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Tommy grew used to having brothers again.
Their coffins had been dug up, no longer ghosts haunting rooms and pictures. Their presence fit into his life well, the hole in his heart being filled. Hydrangeas and roses bloomed outside the windows, the summer sun bright and encouraging. His sophomore year was done; his eyes finally freeing the purple that college brought on.
Wilbur clung to Tommy, embracing his being whenever he could. A hand in his, a hug around his waist, a chin on his shoulder. Each touch brought on a flurry of daisies, wildly growing from his arms and hands.
Techno was much more modest with his affection. He had always been reserved with showing his emotions, and his silent observations and fond smiles were enough for Tommy. He’d cross his ankle over Tommy’s if they were sat near each other, a much quieter form of touch. Despite the lack of physical affection, ivies wound their way down his legs, strengthening.
Phil had continued to be himself, a constant Tommy couldn’t be more grateful for. He’d smile and hug him and assure him, a post attached to his weak stem. He’d caught Phil crying over his boys, a weight finally falling off his father’s shoulders, Tommy realized.
Tubbo was reluctant to warm back up to the twins, aloof and cautious. He’d cross his arms, biting back a smile as he watched Tommy. The twins gave Tubbo space, accepting this might be their new normal. Eventually, he grew past the child-like stubborn façade.
Ranboo welcomed them back with open arms. He was hesitant at first, nervously waiting for Tommy’s approval. Tommy just scoffed, nudging them forward. Ranboo grinned, throwing himself at the twins recklessly. Tommy could see the light behind Techno’s eyes, knowing his brother always had a soft spot for Ranboo.
He watched his family fuse back together, each member learning to love each other unconditionally again. It was no longer just, “My Dad and I,” it was instead, “My family and I,” or, “My brothers and I.”
It all felt foreign on his tongue, stunted and awkward at first. He’d stutter around the phrases, blushing at his troubles. Tommy struggled to accept them again, scared and distrusting. He was torn between protecting himself and giving into the love he’s been so desperately craving for eight years. Regardless, he felt guilty for letting his brothers die off over the years, stuck as people he mourned, names he never mentioned.
No one teaches you how to keep going when your brothers come back from the dead. They didn’t prepare him for his shoulders to straighten, heart yearning like he was a kid again. His hands stopped their awful trembling, finally able to draw a straight line. He watched the loose and shifty gravel at his feet turn to solid, packed soil, bursting with life.
He still wanted to yell at them and the world, show them all that the Tommy he is now is not the boy they left behind. He wanted to cry, wallow in the realization that all the self sabotage and doubt over the years turned around, a past wish manifesting. He wanted the world to stop and let him scream, thrashing and breaking their belongings because it’s not fair.
But, all he could do was hug them, hoping to never let go until his last breath. He wanted to be called sweet names, he wanted to be their little brother again. He’s jaded and angry with the world, but most importantly, he’s lonely and still but a child, looking up to his older brothers and worshiping the ground they walk on. His weak heart reflects a past time, one where his arms were severed and limp. A time where he didn’t depend on anyone for his happiness, or lack thereof.
He was stuck, a place of only antonyms and twists. He wakes up with strangled screams on his tongue most nights, chest heaving and cries shaking his fragile frame. They were barely dreams of fiction, just a rewritten past hoping to suffocate him. Despite the visceral reactions, his brothers nursed his broken form back to reality every time, holding his hand and wiping his tears as he shakes. Wilbur sings and Techno tells him stories of Greek tragedies, trading off until he falls asleep again.
When he feels like the world is ending, backed into a corner as a vignette starts to take over his vision from asphyxiation, they take his hands out of his hair, regulating his breathing and helping him grasp reality. They’re patient, deflecting his apologies and kissing his forehead.
As he sits on the couch, legs weak and shaking as the lonely minutes continue to tick by, they still come home at the end of the day, smiling sweetly at him. They ruffle his hair fondly, recounting their days to him. They never comment on the way his entire body crumbles with relief the minute they walk in the door, instead giving him a hug and helping stabilize him on his wobbly legs.
He feels pathetic and weak, almost more than when he had storm-induced breakdowns. Darkness shadowed his mind, freezing his limbs. But, the light his brothers bring outshines any dim corner of his mind, melting and warming his body again. The stubborn parts of his mind were breaking and shattering with each interaction with them. The last of the blockade was broken when the photo-lined walls finally smiled back at him again, no longer laughing at his show of sadness.
Sunlight comes in from the windows still, reflecting off the joyful glass, casting rainbow shapes along the floor and ceiling. A similarly colored pride shoots through his still-sensitive chest as the twins introduce him to a friend, saying, “This is Tommy, our baby brother.” He tried to scowl at the words, but the utter elation took over, breaking down his attempts. He smiled gleefully as he introduced the two to his friends, having to stop himself from rocking on his toes like a child.
The introductions continued to increase due to Tommy barely ever leaving the house without at least one of his brothers at his side. It satisfied the longing in his chest, a feeling he grew increasingly weak to the more time he spent with them. His fingers twitched with a new need, reaching and grabbing onto his brothers whenever he could.
Wilbur had taken a job at the café, deciding he was bored of sitting at home, even though his music was earning him enough money. They often worked shifts together, giggling and singing when the lobby was empty. On the days Wilbur didn’t work with him, Niki or Eret could distract him long before he noticed the quick breaths that fell from his lips. And once college starts back up again, Techno will be on campus teaching his classic literature class, a quick fix to his fast heart rate or weak legs. Multi-colored euphoria brought his world back into technicolor, monochrome days lessening in amount.
