Right Place, Right Time, Wrong Person

by Trooly

Summary:

The plan is simple. Within the next couple of hours, if everything goes right, Thomas Innit will fall off the side of the largest hotel in Essempee. No, not fall; he is going to jump off the edge, finally freeing himself from his lonely existence after fourteen long years of it.

Unfortunately for him, a few inconvenient encounters on the roof prove to him that dying might just be the hardest thing he's ever tried to accomplish.

Notes:

WARNING: This is a story about suicide attempts. Please, if talk of suicide or death triggers you in any way, do not read this fic.

With that out of the way, those who wish to read ahead, I hope you like my first fic on this site! MCYT has taken over my life and won't let go until the next hyper fixation comes along :)

Chapter 1: A fine night to end it all

   The plan is simple. Or at least it was, in theory. Tommy had it all mapped out, what path to take through the winding city streets, where to stop for his last meal, even what building will be the lucky one to grace the final moments of Tommy Danger-Kraken Innit. Not his actual name, but then again, his parents never did get around to naming him anything proper, neither did any of his previous so-called “families” deign to give him any sort of normal name. He picked his own name, and it was a damn good one, thank you very much. It will be a fun one for some random grave digger to etch into a slab of concrete. If he even gets a grave.

   Tommy takes a long, tired look at the room he was given in the group home one last time. It was filled with so many memories. He could see his former social worker, Puffy, bringing him back to this room for the first time after his parents’ death. Overdose is a nasty thing, especially bearing witness to it in the moment, and even more so as a six-year-old. The cold, musty house that had been his sanctuary for the beginning of his life never truly felt like home, and he supposes this didn’t really count as one either, though it is sadly close. If he squints, he can see the phantom image of his past self, all doe-eyed and scared of all the noise and newness of what was basically an apartment complex filled with children of varying ages. God only knows how the organization is still going strong. But what was once scary, over time became familiar in the disappointing way getting an F on a pop quiz is familiar. It’s surprising, each time a family deems him worthy enough to be let into their abode, yet each time without fail he is sent back to the crowded jungle of disappointed adult faces and knowing looks of the other foster kids stuck in the same boat as him.

   Tommy wrinkles his nose at his perfectly made bed and clean floor (well, as clean as a floor can be in a place this shitty), almost regretting how the cleanup of his existence will be so much easier for the workers here. Step one: leave as little a trace as possible. With a quiet scoff, he turns and crawls out the window of the fifth story, tiptoeing his way down the rickety iron stairwell on the side of the building. He winces with every creak and sway, certain his plan will go awry somehow (leave it to Tommy to mess everything up) till, finally, he’s back on solid and much more quiet ground. Well, he’s quiet at least. The hustle and bustle of a city this large tends to never stay quiet, no matter how much you wish it would. A grin stretches across Tommy’s face as he makes his way towards his final destination: BigInnit Hotel.

   Tommy can feel the beat of the city thrum in his veins as he casually strolls along the pavement like it was laid in the ground just for him to step on. A part of him is sad to be leaving this place after fourteen years of a miserable existence, but if he is being honest, he’s more so relieved to be leaving all that pain behind him before going into the next life. Or perhaps there is just nothing, a black void of calm with open space to be what he was always destined to be: alone. Soft neon lights beam down from various shop windows he passes, bouncing off his golden hair. Cars speed past him well over the limit, the wind of it lifting his slightly worn down red and white jumper he got from a foster brother three houses ago. It’s cotton and polyester soft in a bittersweet, comforting manner. It is the best bit of cloth he's got, and Tommy thinks he wouldn’t trade the comfort of it in his final hour for anything in the world. It’s all too much, too fast, too loud, too soft. It’s perfect.

   Through the smog and the smoke of the manhole covers, Tommy can pick up the sweet scent of chocolate and brown sugar drifting from a small shop just a few steps ahead of him. Right, step two, he thinks passively, get something good for your last meal. Preferably something sweet. And by God, did Niki’s baked goods sound like they would hit the spot. Off the side of Prime Avenue, just a few buildings down from the group home, he spots it; the quaint and tidy shop run by the sweetest woman Tommy has ever met still glowing with soft light from inside. Whenever he felt the craving for sweets, he would scrounge up enough cash (some of it may have been from Puffy’s wallet, and if Puffy knew, she never mentioned it) and buy a bag of fresh cookies from her. Now, Tommy isn’t stupid; hopping house to house will usually guarantee you never make a mistake. So, he is smart enough to know that whenever his back is turned, Niki bumps the price down for him. It isn’t something he asked for, and they won’t ever talk about it either. And if he conveniently turns to the rest of the store to make a scathing remark about the last customer’s haircut until he hears the beep! of the cash register behind him, neither of them notices.

   Tinkling bells chime his arrival to the vacant store as Niki looks up at him, smiling that soft smile she reserves for people close to her. He’s seen that smile before given to some of her regulars, and a tiny, traitorous part of him is begging him to give her a hug and march right back down to the group home just to spare her feelings. Tommy shakes his head, ridding himself of the thought immediately. Niki leans on the broom she’s holding, sweeping currently put on pause.

   “Ayup, Niki,” Tommy says, shooting her his best I’m-a-little-shit-but-you-love-me smile.

   “Hello, Tommy,” she sighs in her yeah-I’m-not-falling-for-it voice, “you know we closed five minutes ago.”

   He sighs with a fake forlornness. “Yes, I know, but I simply wanted a cookie. You wouldn’t deny a cookie from a poor little orphan boy, would you?” He pouts his bottom lip and widens his eyes in the saddest expression he can muster. “I’m doing the puppy eyes at you, Niki. You cannot resist them.”

   Niki’s face scrunches up and she lets out a snort of laughter. Setting the broom against the counter, she moves behind the register, adjusting cookies and brownies in their stands as she goes. “Well,” she says with laughter still in her voice, “as enchanting as the puppy eyes are, I’m afraid the registers are already counted down.”

   Tommy blinks owlishly at her. “Niki, the best and most poggest woman ever, I don’t know what the fuck that means.”

   “It means that I can’t accept money for the cookies, Tommy. I had a slow night, so the money is already put up in the safe.”

   A dejected noise slips from his mouth before he can stop himself. He was really betting on those cookies! It’s not like he can calmly explain himself to her: “Oh, but Niki, you don’t understand! These cookies are meant to be the last good thing I have in this world as I plan on killing myself tonight.” The cops being called would completely throw his whole plan out of whack. During his inward spiral, Niki’s smile falters at the noise and she really takes a closer look at the boy.

   His clothes are sparse for how cold it is at this time of night, especially in the big city where the wind whips cruelly through the alleyways. All he has is a threadbare jumper and some ripped-up khakis. His shoes have seen better days, a hole in the right shoe held together by duct tape just barely saving his toes. There are bags under his eyes, which admittedly is not too out of the ordinary for a teenager, but Niki has a gut feeling that he hasn’t had a good night’s rest in a long time. Three years of seeing this boy enter her shop, three years of getting to know him better, yet she feels like she barely knows him at all.

   “Perhaps,” she says calmly, “I can make an exception for my most loyal customer, just this once.”

   Tommy is jolted out of his thoughts and glances back up at her. There’s pity radiating from her gaze (it’s not concern, he tells himself it’s not), which burns his ego more than a lit cigarette to the back of his hand. Pity is something that Tommy has been given his whole life, yet never once has he asked for it. It’s something adults do when they finally understand his fucked-up circumstances, how much of a screw-up he is, how things could have ended up differently for him if the universe wasn’t such a cruel thing. His expression sours slightly, but he tries not to let it show too much. After all, if Niki is still offering the cookies, he’d be a dumbass if he didn’t take her up on that.

   “Thanks, Niki. Means a lot to me tonight, y’know?”

   He exits the little shop a bit more determined and clutching a paper bag of still hot, chocolate chunk cookies. The streets are still full of life around him as he firmly places one tattered shoe in front of the other. People shuffle past him, all wearing similar expressions of annoyance and mild panic as they rush to get to their destination. Fortunately for Tommy, his final destination isn’t very far, both in this world and the next. A few streets down, make a turn at the third streetlamp, hop over the ever-present puddle next to the drainage area of the pavement and suddenly, the big, shiny double doors are directly in front of him. The hotel glows with a bright light, highlighting Tommy’s pale skin with sick shades of red and white. BigInnit Hotel is truly a mastery of craftsmanship, a sight to behold with its towering height, red and black sleek color scheme, and glowing red sign on top. If Tommy were a rich man, he would remove the sign that so wrongly says “MANIFOLD” in bright red neon at the building’s apex and replace it with the name it so rightly deserved. No matter, better things to do, he thinks as he pushes on the revolving doors and is blasted with the warmth of the interior heaters. For all intents and purposes, this is my building for the next thirty minutes.

   The front desk is managed by a tall man with green hair and dark bags under his eyes. Tommy can spot the cup of espresso the man is nursing gingerly, as if his life depends on it. The man’s eyes lock onto him the second the doors close, eyeing him curiously and smiling way too warmly this late into the night.

   “Welcome to The Manifold Hotel! Are you looking for a room, or are your parents here and you need the room key?”

   It takes all of Tommy’s self-restraint to not outwardly flinch at the man’s statement. Of course, it’s only logical that he would look at Tommy, not yet old enough to be on his own, and assume he had parents here. But man, did that sting in a place he thought couldn’t get hurt anymore. He walks a bit closer to the desk, now glancing at the floor and noticing the wastebasket filled to the brim with old coffee cups. Well, that explains why he’s so fucking chipper. The man, who Tommy can now label as ”Mr. Nook” with the shiny metal nameplate facing him, follows his gaze and chortles at the mess next to him.

   “Ahhh, I meant to clean that up earlier! My apologies, but it takes quite a bit to keep me going this late! Been here all day, you see, and with all the stray cats hanging around, my work has been downright exhausting! Now, about your room?”

   “O-oh, no,” Tommy stammers and places a hand on the back of his neck, acting sheepishly and closer to his age than he has in a while, “I’m here for my big brother, y’see he works the janitorial staff here! Yeah, I just brought him a treat and I need to get up to the top floor. He likes to eat up on the roof this time of night, like a weirdo. Mum says it’ll kill him one of these days, hahaah…”

   The words feel bitter and thick as he pushes them past his lips. Talking about how he has a brother and a mother like he’s some sickeningly sweet little boy; it makes his heart beat faster and his stomach clench at the thought of his real mother’s gaunt face and lifeless eyes staring into the night sky. He never had the mother who made him breakfast in the mornings and kissed him on the cheek, nor the father who helped him with bullies in school or congratulated him on his first high marks. But this man didn’t need to know that; all he needed to do was smile and nod in agreement and let Tommy go on his merry way to hell.

   “Oh, Nathaniel never mentioned having a kid brother to me! Maybe he told Ponk, he is the more sociable one.”

   Tommy looks at him skeptically, sweating just the tiniest bit. “Then why isn’t he managing the front desk?”

   The man chortles at his statement with a bit of a smug look on his face. “Well, if Ponk could make sure riff-raff stays out of the hotel as well as I can, then I’d like to see him manage the desk from time to time! Unfortunately, not just anyone can man the Manifold Hotel. Gotta have a lot of stamina.”

   “And coffee, apparently.”

   “Well, yes, that… that too…,” he looks at Tommy warmly, only making the boy feel more and more anxious with every minute he isn’t making his way up to the roof. He spins in his chair and points to the grand elevator behind him. “You’re going to want to make your way up to the very top and then take the flight of stairs leading to the rooftop. Nathaniel should open the doors for you, just be sure to let him know that I will be lecturing him about hotel safety eating up on the roof this late at night.”

   “Y-yes sir, I’ll be sure to let him know,” Tommy says as he sags a bit in relief. His plan is still going through, just a couple of hitches here and there, but he was getting closer to being free. The elevator announces its arrival to the lobby and a rowdy couple push past him, ignoring the child they almost trampled over and laughing their way to the revolving doors. He hears the Nook guy tsk behind him, and he catches the man shaking his head and glaring at the settling doors.

   “Some people these days…sorry about that, kiddo.”

   “People are assholes,” Tommy finds himself saying truthfully, “not my problem. But thanks again for your help Mr. Nook. I’ll be on my way.”

   “You can call me Sam,” the man responds as Tommy steps into the biggest elevator he has ever been in.

   “Tommy,” he says quietly as the doors close, not sure if Sam heard him or not. The ride up is surprisingly short. There is not a lot of time for retrospection. Fine by him, honestly. Manifold hotel Big Innit hotel was a rather tall building, a very impressive one, but by God, they could have some better elevator music. The floors pass one by one till the doors open at the peak of its line. There’s barely any noise up there, all the sound muffled in the stairway to the top. As he gets closer to the top, a feeling deep in his gut surfaces, making him pause at how wrong this all feels. Like he shouldn’t be up here, like he shouldn’t be doing this. Tommy grits his teeth and swallows the mild panic rising in his chest. This feeling has followed him ever since his parents died, as if there was somewhere he was supposed to be that was just out of reach. It showed up at the weirdest of times, and now was the worst possible time to show up, in his opinion. Gut feelings be damned, this was happening tonight, no buts about it!

   The door that opens to the roof is locked, because of course it is. Whoever this Nathaniel guy is made sure he did his job, and he did it well. Luckily for Tommy, delinquent extraordinaire, lockpicking was a practiced strong soot of his after years of running and escaping from shitty homes. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his trusty toolset and gets to work. More luck for Tommy Innit as the lock clicks with just three taps of his lockpick! The gods must be smiling on him tonight. Perhaps they are eager to welcome him into the afterlife. Would be the first people to want him, after all.

