Chapter Text
Tommy loved when his mother would read him bedtime stories..
He looked forward to it every single night. He would do anything to just lay there, tucked into bed with his mother sitting next to him reading from his favorite book.
‘And that's when he saw it, after so many years of being lost and alone, unable to find his way back home, but he was back now, he was finally back.’ She said, voice, soft and slicked with honey. She had long brown hair, and dark hazel nut eyes (that he loved so much).
One day after the sunset, he went to his mothers room (to ask her if she could read him to sleep) to find her laying on the floor; in a pull of her own blood.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. His shoulders tensed, he couldn't move his limbs; no matter how hard he tried. He just stood there, staring waiting for something to happen. Just waiting.
He could feel hot tears streaming down his stone cold face, making a shiver climb up his spine.
He doesn't know how long he was standing there but it must have been a while considering his legs started aching. With a look of pure anguish, he took a step forward slowly making his way towards the still, numb body.
he kneeled down next to his motionless mother. He wrenched his hand away from his side shoulders still tense; he cupped his mothers cheek brushing at the tear stains.
“Mom?” he said, looking into her now cold and lifeless eyes.
All he could do was stare. He didn't know what to do. So he ran. He ran with every last drop of energy and strength he could manage to muster up.
And that leads us to where he was now, half dead in an abandoned alleyway. It was winter and all he had was a thin red jumper he had found draping over a park bench a few years back (it was a miracle it still fit him).
It was about midnight and he couldn't sleep, he had woken up due to a nightmare just hours prior. He had heard some shuffling, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He shot up looking around at his surroundings to find what had made the noise.
To his surprise it was a crow that had been shuffling around in a nearby garbage can. The crow had a chipped beak.
Sighing he layed back down on his makeshift bed, made up of mostly cardboard and dirty clothes he had found in a dumpster not too long ago.
But to his dismay the crow had just made even more noise than before, cawing and flapping its wings, just seeming to blow dust and dirt his way.
Annoyed, he twisted his body, now facing a wall, he closed his crystal blue eyes hoping he could fall back into the dream(nightmare) world, failing misrably.
Suddenly, he felt something pecking at his back.
He lifted his head looking around, seeing the crow and sighing yet again. He shoos the bird away(the bird being quite stubborn but leaving eventually). As he settled down once again, he looked up into the clouded sky, unable to see the bright stars through the darkness that is night.
He was unable to sleep that night, just laying there until sunrise. He had to find a job today. He had gotten fired from his previous job(as an underpaid barista) by cussing out one of the customers.
But in his defense they asked for a black coffee with 10 shots of espresso, they would have literally had a heart attack.
Any-who he had needed to get a new job anyways (5 dollars an hour isn't really that much). He wandered down the streets looking for stores that were hiring (not finding a single one).
Roaming the streets it seemed that everyone was looking at him(did he have something on his face?) He knows he looks like dog crap but like there's no need to stare(that's just rude).
Pulling himself out of his loud head, he spotted a quiet little book store. There was a sign on the door informing everyone that walked by that they were hiring and in desperate need of more employees.
He aimlessly walked into the library, stopping in his tracks when he didn't see anyone at the counter.
Unexpectedly the door behind him slammed into his back. He fell forward in agony, hot pain in his lower back where the door knob pierced his skin. As he plummeted to the ground he heard the person that opened the door gasp.
“What the hell man?!” he screeched, hitting the floor with a thump.
“Sorry! I didn't see you there.” the person said apologetically. When he sat up and looked up at the person he took in their feachers. He had brown hair and brown eyes. Just like his mother. His heart ached at the thought of her gentle touch and soft voice
The man held out his hand for him to take and he took it.
“Sorry again, for like y’know hitting you with the door” he said apologizing again, hand on his neck. “It's all good, big man,” Tommy said, taking a step back from the unusual man. “My name's Wilbur,” he said, with a gentle smile, holding his hand out again for him to shake.
“Name’s Tommy” he responded, taking his hand, shaking it.
“Do you need any help finding a book you’d like to read?” he asked, walking over to the library desk, beckoning him closer. He walked over to where Wilbur was and responded.“No, I'm here for a job.” he said, looking around taking in the new environment.
“Oh! But you look young, how old are you? You look 16.” he questioned, his face twisting into something unreadable.
“I'm 19, dickhead.” He was in fact not 19, he was 15 (turning 16 in three months) but he didn't need to know that.
“You don't look nineteen” he argued, expression faltering in a way so that he couldn't see what emotions the older one was expressing.
“I am!” he spit back, crossing his arms over his chest. Scowling he answered with a ‘yeah right’.
“Why should I hire you?” Wilbur sighed looking at the boy. He himself had blond hair and crystal blue eyes that have turned into an ocean of grim over time.
“Because I'm simply the best at everything.” he boasted, grinning widely at wilbur.
He let out a breathy laugh.
“Sure kid” Wilbur said typing something on the computer on the desk. “I'm not a kid!” Tommy basically yelled.
“Are you sure about that?” Wilbur deadpanned, looking back at his computer. “Why do you want a job here?” Wilbur asked, looking up at him. “I need the money, duh.” he exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips. He typed on the computer again.
“What's your contact information?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
It took him a second to respond, thinking about his response. “my phone broke a couple days ago.” the lie slipping off his tongue smoothly(he doesn't have the money for a phone).
“oh,” Wilbur said, a hint of sympathy flashing over his face ”that sucks”. “Wait, is this like an interview or something?” Tommy questioned, bringing his arms down to his sides. “I thought that was pretty obvious.” he raised an eyebrow “how am i supposed to tell you if you got the job if i can't contact you in any way shape or form?”
“Well if you truly want the great tommy innit here i could possibly come here tomorrow.”
Tommy said, lathered in fake confidence. “We're not open on Sundays,'' he said, glancing back at the computer typing something.
“Oh, then I could come around on monday.” he replied, “monday’s good. You can come around 3.”
“great!” They said their goodbyes and Tommy left the library, heading back to the secluded alleyway.
When he finally got back to ‘his’ alleyway (it isn't and will never be his home). He saw the same crow that was there last night. He waddled over towards Tommy in pure curiosity(curiosity kills the cat). He crouched down and put his hand out towards the bird. It came closer and closer until it was right next to his hand.
Then he felt a sharp pain on his hand. He pulled back and winced when he saw blood pricking at his finger. Before the bird could try and attack him he stood up and kicked at the air near the bird. The bird got the message(hopefully) and left him to be alone in the alleyway.
That night he could feel himself rotting from the inside out, laying there're decaying until someone finds him to finish the job. He could taste the saltiness of his flesh on his taste buds, stomach turning at the feeling that he was rotting.
He rolled over on his stomach, yelping in pain when his torso made contact with his ‘bed’.
He quickly turned back around, facing the dingy clouded nighttime sky.
He closes his eyes hoping for some form of sleep. He slowly but surely started to drift off into the dream world(or should he say nightmare world).