Phil had once told him he was a rainbow; a beautiful, untouchable beam of light. They’re something people long for, mesmerized by their rarity. Tommy shook his head, saying, “I’m not a rainbow.” He pointed to the clear sky, blue and yellow being the only colors. “I don’t see a rainbow, but I’m here.”
“You’re not a rainbow,” Wilbur said, moving Tommy’s hand to point at the sun. “You’re the sun.” Tommy had giggled, turning his attention to Techno as he told him the story of Helios.
“Did you know the sun creates rainbows when it’s raining?” Phil asked, chuckling when Tommy’s eyes widened with wonder. “You’ll create something just as beautiful someday, my strong little dove.”
That day, Phil took Tommy outside, watching the lightning bugs weave through the grass. Doves cooed in the distance, a final goodbye to the end of an era he wasn’t aware of at the time. The predecessor to who he became, what shaped him into who he is now, said farewell.
But, at that point, Tommy just watched with wonder as the bugs blinked back at him. He spoke to the nature around him, a catalyst for a long term connection. He learned its language, foreign words and calls manifested through his body and onto paper.
His hands moved freely as he drew, pastel pencils staining his hands. He started when he was fifteen, a distraction from the atrocious scars along his arms. His lip was between his teeth as he rocked on the porch swing. His pencils balanced dangerously, shifting slightly.
He was drawing something new, something he’s never attempted; a landscape at dusk, floating lanterns in the sky. Purples and blues swirled, a yellow and white crescent breaking it. Rainbow streaks cut around it into the sky, the reflections of the moon and lanterns on the lake pooled outward. A dove sat in a tree on the side, lightning bugs spotting the grass.
There was no sun, no Tommy, but rather his younger self, before he was the embodiment of Helios. A dove, pure and innocent. Lightning bugs, a powerful force that outshine every other bug. A rainbow, mystical and mesmerizing.
He set his pencil down, colors melting on the page. In the corner, he scribbled his signature lazily. Below the drawing, where the colors faded and left blank paper, he wrote ‘The Antecedent to Helios’. His younger self preened, greens and purples twisting to imitate his soul.
He brought his supplies inside, setting them on the dining room table. He left them to rummage through the storage closet, where spare picture frames lay. Leaning at the end of the collection was a gold frame. It was intricate, vintage in style and reflective of a past time. He dusted the glass off as he walked back to the dining room, sleeve cleaning each twist of gold.
With gentle movements, he bent the metal back clasps, taking the backing off of the frame. He placed the drawing in, closing the frame back up. He flipped it over, running his fingers over the complex edges.
The house was quiet around him as he walked to the living room. Phil was sitting on the loveseat, reading a book. He looked up, smiling softly. Tommy held his picture against his body, glancing around the room. The walls were lined with framed pictures, all outdated and reminiscent. He walked over to a section where pictures of his toddler self were.
In the center was a gold frame similar to the one he held, displaying a picture of Tommy sitting by a campfire, night sky behind him. He tilted his head, sighing with recognition. He could feel Phil’s eyes on him as he took the center frame off the wall, placing it on the chair. Carefully, he hung his drawing, straightening it. He picked up the other, stepping back.
The golden frame accented his golden hair in the pictures surrounding. Phil came up beside him. His mouth gaped, eyes wide as they raked over the page. “It’s beautiful.”
Soft footfalls came from beside him, warm bodies peering over their shoulders. A breath shallowed, while another caught. “The Antecedent to Helios,” Techno read aloud. Tommy just nodded, humming. Wilbur’s chin fell onto his shoulder, breath choppy.
Tommy held out the picture of him by the campfire, tilting his head as he glanced between the two. His hair was the color of the moon, lanterns of the fire. The night sky swirled in both, lightning bugs dotting the background. He was the dove, the angelic and innocent child.
Sometimes he wonders if that dove is still inside of him somewhere, or if it died all those years ago. Doves aren’t meant to survive a mission fueled by Icarus, a lost cause for a fragile creature. They may be able to live through storms, but they aren’t meant to survive blades with heartbreaking determination behind them.
Maybe Tommy did kill something that day, and maybe Phil wasn’t able to save his boy like he thought. The sun is destined to combust someday, whether it's by accident or an act of desperation. One of these days, the life bringing lamp Tommy embodies will click off for the last time, leaving the word daft and dim.
There are days he hides in the shadows, cowering behind the clouds, afraid of the people who care about him. There are days the sun won’t break from behind heavy, mournful clouds. Tears pool on the streets while screams break from the sky. Daggers shoot down and strike people, hitting close enough to scare his brothers, but never enough to hurt. They don’t deserve this, a part of him would say, but they really do. Frustrated, weak claps of thunder would break, careful and warning. The sun wouldn’t shine those days, rising behind a dark mask and leaving behind the same.
But, today, the sun is shining. It came through the windows and warmed the floor. The rays were the color of his hair, his being just as bright. His lungs filled, photosynthesis activating and weaving flowering vines through his heart.
Catharsis struck over him as Phil leaned into his side and Techno linked their pinkies. Wilbur dug his nose into his neck as tears fell from Tommy’s eyes. He sniffled weakly, a warm ache settling in his bones. He looked into the glass and saw himself, the boy who died all those years ago, one who said farewell to his innocence on a warm summer night.
His reflection stared back at him. He stood with his family , blinking at the child trapped behind the glass. The boy smiled back, quiet wonder and happiness in his bright blue eyes as he looked over the image of his family. Maybe the dove did die, and maybe the lightning bugs stopped flashing, but he was left with light.
An antecedent is predisposed to give way to its successor at some point, anyways.