   He pushes the door and leaves it slightly open. Why leave it open when he won’t be going back through it, he doesn’t really know. All Tommy knows right now is that the air is clearer up here than the smoggy streets below. He takes a deep breath through the nose and exhales out the mouth with a sense of purpose. This is what it’s come to, all this planning down to the letter, all this time thinking about ending everything and his time is finally up. Time to put on a show for an empty theatre; no one will be watching his grand exit, no one knows he’s here tonight. Tommy has been alone for the majority of his life, and he will be alone when it comes to an end. If he were someone who liked to read fancy books and poetry, he would say this is a bit poetic. But he isn’t. I’m not much of anything to be honest.

   A churning of his stomach makes his legs lock up and he clenches his shirt, hand trembling. The feeling is back with a vengeance, and it will not let up like it usually does. Tommy growls in anger and kicks the side of the bulkhead, leaving a small dent in the side. The door creaks with the force of the impact, almost closing but not quite, almost as if it was taunting him. The idea of turning tail and slinking back to the group home makes him want to stab something. How dare his brain and gut do this to him now, he shouldn’t even be thinking about this! He wipes a hand over his mouth and huffs at his nerves going haywire. I just need to eat the cookies and then I can jump. That’s all I need to do. No more thinking, no more second-guessing myself.

   Tommy leans against the right side of the bulkhead and slides down it until he sits fully on the cold concrete of the roof. He opens the bag of cookies and takes one into his hands. It’s still warm to the touch. What kind of magic does that woman infuse in her baked goods to stay warm long after they leave the shop? No use dwelling on that right now, he has a plan to put back on track. He lifts the cookie to his mouth, about to take a well-earned bite when he hears a steady pattern of footsteps running up the stairwell. He tosses the cookie back into the bag and scoots closer to the wall, hoping the shadows and the night hide him well enough. Fuck, what if that Sam Nook guy figured out Nathaniel the janitor wasn’t working tonight? He was thinking on the fly and that quick thinking fucked up his plans!

   The door bursts open and a tall, lanky figure rushes through. Tommy can hear rough panting and choked gasps coming from the tall bitch, but from his hiding spot, he can barely make out the man. It is a man, he thinks, with curly hair barely tucked into a burgundy beanie and round glasses reflecting the red light of the Manifold sign. His clothes are rushed and baggy, and even Tommy can tell from the shadows that he has some sort of large case strapped to his back. What is he doing up here? This is Tommy’s grand exit! His plan was foolproof, who does this bastard think he is? The man barely catches his breath before a sob wrenches from his throat, startling Tommy from his anger. It doesn’t sound pleasant, the noises he makes, it sounds terribly manic and despaired. The noises don’t seem to bother the man, however, as he shifts the case on his back and turns to look at the edge of the rooftop. What is he thinking about doing? He’s not seriously thinking-

   The man takes a few strides forward and steps onto the ledge, gripping the strap of what Tommy can now see is a guitar case tightly, wringing it with his hands. He adjusts his glasses and takes a deep breath in, not bothering to think things through, with no gut feeling to snap him out of it. Tommy grits his teeth as he hastily comes to a decision. Fuck, why me?! Why right now?! Without thinking of a plan, with no warning at all, Tommy steps out into the red light of the Manifold hotel sign and holds his hands out in a placating gesture.

   “Hey, you bitch! Don’t fucking do that!”

   The man whirls around, and Tommy’s stomach drops at how fast he moves, looking at him with wide eyes. There are tear streaks highlighting his cheekbones and bags under his eyes. It’s likely he hasn’t slept in a few days. Tommy takes a small step forward and keeps his arms open in a non-threatening manner. He’s had to do this with a couple of foster parents over the years, make himself seem like a smaller version of himself, less of a threat to them and their own kids. Not that it ever helped any. The man before him sways with the breeze flowing over the rooftops, an inch away from plummeting downwards. He blinks a few times, squinting his eyes down at Tommy.

   “What the fuck,” he hears the man croak confusedly.

   This was not how tonight was supposed to go.

Chapter 2: Here we stand with our backs to the heavens

Summary:

"Well, before you go, mind playing me a song?"

Tommy is being forced to talk an emo bitch out of doing the exact same thing he was going to. Hypocritical? Maybe. Selfish? For the wrong reasons.

Notes:

The song Wilbur sings in this chapter is called Love and War in Your Twenties by Jordy Searcy :)

   “Please, don’t do that,” Tommy hears himself saying. Now, if Tommy were a poet, he’d say this whole mess is looking to be pretty ironic, innit? There he was, about to throw himself off the rooftop of the biggest hotel in Essempee, and here he is trying to talk another guy out of doing the exact same thing. But Tommy is not a poet, and this night is not shaping up to be what he had hoped. The plan has completely gone off the rails at this point, and now he isn’t even sure what to do. How was he going to talk a random stranger out of jumping? If anything, Tommy has spent the past few weeks talking himself into ending things. So, going the opposite direction shouldn’t be too complicated…right?

   The man stares at him with wide, open eyes, almost as if he is pleading with Tommy to turn around and leave him be. His bottom lip quivers and he looks as if he has tears still threatening to spill behind his fogged-up glasses. A steady hand comes to wipe his eyes as he sniffs, still contemplating what Tommy said to him. Then, as the tense silence got unbearable enough that Tommy has half a mind to push the man off and jump on after him, he speaks with a hoarse voice.

   “Who the hell are you?”

   Tommy scoffs at his question. That’s really what you’re going to ask when you’re about to kill yourself? Not the most thoughtful thing, but definitely an original one, he’ll give him that. “Well, ‘s not important right now, is it? Especially if you’re just gonna off yourself, why should you know?”

   Wait. What the fuck am I doing, I’m meant to be nice to this guy, not sound like a dick! Tommy’s usual banter and snark comes off as annoying to most, if not all, people that he meets with very rare exceptions. Someone on the verge of jumping off a building will most definitely find that to be a bit rude and maybe just decide that ending it is better than talking to him of all people. Tommy looks up at the man and sighs in relief at the mostly surprised expression instead of seeing an angry or resigned one. His stomach flip flops, however, as beanie guy’s face falls again and he cranes his neck to look at the streets far below them, letting out a shaky sigh.

   “Why’re you here then,” beanie guy asks as he turns his head slightly to look at the boy, eyes squinting, “a kid like you shouldn’t be up here this late.”

   “AYE, I am not a kid, bitch! I am a man, a big man!”

   “Oh really, now,” beanie guy croaks sarcastically, voice still scratchy with unshed tears.

   “Yes,” Tommy states resolutely, nodding his head, “a man, that’s me, biggest man in this city! And I was up here…to uhhh…ummmm…s-stargaze? Yeah, stargaze, that’s it, here to look at all the stars. It’s a, um, beautiful night out, innit?”

   Beanie guy lets out a scoff, gripping his bag strap tighter and readjusting the case on his back, still teetering dangerously close to the edge. He takes a big, exaggerated look at the sky, almost mockingly, and then peers back down at Tommy, raising an eyebrow. “Ah yes, the stars are exceptionally bright out tonight. Oh! Oh no, wait, those are helicopters. Yeahhh, there’s no fucking stars in this city, not with all the light pollution. Or, well, pollution in general,” the man mutters the last bit of his sentence, Tommy straining to hear it.

   “Alright, there aren’t any stars, sue me,” Tommy grumbles, placing the hand not clutching Niki’s cookies in his jumper pocket. Of course, there are no stars in this city, the lights are really all you need. It fills the streets and air around you with pulsating colors and steady head beams at all hours of the day. Sometimes, those lights are all he has, when the world is too big, too loud for him, the lights make sure he is never in the dark. He’s been in the dark before, when he knew too little of the world and how it works. Light is something he doesn’t take for granted, even the pulsating red of the hotel sign illuminating the man’s face in front of him. The light follows him, even up here where all the noise and the hustle and bustle of the city fade. “I dunno. It’s quiet up here, at least. Let’s you think ‘n all.”

   As Tommy finishes speaking, the man drops both arms down to his sides, letting out a shaky sigh. “I don’t think…I want to think anymore,” he says, voice climbing a bit high as he lets the tears building up fall down his cheeks again.

   They are now both stuck at some form of unknowable impasse: both had plans to kill themselves tonight, and both thought the other was a tad rude to interrupt his plans. And yet Tommy, even no-good-for-this-world Tommy Innit, can feel his heart skip a beat as the man places a boot on the cliff’s edge of the building, sending bits of concrete tumbling down to the ground below. Beanie guy is shaky, his eyes darting from Tommy to the streets still rushing with cars. One strong wind would be enough to blow this guy clear off, shaking as he is like a wet cat. His hands fumble with the edges of his yellow sweater, catching Tommy’s notice. His brow furrows as he stares at the man’s hands, then to the case on his back, then to the hands. Tommy has to do something, something to make him pause, to make the man take a step back and, preferably, get down.

   “…Your hands aren’t shaking.”

   He almost let out a noise of relief as the man does a double-take, placing the foot he was teetering on the edge with back down to the stable floor of the roof, and turning back to the boy with a more than confused expression. “…What?”

   Tommy shifts from foot to foot, hands coming out of their pockets to wave about as if he were some sort of professor, giving a lecture to one of his students, as he speaks. “Your hands, they’re still. The rest of you is shaking like a fucking leaf, scared shitless- “

   “Oi!”

   “-but your hands are perfectly calm.” Tommy looks pointedly at the case strapped to the man’s back and gestures to it with a wave of his hand. “You play?”

   “Yeah, u-um,” the man stutters, placing both feet on the rooftop now much to Tommy’s relief, “I play guitar.”

   “Well, before you go, mind playing me a song? Just, come away from there and play me something, anything.” Tommy can almost fall limp with happiness as the man swings the case around to his front and starts slowly making his way towards him. He listened to him! Now all he has to do is convince the man to go home and then Tommy can do what he needs to do. Beanie guy stands in front of him now, and if Tommy thought the bitch was tall before, now he stands a good 5 inches or so above him. The man smells like smoke and paper, an odd combination to Tommy, but underneath that he believes he can smell cinnamon and sugar like Niki’s snickerdoodles with the added scent of coffee. It’s a comforting smell to be sure, but the man shifts on his feet and stares at Tommy awkwardly, the situation at hand now at the forefront of his mind. No time to be thinking about smells, or about how those smells made the bad feeling in his gut evaporate, there is a sad man that needs to be sent home.

   “I haven’t played an actual song in a year or so. Can’t really call myself a musician, huh?”

   Tommy scoffs at his statement and slides down against the bulkhead, taking a seat on the cold concrete to stare at the man. “Fuck that. You have a guitar. You’ve played before. You’re a fucking musician. Play something.”

   Beanie guy huffs a small, genuine laugh at Tommy’s incredible vocabulary choices while taking a seat next to him. He crosses his legs and lifts the case into his lap, opening the latches and gingerly taking out a well-worn acoustic guitar. The guitar almost looks like her owner, sad and slightly disheveled, but genuine in its own skin. It looks almost red with its dull brown wood, almost matching the man’s beanie, and it has a few personal etchings on her side. On the right side, almost to the point where Tommy can barely see it, looks like sharpie drawings of a heart and a crown. Tuning the pegs, the man hums an unknown melody, the tune more than a bit sad and melancholic. Suddenly, his expression turns sour, and he shakes his head, the humming coming to a stop. “So, what did you want to hear?”

   “Doesn’t matter, really. Anything you want, big man, the stage is yours.”

   The man smiles, grips the neck and places his fingers in a precise pattern on the frets, starting to pluck out a melody. The air around the two seems to change as a surprisingly upbeat tune echoes over the rooftop, wrapping them both up in its melody. Tommy watches as he repeats the tune a few times and then drops his jaw as the man begins to sing along.

   “Your twenties are for spending hours and hours pretending, we have plans and we have places we should visit. But everybody knows your twenties are for wasting time. Cause you could be with anyone you wanted, you could take that job they offered and move down by the ocean, but I love the way your hand feels when it’s under mine…”

   The man’s voice is beautiful, Tommy decides. It cracks a bit at the start, the tears made sure of that earlier, but as he goes there’s a certain grace in the way he holds his instrument. As the words pour out of his mouth in a masterful symphony, Tommy can’t help but close his mouth and stare at the night sky above them, letting the man’s voice carry him far, far away from this rooftop. He thinks, if he squints, he can even see a star. Perhaps it’s just the music talking, but the more beanie guy plays, the more Tommy wants to climb back down with him and go back home. He blinks rapidly, turning from the sky to the man, furious with himself for thinking that. He has no home to go back to; it is a simple fact that he cannot change no matter how much he used to wish he could. There’s nothing for him here, not in this lifetime.

   And yet, as the man finishes strumming, his voice closing around those last few notes, Tommy finds himself yearning.

   The man sighs and shifts his guitar again so it is just lying in his lap, his eyes closed and a sad smile gracing his lips. He lets out a chuckle while he readjusts his beanie, turning his gaze to Tommy. “Didn’t know I still had something in me. That was…nice.”

   “Aw hell yeah, it was,” Tommy answers enthusiastically, “you sounded amazing! I knew you were a musician!”

   “Heh, yeah well don’t get used to it. I’m pretty much all washed up at this point,” beanie guy says ruefully. He stares at his guitar and plucks on a few strings, fingers at the same frets he fiddled with before he started singing, a grimace on his face at the melody he creates. Tommy can’t understand why he looks like that, the notes sound great together, if a bit unfinished. It seems like a sore spot for the man, but Tommy Innit wasn’t known for his tact and grace and the question slips before he can stop himself.

   “That song, the one you’re playing, it sounds like the humming you did earlier.” Beanie guy’s face scrunched up as he faced Tommy. “Can you play that one?”

   “You got your one song. Leave it at that. Besides,” he says angrily, “can’t even bloody play it, it’s not finished.”

   “You wrote it? It sounds pog, big man.”

