Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

February.

“Get me the fuck of out here,” Tom sobbed shakily into the palm of his hand. He glanced around his room, fucking terrified of every tiny shadow and shift of light, flinching at what blew in the fans wind. He felt paralyzed as he looked around through watery vision, at the room he knew was his own, but felt so foreign.

He just wanted to go home.

But that didn’t make sense, he was home. He lived here. This was the only house he’d ever come to at night, with his bed, his food, his… family.

His family were here too. There was mum, caring but she didn’t get him, frustrated dad who needed to be put back in prison, and of course his fucking siblings.

Tubbo was great, he was the youngest of the three. Tom and him were great friends and brothers, they fucked around on Roblox or outside or whatever.

Wilbur.

Tom shoved his back up hard against the bedroom door. If he stayed there, listening to the screaming long enough, things would die down and he’d be allowed to move back to his bed.

Wilbur was awful.

But Wilbur was his brother .

He had to love his brother, despite everything. It was just sibling bicker. It was just sibling bicker. It was just sibling bicker .

FEB./1/XX

Dear Diary. 

HELLO. My therapist said that I should fuckin write down my feelings. Which is stupid. My feelings are always good and positive, obviously. Duh. 

Tom set his journal down on the desk, sighing dejectedly. He didn’t feel good, like he’d lied in the diary. Didn’t matter anyway, because it’s not like the book could tell he’d been lying, and nobody would read it and accuse him of faking his feelings. It was his diary, nobody else could touch it.

So why was Tom so stressed about telling the truth?

He was afraid someone would read it, know what was happening. 

He was afraid they wouldn’t believe him.

He was afraid they would believe him.

FEB./4/XX

HELLO AGAIN.

Okay this is awkward. Maybe I was wrong and I can be a miserable fuck! Because god I’m so pissed off right now. Wilbur won’t piss off from me. Somethin about his stupid face makes me so so fuckin angry. I hate how he treats me. I’m not some stupid fuckin kid that can’t grasp concepts. I know he’s a shit cuntbag piece of shit. He can’t keep pretending to everyone, right? I just want him away from me.

Tom shifted in his seat awkwardly, scribbling out the last bit in chicken scratch as he heard his doorknob turn. He slammed the book shut and slipped it under his desk, kicking it to be hidden away. He whipped around as the door creaked open in that incessant screeching sound, and made a half-smile.

Wilbur eyed him suspiciously, “Hey, Tom. What’s up?”

‘ Stop fuckin’ looking at me. Fuck off. ’ Tom gritted his teeth, “Nothin much.”

Wilbur invited himself in, touching over Tom’s clothes without permission. Tom cringed as he picked through the dirty pile, tossing a pair of boxers out of the way, “Are you still mad at me.”

‘ Fuckin obviously ,’ He seathed, “No.”

“Oh good!” Wilbur’s brown met Tommy’s blue, fire and water contrasting, “Can we hang out then?”

Why was Tom so mad? Wilbur was nice. He was acting nice. He was nice.

“I guess,” Tom shrugged.

“You’re not busy?” Wilbur offered an open window. One Tom wasn’t actually allowed to take. It was just an out of reach feign of sympathy. You could reach all you’d like, but your arms were too short, and he’d dangle it in front of you with puffed out lips, laughing about how you’d might have a chance, if you weren’t so pathetic.

“I’m not busy,” Tom sighed, forcing a smile.

It was fuckin’ midnight.

FEB./5/XX

Mornin.

I don’t want to take this seriously. I don’t want to write about my feelings. I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want it to be real. I want to go home. 

Tom sifted through his sketchbooks, minding the torn and frayed pages as he flipped through old drawings. He cringed at the old art style, but had a fragment of appreciation for how far his ability had come. He liked drawing. It put him at ease, made him comfortable. He could express anything. 

…he could express anything through means of creativity.

Tom often sketched out characters. Mostly from fiction, but he once or twice doodled someone very specific, and very private. He named the blonde, blue-eyed girl “Clementine”.

On the page in front of him, she was crying, begging for mercy.

WILBUR> FEB./06/XX. 12:49 AM.

W: Tom

W: Come here:)

T: what.

W: Why are you mad:(

T: m not

W: Do you hate me:(

T: no!

T: Sorry just tired

T: i wanted to go to bed

T: i had shit tomorrow goin on

T: please don’t scream at me wil

T: im just busy tomorrow.

T: so I need sleep

T: sorry

W: It’s fine. You just always do this. And you act like I’m a villain, but you’re constantly promising things and getting my hopes up, just to turn around and take them from me. You do this so much, Tom. Make up your mind. It’s childish. 

T: im sorry I’ll come in

Read 1:04 AM.

FEB./9/XX

HELLO.

Today Wilbur and I are camping. Phil and mum sorted everything out and we went canoeing and had marshmallows and shit. Like a normal family. Made me pretty fuckin happy for a bit, but nothing ever stays good forever obviously. I mean, it’s still my family. They always have to be awful. Tubbo and I are sharing a tent. Glad about that at least. 

Tom tucked the journal under his pillow, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Tubbo’s arms came around him and he flinched, freezing up as anxiety spiked through his system. He politely shoved Tubbo away from him, feeling his arms still on him though, phantom like. It felt like freezing cold fire raging over the surface of his skin. He cringed.

Tubbo instead shifted against his pillow, tugging on it until it was comfortable, then rubbing up against it with a satisfied sigh, drifting right back off to sleep. Tom watched the steady rise and fall of his stomach for a moment, peaceful that the younger boy was so calm and serene in his sleep. A fun contrast from his bouncy sporadic awake self. He was so calm, laying there. Tom wished he could hold him, give him a kiss.

He instantly felt awful for that thought. Siblings don’t kiss. Right? Maybe. Who knew at that point. He didn’t even mean it like that.

Too late, as shame was bubbling to his cheeks, and Tom felt disgusting. He swore he meant on the cheek- no, the forehead. Hand? Where was normal? 

He cursed the thoughts that swirled through his mind. He didn’t want to think of Tubbo that way. He wanted to keep the perfect innocent picture of Tubbo safe forever. Tom felt like a freak. How could he let those thoughts rise? Kissing Tubbo? His little fucking brother? 

He squeezed his legs together, feeling tears well up. 

Tom would never hurt Tubbo. He loved Tubbo- not that way. Perfect innocent Tubbo. Perfect- and innocent- untouched Tubbo, forever that way. Safe.

Tom cried, trying to lay down on the uncomfortable and dirty air mattress. 

‘ Tubbo is fine. I’m fine. It’s okay .’

Tom closed his eyes. Imagining anything else. 

Clementine entered his thoughts, and she had a frown on her lips. She tucked her golden hair behind her ears, shifting in her spot. 

‘ What’s wrong ?’

‘ Nothing ,’ She smiled, ‘ I’m alright .’

He reached out for her hand, and interlocked his fingers with hers. The corners of her lips twitched, and she glanced down. Tom sat with her, hand in hers, and hummed a comfort song. She swayed back and forth, and she eventually joined in, humming along to Animal Crossing tunes like there wasn’t a thing wrong in the world.

He was glad to have her.

Tom was interrupted from his imagination when he was suddenly jostled around, someone shaking him awake. His eyes flung open and he stared at a shadowy face above him. Wilbur.

“M-morning?” Tom spoke hushed, afraid of waking anyone else.

“Come on, let’s go explore,” Wilbur grinned, but the shadows made him look terrifying.

“Im tired…” Tom groaned sadly.

Wilbur grunted, “You can’t say that every time you’re pissed at me-“

“I’m not, I’m not!” Tom whispered hurriedly, scared of Wilbur’s steadily raising voice, “Okay, let’s go, just need a minute to put on shoes,”

Wilbur stared him down as he slipped socks and shoes back on.

Clementine from inside his head urged him to go back to bed. Tom responded internally, saying he was afraid to. She sighed, and then the conversation was over.

The tent unzipped, and was quickly closed back up. Wilbur shook something, and then a light exploded on. He held the flashlight pointed at Tom, smiling. Tom covered his eyes from the sudden brightness, but smiled back.

“I think the potties are this way,” Wilbur pointed with the beam of light.

“Why are we going there- and why do you fuckin say potty-“ Tom was shut up by Wilbur’s hand over his mouth. 

A single finger to the brunettes lips, indicating, be fuckin’ quiet or you’ll regret it. Or something like that.

They walked together silently towards the restrooms. The crunch of the occasional stick, and the trudging past leaves and bushes were the only sounds that broke the nothingness, as well as the chirp of bats and the crickets of insects.

The restrooms had a single light over the door. A sign labeled for mens accompanied the otherwise plain brick wall. The women's rooms were on the other side of the building. 

Tom felt unnerved by the darkness, and the lack of natural sounds. It was like being put in a mirrored world. Something was just off, though it was hard to point out exactly what.

