who? (Trans Wilbur)

fifteen | it's been a minute

warnings: arguing, blood

oops timeskip

more plot

__________________________________________________________

Technoblade had instantly disappeared once Phil arrived. Gone in a cloud of smoke, nobody mentioned it. They all understood why, and Wilbur was glad his brother helped him get out of the (literal) bloody mess he had been laying in.

Phil, too, had left after a few days, repeatedly telling Wilbur to call him if he ever thought of hurting or starving himself. He was hesitant to go, but he knew that Tommy and Technoblade alone in his house wasn't going to go well for very long. In fact, when he'd gotten home, he instantly had to clean up a broken vase and bandage Tommy's arm. He was getting gray hairs far too soon.

__________________________________________________________

Tommy was surprised to hear the door opening. He thought for sure Phil and Techno were staying out for another few days to help Wilbur, but he surely didn't mind it. If his brother needed help, he needed help, and that was that. Tommy would have gone himself if Phil didn't trust the fourteen-year-old child to help a practically dying Wilbur all on his own.

"Oh, hey, Techno," Tommy greeted, setting down the remote and standing to see the oldest of Phil's sons standing in the doorway, looking pretty lost. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Techno said dismissively, looking unfocusedly around the room. He kept rubbing his hand roughly across the chest of his shirt. "Gonna use the toilet."

Tommy watched as the roset trailed into the bathroom slowly, still glaring around the room paranoidly. After he shut himself inside, Tommy decided he would leave it be for a little while. He might've just been tired.

-

"Want something to eat, Blade?" Tommy asked, dual-fisting eggs. "I can scramble the unborn children of cocks for us."

"No, I think I'm okay," Techno replied, still seeming a bit confused. Less distant, but still acting strangely. His fingers picked at the long sleeves of his shirt, and he still didn't make eye contact with the younger. His gaze was often trained on empty walls, instead.

"I don't think you are," Tommy said, setting down the eggs. He approached Techno, walking directly into his line of sight, that being the only way that he would focus on the blond. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"What happened at Wil's?" Tommy insisted.

"Nothing happened," Techno said, starting to sound frustrated. Tommy didn't like when he was frustrated, so he let it go. Techno reclused back into his room for the rest of the day.

-

Techno had quickly sneaked out of his room for an apple, and planned to be back quickly, but a worried Tommy was no match. He'd been camped in the living area (which had to be passed through to reach the kitchen), waiting to catch Techno.

"You've been holed up in your shoddy little pig hole for a while," Tommy said without looking up from a rubik's cube he'd been using to entertain himself.

"I know."

"Not even gonna try to explain it?" Tommy leaned his head back to see Techno behind the couch.

"I'm tired."

"And why are you tired?"

"Because my sleep schedule is shitty," Techno replied, attempting to leave, but Tommy grabbed his sleeve with an iron tug.

"It's been shitty for ages, but you haven't been acting this weird since you came back from Wil's house," Tommy countered, staring daggers at the older.

"I'm fine," Techno grunted, pulling his wrist away from the gremlin, but instantly getting the back of his shirt snatched.

"You've always talked to me about your problems before, what's so different about this?" Tommy said stubbornly.

"I don't want to talk about it," Techno growled. "Let me go." He hit Tommy's hand off of his shirt, who instantly attached to his knotty braid instead.

"Not until you let me help you," Tommy snarled. "This is really bothering you! I want to help, let me help!"

"Stop!" Techno whirled around, knocking Tommy off of the couch and tumbling into the coffee table. An unmistakable crash sounded next to Tommy's ear, and the shards of the vase dug into his collar, shoulder blade, and arm.

Techno instantly dropped his hand to try and pull Tommy up, but the younger pushed his efforts away, tears running down his face. Some of the less deep shards fell out as he shifted, prompting blood to bloom into his white shirt. That was when Phil unlocked the front door and came inside.

"What happened?" Phil asked, dropping his keys and kneeling by his youngest.

"I-I tripped on the vase," Tommy said, halfway concealing his lie. He wiped the tears off his face with his non-hurt hand.

Phil gave a heavy breath. He'd been wrapping so many cuts recently, but at least these weren't self-inflicted. He grabbed his on-hand roll of bandages that he'd recently learned to keep on him at all times.

-

Now, here Tommy was, tattered backpack in tow, and a thin drizzle not helping much with keeping the items inside safe. He'd told Phil he wanted to take a break, maybe help Wilbur out while he could. He didn't really know why Phil had let him come this time but not last time, but he figured it had something to do with Phil's deepening concern for Wilbur's mental health combined with the need to help Techno. That, or maybe he'd dug up some long-lost trust in the youngest brother.

Tommy, like any good fourteen-year-old, was listening to sad music while walking in the rain. In fact, he was listening to the very music of the brother he was going to see. Even if the lyrics of Your Sister Was Right didn't really fit his scenario, lip-syncing the words brought him a sense of dark peace.

"Every time that I miss you, I feel the way you hurt." Every time something feels powerful to him, he laughs and chastises himself for being such a damn cringey little brother. He wipes a numb tear from his eye.

"Though, it feels like we were built from the same dirt." Another silent, hollow laugh, followed by palms pressed to his eyes. The music picked up in volume and speed, matching the tornado windspeeds of Tommy's angry mind.

"I'm a wanker, complete wanker, a fucking waste of time." Tommy smirked, then hit himself after that one. He pinched lines along his cheekbones as the song finished. He rolled his eyes when La Jolla's introduction came in.

"You know it takes a lot to move me, so if you figure it out, then tell me." Tommy made exaggerated synchronizations with the words. He paused until, "I'm lonely." He nearly snorted at that, but knew it was all too true.

"I could go away!" Tommy mouthed that one as if it were shouted. "I could pack my things and be gone before you wake!"

He took a brief pause, resetting his expression. "You know I've tried hard to love me, too. It always seems to fall in through." Tommy faced down the sidewalk, letting the rain-diluted tears fall onto the concrete. He pulled out his phone and aggressively stopped the music. He shoved it back into his pocket roughly, ducking his head and walking with an added adamancy.

Tommy threw open the apartment complex's door, ignoring the weird looks from strangers. It made sense, though; he was a soggy teenager with his hood covering his face and trailing earbuds to his front pocket. He looked disheveled and like he had been crying, now dragging his nasty shoes across the floor.

After climbing the stairs to Wilbur's floor and staring at the looming presence of the door, the peephole and apartment number somehow being very fucking terrifying, Tommy let out a long, low breath. He knocked twice, quickly, and stood back on his heels.

__________________________________________________________

1.3k words