   He scoffs. “It’s shit. I know it is. Everyone knows it is. Can’t even finish this one song, and now everyone I know is eventually going to figure out what a failure I am!”

   It seems as if Tommy has unintentionally set the man off on some sort of maddened rant as he stands up suddenly, the guitar almost hitting the ground if not for Tommy grabbing it at the last second. The man paces in front of him, breathes coming in quickly as he grips his arms feverishly. Now, it is one thing to talk a man out of jumping, and an entirely different thing to calm a man down from a pseudo panic attack. Tommy knows what that looks like, hell, he’s had far too many for his short lifespan. He leans the guitar against the bulkhead and holds his hands in front of him again, hoping to get the man’s attention. “Hey, man, it’s okay, you don’t have to sing it for me. Let’s just calm down first and we can talk about it— “

   “I can’t fucking finish the song,” he yells at Tommy, angry tears hot across his cheeks, “I’m supposed to know what I want to do with my life and I fucking don’t! All my friends know what they want to do in the future, so why don’t I?! They see me as this cool, smart, collected guy who’s got aaaall his shit together an-and who plays music. He’s gonna be a musician! Have his own band! Hell, I don’t even know what to go to college for! I don’t-I don’t know who I am anymore!”

   His breathing is still quick and ragged, but he’s stopped moving. His eyes are locked onto Tommy now, all red and water-logged behind round glasses still reflecting the red neon lights. He paints the perfect picture of the tragic poet. Tommy takes a deep breath in and lets it out. The man tracks the movement, his own chest mimicking Tommy’s own. He continues to take exaggerated breaths. The man follows his lead. He wipes his ruddy cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater, sniffing wetly. Tommy is almost surprised at how quick he was to follow his breathing. The man must have had practice. It’s sad to think about how much he relates to that peculiar habit.

   “Well…you’re you, aren’t you,” Tommy says to him once they’ve both calmed down a bit, “under all the music and, what I’m guessing is a shit ton of expectations you placed on yourself, you’re just beanie guy.”

   The man pauses. He looks at Tommy, then at the guitar leaning against the small shed-like building. He smiles a bit, wiping his glasses on his sweater and sighing. “Wilbur.”

   “Huh?”

   “My name is Wilbur.”

   Tommy grins at him. “Nice to meet you then, Wilbitch.”

   “Hey!” The man, Wilbur, laughs at him, grinning himself as he slides back down to the ground and sits next to Tommy again. “You can’t call me a bitch, gremlin!”

   “I call everyone a bitch! You aren’t an exception! Buuut, I don’t share my very special cookies with just anybody.” At that, he digs back into his jumper pocket and fishes out Niki’s cookie bag, still surprisingly warm. It could be his body heat…or she really is a witch that set up shop in the city. A bit of an unconventional place for a witch to set up shop if you ask him. Shouldn’t they be located in small towns or a cottage in the woods? Then again, a remote location wouldn’t be terribly good for business.

   Wilbur’s eyes widen at the bag that was pulled out, sniffing a bit as Tommy opens the bag to catch the scent of chocolatey goodness. Tommy pulls two of the cookies out and holds one out to him, grin a bit wider than it was before. The prospect of finally digging into Niki’s cookies had brightened his mood considerably. Wilbur takes it from him gingerly and bites into the still soft cookie, humming at the taste and the warmth that seems to spread throughout his body. He looks back at Tommy, wanting to ask him if he bought the cookies where he thought he did, but what he sees gives him a lot to think about. That’s when he really takes in his appearance ever since coming to this hotel roof, and to Wilbur, it seems as if Tommy has had a rough go of it. He’s skinny, far too skinny. The boy (because he is a boy, barely looks old enough to be out and about this late) is shivering in his jumper. His hands are clutching the bag of cookies from the bottom as if hoping the warmth will leech into him. Tommy’s eyes close as he bites into the cookie, lips quirking into a smile. He needs to be warmer, Wilbur thinks with a frown. Slowly, so he doesn’t let the boy know, he reaches up to grab the beanie from his head.

   Tommy can feel something warm and soft being pulled onto his head and around his ears, startling him out of his thoughts of witches and chocolate cookies. He whirls onto Wilbur, the bastard still eating his cookie and gazing up at the sky, completely beanie-less. He feels the material between his fingers, still warm from being on Wilbur’s head. He glares at him. “I don’t need your pity, asshole. Take your beanie back.”

   “It’s payment for the cookies,” Wilbur responds almost immediately. His tone leaves no room for argument, much to Tommy’s dismay. “Speaking of cookies, where did you get these?”

   “Niki’s bakery. She’s the poggest woman alive, let me have ‘em for free since I’m her favorite.”

   Wilbur laughs and stares at the cookie bag fondly. “I thought that logo looked familiar. Niki and I have been friends since middle school, and she’s always wanted to be a baker ever since we met. I’m glad she’s following her passion and succeeding, especially while still balancing senior year.”

   “Senior year?!” Tommy almost drops his chocolate chunk, more than a bit shocked at what Wilbur said. “She’s only eighteen? What the fuck, I thought she was, like, twenty-one!”

   Wilbur smiles wide, teeth glinting in the red lights of the roof. “Yeah! She got a bit of a head start since her parents paid for the shop. They’ve always been super supportive of her and her work. My dad is the same, both with me and my brother. He’s gonna be a teacher or an author, one of the two. He’s…uh, yeah he’s pretty brilliant.”

   Tommy can hear the self-doubt creeping back into Wilbur’s voice. Not again. He can’t stop Wilbur again, he’s too drained for that. The warmth of the cookies and beanie, from Wilbur’s easy voice and pretty music, from the adrenaline of everything leading up to this point—it’s all made him soft and sentimental. So, screw it. Screw him if he wants Wilbur to finish his music, screw him if he wants this guy alive to make more pretty songs. “How old even are you, by the way, thinking the way you are about the future and shit?”

   “Uh, I’m eighteen too.”

   Alright, that’s it. Tommy cannot let this go on. “What the fuck?!”

   “What? What’s wrong?”

   “You have time to figure shit out, bitch! I mean, if you had just jumped when you got here, you wouldn’t but— “Tommy pauses and lets out a sigh, leaning his weight on Wilbur, startling the poor man. “You’ve got time. Take a gap year after you graduate or something. Hell, take two! Use the time to work on whatever you want. You can finish that song in all that time, or you can move out and hit the road, making your own decisions, your own path in the world. Man…if I had that kind of freedom, I’d leave this city and start a farm.”

   Wilbur looks deep in thought, contemplating what Tommy is saying before bursting out laughing in a high pitch voice. “Wahait, wait, hahaha! A farm? Really? You, start a farm?”

   “Yeahhhh, I’m getting a cow and I’m naming him Henry. Henry the cow.”

   “Henry the cow,” he repeats, “that’s a strong name.”

   Tommy looks at Wilbur, looks at his hair as the wind makes the brown curls dance around his forehead. He pulls the red beanie down over his ears more, face heating up and feeling warmer than he had in years. The feeling in his gut is completely gone, the unpleasantness of the evening’s schedule forgotten and replaced with chocolate chunk cookies and pretty strums of a guitar. All his planning down the drain in one spectacular moment, and isn’t it just like the universe to place Wilbur here tonight on this specific building? Sure, he hadn’t meant to ruin Tommy’s plans, and he couldn’t get mad at Wilbur for that. He was mad at the universe, mad at himself deep down underneath the pleasantness of the cookies and gentle guitar playing. I can’t just do one thing right, can I? Can’t even off myself when I plan it out.

   He sighs and shifts his gaze upwards again. There are still no stars to be seen, Wilbur even said so, but he still finds himself searching for that one sparkle through the smog. “Tommy.”

   Wilbur jolts slightly, looking back to Tommy and seeing him stare up at the sky. “I’m sorry?”

   “My name,” he murmurs, “it’s Tommy.”

   Wilbur smiles, a soft one that hadn’t graced his features in years. “I’m glad I met you up here, Tommy.”

   Tommy lets out a small huff of quiet laughter, a sad smirk sent back to the heavens that Wilbur can’t quite catch. “Glad to have met you, Wilbur. Now, kindly get your ass off my hotel.”

   He groans good-naturedly, placing his guitar gently inside the case and latching it closed. “It’s clearly the Manifold Hotel, child.”

   “Shut the fuck up, you musical theatre hobo, it is now the Big Innit Hotel and you will refer to it as such.”

   “Whatever you say, Tommy,” he hums as he stands up, swinging his case around till it is firmly against his back once again, strap and cookie alike clutched in one hand. The other finds its way to Tommy’s head and presses down on the beanie, covering his eyes. Tommy splutters a string of unidentifiable curses, hands pushing the beanie’s rim from his forehead to glare back at Wilbur. “Maybe I’ll see you at Niki’s sometime.”

   Tommy puts his last cookie back into the baggie and locks eyes with Wilbur, trying to connect with him one last time before he goes away. For all Tommy knows, this could be the last night Wilbur would be in his life. He is not about to let him get away so easily with what he was trying to pull. Granted, Tommy was trying to pull the exact same thing, but no one was around long enough to care if he killed himself; no one ever was, and he would put up a lot of money to bet that no one ever would be. Wilbur isn’t like that. He has friends, probably more than just Niki. For god’s sake, the man has a family to go back to, a family that probably loves him and would be devastated to find out about tonight’s almost incident.

   “I want you to tell her what happened.”

   Wilbur’s hand that was reaching for the doorknob stills. His eyes waver from Tommy’s to the ground, shifting their gaze every so often. “About tonight? You want me to tell Niki that I…” Wilbur takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly through puckered lips.

   “If not her then somebody. Anybody that you’re close to, anybody you can trust with that kind of info. You have to. Tell your parents, maybe, but get somebody to help you through this shit, man.”

   “Not my dad,” Wilbur immediately splutters, eyes locking back onto Tommy’s. The outburst was unexpected, but not surprising. No one really wants their parents to know they almost jumped off a roof. That’s a one-way ticket to hospitalization.

   “Your brother, then,” Tommy says firmly. There is something final in his tone, something that he knows Wilbur can sense means this is not up for debate. “The way you talked about him sounds like you two are kinda close. Tell him, at least. As soon as you get home and not a minute later. Even I know you need a support system, and it sounds to me like you fucking forgot you had one.”

   Wilbur sighs as he opens the door, smiling at the beanie still atop Tommy’s head. “Yeah, I think I did,” he whispers sadly, “thank you, Tommy. Get home safe.”

   Tommy flinches at the statement but just barely manages to school his features as a small smile finds its way to his face. “Goodbye, Wilbur.”

   The roof is quiet once Wilbur leaves. The music that graced the air with light and pleasant warmth went with the man who brought it. Coldness starts to seep into his bones, even with the addition of Wilbur’s beanie to his arsenal against the coming fall weather. Or perhaps it was the unpleasantness from before that makes a reappearance now with its terrible icy claws wrapping around his ribcage, the gut feeling telling him to go back home. But where is home?

   He doesn’t know. And he doesn’t know if he ever will. Tonight, the roof was supposed to fix that dilemma for him; the universe at least owed him that much.

   The walk back to the group home is even worse than the roof. The sounds of the city, still alive and vibrant, are now a backdrop to his growing sense of failure. The smells are now too much for him to handle, the lights harsh against his eyes. He can feel more than understand the tears streaming down his cheeks. The wind kisses them away. A window opens silently, a teenager climbs through it, and the window is closed again. That shouldn’t have happened more than once tonight, but here Tommy is. And here, in this sad semblance of a room, is where he will stay.

Notes:

Currently working on chapter 3! I have all the dialogue for it in a notebook I take to work. So glad my coworkers mind their own business, or else I would probably have to have a long and serious discussion about my mental health with my bosses.
Thanks for all the kudos and comments last chapter!

Chapter 3: Our hands grasping for each other in tandem

Summary:

"Help him" Those words echo in Tommy's mind as the elevator music forces him to listen to his own thoughts. Help who, he doesn't know. But he knows one thing: if there is someone on that roof with him tonight, there will be hell to pay.

 

Tommy is forced to help another off the side of the roof, but things are a bit different this time as some aspects of this guy's life coincide with Tommy's own.

   It takes Tommy a whole week to go back to the hotel roof. When he climbed back in through the window and saw the clean room he thought he would never have to see again, the feeling in his gut eased slightly, almost pleased at the familiarity of his predicament. His mind, however, was anything but. Disappointment flooded his senses and forced his body to the carefully made bed. The covers were rough on top and even worse on the inside, but he dutifully crawled his way under them anyways. It would cause suspicion if someone were to wake him up and see him on top of his covers completely clothed with shoes on. His cover would not be blown that easily. Not that there was much point; he had failed. The social workers and caretakers when they saw him the next morning hadn’t the slightest idea what occurred the night before. The other kids ignored him, albeit with a few exceptions as there were newer kids added to the home recently; those kids didn’t know Tommy well enough to know not to talk to him. After all, he was still a problem child according to the adults of the place. Tommy knew better than to acknowledge their half-hearted hellos. He just needed to shut down again and make his way back to the roof.

   His new caseworker (Puffy had left him about two years ago, starting to care about her own family rather than help Tommy find his. He doesn’t blame her, he loves her too much.) well, he had his suspicions about the clean room he found him in the next morning. After Tommy gave his fake excuse of “needing a distraction”, the suspicion passed into odd happiness of sorts. Richard, though Tommy just calls him Dick when the need arises (which is always), is always so glibly cheerful whenever he talks to him about any new foster family possibilities that come his way. It irks him to no end, every time someone decides to take pity on the poor little foster boy. Oh, woe is he! A child that never felt a parent’s love and affection to parade around in public for good karma and brownie points! Or whatever the fuck people believe in. Dick seems to think that Tommy will eventually find a good home to live the rest of his teenage years in, and that translated into the spiel he gave Tommy the day after his attempted game over sequence.