Wilbur pulled on the heavy handle, allowing Tom in first.

The blonde stepped in, looking around at how odd the bathroom was in pitch black. The mirrors reminded him of playing Bloody Mary as a kid, and the doors to the stalls were hung open, untouched since morning. The urinals looked gross, as per usual. Tom was glad he at least wasn’t born having to use those disgusting things.

Wilbur met his side inside the building, shining the flashlight around the empty room. Nothing was that special to note, save for some graffiti on the stalls. And a shit stain on the corner urinal. 

“Boring,” Tom muttered.

Wilbur glanced down at him, “Yeah. Come here,” he guided Tom to sit on top of the sinks. The blonde managed to jump up with little struggle. 

The instant panic he felt when he legs were forced apart was immeasurable. He babbled uselessly as Wilbur shushed him through cooing, assuring him that nobody would hear. 

‘ I don’t fucking care about that - that’s not what I -‘ the words curled up and died in his throat, refusing to become vocal. He simply didn’t want to do this .

Tom's pants were off so easily, thrown onto the dirty floor without care. His teeth clenched tightly and throat wouldn’t work. He tired to squeeze his legs together instead, use his body to say no. But his body betrayed him. Always did.

“Wilbur-“ he choked, but the way his voice sounded made the tone come off as wanting . Tom wanted to disappear. Die. Fucking, not exist anymore.

He was already zoning out, as Wilbur’s fingers fluttered over his boxers. Tom shut his eyes, he could imagine his way out of the situation. 

‘ Tell him to stop .’ 

‘ I can’t .’

‘ Tell him .’

‘ I can’t.’

‘ He’s hurting you .’

‘ I know -‘

‘ Do something !’

‘ I want to -‘

‘ Fine ,’ her voice stilled. She huffed, ‘ I’ll do it .’

Tom didn’t own his body. It wasn’t his. He wasn’t sure if it ever was. These days, Wilbur owned it more than him. Clementine owned it more than him. Phil owned it more than him. Tom was a shell to be controlled by another person. He had no autonomy of his own. 

Wilbur was three fingers deep in his body, wetness staining them as they pumped in and out roughly. Tom couldn’t feel anything. He knew it hurt. He just couldn’t feel hurt.

Shame wormed through him. This was his fault.

Wilbur glanced up at him, and the brown eyes broke him. 

“Please stop-“ His voice came out hoarse and softer than usual.

The brunette stilled, fingers still burning his insides unpleasantly, “ What ?” Confused? Angry? Stressed? It was practically unreadable.

“I don’t want to anymore- I’m-“ She tensed, fumbling, “I don’t want to get caught.” Partial lie. Much bigger underlying reason.

“We won’t- don’t worry, Tom,” He assured, glint in his eyes shrouded by the dark, “Nobody’s up right now.”

She breathed out low, “This is gross.”

Wilbur’s expression darkened.

“T-the bathroom,” she rushed, “It’s dirty in here, I don’t want my bare arse touching the sinks anymore.”

He mouthed an ‘oh’, before standing up slowly. He didn’t meet her eyes after that, just waited as Clementine pulled her clothes back on, shifting uncomfortably with the horrible sensation of wetness and stinging down there. 

The brunette didn’t say a word as they walked back. The sounds of nighttime felt dreadful this time around, anxiety making them out to be worse than they were.

The tents came into view, and the second worst possible thing happened. Mum was outside of her tent, cigarette in hand.

She looked over, spotting the two.

It was like a standoff in the Wild West movies. Nobody moved and everyone felt mad. The tense, glaring of each party. Clementine looked between the two, unsure which side was less punishing. Wilbur didn’t like her right now, clear by the wordlessness. And mum would probably be upset.

“Where were you two,” She asked between a drag of smoke.

Wilbur exhaled, “Tom had to use the potty.”

She stared blank, “You had to go together?”

Clementine shifted nervously, sweat collected grossly at her brow, and she felt hotter than normal. Guilt grabbed hold of her, and put her proudly on display. She was a mess of heat and embarrassment. It was obvious she was evil, or so she thought.

“He didn’t know where they were.”

The tension burned her alive.

FEB./10/XX

Good morning.

Last night mum wasn’t too happy with me for needing the restroom at night. She told me and Wil off for it. Then I went to bed. 

This morning we’re going on a hike, then we’re leaving for home after packing everything back up. I’ll update then later!

FEB./10/XX

We’re home. Don’t know why I felt the need to write earlier. Nothin’ even happened, there was no point. 

Think I’m getting used to journaling though. It is nice, at least knowing what day it is. Writing is stressful though. I don’t know what to write sometimes. Or how. Or… why. And then I sound like an idiot.

Tom met his bed face first, mattress plummeting under his weight. It felt great to feel the warm comfort of his own bed again, after having to sleep on an air mattress. He cozied up under some blankets, rubbing the soft fabrics against his skin happily, enjoying the scent of recently washed comforters. They still smelled great from a few days back, and Tom was immensely grateful. 

He sat up, back against the wall, tucking the blanket under his legs. Tom reached over and snatched the sketchbook and pencil off his desk, and got to scribbling down some ideas on the page. He rarely ever felt so energized and so full of concepts and colors to sketch out, that the feeling nearly overwhelmed him. 

It was very abstract. But Tom knew what it meant. The sharp edges of stress, the bright colors of pain, the gentle swirls striking of his ‘feminine side’, and they way they met in the middle, an explosion of color and shape, twisting into a cyclone of artistic expression, and Tom knew exactly what it meant.

He was proud.

Very proud.

Very scared.

Pleasantly surprised. On top of scared. On top of proud. On top of what happened.

He managed to stand up for himself. A small victory. Tom felt wonderful. Tom felt horrified. Too many emotions, exploding into a cyclone of feeling and color, like he had doodled out in colored pencils and Crayola marker.

Maybe he was still warming up to himself, but he might consider it progress. He couldn’t admit what he’d done, what he stood up for, but he could smile knowing he did it. It didn’t have to be clean-cut and make sense, as long as Tom could decipher it.

FEB./10/XX

Okay I’m sorry for making three fuckin’ entries in the same day now, but this is important.

I was drawing. (Big whoop)

But it made me feel things. Good things. I was drawing out how I felt, and it felt great to get it off my chest, even if it wasn’t really. Good. Does that make sense? I wanted to do that again. I want to try, at least. I want to say it. Out loud. (but on paper first)

I’m not a freak. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want it. I don’t know when it started, but this is where it’s ending. Promise.

Til next time, journal.

Therapy day. Tom sat around awake, cup of coffee beside him, as he waited for the time to tick until he had to sign on for the video appointment. His legs bounced anxiously.

“I’m gonna do it,” Tom hyped himself up, “I promised myself I’m gonna do it. I have to say it, I have to.”

A loud knock at his bedroom door.

“Come in!” Tom announced, and the door pushed open to invite Phil in. 

“Are ya on call, mate?”

“Not yet, ten more minutes,” Tom gulped.

Phil had a miserable expression on his face. He sat on the bed, “I want to talk to you.”

Tom shifted, “it’s ten more minutes, P- dad- I’m not sure there’s enough time.”

“ Tom .” That stern voice ate away at Tom’s leftover confidence.

“…Y-yeah?”

‘ He knows. He knows. He knows .’

‘ He’s going to kill me because he knows what I did. He knows what I’m doing. He knows that I did that shit. He knows what I’m thinking- he knows everything I’ve ever done wrong- he’s going to scream at me- he’s going to kick me out -‘

“Tom-“ fingers snapping in his face, “Tom to earth, are ya there?”

Tom wasn’t there, honestly. Not all there, anyway. 

They didn’t feel like Tom. They knew they weren’t Tom, but it was a weird thing to describe. It was like Tom had logged out, but the character- the player in the game, was still there. Or even closer, someone else logged into the game on his account, and started playing for him.

They were the other player.

“Huh?” They stared up at Phil.

“I wanted to talk about your grades, mate. They’re slipping. Where’s my smart kid gone off to?” Phil teased, “I know he’s there somewhere.”

Tensed shoulders. Hands fidgeted around at the strings sticking out of the blanket. Pulled them out. Sweated in their shirt.

“I’m sorry, dad.”

He shook his head, “Shouldn’t have to get a tutor, you’re smart. Have you been studying?”

They weren’t sure.

“N-no.”

Phil ruffled their hair, “Could you get back on that for us? Gotta show off my good kid. Can’t have him slacking, amiright?”

They gulped, “Right.”

Phil stood, “Okay, I’ll leave you alone, I can tell you’re not having it. Just remember,” he stood at the doorframe, “Grades. Get ‘em up. ‘Kay kiddo?”

They nodded. 

The door shut a little too loudly. They flinched hard at the sound, eyes shut tight and shoulders on alert. 

They slowly opened their eyes, stared at the clock. 

