Chapter Text
Tommy stirs at the sound of a car door slamming and jostling the car. It isn’t a terribly aggressive sound, actually sounding like whoever slammed it was trying to be quiet, but it wakes him anyway.
And he immediately wishes that wasn’t the case.
His head is pounding. It’s so bad that he almost feels like crying and he can’t even try to call for help with the way his tongue slurs over his words. His mouth feels weird too, gummy and with an odd taste. He doesn’t like it, not at all, but the best he can do to voice his displeasure is a warbly whine.
Someone croons something from outside the car, gently pulling the door open and letting a gust of cold air breeze over Tommy’s sprawled out form.
The blonde shivers with another displeased whine, face scrunching and head feeling like it were about to spit open. This is horrible and if he could, Tommy would be asking what the fuck was happening.
He can’t remember anything before this, how to get to this terrible, terrible state. Something about him going to bed? He’s pretty sure he was upset, but he can’t remember why. However, he thinks he’s about to be sick, stomach churning grossly and leaping up his throat. Fucking hell, Tommy whines again. He doesn’t want to throw up. That sounds awful. Why can’t this stupid—
“Sunshine?” A familiar voice asks, a warm hand touching the side of the blonde’s face and Tommy leans into it with another pitiful whine. Seeking out the comfort. It’s all he can seem to do right now. Even his entire body starts to hurt. The boy can barely even twitch. He’s rewarded with a soft coo, thumb stroking across his cheekbone. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Toms. I know, I know. You don’t feel good, huh?”
No, no, Tommy didn’t feel good. Not at all.
“I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” The voice continued, dipping softly and sounding just the tiniest bit upset. “I didn’t want to bring you home that way, but I didn’t have any other choice. I know you’re scared, but you understand, don’t you? Things will be better this way, you’ll see.”
Tommy groans, brows scrunching at the words, but the action only made his head flare in a sharper pain. The thumb under his cheek pressed down just a tiny bit, stroking across his cheekbone again in a way that was unfairly soothing.
“It’ll be okay, I promise.” They purr and the blonde can feel the way the car seat dips, their knee pressing into the leather as a hand slides under the boy’s knees. Unfortunately, the hand on his face has to move away and Tommy whines at the loss of contact as it curls around his back. The familiar voice coos. “Oh, I know, you’re all upset. It’s alright, I’m here. You’re mine, my little baby brother. I’ll take care of you. Even if you don’t want me to.”
Tommy groans, a soft keening whine slipping from his throat as his face is pressed into the crook of a neck. Tucked closely into the voice’s chest as they carry him out of the car.
The sudden movement makes the blonde’s stomach lurch again, but it doesn’t feel like he’s about to throw up. They’re thankfully gentle with how they carry him. Steps slow and sure, careful not to jostle the boy too much. It’s nice, really nice. His head is still killing him and he wants this gross feeling and taste out of his mouth, but—he feels a tiny bit better.
Tommy sighs in relief, breathing in the equally familiar cologne from the voice’s neck. It makes his brain turn for a minute, a flash of panic before it’s gone again. Something is wrong, but he can’t figure out what.
He shivers. Cold air, far too cold for the city, pricks at his skin.
“We’re almost inside, just up the stairs and then you can go back to sleep, sunshine.” The familiar voice coos, squeezing Tommy just a bit closer and the blonde melts into the warmth.
His thoughts turn again, clearly trying to work up something, but he’s too tired. It hurts too much and thinking right now was out of the question.
Still, curiosity gets the better of him, and Tommy peaks an eye open.
Thankfully, it’s dark out. The moon barely rising past the trees and no light to burn his eyes. It’s all blurry and too shadowy to see all of it, but Tommy can see a tall building in front of them.
