes met Tommy’s as he entered.
“You again?” He greeted, rather rudely. Tommy gave a small wave, approaching the bowl of pins, looking through it.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Tommy joked, picking up a circular white pin. An empty smiley face stared back at him.
“We have to stop meeting in the middle of the night,” Jack corrected. “what are you doing out this late anyway?”
“Work?” Tommy said it more like a question, pulling out his wallet. “Late night shift, that. Yeah.” Tommy cringed. Jack didn’t question it, taking the two pounds Tommy had placed on the counter. Tommy turned the pin in his hand, clipping it into his jacket. “Thank’s Jack!”
“See ya kid!” He called, Tommy swiftly exiting. Wilbur stood waiting for him.
“What did you get this time?” He asked, Tommy held out his jacket. Wilbur squinted at the smiley face. “That is ironic.”
Tommy punched him in the shoulder, lightly, keeping his pace with Wilbur. “It’s not for me dipshit,” Tommy explained. “Sam—my brother— has this friend, Ranboos cousin actually. He’s got this stupid fucking hoodie. Ugliest shit I’ve ever seen man, bright green. He’s like a walking traffic light. Has this giant smile on it. Reminded me of him. Everything about that guy. Fucking weirdo.”
“Because he wears a smiley face?”
“No,” Tommy said. “Because he is American .” He emphasized.
“Ah,” Wilbur realized. “That explains it. Perfectly reasonable explanation. You ever been there?”
“No, but Sam has. He studied abroad there for a few years before—“ Nope. Tommy’s night was picking up. Nope. “Anyway, he came back. Friends with a bunch of them too.”
“I have been,” Wilbur hummed, reminiscing. “California. La Jolla. Sometimes I wish that I stayed.
“That sounds made up,” The cool nighttime air disappeared as they entered the underground again, descending the stairs.
“It could have been. It was nice, sunny. More than here. Cleaner.”
“Why don’t you go back then?” Tommy pushed. “If it’s so much nicer there than here. If I had the chance I’d get the fuck out of here too.”
Tommy did not want to go to the states, fuck that. But oh, what he would do to be able to just leave. Travel. Not have to stay in one spot. That sounded nice, being able to pick up and leave whenever he felt claustrophobic. He couldn’t though, because he had Sam and school and Tubbo and Ranboo and he’s standing in quicksand and he’s sinking and he can't get out —
He’d go to Rome first maybe, if he could pull himself out of the quicksand. Berlin? Paris? Ugh, the French. No. Vienna would be nice. Tubbo’s mom lived there. Tommy remembered that he would visit her there during the summers. He’d always excitedly show pictures he had taken to Tommy when he had returned.
“I can not leave,” Wilbur answered, Tommy’s attention snapping back to him.“Stuck here for a bit, unfortunately.”
“Oh,” Tommy frowned. “Well, that’s something we have in common I guess.”
When the train arrived, they boarded. This time, there was a group at the front, engaging in an incoherent conversation. Tommy didn’t bother eavesdropping, snatching his spot at the back.
“You want to make another deal?” Wilbur asked, sitting down.
“Like, we do this again? Do you still think I’m gonna jump?”
“Maybe,” Wilbur admitted. “You sounded like you wanted to earlier.” Tommy knew what he was referring to, to his word dump about Tubbo and Ranboo. Tommy was hoping that he would forget that. “I want to add something to it though.”
Tommy's eyes glinted. “Money?”
Wilbur glared. “No. I am not giving you money.”
“ Ughhhh—” Tommy leaned back. “Come on, I’ll stay alive for money, okay? I’ll do that. I’ll take that bet!”
“I want you to talk to your friends. Tell them what you told me.”
No thank you, he was not doing that. The train stopped. No one got on, the group didn’t leave.
“Now that bet I’m not taking. You can keep your money.”
“Tommy.”
“No— no you don’t get it! That will ruin everything!” Tommy expressed. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. “I’m not going to ruin it for them.” He affirmed.
“It is being ruined for you though,” Wilbur hummed.
“Fuck you,”
They stopped, the group got off. A man entered.