It felt familiar. Grounding.

…

Time .

That was what sounded familiar.

Time logged onto their appointment, signing into the med website and waited patiently for the therapist to log on as well. They played with their fingers as they waited, bit their nails. 

The camera reflected back at them as it came up. They were frozen in disbelief at how they looked in the tiny square. They swore their hair was darker. Eyes a different color. Held themself different.

“Hello there!” Waved a friendly looking lady. She had long puffy white hair, dyed streaks of color in between.

“Hello,” Time responded, a little shy.

She blinked softly, “How have things been since last time?”

They furrowed their eyebrows, unsure. Where had they even been? What happened last appointment? 

They shrugged slowly after a bit of time.

She lowered her eyes, “Are you doing okay? Is anyone in the room with you now?”

Time refused to meet her eyes. It felt intimidating. They looked at the details of the screen. Her name was Puffy. How could Time forget the name of their therapist? 

“There’s nobody,” they realized after speaking they accidentally ignored the first question, shoving out an anxious, “I-I’m fine.”

She sighed. They did something wrong.

“I know you well enough to see something is off, Tom.” They didn’t recognize the name as their own. That was odd, “You can trust me. Is there anything on your mind you want to share?”

Time nodded.

“Please, feel free to tell me,” she smiled but it felt like a death glare, “I need your honesty for this to work.”

They peered to the side, “I’m- …I’m not- not Tom.”

Just out of the corner of Time’s eye, did they see her expression. Such a small motion. She looked slightly to the left. Blinked. Turned to the right. Started to type. 

“Could you tell me more about that…? Who are you?”

They watched Puffy fearfully, “T-Time.” That was their name. It felt right for now. 

“Are you doing alright, Time?” She tried to met their eyes, they refused.

“I- I’m a bit confused,” They admitted.

She smiled, “About what? I can fill you in.”

They stared at the room around them, grossly unfamiliar, “Where am I?”

“Your house, Tom’s house.”

“What is going on…?”

“Well, that’s what I want to figure out. Can I ask some questions?”

Time rolled their shoulders, “I guess.”

She looked to the side, as if reading a second monitor, “How often does this happen?”

They were dumbfounded, “…This?”

“Not being ‘Tom’,” Puffy explained.

They weren’t sure again. They felt stupid. They felt vulnerable. Time hated it, fumbling in front of them, clueless as to where they were, who they were, or what was going on. They wanted to run and hide. Get away from the situation. They felt attacked.

“Time?”

“W- huh??”

“You zoned out there for a minute, is everything okay?” Puffy held sad eyes.

Tom blinked, “Y-yeah, oh- uhm, sorry about that. I guess I was just zoning out? My bad, haha. W-what were we talking about??”

Her eyes widened, and she typed something, “I was just speaking to ‘Time’, was their name. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“What??”

She hummed, “Okay. Is there anyone you know, in your own brain, that speaks to you. Let me know if I need to clarify.”

‘ Clementine .’ He thought instantly.

“Like an imaginary friend?” He asked nervously.

Puffy stayed motionless.

“There’s Clementine. I draw her sometimes, and she sometimes talks I guess. She tells me shit I’m doing wrong, or yells at me, haha. Mostly she’s nice. W-why?” He sunk in his chair, “Tell me that’s normal. People have imaginary friends.”

She smiled, “Sometimes. Can you tell me anything else about her?”

Tom thought, “She gives me advice I guess.”

“What kind of stuff does she say?”

“Regular. Normal. Conversation things?? Advice sometimes.”

“Anything that would harm yourself or others?”

“N-no! What??”

“Do you see her when she talks?”

“Like, in my head. I can picture her there. But like, I can’t control her. She does what she wants.”

“And her voice, it comes from inside your brain?”

“Yeah. And I can’t control what she says either. She’s got a mind of her own,” he laughed off the anxiety, “is the interrogation over yet?“

“Almost…” Puffy typed away, “Has she ever ‘taken control’ of you?”

Tom felt uneasy. He blinked slowly, lips pursing dryly.

‘ Don’t .’ Her voice came as a warning, ‘ I don’t trust her .’

He opened his mouth wordlessly. 

Tom logged off the appointment early.

FEB./11/XX

Therapy went bad, lol. I don’t even know what happened, it’s like really blurry, but it just fuckin’ sucked. She harassed me about Clementine. I don’t know what she was on about, but it made me feel weird. Didn’t like it. 0/10, bad therapy

So much for telling her about everything. Another time I guess.

GAMERS (GC)> FEB./11/XX. 1:13 PM.

Tom: ELLO

Tom: ANYONE WANT TO HANG OUT PLZ

Dream: go play outside child

Tom: OI

Tom: FUCK YOU

Ranboo: I’m free right now, Tommy:]

Tom: oh thank goodness someone who ACTUALLY LIKES ME.

Dream: lmao

Wilbur: Tom 

Wilbur: You have to study

Dream: LMAO

Tom: nooooooo

Wilbur: Yes, Tom, now don’t make me embarrass you more, lol, dad said you have to stay home and study.

Read 1:16 PM.

Tom glared at the screen. ‘Stay home and study,’ yeah right. He clicked onto his private messages with Ranboo.

RANBOO> FEB./11/XX. 1:17 PM.

R: *boop

T: AYUP

T: we’re still hangin out, idc about studying.

R: Okay:] I’ll pick you up in a bit.

T: Thanks Boo<3

Read 1:18 PM.

Tom waited around his room for Ranboo to send another message. He looked through his closet, eyeing together different outfits. Tom wanted to compliment Ranboo’s style, but the person hardly wore any one stable style, it felt like guessing a personality each day. 

He eventually stuck to dressing how he wanted, despite Ranboo’s ever changing aesthetic, and slipped into a comfortable teal sweater and black sweatpants. Cozy and easy.

He paced around his room, picking up random objects and then putting them back down. He started reorganizing his main shelf, taking down all the little toys and trinkets, moving around Henry the stuffed cow, and the scattered books and pencils. He had everything fixed around when the buzz of the notification alerted Tom’s attention to the glowing phone screen on his comforter.

RANBOO> FEB./11/XX. 1:34 PM.

R: Here:]

The blonde slipped the phone into his pocket, slinking through the hallway and outside, as to not be caught by Wilbur.

Outside, Tom shut the gate door behind him and spotted Ranboo’s black Toyota Sedan parked out front. Ranboo waved him over from the driver's seat and Tom quickly came over, sliding into the passengers' spot. 

“Tommy! How are you!” Ranboo grinned ear to ear, “I haven’t been able to see you in a while.”

Tom buckled his seatbelt, “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m sorry. Things have been stupid lately. I’m exhausted mentally from school and having emotions and all of it. Sorry- how are you man? I really have missed you.”

Ranboo started the car, driving down the street with no real aim, “I’m okay. Nothing much is really going on. I was happy to see you bored in the groupchat-,” they flashed a smile, “So I could pick you up and catch up. Heh. Is there anywhere you want to go?”

Tom sighed, as he settled in the seat, “Maybe like. Our place.”

“ Oh ,” Ranboo nodded, “That bad?”

Tom’s boisterous energy trailed off, “Really fuckin’ sucks lately. Just need to talk about it.”

“Got it,” Ranboo focused on the road.

Tom zoned out as he stared out the window, watching mindlessly as cars passed and scenery changed. He tried to ready what he wanted to say. He tried to pump himself full of confidence. He hoped to any-fuckin’-god that Ranboo would just, like, read his mind. And know what he wanted to say. Tom wished it was that easy.

They got to the building eventually. Ranboo parked in the clearing by the gravel heaps and got out, helped Tom out of the passenger side and they walked hand-in-hand to the broken down building. It was like a furnace thing used for some world war, or something, but had long since lost its function, leaving behind a trashed place with graffiti and empty beer cans everywhere. It was the spot Ranboo and Tom had first come to at the start of their friendship, and stuck as ‘their spot’.

They climbed up the hill the building was situated in, and flopped into the top floor through the windows. Ranboo helped Tom in and they sat beside the holes where smoke would rise from when it was actually functional.

They stared down to the other floors, neither speaking for achingly long moments.

“I wanna tell you… what I’ve been through. But it’s so hard. I don’t want to ruin my life by saying it,” Tom whispered.

Ranboo glanced at him, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Tom returned the gaze, “…Promise?”

They nodded, “I love you so much, Tommy, I wouldn’t let anyone know if it would hurt you.”

Tom leaned into Ranboo’s shoulder, “Thanks man.”

They sat silent.

“It’s…” Tom tried not to cry, “It’s really bad.”

Ranboo held him, “I won’t judge a single thing you say.”

Tom couldn’t. Couldn’t say the words. They died in his throat every time he wanted to go say them. Why couldn’t he just come out and say ‘ I -‘

Ranboo noticed his struggle, “Give me… a concept. Or make me guess.”