A mansion. One of those big, stupidly rich ones with the long steps to the front door and a big patio made out of stone and concrete and all that fancy shit. It’s tall too, like three stories tall, with pretty windowsill flowers and hedges trimmed to perfection. There were a lot of plants, actually, vines curling up the sides of the walls and lots of trees and flower bushes dotted around. It reminded him of a castle, all stone and fancy shit that he can’t think of right now. There was even a weird, round part of the building, like it were a tower and crow statues sat on each side of the second pair of steps to the front door.
Tommy’s pretty sure he’s dreaming, actually. Who the fuck does he know that would live here?
The blonde groaned, head starting to hurt too much at the thought, and he squeezed his eyes close again, tucking himself closer to the crook of the familiar voice’s neck.
They coo softly, steadily walking up the large steps. Tommy’s jostled a little, enough to make his headache spike again, and a slurred grumble falls from his tongue.
“Sorry, sorry,” They mumble, their thumb rubbing soothing circles into the boy’s bicep. “We’re almost there. You can go back to sleep if you want, sunshine. I’ll get you all tucked up in bed and then you won’t have to worry anymore.”
Oh, Tommy certainly wants to go back to sleep, but he can’t and he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the pain in his head keeping him up, or the weirdness of this situation. Can he even sleep if he’s already dreaming?
Ugh. Too much thinking. It’s making everything worse.
Eventually, though, Tommy feels them stop when they reach the front door. Letting out a sigh of relief now that he doesn’t have to worry about more steps. Or maybe he does. It’s a three story building, right? Whoever owns the damn thing is probably dumb and puts all the bedrooms on the second or third floor. Stupid. Dumb rich people. Making everything worse.
The front door opens, but Tommy doesn’t feel himself be jostled.
“Younger master Wi-” A new, unfamiliar voice speaks, but is quickly cut off by the familiar one.
“Shh,” They whisper, but Tommy can still feel the vibration of it from under his ear. “There’s been a change of plans. We’ll be returning sooner than I had thought.” The familiar voice says, calm but with a weird undertone. Impatient? Maybe? Excited? Tommy can’t really tell. It sounds happy, breathless. In an odd sort of way. “Get the rest of the help out of the house as soon as possible. You’ll still be paid for the rest of the nights you were supposed to stay.”
“Of course, sir.” The stranger says without issue. They probably bow and shit like in the movies, too. Tommy can hear their shoes click against a hard ground, no doubt off to do what they were told. Weird. Tommy would’ve been pissed if he were just kicked out of the house. Maybe they were just sitters? Cleaning up while the family was gone? Ugh. Too many thoughts again. At least they were getting their full payment.
Tommy grumbled again, trying to shift around in the grip and find a more comfortable position. It wasn’t working, and only served to make his stomach lurch again. This time it was harsh and sudden, upsetting enough that the blonde had to swallow a gag with a whining grunt.
Fuck what he said earlier. He was definitely not feeling better.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” The familiar voice croons, resting their cheek on Tommy’s temple. “They’ll be gone soon, and then you’ll be all mine.”
They’re moving again, walking somewhere and the click-clack of shoes on hardwood was much more painful and louder to his ears than when the servant dude was walking. Fuck, he hated it. Did rich people not know what the fuck carpets were? Tommy whined again, trying to press his ear into the voice’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to hear the dumb shoes on hardwood. They felt like needles stabbing into his brain.
“Does your head hurt, Toms? I’m sorry, we have to go up another flight of stairs and then we’re done, okay? I’ll tuck you into bed and then you can sleep for as long as you’d like.” The voice soothed with a melodic hum.
Tommy thought about grumbling, but that sounded really nice. One flight of stairs and then he could rest. Or dream within a dream. Maybe he’d be more refreshed after that. If it were possible.
The boy grunted in agreement, though he still scrunched his face up at the click-clacks that echoed throughout the building. Or entryway, whatever the fuck. Still, the echoes stopped after a little while and Tommy sighed in relief, letting the tenseness in his shoulders bleed away.