   “Thomas! Good morning, buddy,” he heard Dick shout over the mob of children careening down the stairwell towards breakfast. Tommy groaned at the use of his first name in full.

   “Pleeease, just call me Tommy. It’s so fucking irritating, man.”

   “Heh, still using ‘big man’ words, I see!” Dick held up his hands in the quotes gesture, looking absolutely ridiculous as he tries to pin the files he was holding under his armpit. “Irritating is a good one, though! It feels like you’re maturing day by day, Thomas.”

  Tommy squinted at him through sleep-deprived eyes at the sound of his name again. “Whatever, Dick, what did you need to tell me? You wouldn’t purposefully seek me out without some kind of news, so spill you fuck.”

   Dick winced at the nickname and kept his grimaced expression for a bit longer than normal until he did his usual complete 180° and smiled widely at him. “Hahaha! You better keep that spunk in you for this news, buddy, because it is a doozy! And, again, I’ve told you my name is Richard, and you seem to keep forgetting.”

   The thing Tommy hates the most about Dick is how little experience he’s had with older children in the system, kids like him. Kids who have just about given up hope of ever receiving the love of another unconditionally. That kind of love…it’s just not in the cards for him. The universe has dealt him a bad hand from the get-go and with every royal flush of failure comes the ever-looming acceptance of it all. Tommy is just about done fighting fate. He’s stopped fighting about six houses ago.

   “I didn’t forget, ‘s a nickname, innit? So, Dick, what are the plans then? A new house, is that it? Are they up to your standards this time? Or are we gonna have a repeat of the last placement?”

    That time, Dick actually flinched at the harshness of Tommy’s tone. “Now, Tommy, you know I had no idea they would- “

   “Yeah, save it,” Tommy mumbled, glaring at the floor. He took a deep breath and sighed. “How many kids this time?”

   Dick looked at him expectantly, a small smile starting to form again on his face. “Well, there are three other kids in the house, all biological. You’re lucky, you won’t be an only child then! There’s plenty of time to get to know each of them, and they all were rather friendly when they talked to me about the process. Said they couldn’t wait to get their hands on you! Y’know, if you just gave it a chance, I’m sure you…”

   Tommy tuned him out after that. He had given his chances to each and every family that passed him by, that cast him aside as their first kids took priority; the ones that offered promises of love and attention were usually the ones who gave up the quickest. It’s not like he’s bitter or anything, of course not. He used to be a long time ago when he was much younger than he is now. Those feelings were so big, too big to be trapped in his ten-year-old body. So, he let it out the only way a child knew how; in ways that adults would frown upon and scold him for at best and beat him for at worst. Tommy knows better now, though, and those feelings have finally transitioned into the aching acceptance he’s come to know and love. He had no doubt that this family would only prove him right: at the end of the day, he will remain alone just as the universe wanted.

   It is that thought that follows him out the window a week later. Dick wants him to meet the foster wannabees in a week or so and, if all goes according to Dick’s little plan, Tommy will move in after a month of preliminary checks due to the last house’s…circumstances. So, with his mind made up once again, Tommy loses himself in the sounds of the city. There are bongos being played on the street corner, rhythmically pounding along to the musician’s rough singing voice. He sways to the beat as he passes, about to high-five the one drumming until his partner strums delicately on a guitar in accompaniment. He stills for a second, jolting out of his groove to listen to the music. Thoughts of Wilbur creep in between the notes and stay in his mind. Is he okay? I wonder if he kept his promise and told his brother.

   The nights have been getting colder, he can tell. The wind bites at his hands and face still exposed to the night air. It seeps in through the holes in his jeans and makes his whole body shiver. He can see Wilbur up on the edge of the roof, shivering in the night air. Maybe it was the adrenaline that comes with the contemplation and action of death that made him shiver, yet his hands remained steady. Steady and calm as he strummed the guitar, those hands that placed a red beanie upon his head—warm and sure and…Stop thinking about it, he thinks as he shoves his numb hands into his jumper. He needs to be like his hands. Numb to the cold. Numb to the encroaching loneliness of the night as he makes his way to the hotel for attempt number two. Numb to that terrifying, false feeling of hope trying to pry loneliness’ cold grip away from his heart. Tommy scowls and pulls Wilbur’s beanie further over his ears and eyebrows. Warm.

   Niki’s bakery is still open by the time he gets there. The lights are dimming when he peers in through the windows and he can see the woman gently stacking cups from the last few patrons of the night on the counter behind her. Even from here, Tommy can sense something is wrong with her. She isn’t moving as gracefully, even almost dropping one of the cups before miraculously saving it last second. Her shoulders are both tense and slack, a continuous shift between the two states. Tommy almost doesn’t want to bother her like this. He would hate to be a burden for her on his last day. But he still has the money for his last meal in his pocket, and she is the only person he wants to see right now. So, with a deep breath and a push of the door, the bell chimes his entrance to the shop.

   Niki pauses her cup stacking to look at the door, a somewhat distracted look on her face. She looks back at her cups for a split second, a casual greeting on her lips, when she does a double-take and gasps at Tommy with wide eyes. “Tommy!”

   Tommy takes a few steps back towards the door at her reaction. It was…not what he was expecting, that’s for sure. He expected maybe a story about her terrible day at the shop with the asshole customer that always orders a bagel when she has told the man multiple times that she doesn’t sell bagels. That man needs to be on some sort of ban from the bakery and Tommy has half a mind to tell Niki this. “Um, hey Niki. Dunno why you said my name like that, but I just wanted to- OOMPH!”

   Niki is latched onto him tight; her arms are wrapped around him as far as they can go given how much smaller she is, and even then, she can just about reach her wrists on each side given how skinny Tommy’s become. He hasn’t been eating well the last couple of months, and that’s evident now. He can hear her uneven breathing interspersed with sniffles as she buries her head into his shoulder. Oh God, he thinks in a panic, she’s crying, isn’t she? What do I do? As slowly as he can, Tommy wraps his arms around her to complete the hug she started in desperation. The physical touch was sending alarm bells ringing through his brain, but he endures it for her at least. Besides, when was the last time someone hugged him? He can’t quite recall. The phantom warmth of Wilbur’s hand on his head still lingers. They stay like that for a few minutes, the clock on the wall chiming the hour somehow snapping Niki out of it as she lets go. She still holds onto his forearms, however, and she stares up at him with teary eyes and a wobbly smile.

   “Tommy, I…I just don’t know what to say. Thank you! Thank you, thank you so much! You have no idea, Tommy, no idea!”

   “Oookay, Niki, just,” he takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out, hoping she follows him, “let’s all just calm down.”

   She lets go of his arms and wipes her eyes, chuckling a little bit at her display just then. “God, you’re-you’re right. Sorry, I just got so emotional when I saw you. But Tommy you have no idea how much I need to thank you.”

   Tommy tilts his head at her statement and sits down at one of the tables. What does she mean by that? “What do you mean,” he says aloud.

   Niki walks over the door and locks it, for now, turning the open sign off presumably to give them some privacy. There’s a small moment of silence before she turns around and smiles sadly at him. “Can I make you a drink while we talk? It…helps when my hands are busy.”

   Nervous cannot begin to describe the emotion Tommy is feeling right now. It is a feeling beyond nervousness that sinks into his stomach. With her hugging him and wanting to make him a drink before talking about something, there is no way it was about the asshole customer. This is a serious conversation, and he is most likely the topic. He nods at her, crossing his arms and gripping the fabric between his fingers to ground himself. The crooks of his elbows are a bit threadbare with how much he needs to do that to calm down, but it’s a small price to pay to not have bloody fingers and nails bitten down to the quick.

   Niki walks behind the counter and begins to work her magic. Every time Tommy sees her in action, the idea that she is a good witch who works in the city is cemented more and more in his brain. Her movements are effortless as she heats up milk and grabs the mug that looks like a Minecraft creeper; his favorite mug, he realizes. He remembers telling her a while back that it was ‘the poggest mug in the store.’ The nerves ease ever so slightly at that. It is when she is chopping up bits of chocolate and opening the cocoa powder jar that Niki speaks again.

   “Wilbur told me what happened.”

   And just like that, the nerves come back tenfold. She’s looking at him now, hands momentarily paused in their motion. Tommy swallows thickly and widens his eyes in what he hopes comes off as surprise. “H-he did?”

   She turns back to her work and pulls the kettle off the special fire stove she had installed, double-checking it isn’t ruined. The milk pours out slowly into the mug, letting the chocolate melt and the cocoa powder bubble. Niki takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

   “Yes, he did. He told me the day after it happened, in person even. I hadn’t known it had gotten that bad. We always talk to each other about the shit that goes on in our heads, have since we were little. But…there’s a side of Wil that I hadn’t seen until that day.”

   Niki squirts a dollop of whipped cream on top of the drink and brings it over to him, sitting across from him. Tommy picks up the mug and sips, reveling in the taste of it; he even relishes the burn on the tip of his tongue as it goes down his throat. His mind is drifting to Wilbur even now, especially now. So, the bastard actually listened to him. Good for him. He can be content on his last day to know that Wilbur is alive and well, hopefully, getting the help he needs. “I told him to tell you,” he lets her know quietly.

   “I know,” she whispers back. “Tommy, if you hadn’t been there that night…I wouldn’t have seen Wilbur again. We wouldn’t graduate together, support each other’s futures…I would miss his smile, his laugh every day for the rest of my life. God, I couldn’t help him. If I’d have known… So, I am very thankful for you. How can I ever repay you?”

   He shakes his head, putting the mug down as Niki reaches for his hands, clasping them in her warm ones. “There’s no need, Niki. I just did what I had to.”

   She looks at him, really looks at him. Tommy feels like she is pinning him down with the stare of someone who cares deeply about him (she can’t care about him she can’t, it would only make tonight harder for them both). “But you shouldn’t have had to,” she says sadly, “I know you hate hearing this, but you are just a kid, Tommy. You shouldn’t have had to experience that so young.”

   Niki can’t know about his past. Therefore, he can’t hold what she is saying to him against her. But the bitterness rises a level in his heart at her words, even if he doesn’t show it. Tommy has been through so much already, talking somebody out of committing suicide is not the hardest thing life has thrown at him by a longshot. Echoes of past homes ring through his nightmares every other night. He has the scars to prove the last house was a million times worse than the walk in the park that was talking Wilbur off the edge of a roof. And yeah, he was young. So fucking what? He knows there are others like him in the system, the ones who have given up hope, the ones who face every day like it could be their last if the atmosphere of their new placement changed at the drop of a hat. But Niki doesn’t know that. And the night gets a bit easier to get through because at least he has a plan to fix everything.

   “But it happened anyway. And I’m glad he told you, I made him promise me he’d tell somebody, the fucker. Glad he went through with it.” He finishes his drink quickly, wanting to make his way to the hotel sooner rather than later. If he spends more time with Niki, the feeling in his gut might return with a vengeance. “You don’t owe me anything, Niki. And I know you might be feeling guilty that he didn’t come to you, but he didn’t go to anybody. Not even his family. It’s all on him, and it is still on him to make it right. Now he just has help, aye?”

   She smiles at him as they both stand, her bringing the mug back to the sink and him about to head out the door. “You seem more mature tonight, Tommy. And I’m not sure if it suits you.”

   In the end, he doesn’t leave her shop empty-handed no matter how many times he repeats that there’s no need to repay him. Niki is, above all else, lovingly stubborn, so he walks away with a small box of assorted tarts and a stomach still full of hot chocolate. He can see the hotel from where he stands on the pavement. Big and red and just right for throwing himself off of. A vision of Niki with tears streaming down her face floats across his mind the more he thinks about tonight’s agenda. Ah, there it is. I was wondering when it would show up again. The gut feeling is back, this time with a dear old friend of his: guilt. Tommy grits his teeth and places a hand over his stomach, twisting the fabric of his jumper. Wilbur wouldn’t be there to return the favor and Niki would be hearing about tonight on the news no doubt. She’ll be devastated, the voice in his head murmurs sadly. Guilt always has the nasally voice of you-should-know-better that always sticks to him hours later. Tommy has been so good at ignoring the voice since there typically was no one to feed it power over him. Now there’s Niki. And by extension, Wilbur as well. I can do this. They’ll get over it, everyone forgets about me anyway. I’m not important, I’m a side character or some shit.

   A meow cuts his thoughts short. Tommy looks down to see a cat rubbing against his legs with a quiet rumble, crisscrossing between his legs and the outside. A small smile finds its way onto his face, and he bends down a bit to scratch the small thing behind its ear. The purr gets louder, and the cat lets out a few chirps up at him, startling a tiny laugh out of Tommy. He looks up and is shocked to find himself right in front of the doors of the hotel. Wasn’t he across the street a second ago? A loud meow makes him look at the cat again, this time running away from him and the front doors. He almost forgot that Sam said they had a stray cat problem around the place. Not a problem to Tommy though, especially as friendly as they are. He turns back to the doors and takes in a deep breath. In and out. Time to get this show on the road.

   The doors revolve around him, and the heat blasts his face in a comforting manner. He didn’t realize how numb he was before entering the hotel, but now the feeling in his legs and hands are returning. There’s a muffled sort of yelling coming from the lobby and as the doors let him inside, he can see Sam and another person arguing in front of the elevator. Well, this is a bit unexpected. The arguing gets louder as he inches closer to them, seeing if he can sneak past the both of them without them seeing. The guy that is doing most of the yelling is tall. Holy hell, this guy is taller than Wilbur! He has split dye hair that he keeps ruffling through, almost nervously. His eyes are wide and somehow both angry and terrified behind red and green glasses. It looks like he’s crying, and his hoarse voice tells Tommy he has been for a while.