Maybe he’d start simple. Build them up to it. Or just. Talk about something different overall.

“…therapy,” Tom chose instead.

“Did she say something?”

“Yeah… whole lot of somethin’,” Tom laid his head on Ranboo closer, “She started talkin’ about this… whole… imaginary friend thing. Like-“ he felt vulnerable. Awkward. Maneuvering like he wasn’t experienced in talking at all. Stupid, “There’s this character I have- Clementine. I draw her sometimes and sometimes she talks to me-“ Tom caught a glance of Ranboo’s face. Their expression was entirely unreadable. It scared him.

“…Boo?”

Ranboo stared through him, “Sorry, zoned out. Keep going.”

“Puffy started acting really weird about it. Like. Targeted questions,” he rolled his neck, “it was weird. Like she was trying to trap me in something, some ‘gotcha’. You know?”

Ranboo smiled slightly, “Mhm.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, “What do you know?”

His hands came up in mock innocence, “Nothingg! Go on!”

“That’s it.” 

“O-,” Ranboo looked shocked, “Oh.”

Tom picked at his nails.

“There… isn’t more to that story?”

“…no? Should there be?”

“I just…” Ranboo stuttered, “O-oh okay, uhm, Clementine, then? T-Tell me about her.”

Tom kept a suspicious eye on them, “She’s like. Girl me. She gives me advice on things and sometimes does her own thing. We… talk sometimes- Ranboo is that not normal?” Tom felt heat in his cheeks, like he was being made fun of. Like Ranboo was keeping something from him.

“N-no it’s not normal. Does…” he hesitated, “Does she… ‘ take over ?’”

Tom crossed his arm, furious, and turned away with his whole body, “That’s the shit she asked too! What the hell-“

“Oh, Tommy-“ Ranboo pleaded, “I wasn’t saying it to be rude or anything- please look at me,” they guided his chin so their eyes were back together, “I just… understand. Completely.”

Tom felt the tension slowly melt, “You do?”

They nodded, “You see,” he explained, “I have the same thing going on. It’s not actually normal. Would you like to hear about it?”

The blonde felt a little overwhelmed. He wasn’t exactly prepared to hear about what was wrong with him. After hearing he was suffering from depression he just felt angry. Like the world was spitting in his face. Have some fucked up excuse for being pathetic! It felt annoying more than anything, to be disordered. He wanted, more than anything, normalcy. To be a normal human being, with normal thoughts, and a normal family.

Still, it intrigued him. Sharing an experience that bothered him, even if it wasn’t the ‘main issue’ with someone else who got it. Tom bit his tongue, “Yeah, tell me.”

“Okay!” Ranboo flapped his hands excitedly, “It’s called dissociative identity disorder, it’s where more than one ‘state of identity’ is present in someone’s mind. The person experiences alteration in identity, gaps in their memory from amnesia, which can range from blackout to emotional, and have moments where the ‘alternate personalities’ take over the body.”

The blonde sat and listened, eyes widened. Too many words introduced to him at once. Felt a little much.

“It’s called a system, and the identities are alters. Does that make sense?”

Tom processed the information presented, “And you said you have this?”

“Mhm!”

“Wait, so it’s like. Multiple personalities.”

“Sort of,” Ranboo continued happily, “It used to be called multiple personality disorder, but was changed to better represent what was actually going on, which is the brain putting barriers between memories, causing separate identities to form and develop on their own. There’s dissociation between them typically, which- dissociation ranged from zoning out to full on depersonalization and derealization episodes.”

Tom stared down through the hole to the second floor, memorizing the litter and filth as Ranboo blabbed. It was honestly a lot to take in.

“I…” Tom’s nose scrunched up, “I’m very confused.”

Ranboo perked up, “I’m here to explain anything!”

Tom’s face contorted, “In relation to you… are you Ranboo or. Someone else.”

“I’m Ranboo.”

“And then. There’s other people in your head like me.”

“Mhm! There’s also Enderwalk, Z, Olivia, Sal, and Mark.”

Tom sighed, “That’s- a lot.”

Ranboo wrapped an arm around Tom again, “Would you like to let Clementine come out…?”

Tom shifted in his spot, “Uhm…”

But he already felt her presence. She was working her way into his mind, overtaking his body and brain. His hands became hers, and he was pushed far back into his head, trapped behind his own eyes and she took control.

Clementine smiled, “Hello.”

Ranboo beamed, “Hi! Clementine, I assume?”

She nodded shyly, “Mhm.”

“It’s so nice to meet you! Did you hear what I said just now?”

“Yeah…” she fumbled, overjoyed to be seen for once.

“Do you know if there’s anyone else in your system?”

Clementine thought, as she heard Tom protesting in the background, “I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay, do you want to go back home?”

“Yeah, please,” she stood, “Is it okay to talk about this more, whenever?”

“Of course! Is it alright if we’re open about it as well?” 

“Of course.”

FEB./11/XX

We’re back home from spending time with Ranboo today. They told us about system things. It was interesting and eye-opening. It feels so nice to have a word to describe what we’ve been experiencing. I’m going to look it up more and do research.

-Clementine.

Clementine was laid down on her bed, drawing out a list of everything she knew about her system and all the information she’s gathered online so far. 

Clementine, Tom, unnamed person who was at therapy. That was all she knew, and all Tom knew about as well.

He was there with her- ‘co-conscious’- as it was called.

She felt confident in knowing. A small piece of the puzzle she could put together, to help understand a little better. Knowledge felt like power to her, fueled her. She knew what was going on and it was a little nicer.

‘ I want to… what was it. Front ,’ said Tom, although his voice to her was always a bit distant.

Clementine spoke aloud, “I’m busy.”

‘ No fair! I was hangin’ out with Ranboo and now you’re doin’ fucking nothing! ’

“I’m listening to music and making a list-“

‘ Your music sucks .’

“How dare you insult Mitski-”

The door clicked open.

“W-Wil!” Clementine anxiously threw all the papers behind the bed and awkwardly lowered her voice to suit Tom’s usual one.

“What were you doing…?” Wilbur looked over the display of Clementine’s ‘caught-in-the-act’ face and the shuffled papers.

“Nothing!” She squeaked.

Wil pinched the bridge of his nose, “Whatever. Uh, can I talk to you Tommy?”

Clementine felt her body physically go on guard as her and Tom hushed, and watched Wilbur intently for any sudden moves. As if they were a wild animal expecting to be hunted and preyed on. They narrowed their eyes, and the body felt shared instead now. Like they were one being with two minds, and both were terrified, running strictly on survival instincts. A race they ran together to live.

Wilbur sat on the edge of the bed and looked curiously at Clementine-Tom.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” Wilbur’s voice was harsh.

“Like what ?” The ill-tempered of them slipped out.

“Like I’m going to hurt you. You know I love you, I’d never do anything you didn’t want,” Wilbur spoke fast, sharp. A tone of anger and bitterness behind each word. Then a sudden shift into a soft tone, “You know that, right? You know I’d never hurt you?”

Tom stilled.

Like a hurt puppy.

Like a caged animal.

Like a-

“ Tom ,” Wilbur snapped, teeth bared as if he were playing into their fears, “I- I’m not wrong. I’m not a bad person. Tell me that, Tommy. Toms. Tell me I’m a good person.”

The man who did such horrific unspeakable things. This man who was cruel and without a heart, was begging to be seen by them. Was begging for forgiveness, for mercy, for love.

Wilbur gripped the mattress, fingernails digging into the fabric frantically, eyes darting, searching for an answer.

And they caved. Of course they caved.

They wrapped their arms around him and wept.

FEB./12/XX

I think you can forgive people who do awful things. I think you’re meant to. ‘Cause otherwise you’re miserable, and you hate them and everyone forever. And you’re not meant to be miserable forever. I guess that's why people say you have to forgive bad people.

-Tom.

And all the progress came and crashed down again. Everything Tom had put himself through just to be discredited once again. 

He wanted to go home. That nonsensical feeling bubbled in him again, scratching inside his skull, wanting to be free. It didn’t make sense, no matter how Tom looked at it. This was his home. He lived here, obviously. So why was very fiber in his body begging to be anywhere else? As if he felt safer in an alleyway with drunk addicts rather than here, in bed?

Tom shuffled under the blanket. He knew why. He just didn’t want to accept it yet.

He didn’t do much that day. Wrote a journal entry. Drew something. Made a playlist. Watched some videos. Ate and drank. Basic things he did practically every day. Things that took so much effort out of him, despite the simplicity and easiness of them.

He’d have to go back to school tomorrow. He didn’t know how he’d be able to. It felt like things were vastly different now. In contrast to how excited Clementine was to discover they were alters, Tom was terrified. He’d lost control over even his own body and mind now, something he thought was sacred. But now he was left to wonder how much he’d lived, how much he actually said, and what was actually someone else, acting as him.