It was okay, for a little while, until the voice started going up the stairs again. These were shorter and more condensed than the outside stairs. Those were at least gradual, but these ones jostled him a lot, even if they climbed up to the second story quicker. It was awful.
Tommy groaned when his stomach jumped again and he couldn’t stop the way he gagged with a whine-turned-sniffle.
The grip around him squeezes a tiny bit, and if the blonde could lean into it more, he would’ve.
“One more step and then we’re done, okay? Then you can go to bed.” They whispered softly. Tommy can feel their nose nuzzle into his curls. It was a little weird. He remembers someone doing that to him before, but nice.
The last step comes and goes, and they’re finally on the second floor. It sounds like their halls finally have fucking carpets, because Tommy can’t hear that annoying click-clack anymore, nothing but the dull thump of shoes that doesn’t hurt his brain as badly.
The voice carries him for a while; he thinks. It’s not like he can really tell, but it feels like a while. Time is kind of loopy and weird. One moment he’s a lot more aware, and the next he sits on the haze of sickly sweet and a mirage of colors behind his eyelids. It’s fucking horrible and more than once does Tommy have to swallow down bits of bile that sit in the back of his throat.
Fuck, he wanted some water, but he doubts he could keep it down.
When the familiar voice has to jostle him to the side to open the door, Tommy grunts with a little croaky cough. His sniffles dipping into a full sob at how awful it felt, head suddenly pounding so bad it felt like it was going to explode again.
He can feel a few stray tears drip from his eyes, a tiny bit of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth and onto the voice’s shirt. Gods, he fucking hated crying. This is the worst dream ever.
“Sorry, sorry,” The familiar voice cooed, carrying Tommy through the door and gently closing it behind them with a soft click. It was warmer in this room than the rest of the house or outside, not warm enough to overheat, but more of a comfortable, relaxing thing.
Tommy hummed as his sniffles quickly died down, the pins and needles from the cold finally bleeding away from his skin. The heat was making him sleepy again, and he could hear the voice chuckle at him. Rude, the boy grumbled quietly, but was too tired to put up much of a fuss.
He was shifted around again, but instead of jostled, he was set down on the softest bed he’d ever felt in his life. It was like he was lying on a goddamn cloud and Tommy immediately curled into the pillow, sighing in relief when a warm blanket was pulled over him and up to his shoulders. Humming in content when a hand rested on his head, fingers gently threading through his curls.
This was nice. It wasn’t a bad dream anymore, even if the blonde’s sniffles had yet to die down.
“There you go, that’s it Toms. Big brother Wilbur’s got you.” The voice crooned, but the buzz in Tommy’s head was starting to make their words all fuzzy and it was hard to pay attention with sleep dragging him down.
Something nagged in his brain about the name, but he was tired and couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He didn’t even notice when someone else climbed into the bed, gently pulling his head down to rest on their chest. It was a little uncomfortable, and Tommy had to shimmy a bit before he could settle again, but it wasn’t terrible. The rhythmic sound of a heartbeat pumping under his ear was actually soothing. It didn’t even hurt his pounding headache, and the nails gently scratching his skull only added to that.
Yeah, Tommy liked this dream. If he could live in it forever, he definitely would.
A bed as soft as a cloud and someone being so nice to him? Making sure he wasn’t hurt or uncomfortable and soothing him when he was? It was really nice.
“Oh, you’re adorable,” The familiar voice whispered reverently, tone almost adoring in its tilt. There was a little sigh though, and the fingers in his hair moved down to twirl the strands at the base of his head as a nose planted itself on the top of his blonde curls. “You’re going to be so upset when you wake up, but that’s alright. You’re finally here, you’ll settle eventually. I’ve waited so long, you know that? So, so long. I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you deserve. You’ll want for nothing, I promise. Your big brother will take care of all of it.”
Tommy grumbles lazily. Even if the words sound nice, he’s tired, and he wants to go back to sleep. They’re talking too much. Can’t they see he’s sleeping?