   “Let me go to the roof, Sam! I need to go to the roof right now! You don’t understand-“

   “Ranboo,” Sam cuts him off before he can yell again. And, man, did that make Tommy stop right in his tracks. Sam’s voice had gone an octave lower in a dangerous tone that would scare any grown man, much less a teenager. The tall bitch, Ranboo, flinches a bit at his tone but still stands his ground as he glares back at the man. “I can’t let you onto the roof. You know why, Ranboo. I’m sorry. It’s recently been brought to my attention that an incident occurred about a week ago on our rooftop and I cannot let something like that happen again. You need to go home. Please.”

   His tone shifted into a more sympathetic one towards the end. Maybe he actually cares about this guy. But Sam’s words make the gut feeling grow into wrong wrong wrong not supposed to be here, wrong. A week ago, he said. How can he know? There aren’t any cameras up there, Tommy knows that for a fact. Someone must have told him. But how could he have known? Who told Sam?! Ranboo lets out a frustrated sound from the back of his throat and snaps Tommy’s attention back towards the conversation being had.

   “That’s what I’m trying to avoid, Sam! I need to go up there, please! It’s-“ Ranboo clams up immediately, not wanting to say something more. “It’s important!”

   “I’m sorry Ranboo, but there’s no way I’m letting you up there. I am going to ask you to leave only one more time and if you don’t comply, I will have to use force.”

   Now seems like the perfect time to make his way to the elevator. He inches around the pair, hoping to get by undetected. He’s so close, he can almost hear the shitty elevator music. Just a bit more! Remember how the universe hates Tommy Innit? It’s been evident throughout his life. That makes another reappearance at this moment as Sam catches him out of the corner of his eye and turns towards him abruptly. “Hey, kid! Wait!”

   Tommy stalls, eyes wide and assessing the situation. He could run to the elevator, but the doors would take too long opening and Sam would catch him before he even set foot on the roof. His only option right now is to lie to his face. Luckily, the same lie from before might do the trick. He even has a box of tarts to back up his claim. Not tonight, universe. So, with his gut churning and a fake smile plastered on his face, Tommy turns to Sam and lets out a small laugh. “H-heyyy Sam! Fancy seeing you directly in front of the elevator! Mind if I just- “

   “Are you looking for your brother again,” Sam asks with a smile. Great, he remembers! This should be easy.

   “Yeah, I am. He texted me earlier and told me which floor he’s on. I promise to stay out of sight of your patrons ‘n shit, but he really wanted these tarts tonight. Is it okay if I just go on up?”

   “Yeah, that’s fine bud. Just don’t go onto the roof this time, okay? It’s a miracle you didn’t witness what almost happened last week. What’s your name again, I couldn’t hear you last time and I didn’t catch Nathaniel before he le- HEY!”

   Sam spins around on his heel and catches Ranboo’s arm just before he could make it through the now open doors of the elevator. The boy (he can’t believe it, but this guy looks only a year or two older than he does) squawks indignantly and tries to wrestle his way out of Sam’s hold. Sam’s face darkens and turns serious once again. He wraps both arms around the tall teen, trapping his arms to his sides, and begins dragging him to the front of the lobby. “I’m sorry Ranboo. But I did warn you what would happen.”

   “NO, SAM PLEASE! I need to-you can’t! He needs- “

   “Not another word! If you don’t stop, I am going to call the police. I really don’t want to do that to you, kiddo, but you’re leaving me no other option!”

   As the scuffle continues behind him, Tommy rushes into the elevator and presses the highest floor, just as he did last week. The doors begin closing when he and this Ranboo guy lock gazes, one confused and the other deeply scared. Help him, the boy mouths to him before Sam drags him out of the hotel, the elevator doors closing before his eyes. Tommy leans against the back of the small box as it takes him upwards once again. What on earth just happened back there? Ranboo looked scared, sure, but not because of Sam. It almost looked as if he was afraid for someone else. Help him. Those words echo in his mind as the elevator music forces him to listen to his thoughts. Help who, Tommy doesn’t know. But he knows one thing: if there is someone up on that roof before he is, they will have hell to pay because Tommy isn’t being nice a second time. He’s running out of patience.

   The walk up the stairwell is uneventful even with his gut feeling trying to force his steps back to the lobby. It gets colder the closer he gets to the top, and that makes his steps fall more silently. It was well insulated the last time he walked these stairs. The stairwell should not be this cold. He reaches the door leading out of the bulkhead, but the sliver of light illuminating the small space has him stopping completely. The door is slightly ajar, just a crack really, but this means that Ranboo wasn’t crazy. Somebody was up here with Tommy. Again.

   God fucking dammit.

   As much as he wants to burst through the door and loudly declare this hotel as his spot to off himself, the thought of startling the poor sod who is probably there to do something equally as drastic makes his gut twist painfully. Tommy clasps the handle and pushes the door ever so carefully to barely let any creaks alert the guy to his presence. The roof hasn’t changed in the time he was away. At least, not by much. There are added locks to the door, but those seem to have been carelessly broken through recently. Probably tonight. The notion that this guy up on the roof with him could wreck his shit crosses his mind briefly. Well, he thinks as he steps out into the brisk air of the night, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.

   There is a brunette pacing the edge of the roof. He looks smaller than Tommy expected. In fact, how on earth did this guy break the locks in the first place? The wind picks up a bit and he can see the boy shift with the breeze. Every so often he places a foot on the lip of the building, only to take it back off and continue pacing. He looks pensive, almost contemplative as he walks the wire between this world and the next. He wrings his hands together as he walks and, as Tommy listens closer, he appears to be mumbling to himself. Fantastic. Tommy gets to deal with another crazy one. But, as nervous as the boy seems, maybe he will have an easier time getting him to come down.

   “Okay,” the boy mumbles to himself, “you’ve got this. You. Can. Do. This. Just one little step off the edge and that’s that! Just jump, Toby.”

   He leaps up onto the ledge and stares down at the dark alley below them. Tommy can see his shoulders hike up to his ears as a full body shiver racks through him before he jumps back to the safety of the roof. “Come on, man! Just…just…ARGH! Fuck!”

   Alright, it might be a lot easier than Tommy previously thought. This guy clearly doesn’t want to go through with it, doesn’t have a plan like Tommy does, he probably just came to this roof on the spot because the universe likes to spite him every chance it gets. Maybe that is why there are no stars in this city. Not because of pollution or too much light, but because the infinite universe does not care enough about him to even grace him with her presence in her simplest form. He has never seen the stars, but when he jumps, perhaps he can reach them and grab one on the way down.

   “Are you seriously trying to psych yourself up for suicide?”

   The boy, Toby as he heard him mutter earlier, jumps at the sound while letting out a small yell before turning to look Tommy in the eye. Well, out of his one good eye, at least. The red lights of the Manifold sign illuminate his face and what Tommy sees is not a pretty picture. He was crying earlier, long before he hit the rooftop; his eyes are red, but his cheeks are clear of tear tracks. Tommy can see a bruise blossoming on the right side of Toby’s face, its swollen hues of red matching the lights highlighting his surprised expression. Tommy schools his face to appear apathetic. He doesn’t want to scare him off the edge. Hesitant, the boy may be, but one wrong move could set him off almost like it did Wilbur. He speaks again. “That has got to be the lamest attempt I have ever seen.”

   Toby’s face turns incredulous at his words. Frankly, Tommy doesn’t give a shit. His mind is made up and he doesn’t want to be nice anymore. It took a week to get back to this spot and he will be damned if this Toby guy ruins his plan.

   “What the hell, man?”

   “Oh, I’m sorry, one second,” Tommy reveals a theatre mask of anguish on his face and speaks in his practiced tone of anxiety and pessimism. “Noooo, don’t do it! You have so much to live fooor...Is that better?”

   Toby scoffs at him and quirks a rueful smile. “You’re an ass.”

   “And you’re a bitch. Fucking ruined my plans for the evening. Thanks for that, by the way.”

   “You’re welcome,” the boy responds in an equally sarcastic tone of voice. No one speaks after that. It is eerily silent, with the noise of the city far below them and the rushing of the wind dialed down for the moment. And for a moment, in the silence, Tommy can feel that small inkling of regret nagging at him. It’s not as if Toby knew that he would be here tonight, so he shouldn’t be taking out his anger at being foiled again on him. He doesn’t deserve to be at the end of Tommy’s hatred of the world. But by God did he want to just yell out his frustrations at the smaller boy. Toby looks away from him and glances back towards the edge of the building, taking a step back towards it.

   “So…are you jumping?”

   His voice breaks the silence, but this time Toby is not as affected by the interruption. His eyes still scan the alley, looking for something perhaps. There’s nothing down there but death and cats, Tommy knows there’s not. He’s scouted the area ahead of time, months before he met Wilbur that night, months before meeting Toby.

   “Y-yeah,” Toby says loudly as if he is trying to convince himself more than Tommy. “Ummm, g-give me a second. Just gotta…just gotta get it over with, huh?”

   It is painful, watching this small boy teeter between life and death as if one could be better than the other. He’s not sure either way, which one is better for him. A flash of recognition reaches Tommy’s eyes as he looks at Toby and almost sees himself. There was a brief period of his life, around the age of eleven where the fighting stopped, and the serious thoughts began. Thoughts of finding his forever home were stomped out every time he came back to that horrible group home with the condescending pity and fake smiles. Those were replaced with thoughts of am I ever getting out of here and worse yet, is death worse than being left alone again? Abandoned, rejected, neglected, beaten down until he stopped fighting, stopped caring, stopped living for the sake of moving forward and instead living for death. Toby looks like he is at the same halfway point Tommy used to be, and something inside him is frightened at what would happen if he left the roof without this kid in tow. So, he sighs, walks over to him, and sits down against the raised edge.

   “What are you-?”

   “Sit with me.”

   The boy looks down at him through windblown bangs in total confusion. Tommy just barely smiles, pulls out the box Niki parted with him, and pats the spot next to him, hoping he would take the invitation. “Might as well have a tart while you contemplate your death and all.”

   Toby looks at Tommy with tired eyes, still unsure about everything as he takes his place next to the lanky teen. The wind picks back up and forces them both to shiver, prompting Tommy to open the box to distract them from the biting wind. It smells heavenly. There are all kinds of fruit tarts in the box, all of which have a light dusting of sugar over them. He can spot a few chocolate ones as well as two cream cheese danishes added in, looking as if they were placed in the box last second. He smiles at that. Niki put those in extra on purpose, the sap. Tommy takes a strawberry one out for himself and holds the box out to the boy on his right, shaking the box lightly in his face. “Which one do you want, Toby?”

   Immediately the boy stiffens and glares at him. “Do not call me that! You don’t get to call me that, only people close to me. My name is Tubbo. How’d you know my name anyway, huh? You spying on me or some weird shit like that?”

   “Wha- no! I wasn’t! Geez, man, you were muttering earlier on the edge, I heard you ‘s all. Tubbo, got it now, would you like a fucking tart?”

   Tubbo still looks at him skeptically but reaches into the box anyways and pulls out a chocolate tart for himself. There is a pause from him while he looks at Tommy, waiting for something. Tommy just stares back, glancing between his face and the tart in his hand. Why is he hesitating? He just shrugs at Tubbo, looking away from him while taking a bite of his strawberry tart. The flavors burst on his tongue, alighting his senses with tangy sweet berry and gritty sugar, mixing in with the cream underneath and the slightly bitter taste of the pastry dough. It is one of the best things he has ever eaten, and he closes his eyes to savor it. Faintly, he can hear Tubbo next to him humming in ecstasy and lightly chewing. Only then does the realization kick in. He was waiting for Tommy to eat first.

   “This is amazing,” Tubbo groans, already reaching for another one. “Where did you get these…wait, what did you say your name was?”

   “It’s Tommy.”

   “Well, Tommy, where did you get these? They’re so good!”

   He hums, trying to think about directions before leaning over the side of the building and pointing across the way. “You see that street? Down that way is Niki’s bakery. It’s near the…uhhh…” Tommy struggles for a second, hoping his way of seeing this city can come across well enough. “Near the big water bottle. You see it?”

   Tubbo, initially a bit shocked at how casually Tommy leaned over the edge of the building, joins him in looking out over the city. He points in the general direction Tommy is. “Oh wait, is the stapler across the street?”

   He looks at Tubbo in surprise. He knows exactly what building he is describing and, yes, it looks exactly like a stapler you would find in an office or on a teacher’s desk. He lets out a small laugh. “Yeah! It is.”

   “Oh, I know that place! I pass it all the time on my way to school. It always smells so good whenever I walk by.” Tubbo takes another bite of the blackberry tart he started on, slowing down a bit as he looks over where the bakery resides. His face turns into something almost mournful, like he was missing something. “Dad never lets me get anything, though. Says I’ll get fat or some bullshit. My metabolism is fast, though, so I think he just doesn’t want me to have nice things. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s kept a good thing from me.”

   At this point, Tommy just stares at him as he takes another bite of his tart. Out of anything Tubbo could have said, Tommy was not expecting that amount of trauma dumping this early on in the night. With Wilbur, he had to get him down from the ledge and have him sing a song before the core problem was addressed. There is no hesitation with this kid. The way he spoke just now sounds like he was…accepting of the way his father handles things. Handles him. Now, Tommy has had his fair share of shitty homes. He knows how terrible adults are, how terrible people are in general. It sounds to him like this guy has been through a similar experience to his own. But fuck, his own father? Shit.

   Tommy swallows the last bite of his strawberry tart and digs into the box for a peach one. He looks at the boy next to him and raises an eyebrow. “Your dad, huh? Sounds like daddy issues, to me.”