“Listen to me,” Wilbur said. “They are not going to hate you. They are not going to hate each other either. You tell them—“ He pitched his voice. “‘Hey guys, I am feeling ignored and like I am third wheedling but I have been avoiding telling you that because I think it will ruin your fun’ mememememe—“
“I do not go mememememe !” Tommy argued. Completely inaccurate imitation.
“Do that,” Wilbur continued. “If it goes well, come back, right? If it fixes your fucking communication issues, come back here.”
“That’s your bet?”
“Mm-hm.”
Tommy was going to develop gambling addiction or something. If that was how that worked. He didn’t— he didn’t want to tell them, he couldn’t! Why should he ruin everything just to prove to this asshole that he was wrong?!
“And if I don’t show up, I’m right. I proved you wrong.”
“I am not wrong though,” He teased.
“Oh get your head out of your ass!” Tommy scolded. “You’re so full of yourself aren’t you?!”
“I am not full of myself,” Wilbur tapped. “I just know when I am right.”
“You’re a bitch.”
Wilbur didn’t hesitate. “You are a gremlin.”
Another station and the man had gotten off, glaring in Tommy’s direction. Tommy resisted the urge to flip him off. It was just them now.
“You’re going to be proven wrong by a gremlin, then I’ll never have to—“ Oh. “I won’t ever see you again.”
“We better hope I’m right then!” Wilbur laughed, clapping his hands together. “That would be unfortunate.”
It would suck, Tommy agreed. Because man, was Wilbur Soot fucking irritating; but if he lost Tubbo and Ranboo this week, he— he wouldn’t show up. Because he won. Wilbur would enter and there would be an empty seat, and he would know he lost.
Maybe, maybe Tommy could fib. If that happened. Act like they went okay. It was up in the air, Tommy was already building the lie that he would tell to Wilbur in case that happened.
“Alright, Wilbur. I’ll take that bet.” Tommy decided.
“We need to find a different word for that,” Wilbur said. “Bet. That is morbid—“
“You’re morbid.”
“It is morbid,” Wilbur continued. “Placing bets on human life. It lessens the value, takes it— and makes it hollow, and if we are hollow, what are we then? We are no better than the people that glare at you when you laugh, or the ones that complain about a delayed train.”
“Wilbur,” Tommy said, slowly. “It’s a word.”
Wilburs shoulders fell. “Words are powerful, Toms.”
“I think calling it a bet is okay. Right? Because it’s a bet on me.” Tommy explained, carefully. “It’s at my own expense. Nothing is being placed on it, it’s... it’s more of a test of wills if anything.”
“A test,” Wilbur repeated.
“I hate tests.” Tommy rambled. “We both have a thesis, opposites of each other, and we’re both trying to prove the other wrong. Like a science experiment or something.”
“I could work with that,” Wilbur calmed. The train stopped again. It was Wilbur's stop. Another night, ended by a train station. Wilbur stood up, standing at the doors, waiting for them to open. “Farewell, my fellow science experiment.” Wilbur joked, Tommy groaned, he didn’t agree to be called that. “See you next week!”
“You hope!” Tommy called. Tommy hoped, but he wouldn’t say that either. A man brushed past Wilbur as he exited, not sparing him or Tommy a glance as he sat in the midsection.
That heavy feeling returned, settling in Tommy’s stomach. He would have to face Tubbo and Ranboo, this week. Probably a conversation that would be easier to do in person, so he would have to wait a few days. It wasn’t just his friendship with them on the line now, anymore. He had the curse that was Wilbur Soot and being bad at lying. His poor, poor unfortunate luck.
Tommy, for the first time all night, pulled out his phone. A few from Ranboo, but nothing concerning. No indication that Sam had caught him. Thank god.
Tommy got off at his stop, not giving the man a glance. The possible things he could say to them running through his head as he ascended the stairs, he needed to word it out carefully. Maybe write like a notes app vent, or something. He needed to think this through carefully. He would do that tomorrow, though.
Right now, he wanted to go home, and collapse on his bed and pretend the last to Tuesday didn’t happen. He could live with that. He would be perfectly contempt with that!
But he couldn’t, unfortunately. He was cursed with the miserable existence of Wilbur Soot.