“Gods, I should’ve done this a long time ago. You’re so soft and grumpy when you’re tired.” The voice laughs, a soft, quiet thing that shakes Tommy’s head a little. He grumbles again.
“Sorry, sorry,” They whispered, pressing a kiss into the top of the blonde’s head and squeezing him just a little closer. Tommy leans into it with a hum. “I’ll let you sleep, now.”
Finally, he wants to say, but he’s out before the thought can even cross his mind.
When Tommy woke again, his head didn’t feel like it was trying to split itself in two anymore. There was a soft, mild pain that took a minute to fade, but that was easily pushed aside.
What he was more focused on was where he was.
The bed he laid in was much too soft to be his own, the blankets much too thick, and pillows much too fluffy. The sheets in his bed were practically bare threads, so thin they might as well have been tissue paper and Tommy had to stack at least three of them just to keep warm.
He was practically overheating under all this goddamn weight and it was hard to think about how, exactly, he got in this situation.
Tommy sits up slowly with a groan, scrubbing the blurriness from his eyes as the thick blankets crumple down to his waist. The room he is in is a large thing, darkly colored and somewhat rustic and classical looking. There was a drawer against the wall right in front of the bed, a weird fold-in door right next to it that looked to lead to a closet, and two end tables on each side of the bed.
Shelves were mounted up to the wall on his left, another door, this one normal, further to the left of them, and then a small hallway that no doubt led to yet another door.
Tommy glanced to his right, confusion and unease growing in his gut.
There was nothing else there besides the end table, only enough room to walk down the side of the bed, with a bit more space. Nothing entirely special.
But what did catch the boy’s eye was the fucking window. It was a big thing with slightly translucent curtains to get sunlight through if they were closed. But the window itself was obviously one you could push up. It had a latch and everything.
The only weird thing was the fucking lock on it.
The blonde tried to recall how he got here, fear clawing against the insides of his chest.
He remembers going home after everything that happened with Wilbur, remembers sitting in the back of the cop car as he scanned the streets for any sign of the man, terrified that he’d be lurking in any shadow he saw.
He remembers leaving the cops with an awkward, stilted goodbye. Walking up to his apartment and into his house. He dropped his bag to the side, looked at his shitty apartment, and was planning to take a nap.
He… he remembers stepping through his bedroom door and then the creaks and—
Tommy chokes, slapping his hand over his mouth before he could let out a sound.
Holy fuck—holy fuck, he fucking—
The memories hit him like a tidal wave, a weight against his shoulders that had him leaning forward and trembling in fear. Breaths coming out short and wheezed, chest constricting in horror.
He remembers the damply sweet smelling cloth held firmly against his face, the warmth against his back and the arm around his torso that held him in place. He remembers kicking and struggling and his nails sliding off of silky fabric. Every attempt to get away was thwarted by his limbs getting heavier by the second and someone who was so much bigger and stronger than him.
Tommy feels like vomiting, mind filled with the whispered croon Wilbur had let out. The excited tilt to his voice before the blonde’s muscles gave out.
Just the memory of the way his head spun made him feel sick. The blurriness of his vision at the time only made that feeling grow, and he had to blink black spots from his eyes as he wheezed another breath so he wouldn’t pass out.
The way Wilbur had lifted him into his arms with so much ease was horrifying, and Tommy could practically feel the warmth on his forehead from where the brunette had tucked him close to the crook of his neck.
He remembers some of the horrifying things the lanky bastard had said, the way he tried to struggle again but could barely even twitch when the cloth came back to his face.
It was all terrifyingly blank after that.
Tommy rips the rest of the blankets off him, struggling to breathe as he stumbles out of the bed on fawn legs, nearly tripping over himself in an attempt to get away from the damn thing, wiping his head around so look for some sort of escape route.
The window was obviously locked, but the boy still hurriedly opened the other doors, trying to keep his steps as quiet as he could.