FEB./18/XX

It’s been, what, a week? I’m sorry I haven’t updated in so long, journal. I guess I got depressed again. I guess everything feels awful again. I feel like throwing up all the time. Wilbur keeps…

The page scribbled off to a halt. There wasn't a point finishing the thought after all. Someone would just find the book and know all his secrets, probably dad. Dad and mum had been on and off arguing again like they were about to divorce. It happened every so often where they would hate each other, treat one another like the bane of their existence, then pretend they’ve never caused a conflict in their lives.

So, yeah, it was bad again.

It was also late at night, so Tommy wasn’t gonna get any sleep at this point, what with all the screeching in the background. 

Dissociation, as he learned it was called. It started to numb his mind like fuckin’ weed. Making him blank out from how unsafe and dangerous things felt.

Tom, or whoever he was now, missed today’s therapy appointment. Ms. Puffy had messaged him, saying that she was sorry to have missed him today, and they might be able to squeeze him in tomorrow. He didn’t want to go, but knew he should…

Slowly, minute by minute, Tom wasn’t Tom anymore.

The flooding sensation of someone new piled into his brain, and hatred and disappointment came along as a friend. Moth, fae wanted to be called. Fae was ready to turn this body's life right around, and instantly opened up the phone, submitting faeself onto Simply Plural, and then messaging the therapist back. Fae assured her they would be there tomorrow, and set a reminder on the phone to get on the televisit at 3. 

Moth stared down, letting faeself zone back out and fade back into the headspace.

Soon enough, it was Tom, again? Whichever way, Tom was back like he had been before and will be again. Something felt cathartic. Like it was okay. He was acutely aware that the appointment had been rescheduled, but nothing in him felt like canceling it.

Maybe things could start looking up.

Even the screaming from the other room had dissipated. 

“Tom, I need you,” Came the sudden voice of Wilbur from right above where Tom was sitting. He glanced up to meet the sharp brown eyes.

“For what?”

“Let’s sneak out, I got beer.”

“Oh…” Tom knew to deny, this was going to end in hell. Though, maybe with everything looking better, this could go well too? And Tommy knew that was naivety thinking. That this would end up like every other time, him naked and afraid.

“How’d you get beer?”

“Stole it from mum,” Wilbur stood proudly, and the next sentence came out a bit more threatening than Tommy would’ve liked, “Are you coming or not ?”

“I’m… I’ll come. Don’t worry.”

He followed Wilbur into his room, and out the window. He didn’t even realize how late it truly was. The time on his phone ticked closer to midnight. Mum and dad must be asleep after their screaming match. 

He wished nothing more than that his naive thoughts could be correct, and that Wilbur would have a fun rebellious night with Tom, like brothers should. Should they? He wasn’t even sure what brothers were like, the only sense of normalcy with Tubbo was icy thin. And that was only because Tommy vowed never to touch the other’s privates. But where were boundaries meant to lie?

Whichever way it should be, Tom knew he wasn’t allowed to live free like that, so he followed Wilbur shamefully.

A sense of sickness consumed Tom’s body, and comfort and familiarity departed faster than he could wish them goodbye. What happened to “the last time” being the last time? What happened to his vow, that nobody would lay a hand on him again? Where the hell was Clementine, the only one brave enough to stop this madness?

No, she had abandoned Tom at his most needy, just like everyone else would. Wilbur sideeyed Tom as he struggled to his feet after jumping out a fuckin’ window. He motioned for the blonde to follow, and they started walking breathlessly to their spot. There was a distinct difference between the comforting familiarity of Ranboo and Tom’s spot, where they were comfortable and loving, and the spot where Wilbur had used Tom’s body thousands upon thousands of times. It was inside a broken down, condemned, dirty and decaying building that Tom swore he’d get tetanus from eventually, what with all the gross discarded objects laying about that his bare bum touched. 

They arrived at the disgusting excuse of a building eventually, breaking into the condemned house through the unlocked back door. This place, from what Tom knew, used to be a hoarder’s house, and nowadays was used as a crack-shack. Nobody knew nor cared what happened to the previous owner, and rumors that started up quickly died out. Tommy particularly didn’t give a shit, as this was a waking nightmare of a place to begin with for him. Whatever real story this house had was nothing compared to the traumas he’d suffered inside its walls.

Wilbur, shutting the door quietly behind them, turned around then and made a face down at Tommy. He chucked a can of beer at the blonde, and sat down where it was most technically clean. Tom followed like the obedient scared pup he had to be, and sat beside Wilbur, who was cracking open the drink to swallow the harsh liquid down his throat. His older brother was practically chugging the beverage like his life depended on it, gulping hard every other second as he finished off the can. He crushed it easily between his hands, and then reached out for the pack for another. Tom handed over his own drink, which Wilbur took greedily, and surprisingly, didn’t shame him for refusing the alcohol. 

He was drunk soon enough, and looked like he usually did. Shitfaced and miserable.

His hands wavered through the air wildly, as he began ranting, “Tommy, Toms, Tom-Tom, my little baby brother beloved. Why do you-” He burped, covering his mouth embarrassed, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tommy glanced downwards, unaware his face was so full of cringe and dismay.

“Talk to mee…” His words slurred.

The younger one shrugged, completely unsure what to say and why. It felt like a silent moment. Like there shouldn’t be words exchanged now. Like the stars and night sky could speak for him, peaceful and quiet and a little sad. 

The brunette pushed again, “What am I doing??”

Tom felt a surge of anger well through him, and he shouted, “You’re a monster!”

Wilbur stiffened, and fell eerily silent. He had shut up completely, besides the sound of his drink falling out of his hands. The liquid seeped across the cold floor, and Tom stood, pissed, before it could stain his clothes. Wilbur didn’t dare even let out a breath, too shocked from processing the words to care that the beer was soaking into his pants side.

“Am I?”

Tom softened, “...”

Sobs bubbled up in the brunette’s eyes, and he started to bawl like a newborn baby. He babbled and whined, “You told me- you said- I thought-”

The blonde looked away, holding his arms uncomfortably. 

“You said I was a good person! That you loved me! You love me!” Wilbur was flailing and crying like a bitch, ugly sobs and snot filling his dirty face. He sniffled loudly and more tears ran down his cheeks, “I’m trying my best to be a good brother!”

“You r- …” Tom couldn’t say the words out loud, “You’re hurting me.”

Wilbur refused to believe it, shaking his head as he choked on cries, “It takes two .”

The blonde’s breath hitched, and he felt stupid for saying anything.

“You come to me .”

Tom’s brain felt cloudy, memories flashing.

“You asked me first .”

He could throw up.

“I was helping you!”

At his shoes, suddenly Tom was kneeled over, empty grocery bag on the dirt floor in front of him lifted to his chin, so that chunks of half-digested food and stomach acid were projected into the crinkly material. Tom’s stomach churned as the acid rose and was thrown up into the bag. It was sickening, and the room filled with the stench of vomit. Tom wiped the vomit from the corner of his mouth, and yet, more bubbled up, discolored puke drooling down his chin. 

Wilbur stared onward, distant and hesitant look in his eyes. Tom just stumbled over and met his lips. His older brother roughly pressed back against his, licking away the vomit, gagging a little on his brother’s sickness. They made out, bodies shoved against one another.

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered before he sat on top of Wilbur’s lap. The brunette trailed his hands around Tom’s waist.

“Is this-” he hiccuped, “Is this okay?”

Tom nodded, begging, “Please, make me forget everything.”

Wilbur obliged, lifting Tom’s shirt and folding his hands to cup the blonde’s chest, playing gently with the pink buds while their lips danced together again. 

Then, Wilbur proceeded to ask each time he went further, so much to the point it got on Tom’s nerves. He asked when taking off Tom’s pants. He asked before feeling up Tom’s cunt. He asked before dropping Tom to his knees. He asked before sliding his cock into Tom’s pussy. He asked before kissing him again. He asked for everything - and Tom realized it was all his fault. The blonde had been lying to himself the whole time, about everything he’d been upset about. Wilbur really did love him, really did want him, really did care.

He had a few drinks.

A few too many.

He woke up at home.

He woke up alone.

FEB./19/XX

Do you ever realize you’re horribly wrong? That you fucked up so badly, that you’ve been lying about something so long? I fucked up really badly. I’m sorry Wilbur.

-Tom.

“I’ve got a fuckin’ hangover,” Tom groaned, “My head is throbbing.”

“Need me to kiss it better?” Ranboo teased cutely, poking at Tom’s side.

Tommy reacted horrified, flinching back like hell had just consumed him. 

Ranboo reached his hand back to himself and muttered a sorry.

Tubbo looked like they wanted to say something about it, but kept quiet. For Tom’s good.

Tom felt like a dumbass, and stopped talking to his friends again, focused on work again.