   Tubbo lets out a laugh at his attempt at humor, punching him in the arm lightheartedly, just barely making Tommy flinch. “Hahaha! Shut up, man! ‘Course I got daddy issues,” he says and points to the forming bruise on his face, “How’d you think I got this shiner right here?”

   Tommy hisses through his teeth at the revelation. That bruise is not going to be easy to hide. He might have some concealer in his lock kit that he didn’t even need to use tonight, maybe he could give it to the guy before he jumps. The prospect of jumping after this meeting has that wrong feeling start back up again. He pointedly ignores it. “Fuck. Sorry, big man.”

   Tubbo lets out a dismissive sound at his words. “Meh. S’not your problem. Besides, tonight was supposed to fix everything.”

   Tommy sits up and stares at him incredulously. Fuck, he really is the same as Tommy. “What, by jumping off a roof?”

   The brunette smiles wide back at him and sits up as well, flinging his arms open wide. Mania rests in the corners of his eyes, still a bit obscured by the fear of what the night brings him. “Yeah, man! Just one last big fuck you to my dad! Dive off, flipping double birds on the way down!”

   There is a brief pause as they both look at the other. Laughter then echoes over the rooftop, both boys gripping each other as they thrive off the mania of Tubbo’s statement. Man, Tommy thinks as he continues to laugh with this stranger he met on the roof, I’m definitely taking a page out of Tubbo’s book! Flipping off the universe sounds like a happy ending if I ever heard one! Niki’s tarts are forgotten as the manic laughter continues, Tubbo calming down a bit as he wipes a tear away from his good eye.

   “Ahaha, a-and you know what sucks? He’ll be too drunk to care! He won’t even remember giving me this tomorrow.”

   Tommy calms a bit as well, wiping his eyes from how hard he was laughing. “Wow, you are really fucking checking all the unlucky boxes tonight, aren’t you?”

   “I really am, aren’t I? It was supposed to be a quick thing, this, but then my friend found out and followed me here-“

   “Wait,” Tommy interjects right then and there. His mind drifts back to the lobby, to that tall, lanky teenager Sam had to drag kicking and screaming out of the hotel tonight. He was the one trying to get onto the roof for Tubbo. Ranboo looked mortified as he was pleading with Sam, looked downright heartbroken as he mouthed help him to Tommy before being locked out. He turns to Tubbo and scowls at him. “What the fuck?!”

   Tubbo looks back questioningly. “What?”

   “What? What?! You’ve got a friend willing to track you down just to stop you from fucking killing yourself, an actual friend! And you’re just gonna, what, do it anyway?!”

   The somewhat happy Tubbo from before fades almost instantly, replaced by a desperate and hardened exterior that Tommy can see through, has taught himself to see through because he himself has had to use this solidified version of strength before. How many times? How many times have they both had to grit their teeth and take what’s given to them with the dignity of a soldier fighting a losing war? If Wilbur and Tommy were two sides of a coin, Tubbo and Tommy were a paper chain—linked together in tragedy and left outside in the rain to dissolve until their color fades, not knowing they were linked together in the first place.

   “I’ve got no other options,” Tubbo says coldly in a desperate attempt to keep himself from thinking about Tommy’s words. He rubs two bracelets on his wrist nervously. “Ranboo will be fine without me! He’s gotten on just fine before I showed up. Nobody else would have cared if I jumped tonight.”

   He collapses on the roof, staring up at the sky and ignoring Tommy even as he still stares at him, the glare having already faded from his expression. There are no stars above them. Just the harsh lights of the Manifold sign illuminating two lost teens who found each other on a random rooftop. Many things had to have happened for this event to occur, and Tommy knows his luck by now. Perhaps Tubbo is in the same boat as him, maybe even worse since it is his own blood causing his light to fade rather than several strangers. Tommy leans back onto his elbows, watching Tubbo try and keep the façade up while looking for stars that aren’t there. “You don’t have anyone else? No other family?”

   “Well…that’s not…entirely true?”

   Tommy stares at him impassively. Tubbo scoots up onto his forearms, matching Tommy’s position. “Oi, don’t look at me like that! It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, right? It’s just that…”

   Tommy hums, a sign for him to continue. The moon is high in the sky and Tubbo sighs, staring up at it as he continues. “My aunt. She lives all the way out in L’manburg. She hasn’t visited in…I dunno, two years? Maybe three. I’ve thought about calling her.”

   Tubbo shifts his posture so he is facing Tommy again, this time his gaze aimed at the gravel portion of the roof they sit on, picking up a piece and letting it drop again and again. “I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. What it would be like, living near the coast. I imagine it’s peaceful. I want that. I want peaceful so badly it hurts. Every day is chaos, from when I wake up to when I go to bed. She’s only a phone call away and I can’t bring myself to dial the number.”

   This is it, Tommy thinks as he takes one of the cheese danishes from the box and hands it to Tubbo who takes it gladly, we’re getting somewhere now. “And why not, big man,” he asks softly. He hears the boy sigh.

   “I don’t want to be a burden. Puffy’s got two kids living with her already. I’d just be extra baggage. She’s got enough on her hands without me being there.”

   And of course, it is another stupid reason, same as Wilbur. How they both cannot see the obvious answers in front of them, Tommy cannot know. Why must the universe send him stupid people upon this hotel roof to stop his plans from being fulfilled? He gently puts down his own cheese danish and decidedly smacks Tubbo upside his head, causing the boy to choke on his treat.

   “Ow! What was that for?!”

   “Because you’re being stupid. Like, you sound smart, but you’re making excuses where you shouldn’t be! Call her, I promise you you’re not going to be a burden to her.”

   Tubbo just scoffs at this. “And how do you know that?”

   He sits up straight and crosses his legs to better be understood. He needs this to work. He cannot watch someone else who has a support system waiting in the wings to turn a blind eye and try to fall off this building. Tubbo follows his movements like a wonky mirror, copying his sitting position. “You’re smart, you think logically I’m assuming, right? Your aunt, she already has two kids. How old are they?”

   “Um, Dream should be eighteen by now. I think Foolish is twenty-one, but I could be wrong on that one. He was adopted, so I’m not too sure since I only met him once or twice.”

   Oh praise God, this might be easier than Tommy thought. “Perfect, she already has an adoption record. So,” he begins to hold up fingers on his hands with one already pointing up, “she’s had experience raising two kids, both old enough to move out soon. And you’re, what, my age?”

   “Fifteen.”

   “Shit, you’re older than me by a year.”

   “Ha, L.”

   Tommy waves his hands exasperatedly. This has to work. “So, back to my point. What exactly makes you think your sweet aunt would kick her own nephew, who is being abused by his father, to the curb?”

   Tubbo opens his mouth to verbalize a rebuttal but quickly snaps it shut as he ponders what Tommy just said. If he listens closely, he can hear the metaphorical cogs turning in his brain. Bingo. Tubbo puts a finger to his mouth and looks pensive, yet more hopeful than he has the whole night. “I…hadn’t thought about it that way before.”

   Tommy shakes his head. “No. You have. You just pushed it to the back, or the bad thoughts did anyway. The thoughts that tell you you’re worthless and not worth the shit people should give about you. That voice telling you it’s easier to die than to keep living.”

   They both fall silent at that statement. Tommy always guards his heart close, his feelings even more so as he’s gotten older. Years and years of people not giving a shit about him, and he slips now in front of a complete stranger. What he just said came from his own personal experience. It’s something they both share, and now Tubbo knows that, too. Tubbo looks at him with astonishment. “How,” he starts to ask slowly, “did you know about those?”

   “Why do you think I’m up here, big man?”

   “…Oh,” he says softly, the wind brushing his hair away from his eyes. He watches Tommy and Tommy watches back, unable to speak. He never told Wilbur why he was up on the roof. It wasn’t his right to know. But maybe…maybe it is okay if Tubbo knows. “Man...we make a fucking pair, don’t we?”

   Tommy grins and the manic feeling is back again. “Two bros, chilling on a rooftop. Five feet from the edge cuz they might jump.”

   Tubbo spouts out laughter like a water hose, spurts of it filling the air as Tommy joins in, interspersed with “oh my god I’m going to piss myself” and “it wasn’t that funny!” It takes a few minutes for them to mellow back out, both of them laying back down on the gravel, Tommy’s hair only being saved by Wilbur’s beanie. “So,” he hears Tubbo start, “you’re up here…for the same reason I was?”

   The past tense he uses gives Tommy a rush of euphoria. The plans have derailed for this kid, he’s going home. Not much of a home to get back to, sure, but maybe he can convince him to call his aunt when he gets back. “Somewhat,” he answers honestly, “There’s a lot of big differences, but the ending would have been the same.”

   “Yeah? What’s the biggest difference, then?”

   Because you have a family to call on and I don’t. You have a future to pursue and I don’t, and I have to be okay with that. You have a friend who followed you here tonight while the whole world couldn’t give a shit about me. The list goes on. “You’re not alone,” he settles for, “You’ve got people in your corner, even if a little while ago you thought you didn’t.”

   Underneath the wind and the hum of the sign above them, there is a faint shout coming from below them, down in the alley. Tommy quickly scoots towards the edge again and peeks over, trying to peer into the darkness. A faint light emanates from a phone flash showing multicolored glasses and the shouting gets louder. “TUBBO?! TUBBO PLEASE COME DOWN RIGHT NOW! I MEAN IT! I WILL…uh…WELL, I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’LL DO BUT IT WILL BE DRASTIC!”

   Speak of the devil. He is going to make sure Tubbo got home, no if’s and’s or but’s about it. Tommy takes a deep breath in and yells back down to the tall bitch from the lobby. “OVER HERE, DIPSHIT. RANBOO, I PRESUME!”

   Tubbo gapes at him, a betrayed look crossing his face. Tommy merely smirks at him. They can hear footsteps running towards their spot on the roof in proximity to the alley and another shout. “Huh? Uh, YEAH. THAT’S ME! UH, WHO ARE YOU?”

   “NAME'S TOMMY, WE KIND OF MET IN THE LOBBY BUT NOT REALLY. I'M SENDING YOUR BITCH DOWN NOW, BOOB BOY. MAKE SURE HE GETS HOME!”

   “OH, OKAY! GREAT! THANK YOU!...boob boy?”

   Tommy stands up and stretches his arms high above his head, only to leave himself vulnerable to the sharp elbow jabbing his ribs. He doubles over to protect his middle and smirks up at Tubbo who looks like he doesn’t know whether to hit him or hug him. “I cannot believe you sold me out to Ranboo, you bitch.”

   “Wouldn’t want you to pussy out again. You’ve got people to get back to. Don’t make the same mistake twice, okay?”

   “Okay boss man,” Tubbo says as he punches his shoulder lightly, “you get home safe, too.”

   “Yeah yeah, you had better call your aunt when you get back. What’s her name again?”

   “Puffy.”

   …wait a goddamned minute.

   “Puffy,” Tommy shouts questioningly. Surely the universe can’t be that cruel, can it? “As in Carolyn Puffy? That Puffy?!”

   “Yeah! Aunt Puffy! You know her?”

   Tommy throws his head back and laughs ruefully, but to Tubbo he hopes it sounds more like the manic laughing they did earlier. Of course. Of course, this bitch is related to Puffy. Why wouldn’t he be? Might as well pile on all of Tommy’s past onto tonight’s agenda. “Holy fuck! Dude, she was my caseworker for, like, most of my childhood!”

   Tubbo grins wide at the statement. “Surely not.”

   “Small fucking world,” Tommy hums. He bends down to pick to box of tarts back up, wiping the gravel off of the bottom before walking Tubbo to the door. Maybe he should go down with him. Maybe he should just go back to the group home and try again another night. Not that Tubbo needs to know that, of course. Tommy has given up far too many closely-held secrets tonight than he’d wanted. Perhaps just one more, in confidence. “Hey…mind telling Puffy that I’ll miss her?”

   Tubbo smiles sadly and places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Of course, boss man.”

   He pulls at the bracelets Tommy watched him fiddle with earlier, untying a green one and holding out his hand. Nothing happens for a few seconds before Tubbo is scoffing and pulling Tommy’s hand towards him, tying the bracelet to his thin wrist. He holds Tommy’s arm in tandem with his own, sporting a red bracelet. Friendship bracelets, Tommy’s mind supplies him with. Tubbo has given him a token that is meant for friends, perhaps best friends. An image of paper chains and colorful bracelets lock themselves in his memory.

   “I was originally gonna give one to Ranboo, but…I want you to have it. Something to remember me by. And hey! Maybe, when we see each other again, I can properly introduce you to Ranboo and we can get him a bracelet too!”

   He can’t help but smile at the innocent and meaningful gesture. A gesture that won’t mean much after a while because he knows Tubbo will forget him. Once he has his support system up and running and gets his life back on track, the way it’s supposed to be, he will have forgotten all about Tommy and the night they had on top of the hotel roof. It won’t mean much when he is nothing but a smear on the sidewalk and a figment of the world’s imagination. Not tonight, though. Tonight, he will make sure Tubbo walks back down to the lobby and meets with his real friend. Tonight, he will march back down to the group home and not even take off his shoes as he flops into the premade bed, a beanie on his head and a green bracelet adorning his wrist instead of the red scars of the last house. Tonight, Tommy Innit will dream of voices and comfort just out of reach while he is left with the feeling telling him that this is not where he belongs.

Notes:

Last week you get crimeboys content, this week you get clingyduo with a hint of alliumduo. Writing takes a crap ton of time, wow. This is by far the longest chapter so far. Thank you so much for the bookmarks, kudos, and comments! (I read them all btw)

Chapter 4: Surviving what we couldn't comprehend

Summary:

Obligatory survivor's chapter.
What happened to Wilbur after going back down? What happened to Tubbo?
Well, let's find out together, shall we?