The door next to the dresser was just a stupid closet, filled to the brim with clothes and other shit that Tommy resolutely ignored. There was nothing useful there for him, and he slammed the damn thing closed as quietly as possible with a horrified scowl.
The door next to the shelves was just the bathroom, another window there, but this was just as locked as the first and the little vent above it being much too small for him to fit through.
Tommy feels himself panicking even more, fingers twitching with the need to get out, but unable to find a way to do so.
It hurts to breathe, his chest flares in pain, but the boy doesn’t let it stop him, rushing towards the door down the short hallway.
He can’t help the way he starts to stomp, too far into his flurry of panic to pay attention. The blonde’s shaky hands grasp the doorknob, fumbling with the cold metal until he’s able to twist it and tug.
The door swings in, almost clipping the boy in the nose and just barely missing him.
Tommy lets the momentary shock of it sit for a minute, breathing heavily while he stares out into an empty hallway.
He wasn’t… actually expecting it to be open, but if Wilbur was a fucking idiot, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. That was for damn sure.
The blonde flicked his gaze up and down the hall, eyeing the closed doors anxiously before he stepped out. He didn’t know which way to go, where the stairs were, or anything about this damn place. Obviously, he’s been to Wilbur’s home before, but that was a fucking apartment, not whatever the hell this goddamn mansion was. He knew the bastard was well off, but not this rich.
Still, Tommy didn’t let that stop him, taking a right and hurrying down the hall. He’s still stomping, not even trying to be quiet anymore, but he doesn’t notice. Much too focused on getting the hell out of here.
The walls are decorated in a few photos and paintings, some of just Wilbur and others where two other men are with him, more than a few with the men by themselves or some with them together. He’s never met them before, but he knows from their conversations that they’re no doubt Phil and Techno, Wilbur’s father and older brother.
Idly, he wonders if they know their son and brother has fucking kidnapped someone and stalked them for a whole year.
He hopes they do, that they could help him, but he doesn’t let that thought get ahead of him. Those bastards could be just as fucked up as Wilbur. It was a chance he surely couldn’t take.
The hall goes on for far too long, curving sharply to the left as Tommy hurriedly follows along.
Until, eventually, he gets to an open room.
It looked like a living room, sort of, with couches around a coffee table, a fireplace pressed up against the back wall, and rows of books along the sides. There are standing lamps and end tables, a few plush chairs paired together, and a large, almost knitted beanbag pressed up against the side of one of the couches.
However, Tommy’s attention was quickly stolen away by the two people sitting comfortably in the room, looking as though they just finished talking.
He didn’t even hear them, but they must’ve heard him coming.
“Tommy! You’re awake!” Wilbur looked positively ecstatic, standing from where he was sitting on the couch. Tommy wouldn’t help but stumble back with a hitch in his already short breaths, hands clamping together and drawing close to his chest in some meager form of comfort.
Wilbur’s expression softens, the brunette raising his hands in surrender with a small smile on his face.
Wilbur opens his mouth to say something, but the other person cuts him off.
“Give him a minute, Wil.” The blonde man on the couch across from him scolds gently. Surely this is Phil, the father Wilbur talked so much about. “He’s scared. You’re only going to freak him out more.”
Wilbur seemed to wilt at that, sitting back down as the man, Phil, turned to him with a soft smile.
Tommy didn’t believe it for a second.
“Hey there, mate.” The man said softly, like he were soothing a wild animal. Tommy certainly felt like one. “Why don’t you come sit down with us? We can have a talk. I’m sure this is all a bit confusing and scary, huh?”
Tommy took a step back and shook his head, unable to form words on his tongue.
He certainly did not want to fucking talk. He wanted to find a way out of this goddamn place. To leave and never see any of these fucking lunatics again.
“Mate, don’t—” Phil says as the boy takes another step back, brows furrowed into something more worried, but Tommy isn’t paying much attention. His only focus on getting away—
Until his back runs into something broad and hard.