School went as school usually does. The teachers act like pricks and complain about Tom’s ever lowering grades, and the fact that he has so few friends. He used to be very friendly with people, he swore on it. But, something happened that ruined that for him. People were pricks. Teachers were pricks. His brother was… not actually a prick? He still wasn’t sure what to think about last night. Wilbur had acted like a brother should, caring and empathetic towards him. He’d cried like he meant how he loved Tommy. He’d been so polite when they were intimate. Maybe, just maybe, Tom truly was the villain of this story. His feelings were wrong. He was wrong.

How long had that wrongness lasted? Years, at this point?

How pathetic Tom was.

All because he pretended he was r…

It didn’t matter. It was time to bury the hatchet, bury the memories, bury all these latest discoveries and feelings and disasters. Go back to how it was when the world was kind. Go back to how Tom felt safe and happy and loved. Go back to…

To when he was a kid. A little kid, happy, wild, true.

He couldn’t help a little babble that left his lips. The otherwise silent classroom all turned and looked at him. Poor Tommys! He felt so silly! It was time to keep quiet, like papa would remind him. He shuffled in his seat, and ignored the eyes on his little self. He was a good kid, and would listen to the rules given, even if they felt unfair. Tommys wanted to bounce around, wanted to get up and play, or dance, or talk, or anything! It was just so exciting to be allowed to run around and have fun, and Tommys wanted to do it right now!

Ranboo’s hand came onto Tommys’ lap, and rubbed soft little circles into the fabric of his pants. Tommys glanced down and held the hand in his own two. He traced over the pretty, pretty fingernails, painted in purple and black swirls. It took a lot of self control not to lift the fingers to his mouth and nibble on them, and he shifted annoyed in his seat. He had to be a good little kid, and wouldn’t do that. It was bad for some reason. Nobody told him why, just that it was bad. 

Ranboo smiled and then, with his other hand, daintily took their phone out of their pocket, pointing to it on their lap to let Tommys know he’d be texting him.

RANBOO> FEB./19/XX. 10:58 AM.

R: Hey bud, doing okay?

T: babababab

R: :) Yeah?

T: babababbb

R: I’ll talk to you at lunch then?
T: ya

R: Love you <3

T: Luvs!

By the time lunch rolled around, Tommys was very impatient to eat, and was dragging Tubbo by the arm, desperate to go get food.

Ranboo had managed to catch up to them, and was waiting in the lunch line with the two. 

“Olivia and Sal want to say hi, if that’s okay, Tom?”

Tommys remembered that Ranboo was also a system, and stuck a thumb in his mouth, nodding softly. He was nervous to meet anyone that wasn’t Ranboo, but knew that Boo’s alters would probably like him. It was odd, a little bit. Earlier ago he had packed the system stuff back into its box and hoped it couldn’t break out. But, that was like Pandora's Box, and the chaos would remain floating about his mind wildly despite his protest. Ranboo certainly wasn’t going to cover it back up, and Tommys would never force them to. It just felt strange to accept this disorder. 

Tommys wasn’t even sure he was actually Tom right now, considering it.

The little was interrupted by the line moving, and Ranboo, in a slightly higher tone, speaking out, “Hello! I’m Sal.”

“Tommys…” He muttered through his thumb, sucking gently on it to feel comforted.

“Are you feeling small?” A nod, “How small?”

He thought about it for a moment, and then a hand came up, fingers dangling in the air as he put a few down, back up, then back down again, settling on the answer of four.

“Have you ever been this tiny before?” Sal’s voice was warm honey, coated in sugar and familiarity.

“Dunno,” The little one responded hesitantly, trying to sort through his memories.

“Do you think you’re Tom right now?”

Another question he didn’t know.

“Sorry I’m asking so much, love, would you like to just get food?” Sal guided the nodding little over to the counters, and they grabbed trays together. Tubbo helped pick out something healthy for the boy, and Sal spoke to the lunch person for him.

They all finally got to eat, explained Tom’s sys-uation to Tubbo, and just generally let Tommys exist fully as himself, playing with the broccoli as if they were little people, and babbling away to Sal, who was a caretaker. Olivia was with Sal, and would occasionally take turns so that she could play with Tommys, as she was also small like him! It ended up being a good day, despite everything. Despite all Tom’s struggle.

FEB./19/XX

I’M HOME!

I don’t remember most of the day, but I know it wasn’t shit. Lil’ Tubbo says we’ll hang out tomorrow, and so I’m looking forward to that. We explained that I’m a system too to him, and he wanted to meet some of my alters. I don’t know how to deal with all this still. It’s still a lot to handle and manage. Simply Plural has been helping. I guess. Keeps track of who’s who and what’s what.

-Tom.

Speaking of the app, Tom looked down at his phone, scrolling through the alters he knew existed. There was Time, the one who took over therapy, Clementine, the annoying one, some unnamed person, who scheduled their appointment-

The fucking appointment.

Tom checked the time.

It was just about now, and he panickedly rushed to the med app, signing into the appointment and filling out the beforehand questions so that he could get into the televisit.

He set his phone up with a container for his markers and sat back, sweat still coating his forehead as he tried to breathe out the anxiety.

It was okay! It had to be okay.

He coaxed himself into breathing straight, and long inhales entered his lungs as the screen changed, and the friendly face of his therapist sprung onto the phone. She looked to the side, presumably at her second monitor, and then checked back, meeting a nervous Tom’s expression. Sweat bundled around his brow as he muttered out his greetings.

“Hello!” Puffy was beaming as per usual. Tom wound up contemplating how long she had the act on, and how she managed to put up with people so long. It must be annoying dealing with people’s problems all day with a smile attached. That unfortunately included him.

“Uh. Surprise, we’re a system?” He figured getting the big stuff out first would be suitable. Worry about what he wanted to say… maybe next session. Though, Tom knew he’d push off Wilbur again and again, meanwhile the brunette would push on him again and again.

“I’m happy you found something out about yourselves,” she stated matter-of-factually. There was something in her tone that Tom looked into too hard. Something hidden.

It was an ‘I told you so’ look that Puffy buried under her locks of coiled white and rainbow, but Tom read her like a slightly blurry book. Like he needed glasses to read clearly, but could vaguely make the words out. If that made sense. Because Tom didn’t even need glasses.

She went on for the next few moments, asking questions about how Tom’s system worked, asking questions related to his symptoms, and then finally wrapping up the conversation with a pretty bow on top.

Tom felt the session drag on, as he recited the answers to the questions he knew by heart by now. ‘Yes I’m okay’, ‘no I won’t kill myself’, ‘no, I haven’t done anything to hurt myself’. It was the same old boring stuff he’s sat through hundreds of times. It was exhausting.

Then, came something that caught the blonde completely out in the open, “How’s your family?”

“What?” The teen’s eyes widened and his tone wavered.

“You hardly talk about them, and you seem like you’ve had enough talking about yourself this session,” She said politely, “So, how is your family doing?”

Tom choked on his words and felt tears bubble to the surface. Shit .

“Tom?”

“I’m fine,” He coughed out between shaky breaths. Why was this so hard right now ? “They’re okay. Mum is…”

The silence was deafening.

“Mum is…” Tom cleared his throat, having to wipe the forming tears, “She’s okay. Dad is okay. Tubbo’s great as usual.”

“And your other brother…” She looked through the notes, “Wilbur?”

Fuck, the floodgates were open now, and there wasn’t a way to build a dam strong enough to keep back the storm. It was going to be a disaster, as Tom started to bawl into his palms, crying out like a baby that needed his mommy. He cued into Puffy’s words eventually through the screaming of his own violent sobs, hearing glimpses of her hushing his worries. She was ushering him to breathe out with her. In, out, in out, breathing exercise he’d memorized. For some reason, it was hard to repeat now, when he really needed to use it. Lungs filled with dazed gasps, taking everything out of him to steady his mind on inhaling. He sputtered out into a coughing fit, and Puffy pleaded with him to take it slow. Focus carefully on the way it felt as air entered his body. He tried, really, honestly, and truly tried. Slowly, the oxygen circled about his lungs. He stopped the intake through his nose, then held the breath inside his body, noticing how full his chest felt. Then, with his cheeks wet and nose still snotty, he opened his mouth and let the carbon dioxide rush out in an airy stream. Repeating the process, his mind cleared of its stress and anxiety. From a 10, he cradled himself back down to a 8, then a 6, then 5. Now the big feelings were manageable.

“Is that better?” Puffy’s eyes lowered and a calm smile welcomed her face. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” Tom half-lied. He knew fully well what his feelings still were, even if he was wrong about it all.

“Is something happening?” She coated her voice with sorrow.

“ No ,” He was quick to respond. He wasn’t going to get in trouble, not now, not ever. He had been fooling himself the whole time, and had been a liar and a jerk to Wilbur. Must’ve been why he sobbed, for having been an idiot the whole time over his own weird affairs. Tom wasn’t going to dare have his and Wilbur’s unconventional relationship spilled over his upsets. Just because he was crazy.