   There is a squirming sort of movement in the pits of Wilbur’s stomach as he stands outside the door to the penthouse suite. He is stalling, he knows he is. Logically, he knows that his father and brother should be sound asleep by this time of night, but all three of them have been known to sustain bouts of insomnia that last a couple of days. Wilbur being the most egregious offender, of course, as there are bags under his eyes even now that would put most raccoons to shame. Even still, he pauses at the doorstep. There’s a big sigh of air escaping his lungs as he leans against the door, ruffling his hair to try and calm down.

   Tonight was…a lot. Too much. The effects of what almost happened are starting to catch up to him and his whole body quakes at the thought of too high buildings and red lights. I just need to calm down and then make my way to my room, he thinks. Wilbur runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth and smiles faintly. The taste of chocolate still lingers long after the bus ride back to the building his family currently calls home. He becomes conscious of his missing beanie as he runs fingers through his wind-blown hair and the smile gets wider. Tommy. The blonde boy with an attitude to match his own, the boy who gave him a cookie and an ear to listen to him.

   The boy who talked him off a ledge tonight.

   He doesn’t dare try to think about the what-ifs tonight could have presented him with. Wilbur hopes he’s alright, wherever he is. If he were any sort of religious man, he may have prayed for the boy. Then again, if he were any sort of religious man, would he have even met Tommy tonight? He at the very least hopes the young boy gets home safely; that’s all he can do, anyway. Lowering himself to the ground, Wilbur peers underneath the door to try and see the living room it conceals. Of course, Phil would pay only for the best for him and his two boys, so he can literally see nothing but the faintest of light emanating from the crack. He takes a breath and readjusts the strap across his chest, shifting his guitar firmly against his back. No more stalling.

   There are no creaks as the door opens as slowly as he can get it to. There is a light on in the living room, he can see that now even with the door halfway open. He enters quickly and turns to gently close the door again, so he doesn’t wake anyone.

   “Where the hell were you?”

   Wilbur flinches at the monotone voice coming from the loveseat. Well, there go his chances of a quiet night of reflection. He finishes closing the door and locks it for good measure just to avoid looking in the voice’s direction a bit longer. His guitar case is placed against the wall with a thunk and his glasses readjusted, letting out a small cough before he turns to see just whose wrath he has to get through.

   Technoblade sits on the loveseat with a book in his lap and his phone on the nightstand next to him. It looks like he had dragged the loveseat away from the side of the couch it had previously been occupying and placed it directly in line with the door. He’s been expecting him. His hands are clasped together in front of his lips, almost as if he is deep in thought if not for those piercing auburn eyes glaring at him. His brother casts a foreboding shadow and it’s served him well in the past for intimidating those he distrusts… but fuck if that isn’t the most terrifying sight waiting for him.

   There is a single lamp turned on next to his phone on the nightstand and it casts a soft light on the right side of a very angry Technoblade.

   After years of growing up together, Wilbur can distinguish the emotions in that ever-passive face of his. Techno never loses his composure; they both could not afford the trouble it would often bring them. That is until Phil came along and taught them that it was okay to express emotion, as long as it was in a healthy way. And when they did, even when it wasn’t healthy, he took it in stride. The man was a saint— a long-haired, head-hatted, cussing like a sailor saint. No matter how much Phil had helped the both of them, however, it had taken a while before Techno was comfortable emoting in front of the man. It was the faint twitch of an eye, a slight movement of the eyebrows or mouth that tipped Wilbur off to his twin’s frustrations. And right now? That brow was furrowed to the nth degree.

   “Technooo,” he stammered, “h-hey! Wha-what are youuu doing awake?”

   Silence. Absolute silence. There is only a slight shift of fabric as Wilbur squirms under his brother’s gaze. God, if there was ever a pin to drop, now is its moment to shine. With a huff, he shuffles his coat off and lets it fall to the ground in a dramatic heap. “Well, if you’re just going to glare at me, I might as well head off to bed—”

   “Nope. Try again.”

   God, he sounds just like Phil. “Prick,” he mutters under his breath. Techno raises an eyebrow at him with the corners of his mouth downturned and suddenly stands up, placing the book in his hands face down on the seat of the chair. It startles Wilbur as he begins to slowly walk towards him. His hands immediately go upwards as if to plead with the man in front of him (and if his mind drifts to Tommy on the rooftop, no one needs to know that). “W-wait, Tech, you know I didn’t mean it.”

   “I know. And you are so lucky that Phil worked later than usual tonight and is dead asleep in his room right now.” Techno quirks a corner of his lips upwards, in a way that Wilbur knew was a villainous grin. “Which means you get to deal with me.”

   “I don’t know if that’s better or worse, honestly.”

   “Oh, it’s worse. So, William, where were you?”

   The frown is back, but this time it inches across both of their faces. Wilbur was trying to be sneaky on his way in for a reason. Techno does not need to know what occurred tonight. In fact, Wilbur was planning on never letting his brother know why he was sneaking back into the house so late. Multitudes of reasons, excuses he could pull or stories he could tell that would put any frat boy to shame will not matter here. This is his twin. Techno knows when he is lying, he has seen it enough times back in the system to know what is true and what isn’t. He just needs to get past him.

   “Your brother, then. Tell him as soon as you get home, not a minute later.”

   Of course, the voice of reason here would be the kid Wilbur met on the roof tonight. Those words reverberate inside his skull, urging him to tell Techno what happened. Tommy sounded so sure, so unbelievably sure that telling someone would be the first step to recovery, but why can’t it be the second step? Or not a step at all? His family holds so much, they don’t need to hold more than they do. The cup is overflowing, and his poison will surely tip the goblet over. He snarls at his brother, though he doesn’t mean it. “What gives you the right to know?”

   Technoblade’s frown deepens. He looks disappointed, underneath the mask he puts up. “I’m your brother. I literally have every right to know.”

   “Well, I’m older than you!”

   “By two minutes, Wil.”

   Wilbur growls and roughly pushes Techno aside to try and escape to his room. Now, he knows his brother is stronger than he is, by a fucking long shot. So, there is a leap in logic here thinking that he can push past the literal wall of muscle in his way. Even though he attempts it, there is a rough hand grabbing his collar and he almost chokes as Technoblade drags him back to where he was standing, this time with both hands holding him in place. He grunts as he tries to pry the hands off him but to no avail; he is trapped between what he wants and what he needs. Desperation and fear swirl in his gut as he glares down at his brother whose mask is beginning to crack. Eyes brighter than they were four hours ago, he yells, “Two minutes still counts, dickhead!”

   “Fine!” Wilbur stills. Techno just yelled at him. He hasn’t let that much emotion out in the open in years. As Techno looks up at him through pink locks of hair, his heart suddenly aches. The mask breaks and Wilbur can finally see his brother. There is anger in his eyes, bright hot and hiding so much fear and confusion that has already started to seep through. His hands are clenched tightly onto Wilbur’s shoulders almost in a desperate attempt to keep him there. “Fine! You’re the older twin. So, start. Acting. Like it.”

   “…Tech— “

   “I was worried about you, Wil,” he interrupts him, voice beginning to shake. There is so much fear wrapping around his words as the thin veil of anger still clouds his expression. Wilbur is caught in his brother’s eyes, and he cannot even think about leaving now, not when he’s like this. “I’ve been worried. Dad, too. You’ve been quiet for weeks, you barely come out of your room and when you do it’s either you ignore us completely or it’s with these sudden bursts of anger. Phil doesn’t deserve that… I don’t deserve that.”

   Wilbur can feel his heart begin to crack at his words. Has he really been that callous and harsh these past few weeks? Those periods of wake up, eat, work, fail-fail-fail, sleep, repeat can be brutal to not just him, it seems. But he had failed to realize this isn’t only hurting him. A selfish part of him wants to think his family wouldn’t care, but it is quickly stomped out by the hurt in Techno’s voice. He holds a hand up as if to place it on his brother’s shoulder. “Techno, please— “

   “I-I know…I’m not the best at showin’ it. Especially with how busy I’ve been. I mean, you know how I am with emotions. I’m not good…at letting ‘em out. You know why that is,” Techno rasps. He takes in a deep breath and lets it back out in a short gasp as if he is holding back more than he is letting show. “But, fuck, Wil it’s not an excuse and I know it. I love you, Wilbur, and I always will.”

   And there it is. All his cards are on the table for Wilbur to see and it is heartbreaking. Of course, he knows why it’s hard for Techno to show emotion, and now that it is all on display for his eyes only…it breaks him. Without another thought, Wilbur collapses into his brother, gripping his pajama shirt with steady hands and burying his head into the crook of his neck. Tears fall once again, and he lets out a small sob filled with every emotion that followed him here to his father’s doorstep. “Fuck. Fuck! Tech, ‘m sorry, I’m so so sorry!”

   He can feel Technoblade hesitantly wrap his arms around his shaking frame, one hand finding its way to his head and gently holding him close. “Wilbur?”

   He sniffs and inches closer to the warmth his brother exudes, and Techno lets him. Wilbur sighs into his hold. He never would have felt this warmth again if tonight went his way. There is a lot he has taken for granted, no matter what false truths his own mind sends his way. The what-ifs of the night are starting to become louder and louder. If it weren’t for Tommy, there would have been one less Watson tonight. “Tell him, you right prick.” He feels obliged to agree now.

   “I fucked up, Techno. You don’t deserve any of the shit I’ve given you. Neither does dad. I don’t deserve you guys, not after tonight. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I— “

   Techno pushes Wilbur’s head further into his neck, effectively cutting him off from his seemingly endless apologies. It’s his own way to quiet him, instead of the shushes Wilbur used to give him when they were younger. It seems as if he is the one being coddled now, older brother status be damned. When Techno speaks next, it is nothing above a whisper. “It’s not a matter of bein’ deserving or not, Wilbur, you’re my goddamn brother.”

   They stay that way for a while longer, both collapsed into each other in front of the front door. Neither wanting to move for fear of ruining this moment between them. A soft, singular moment of comfort before the inevitable. Of course, all good things must come to their end. Technoblade nudges Wilbur’s head with his own and he hums in question. Wilbur can feel the rising conflict within his brother, wanting to hold onto this moment of calm, before he takes in a deep breath and lets it out into brown curls.

   “Wilbur,” he starts off quiet, almost shy in his words, “When you said…earlier, you said that you didn’t deserve us ‘after tonight’. What…what did you mean by that?”

   Wilbur tenses, and Techno’s hold on him suddenly feels too tight, too restrictive. He can still feel the love and comfort it brings, but his mind is starting to turn to that red-lit rooftop with cold winds and warm cookies. Technoblade, as if sensing his brother’s discomfort, pulls back his hold so he is instead grasping his shoulders as he kneels in front of Wilbur. Wilbur’s mind is going a million miles a minute, no longer trying to come up with any form of story to spin. It is stuck between blonde hair and outstretched arms, pleading and placating all the same. He is shaking again. This time, when he comes back to, Techno is the one shaking Wilbur’s shoulders back and forth in a worried manner.

   “Wilbur, where were you?” Techno asks again.

   “I need to tell you, “He states simply.

   “Yes. You do.”

   “You’ll hate me for it.”

   “Never.”

   There is a brief moment of clarity, and the air suddenly gets clearer for Wilbur. That one reassuring word is all he needs. Family is family, and you never give up on the ones you love. That lesson is one that they shared throughout all the homes they’ve been thrust into, all the families that tried to separate them. Brothers in everything, brothers till the end of time. “Till death do us part”, something that Techno once told him when they were both ten years old and did not quite understand the concept behind the phrase intended for marriage. That memory is something Wilbur still lords over his brother, much to his dismay. But the words remain etched in his heart. So, he looks at his brother’s worried expression and speaks. “…I was at the Manifold Hotel.”

   Immediately, Techno’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What? Why were you—”

   “I was on the roof, of uh, of the Manifold Hotel.”

   Nothing. No reaction is given. Silence fills the room and, if not for the heater turning on just now, Wilbur is sure that it would have swallowed them whole. Technoblade’s face is blank, almost as if he is trying to process what Wilbur just told him. Finally, he speaks, and the monotone is back if not a bit raspier. “The roof.”

   “Mhm.”

   “You… you were on the roof.”

   “I was,” Wilbur says quietly, “I, uh… had a spiral this afternoon. In fact, I’ve been having one for a week or so now, but it got really fucking bad today.”

   Techno leans back in and offers his embrace with a slight lifting of his arms. Well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. Now securely in his brother’s hold, he feels like he can continue. “Before my mind caught up with my body, I was already on the roof, just ready to throw myself off and be done with it. It shouldn’t have been that easy…and it both was and wasn’t all at once. There was a kid on the roof when I got there. He talked me off the edge.”

   Techno’s hold on him grows tighter, voice wavering back into his emotions slightly. “You were on the edge?”

   “…I was. If it wasn’t for Tommy tonight, Tech… I’m not sure I would have made it home to you tonight,” he whispers that last bit almost as if it is a secret the two of them share. It won’t be for very long, he knows. Phil will need to know come the morning, which is not something he is looking forward to. Maybe he will finally agree to see a therapist like Phil suggested when they first started living with him. God knows he could use one. His thoughts are cut short by a soft sniffle. He maneuvers around in his brother’s arms until he is looking down at the mop of pink hair covering the head resting on his shoulder. “Tech?”

   There’s a wet sort of sniff and a quiet sob muffled by his sweater and suddenly they are ten years old again. Wilbur quickly detangles himself and reaches over with his arms so he is spooning Techno, hoping to catch his eye. With another low sob, Techno turns his head to face Wilbur and oh. His heart breaks a second time tonight. Tear tracks are making their way down his reddened cheeks, his brother’s paler complexion making it more noticeable. His eyes are trained on him, scrunched up and mourning. As their eyes meet, Technoblade immediately lets out a pained cry and buries his face in Wilbur’s shoulder again.