Tommy’s breath hitches in horror, eyes wide as he takes in the two people in front of him. There was a third missing. The bulky pink-haired man in the paintings and photos were not with them.
The blonde couldn’t help the terrified whimper that clawed out of his throat when large, calloused hands landed on both shoulders. The boy steadily tilted his head up until he met the man’s gaze, attempting to shrink in on himself at the intense, possessive glint in the man’s red eyes that he’s met with. However, the grip on his shoulders prevented him from doing so.
“Techno! Bring him here!” Wilbur grins while Tommy trembles and flicks his gaze back towards the seating area, gasping for breath when the pinkette, Techno, gently guides him forever. Effortlessly moving the boy even when he tries to dig his heels in, the wood pulling at the skin of his feet.
He’s unceremoniously pushed in front of Wilbur, trying to jerk away when the brunette reaches forward, but there’s nowhere for him to go with the absolute beast at his back.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, come here Toms.” The brunette croons, and Tommy is too frozen in fear to try and pull away again when he’s coveted into the lanky man’s arms. “I know, I know, you’re all scared, but you’re alright.”
“Wil,” Phil scolds again with a small scowl, sighing when Wilbur pulls Tommy down onto the couch, holding him close while Techno sits at the blonde’s back. Leaning far too close until his chin practically rested on the boy’s shoulder. He hid his face in the crook of the brunette’s neck with a fearful whimper, flinching when the lanky man cooed.
“He’s smaller than you described him and in the pictures.” Techno says, his breath ghosting over Tommy’s ear while his hand lifted to idly twirl a strand of blonde curls between his fingers.
It was fucking terrifying.
But he was more focused on the fact that Wilbur talked about him and fucking shared photos of him. He knew, somewhat, that the brunette would mention him to his family. Maybe little tidbits here and there. Yet from the way Techno was talking, the fucking bastard could’ve told them everything. He probably fucking did. And the damn pictures, of course his fucking stalker would share pictures of him with his fucked up family.
“Give him room to breathe, you two.” Phil sighs and Tommy can hear him rising from the couch, the boy smothering a whimper when a new hand wrapped around his waist and pulls him away from the two with ease. He’s too scared to do much but flick a glance up, watching as the old man brushes hands away without issue.
Wilbur pouts, but relents, leaning into the back of the couch and slouching over onto Techno’s shoulder, who holds his weight like it’s nothing.
Tommy almost breathes a sigh of relief to be away from them, but Phil’s grip is just as caging, just as relentless even if it’s oh so gentle. He wouldn’t be able to break out of it.
Wilbur’s father guides him over to the other couch, sitting him down at his side and removing his arm from the blonde’s waist, lifting to drape it around the boy’s shoulders casually.
“How about we have that talk now.” Phil says casually, looking down at Tommy with a disgustingly fond expression.
He would really rather not, but the blonde had a feeling that it wasn’t exactly up to him.
“You- he—” Tommy stumbled over his works, practically choking on the syllables in his throat. His voice breaks off into a high-pitched keen, flinching when the arm around his shoulder lifts just enough to allow a hand to card through his hair.
“It’s alright, sunshine. You’re okay, we’re not going to hurt you, I promise.” Wilbur lifts his head off his brother’s shoulder, leaning forward like he wanted nothing more than to jump off the couch and pull the boy into his arms. “It’ll be better this way. We’ll take care of you, Toms. You’ll want for nothing.”
The blonde wheezed, heart seizing in his chest.
“I want to go home.” He hiccupped, chest shuddering into a sob.
He wanted his disgusting apartment and shitty job. He wanted his ratty blankets and flat pillows. Hell, he even wanted to useless fucking police and annoying boss. Anything was surely better than being trapped here with fucking lunatics.
The hand in his hair starts to pet the back of his head soothingly, a low croon to his right the only warning he gets before he’s tugged close into Phil’s side. Tommy’s breath hitches for the hundredth time, but he can’t pull away and Wilbur’s softened expression has him trapped in place.