Tom tried to play off the panic attack, as Puffy described it, the best he could, and the rest of the appointment transpired causally.

FEB./20/XX

Mornin’.

Just got up, and I’m getting ready to spend the day with Tubbo. Dad is dropping us off in town with some money, so we’re gonna buy tons of shit we don’t need! Yesterday’s appointment was annoying, and all of yesterday was really annoying to be honest. Oh, Tubbo’s at the door, BYE.

-Tom.

The knocking came swift and pounding, and Tom shoved the journal under his sketchbooks before checking the door. Tubbo’s little face beamed happily once he met Tom’s eyes. 

“Hey,” he greeted his little brother, “how’d the morning go, Tubs?”

Tubbo stretched and a yawn followed from his pale lips, “Tired. Ready though, don’t worry.”

“Hell yeah,” Tom was about to speak again but Tubbo cut him off.

“Dad already gave me the money!” His little brother showed off the cash, flaunting it between painted fingernails. 

“Great!” 

And they were off, dad driving the two of them out to town for the teen boys to go wild in the streets, jumping from store to store with loads of cash.

“Happy birthday, dork,” Tom gave Tubbo a hard poke in the side, and the younger one jumped out of his skin giggling.

“Tommy!” He shoved away at him.

Tubbo and Tom hopped out of the car, slamming the doors shut behind them.

Phil gave Tom a quick look, “‘Member, Tom, still gotta focus on school. Look after your brother though today, have fun, don’t buy useless junk,” as if they didn’t come here for useless junk, turning to Tubbo, Phil gave a yelp, “Happy birthday, kiddo! Bye!”

And the car skittered away, driving back on the road and then away into the distance. Tubbo and Tommy shot eyes at one another, evil grins on their cheeks.

They immediately were off, popping into shop after shop. They were attracted and lured around by the bright colors and lights, the smells of food cooking, and the sights of giant shapes and the sounds of applause and crowds. The town was bustling with energy in all corners, and the pair found themselves drawn to the idea of eating a full brunch. The duo walked together, and Tom kept feeling the pull to hold his little brother’s hand. He reached out, right as Tubbo darted away, and anxiety flooded his veins. He watched as Tubbo rushed away, finding a food truck in the mass of others similar to it, one that advertised its supposed delicious fries and burgers. Tom felt his heart sink at the distance from Tubbo, wanting nothing more than to close the space between them…

He had to shake the rest of the thought out of his mind.

Joining the boy’s side, Tom helped his little brother order two burgers and fries to share. It was Tubbo’s special day, he’d help with anything for his favorite brother. 

A few minutes later, the food was out of the truck and handed over to the duo, and they took their place on a less crowded sidewalk, sitting on the curb to eat. Piling the meal into their faces greedily, the boys ate messily and were done quite directly. It was only a few minutes before they were back up, walking around. Tubbo knew he wanted to shop for clothes, being that age and phase where he was looking for a closet redo. Tubbo, in Tom’s opinion, looked good in anything, but he too had that phase where all his old clothes had to go. It was more so related to his transition, but the point still stood.

Tubbo, surprisingly, was the one to grab hold of his older brother’s hand, dragging him along with quite the rush, to the nearest clothing store on that street. They had to take a pause at a green light, allowing the traffic to speed by before they went on their way. Tom looked down, noticing each individual crease, line, and mole in Tubbo’s skin. His little brother refused to let go, even though there was no need to hold him like this anymore. Tom’s heart couldn’t help but flutter, acting on his emotions rather than his intellect. It was like his brain was too stupid to realize that this was his fucking brother, who shouldn’t be the subject of his affections. The way they just stood there for minutes on end, fingers interlocks, palms clasped together; it felt so disgusting, and yet couldn’t be more right. Tom gulped, having a hard time mentally describing what about this was making his heart twist and burn. His cheeks flushed, realizing that he was having an issue in his jeans. His grasp in Tubbo’s hand gripped tighter. Tubbo looked back, and in an instant Tom was paralyzed. It was an expression of pure innocence. His younger brother looked backwards, dumb look in his eyes, before all of it lit up at Tom’s view. Bright smile burst into his cheeks. Slightly parted lips revealing teeth underneath, which were always so white and shiny. Eyes closed gently, eyelashes fluttered so perfectly. It was sickeningly sweet. Tom felt like dying.

The light shifted red, and the two were allowed to walk once more. Tubbo hummed softly as they, hand-in-hand, made their way to the store. The sign came into view, and Tubbo took a sharp turn, pushing open the door as his hand finally came undone with Tom’s. While the panic said it was because Tubbo knew , the reality was either the door needing his hand instead or the fact Tom’s palms were clammy and sweaty and gross. Anyway, it was disheartening to Tom and made his chest lighter all the same time.

The bell jingled loudly and Tubbo covered his ears frantically. 

Tom smiled, “It’s alright, Bo.”

Tubbo read his lips, and Tom felt too sensual with him doing so. The boy put his hands back to his sides, pulling a fidget toy out from his pocket and using it. It was one of those fidget cubes, where each side of the toy had a different texture and buttons or switches to click or press. 

Clicking joyfully, Tubbo pointed towards the boy’s section. 

“Let’s both find something nice!”

A sweet idea and sentiment, knowing Tubbo would spend his money on his older brother whom he loved dearly. 

A shameful type of disgust bubbled up in his chest again, reminded by his wet parts.

The boys traveled through isles, picking out shirts and pants that they found nice. Tubbo kept picking up different articles of clothes, only to squeak out unpleasantly, dropping them back down because the textures were awful. Tom helped with the younger brother’s decisions on different colors and sizes. Tubbo was in the ‘larger’ phase, wanting a size or two up from what he was. They had to find clothes that were XXL or so, Tubbo being already quite fat himself lowering his options to boring or uglier looking shirts. Pants were a whole other problem, Tubbo not liking the idea of pants already. When he was younger, Tom recalled fondly where he would walk around the house with only boxers, or a blanket tied around such. This train of thought didn’t help his problem.

They had eventually both picked out things and were ready to try them on, which was horrible for one reason.

Tubbo brought them both into the same dressing room.

“I want your opinion without everyone else’s eyes,” He explained.

“But, we’ll be naked in front of each other…” Tom reasoned.

“So?” Tubbo grinned naively.

Right, they were brothers. It’s not like nudity was uncommon. Nor was being nude this sacred, evil act that only lovers could do around one another. At least, Tom tried to have an opinion on the idea. He truly didn’t want nudity to be disgusting, but his clit was fuckin’ hard. That wasn’t something he wanted to explain away.

And yet, it might be something he’d have to do.

Tubbo was undressing.

His fat curves made Tom stare unwillingly. His back was precious, lots of chubbiness lining his body. Tubbo’s shirt was the first off, and then his pants, a bit slower. Tom felt nauseous, but couldn’t look away. Tubbo surely had to notice, having the mirror giving away the staring obviously. 

“Tom?”

Fuck.

“ Tom ?”

“Y-yes?”

“What’s wrong with you and Wilbur lately…?” Tubbo seemed afraid to ask. 

Of course his little brother would be worried. They were all family. It’s worrying when families start to fall apart. He’d asked profusely about mum and dad before, why would Wilbur be different?

He must’ve ignored or not noticed Tom’s… ‘problem’.

“I don’t know,” An answer that was pathetic and not good enough whatsoever.

Tom drug his attention away and started to strip his own clothes off. His shirt and pants were gently placed on the ledge besides his brother’s.

The two boys stood naked, staring at each other. Tom blushed. His clit throbbed at the attention of his brother. He could feel eyes on his small length.

“She was that pretty, huh?” Tubbo laughed heartily.

“H-huh!?” 

He pointed.

Tom vaguely recalled a woman shopping with them, and then dramatically gasped, “Y-yeah! She was gorgeous , haha, my bad,” Tom lied through his teeth like a motherfucker.

The rest of the day, they ran around finding and buying more fidgets, clothes, food, and anything else Tubbo got his hands on. Tom desperately pushed the awkward situation from earlier out of his head, and passed it off so well as him being the straightest man ever. Yep, he was so violently attracted to that woman and not his little baby brother. Yep.

“Sorry you didn’t meet any of my alters,” Tom remembered.

“Oh,” Tubbo gave a smile, “That’s okay. Another day?”

“Alright,” He sighed.

“Something wrong?”

Tom hummed, “Maybe.”

“What is it, Tom?”

It felt hard to speak, hard to function.

Like Tubbo was secretly aware of what was wrong.

Except… How could he know?

“It’s nothing.”

Dad was there to pick them back up after the day was rolling to a close.