“You are home, sunshine.” The brunette says quietly. Damningly.
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and silently shook his head, but he didn’t have the energy to respond.
“I know it’s scary, mate.” Phil says, his voice so, so close. He’s almost unbearably warm. “But this is for the better. Wilbur told us about how much you’ve been struggling after running from foster care. The shitty job and apartment. You won’t have to worry about any of that now.”
That sounded so nice, but he couldn’t. They fucking—Wilbur fucking kidnapped him! Drugged him! Stalked him for a whole year! How could Tommy just give in and accept their messed up version of help? He had a life. One he worked hard for!
“What do you even have to go back to?” Techno suddenly cuts in as though he could read the blonde’s mind. His head tilted curiously, but his eyes shined like a predator zeroing in on his prey. “Living off of microwavable food and dressing in rags. Surviving paycheck to paycheck. Is that really a life?”
“Techno.” Wilbur hisses, but is soundly ignored by the both of them.
Tommy opens his mouth to dispute that. Just because it was shit didn’t mean it meant nothing! He’d rise up above it someday, he just had to work hard to do it!
The pinkette cuts him off again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, threading his fingers together in front of him.
“We can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. We want you.” The boy can’t bring himself to speak, hiccupping from the urge to sob occasionally as he stares in shock. “Do you honestly believe we’d just accept some random kid only Wilbur likes? We’ve kept an eye on you since the beginning. Everything has been put in place to bring you home. There’s nowhere else to go, Theseus. Do you even know anybody out there who’d care that you’re gone? Who’d look for you? Who’d even remember your face?”
Tommy lowered his head, hands squeezing into fists so tightly his knuckles go white and he’s sure his nails almost break through skin.
No, he didn’t know anyone else who’d care if he’d go missing. Who would at the very least remember his name. There was no one. He had no friends. Obviously no family. Even the regulars at the damn café barely remembered his name. He was sure even his landlord would just assume he up and left without paying for rent. Or his boss would think he merely couldn’t take it anymore and skipped out on work.
“We’d care, we’d remember you forever. We’d look for you until the world burned.” The words eat at his resolve. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, ever dreamed for, for so long. He focuses on them so much that he hardly even notices when they get up.
He barely flinches when Wilbur crouches in front of him, gently peeling his fingers out, straightening them so his nails no longer dig into the skin of his palm. The blonde feels the other rest his forehead against his own, but he doesn’t do much other than hitch his shoulders up. Practically straining the muscles as they hike up to his ears.
“I’m sorry it had to be done this way.” Wilbur whispers quietly, voice slightly more subdued. “You were supposed to come on your own, but I had no choice. I couldn’t just let you leave. You’re my little brother. You’re ours. Just like we’re yours.”
That sounded—fuck. Tommy didn’t even know how that sounded. He wanted to be wanted, to be loved and taken care of, the feeling claws at his heart so desperately that he felt like he were being strangled.
Wilbur was… Wilbur was his brother, and as fucked up as it was, that didn’t change even after all the shit the bastard put him through.
And how fucked up was that? Viewing his goddamn kidnapper as his brother. But he couldn’t help it, couldn’t change the emotions that clung to him like sticky sweet syrup.
He wanted. So much so it was clouding his mind, stealing away rational thoughts.
Fucking hell, he couldn’t think clearly with them all so close. He hadn’t even realized that Techno was now standing off to the side, hovering at the edge of the sofa to his left, right next to his father.
Tommy swallowed thickly, unable to respond as the hand petting his head moves down to gently rest on the back of his neck. He can feel Phil tilt his head down, shoulder-length blonde hair falling into sight at the corner of the boy’s eye.
“How about we take a break now, yeah mate? I’m sure you’re hungry. Let’s get you something to eat.”
Tommy nods silently. What else was he supposed to do?