They met at the agreed-upon spot, and piled into the back of the car. Their dad gave a bright grin in the mirror, thankful that the kids weren’t kidnapped or dead. He brought them back home with all the bags of useless stuff bought during the day. 

FEB./22/XX

How do?

Spent the school day with Ranboo. We snuck around to the bathrooms each class. They had weed . Crazy. I obviously didn’t do that because I am a good kid. They can do whatever they want though. Nearly told him. Didn’t go as planned. Cut myself off.

-Tom.

It was time to man up and focus on schoolwork. His grades, as his father knew, were slipping to the point of nearly failing in some areas. He used to be such a good kid, what happened?

“Tommy?” The door was opened in an instant, Wilbur fixed his glasses up his nose, “Hey, Toms.”

He hadn’t seen Wilbur in the past few days, the older one was out visiting Techno at college. 

“I missed you, bud,” he sat without permission right on the bed beside Tom. 

Just when he thought he’d be able to study quietly, of course his brother would barge in and assume control over everything again. Tom’s anger felt misdirected, maybe he was just upset at his own inability.

“I… missed you too,” Tom gave in.

“Want to spend some time together?” Wilbur looked on expectantly.

Surely Tom was allowed to say no. Surely after their heart-to-heart, which was more of Tom getting told off , he’d be allowed to deny ‘hanging out’.

“I don’t want to have sex,” Took his biggest courage possible.

Wilbur looked offended. It terrified him.

“ Tom , seriously?” Wilbur scoffed, “I know you’re obsessed with that stuff, but I actually wanted some brother time for once.”

Tom squirmed under the blanket, hiding.

“Oh, fuckin’ great. Treat me like the villain again. Like you always do. I won’t hit you, when have I ever hurt you?”

He stopped breathing.

“Get out from under there. Let me talk to you. Face to face.”

He started crying.

“You’re a fucking child.”

Clementine held bottled rage up in her system, screaming and begging to let it out. 

“ Fuckin’ talk to me. ”

Tom hushed her.

Then, Wilbur’s voice sweetened, “Toms, I’m- I’m sorry, that was rude of me. C’mere.”

The blanket was discarded, and Tom slowly and hesitantly peaked out, water filling his eyes, “...?”

Wilbur had his arms outstretched, and Tom kind of awkwardly shuffled over, doubling back to check the older one’s expression before he actually accepted the embrace.

Then suddenly, he was pushed over, and his entire mind blanked. He was above his body, watching from the ceiling.

Wilbur’s eyes darkened, and Tom and Clementine could see the fatal look in those dark pupils.

“Here, I’ll let you have what you want ,” His voice was hoarse and upsettingly loud. Tom’s first fear was that their parents were going to hear what was going on. Clementine only worried about the upcoming trauma she’d have to sort through with Tom, Moth, and Time.

It was a quick movement, in which Wilbur ripped the clothes off the body, tossing them effortlessly to the side, behind the bed. 

Tom and Clementine held hands, watching from a third person POV at the horrors unfolding.

“Since you practically gave yourself to me…” Wilbur’s voice rumbled in his chest. 

It wasn’t late enough. Somebody was gonna find out. Tubbo might walk in.

Boxers were pulled down with ease and dropped off the side of the bed with everything else. Wilbur laid fully clothed over the body, intimidating and strong.

The body felt weak and meak, cowering and cowardice. It was begging, crying, screaming, flailing. Wilbur’s arm shoved itself into the body’s mouth, cutting off the desperate squeals. He traveled kisses, peppering little smooches down the neck of the flesh. Kissing down until he reached their chest. Clementine screamed in shock as Wilbur took the nipples into his mouth. Tom felt dysphoria kick his ass, and otherwise, the same numbing sensation of ‘having done this before’ played out all the same. It was another rape. 

Tom felt like cheering, having finally admitted it to himself. Nobody was around, but Clementine, to hear it though. Nobody was around to listen to the poor needy boy. Nobody saved him.

Not a single soul stopped, nobody helped him, not even Wilbur acknowledged Tom’s mental processing of what was going on to him. It was just the same shit, just another second, another moment playing out all the same. Nobody would listen. Nobody cared.

Wilbur sucked delightfully on their buds, roughing up his fingers to the entrance of their vagina. He rubbed a middle finger over the clit and circled around it to the body’s pleasure. It sickened the duo to watch helplessly as the front was blocked from anyone. They could only dissociate while their body was tortured. Clementine tried to leave, but she was plastered there. Consciousness trapped so close to the front, but so far away that she couldn’t stop it .

Tom shrugged, “There’s nothing we could’ve ever done.”

She howled in tears, “ I need you to know ,” She paused, breathing heavily, “You are not wrong.”

Tom halted in his tracks.

“You are being raped .”

Tom couldn’t breathe again, but this time, there was no hiding.

“ I love you, I’m so sorry ,” Clementine broke down in a complete mess of sobs in front of Tom, falling apart at his feet.

Tom knew what was happening now. He was helpless to stop it too. How pathetic.

“You are not pathetic,” Clementine cried.

Wilbur continued to pleasure the body, three fingers deep into their vagina now. He pulled them all out with a wet plop, and tore off his lower clothes, readying his long cock up to their hole. Clementine and Tom both wanted to look away, but were forced to witness the terrifying image of their older brother’s dick tearing their cunt apart. It was nightmarish to see it play out. And they felt disgusting, they felt shame, they felt hopeless.

He continued to thrust in and out of their body like it was his to own and not theirs to belong to.

And then the worst possible thing happened.

Tubbo walked into the room without knocking.

Wilbur, to the pair’s shock and fear, chuckled low, and waved Tubbo over.

The boy proceeded to follow the elder’s lead, walking over and taking his spot beside the used body on the bed. Wilbur guided Tubbo into leaning down, and suckling away at the body’s breasts. 

“Good job, Tubbo,” Wilbur laughed evily, “Suck on those tits, so wonderful.”

Tubbo rubbed his thighs together, ass wiggling in the air with sheer happiness.

Could nobody see their tears? 

Were they even crying?

No, the body was enjoying this torture, it was giving into each touch, feeling lust overwhelm them into getting Wilbur’s way.

He was being raped by two of three brothers.

The body came to a climax, cumming hard at the teasing pace the two brothers were taking, and then they kept going. Making the body feel hot and overstimulated at the pressure. Wilbur kept on lazily slipping his cock in and out of them, moaning sickly at the abuse he knew he was giving.

The way Tubbo so easily obeyed could only mean that he had been treated and raised just like Tom was. Just like how Tom was abused, Tubbo was right beside him.

That either meant hell or heaven for Tom and the system.

Cumming hard again, the body was finally worn out, having had enough of the hurt and pain. 

That, however, didn’t stop Wilbur. Nothing would. He instructed Tubbo to keep suckling, and his cock continued to pound as deep as it could fit, breaking past hard limits the body knew it had. Even more so than that, Wilbur kept slapping the skin of their rear, causing harsh red handprints to form. The body must’ve started freaking out again, or maybe for the first time now, because Tubbo paused and looked around in stress.

“He likes it, promise, Bo,” A hand gentle and comforting through Tubbo’s fluffy mess of hair, “He’d say a safeword if he wanted us off.”

Tubbo understood the lie and nodded solemnly, “Sorry!”

And then the abuse just continued tenfold, unstopping and insane.

When the two people who were meant to love him finally finished, both lining their cocks up to shoot their load into the body’s mouth, they were finally done hurting them. Tubbo and Wilbur left the room at Wilbur’s request, saying something like Tom liked it like that. To come and go, to abandon them after using them up for nothing.

Lying and staring up at the paint strokes in the ceiling for hours, Tom finally grounded in time to fall asleep.

FEB./29/XX

It’s the last day of the month. And I am fuckin’ exhausted. 

-Tom.

He spent the entire day moping in bed, staying behind closed doors, ignoring his appointment for therapy. It was one more day until the next month, where everything would happen all over again. He was trapped in a loop, far from sanity or security. 

Tubbo and Wilbur kept interacting with him like everything was good and normal, and the older one even was upset when Tom gave him the cold shoulder. The words rang through his ears, how he was ‘selfish’ and a ‘prick’ for daring to treat his brother that way.

Tom picked a song from a random playlist, and played it over and over.

“I finally said what I needed to say, but there was nobody home to listen to me…”

The Scary Jokes’ “A Night at the Movies”.

It was so poetic, so sad. Tom interpreted it about a person suffering from the memories of an abuse, trying to find anything that will bring them joy again after who had ruined them, wondering what that person would even do now to them. 

They take the long way home, too afraid to see them passing by.

If the walls caved in, I wouldn’t even bother running.

It resonated so deeply within Tom’s soul, so perfectly capturing how he felt.

Tom choked through tears, singing the part, “ I finally said what I needed to say ,” he sniffed, “ But there was nobody home to listen to me .”

Today was a day like any other, mind the fact, Tom was a rape victim.