   “Oh, Piglet… I’m sorry, shhhh, I’m here.”

   Techno shudders in a breath at the sound of his old childhood nickname. “But you almost weren’t, Pooh.”

   Wilbur pauses for a brief moment before tightening his arms around his brother, stroking his long hair in a soothing motion. This is something he wasn’t expecting from Techno. Anger, sure. Worry and sadness, he guessed it could happen. But this? Techno hasn’t expressed emotions this genuine in years and it is a spectacle that Wilbur wishes he hadn’t set in motion. Techno continues talking in rushed, sorrowful tones. “How could I not know? All the signs were there, and I did nothing! You were hurting and I did nothing!”

   It is here Wilbur has to interject. He cannot handle Techno’s self-belittling right in his arms. It isn’t fair to him, to blame himself for Wilbur’s weakness. “Techno, look at me. It’s not your fault.”

   “YOU COULD HAVE DIED WILBUR!”

   When Techno’s emotions run high, he gets dangerous. That is something every caseworker they ever had told each new home they found themselves in. So, he learned to quiet himself, not show his feelings to anyone, not even Wilbur at times. It had taken them years to find Phil, but the damage was already done. Techno felt like he couldn’t express himself fully anywhere, not even in the comfort of his own home. Phil tried for years following their adoption to get him to unlearn those habits. No more pushing those feelings down, no more repressing yourself. It was harder for Techno than it was for Wilbur since he was considered the violent one, the troublemaker, the loose cannon when his emotions ran rampant. So here, in the barely lit living room with fresh tears in both brothers’ eyes, Wilbur has never felt prouder of his twin than he does right now, even if he doesn’t deserve to.

   “You could have died tonight,” Techno says again, softer this time, his voice a bit rawer than before, “Dad wouldn’t have known until the morning that you were gone. But me? I would have sat in that chair until the moment you hit the ground and once you did? I would have known the second it happened.”

   At this, Wilbur lets out a small snort of laughter, even through his own tears. His hand grasps Techno’s own, thumb softly caressing his knuckle. “Okay, I am calling bullshit on that one, Piglet. You wouldn’t have known till someone found me, not the second it happened.”

   “It’s called twin’s intuition, Pooh Bear, look it up.”

   The silence makes a return, but it is different this time; softer, warmer than the last time. The muscles that make up the frame of his twin are loose and soft to the touch under his fingers. Techno’s arms are securely wrapped around his middle again with his face buried in Wilbur’s chest, breathing slow and muffled underneath the yellow fabric. His own head rests atop Technoblade’s, nose buried deep in soft, pink locks and breathing in the scent of lavender and cedarwood. The pajama shirt his brother is wearing is his oldest, one with baby pink pigs with wings scattered across it. Wilbur smiles at the memory attached to it, one of an embarrassed Technoblade unwrapping it on Christmas morning and unironically wearing it to bed ever since. Phil still smiles whenever he sees him wear it as it was the first gift Techno received from him that he didn’t immediately try and throw away. Now it is a bit soft having been worn so much, and Wilbur clutches to it like a lifeline.

   “Hey, Tech?”

   “Mmm,” his brother grunts softly.

   “Can…can I sleep in your room tonight? I don’t…trust myself, even now. I honestly probably won’t for a while.”

   “Of course, Wil.”

   Suddenly, the overhead light in the living room flickers on, disturbing the moment between the two. There’s movement next to the stairs and they both turn in each other’s hold to see Phil at the bottom, arms frantically being pulled through a green robe overtop his pajamas and eyes scanning them. “Boys?! What the hell is going on, I heard Techno yelling and—good job mate, by the way, gotta let ‘em out every once in a while—and I tried to get down here as quick as I could, but…”

   Both boys were frozen solid, hanging onto each other for dear life as their dad looked closer at the matching tear streaks on their faces. As he looks around the room, Wilbur can sense the second Phil sees his guitar against the wall near the door and the coat dropped close by. Phil looks back at them with a stern yet unbelievably concerned look on his face. Crossing his arms, he speaks again, this time with a decisive tone. “Boys? What happened?”

 

---

 

   “Y’know, you didn’t have to walk me back home, bossman. I know the way back.”

   Without even looking, Tubbo can feel the withering stare Ranboo sends down at him. The force of his gaze is so palpable it feels like he just got hit in the face again, even when he can’t see it. In fact, he is making a conscious effort not to look up at his friend at the moment. If he is being honest, Tubbo isn’t quite sure where to go from here. Not direction-wise, of course, just in general. Tonight was supposed to be a one-and-done scenario. He never intended for Ranboo to follow him, for Tommy to be on the roof tonight with him. Tubbo wasn’t meant to keep living. Yet here he is. The cellphone in the pocket of his coat feels cumbersome, like at any moment he will tip over with the weight of his impending decision. Ranboo finally stops staring and lets out a large sigh at him, clearly exasperated.

   “Of course, I’m going to walk you back, Tubbo, look at what almost happened the minute I take my eyes off you.”

   Tubbo bristles slightly at the statement. “I never asked you to look out for me, Ranboo. I can look after myself.”

   “But you shouldn’t have to,” Ranboo says. He stops walking and lets Tubbo go on for a few paces before he stops as well, turning back to the taller teen. They lock eyes and Tubbo just as soon wishes he didn’t. His friends’ glasses are off and showing the full force of grey eyes filled with sadness and regret. “Tubbo, you have to know that I am always going to be there for you. No matter what happens. And…if you don’t know that, then I haven’t been a very good friend.”

   He didn’t ask Ranboo to come after him tonight. In fact, he specifically avoided him all day to not worry him, which, in this case, is probably what lead him to check on Tubbo regardless. Friends like Ranboo are one in a million. He had almost forgotten. How could he forget all the times he helped him through existing? Ranboo was the one to nervously sew up a larger cut, get ice for him after a particularly nasty bottle throw, tell him about tutors at the school they went to so his grades wouldn’t add to his suffering under the hands of his father. There was a reason he had made friendship bracelets for the both of them, and the bad thoughts almost let him throw away the one good thing he had left.

   Tubbo rubs the bare spot on his wrist and thinks of the roof. Well, there are two good things I can count on, he guesses. Tommy had given him a reason to get down, to keep going after all. Both teens had wormed their way into his hardened heart, Tommy surprisingly quickly. Those moments on the roof when they burst out laughing at the most ridiculous logic and twists of fate were some of the best laughs he’s had in a while. He doesn’t regret giving him the bracelet, not at all, but now he wishes he had more than words to reassure Ranboo of his place in Tubbo’s heart. So, with a small smile, he quickly walks back to his lanky friend and throws his arms around his middle, forcing the boy to wheeze slightly.

   “You are a good friend, Boo. Don’t ever think you aren’t. Please?”

   He can feel Ranboo’s arms circle him as well, holding on tightly and shaking with how badly he wants to keep clinging. Tubbo squirms a bit but tries to remain still for his friend. He is not one for physical affection, instead offering weird headbutts as a form of endearment, but he needs to let his friend know how much he cares about him. As much as Ranboo worries for him, so does Tubbo. They stay that way for a while before they let go at the same time, Ranboo looking a bit less regretful.

   “You are too, Bo. Please don’t forget that.”

   They walk side by side on the pavement, past the bakery, and all the way down towards Crimson Avenue in a sort of contemplative silence. Tubbo can feel the phone again the closer they get to his house. A crushing weight settles over his mind, bearing down on his shoulders as they walk. His aunt is only a phone call away. A phone call is all that stands between him and a peaceful life away from his father. Tubbo grimaces at the thought of Schlatt, all beer bottles and whisky sours as he finds another flaw to berate his son about. Before his mother died, Schlatt seemed to be happy. At least, that is what he likes to believe. Even in the past, he remembers the stench of alcohol seemingly present everywhere. But they were happy, nonetheless. What went wrong? How did his mother’s death affect his father so much that he decides to take any aggression he may feel out on his own son? Grief does things to a person, he supposes. Terrible things, things that should never see the light of day.

   It is only a little while before they both stand in front of the house. Not a home, never a home, he thinks sourly. Perhaps it used to be, once upon a time. Now it is just a pretty little house hiding a terrible decay behind its doors, one that clings to you and suffocates you, trying to take you down with it. But that never stopped Tubbo, at least, not till tonight. In a moment of weakness, of desperation to escape, he had made his way to that roof with freedom closer than it had ever been. “That’s not freedom, not for you,” Tommy had said to him in the elevator on the way back down. “Now, you have a chance to escape. To really live. So don’t fucking…don’t fuck it up, alright?”

   He won’t fuck it up. Not this time.

   He and Ranboo exchange goodbyes silently as not to disturb Schlatt who lies just behind the front door. Tubbo watches as Ranboo turns the corner and disappears out of sight before he can finally start to feel the rising panic about opening the front door. It is painted beautifully, the entrance to the filth that it conceals beyond the threshold. He sucks in a breath through his mouth before letting it out slowly. As quietly as he can, he turns the unlocked knob, because of course it is unlocked, and enters the house. Empty whiskey bottles litter the hallway floor leading to the open area of the living room. This house would have looked elegant in its prime. Such a shame it had to be defiled like this. There are half-filled pizza boxes stacked on top of the coffee table situated in front of the tv, almost completely blocking the view from the couch. The couch is what catches Tubbo’s attention as he sees a mass of clothes slowly moving up and down, half sprawled across the length of it. Schlatt is sleeping soundly. Or at the very least, Tubbo hopes he is.

   There is a smashed bottle of Smirnoff gracing the floor near his bedroom, evidence of what occurred minutes before he left for the roof. It was another dumb argument, not unlike any of the other ones: he did something inconsequential and his father took it as an excuse to hurt him. This time was different, though. This time, Tubbo had had enough. For five years, he had put up with this man that had replaced the father he knew; the father that cared about him. So, he finally spoke up and put to words the one thought that had been boiling in his mind ever since his mother’s death. “She died because of you; you know. If you weren’t driving drunk off your ass, she would be alive right now! It’s your fault she’s dead!”

   He didn’t see the bottle before it was too late. He did see his father’s eyes— angry and bright like they hadn’t been in a long time. Schlatt knows he killed her; he has to know.

   Tubbo tiptoes around the couch, careful not to bump into the unconscious body of his father slumped on the sofa. Schlatt’s breath is rattling in his chest, sounding as if he is on his last leg. Good riddance if he does die, Tubbo thinks grimly once he makes it past. There’s a clear shot to his bedroom from where he stands, his safe haven. One step. Two steps. Three…Pause. There’s a shift in breathing five feet behind him. Gradually, he turns his head to look behind him.

   No movement.

   Keep going.

   He hurriedly steps closer to his door, dancing around broken glass and the bigger portions of the smashed bottle till his hand is on the doorknob. A shuffle of fabric rings clear in the silence permeating the room. Tubbo can hear his own labored breathing trying to keep pace with the man’s so there is no change in background noise to set him off. He may be passed out drunk, but there is every need to exercise caution here. One wrong step…well, he doesn’t want to imagine what would happen. The heaters turn on when he turns back and fill the room with soft background noise, loud enough to muffle the slow closing of his bedroom door. As the door clicks shut, he immediately locks it and lets out a shaky breath, sliding down to his knees. He’s done it. He’s in.

   Now comes the hard part. The cell phone lay heavy in his pocket and even heavier in his hand. He frowns at the small piece of plastic. A whole world in his hands and he can barely lift it to his ear. Tubbo can almost see what life would have been like if he had told his Aunt Puffy years ago what was happening in this rotting house. Because it is rotting, and all the good memories rotted away first and left him for last. He imagines mornings scrounging the beach for bits of sea glass and oddly shaped rocks, plucking them up and dropping them in jars just to hear the tink! of the objects hit the glass. Tubbo slumps down and holds the phone higher as if to shoulder its weight better. Dream would be there right alongside him, maybe even Foolish, just to watch him carefully and make sure he wasn’t getting into trouble. God, how he misses someone giving a shit about his wellbeing.

   “Hello? Who is this?”

   He gasps and almost drops the phone, thumb pressing down on the speaker button as the loud voice of his aunt rings through the quiet of his room. He quickly looks to the door, then back at the screen and, sure enough, he wasn’t hallucinating. ‘Puffy’ in white letters is glaring bright on the screen, a number pre-dialed into the phone staring back at him. When had he punched it in? Tubbo isn’t sure if he’s ready yet. Picking up the phone with shaky hands, he brings it to his ear and whispers into it. “A-aunt Puffy?”

   “Toby? Is that you?” she asks softly. Her voice is quiet, a tone to match his, but still as warm as the day he last remembered hearing it.

   “Yeah…it’s uhh, it’s me.”

   “God, kiddo, I haven’t seen or heard from you in a long time! How’ve you been?”

   How has he been? No “how is your father holding up” or “is your father alright”, it’s a simple question about him and him only. She was the last person to ever ask him that years ago and now she’s the first in a long, long time to ask it again. It is something so simple, yet it burns him. Immediately, Tubbo breaks down; tears that he has been holding back for longer than he can remember burst forth, running down his cheeks and neck. Distantly, he can hear Puffy’s voice over the tinny speaker, but he can’t stop crying. Why can’t he stop crying? Tubbo hasn’t cried in years. Always hiding his emotions from others behind false bravado and a calm exterior. Only Ranboo has been able to get past the polite front he has for his protection and been able to see the sadness, the anger, the true happiness or manic behavior he used to exhibit constantly before his life was ruined. Tommy got a glimpse of it tonight, but it barely scratched the surface of his whole.

   Somehow, after a few minutes of crying, Tubbo managed to make his way to his bed where he sits now. The covers are pulled around him in a semblance of shoddy comfort before he tries to listen to the phone audio again. Puffy is still with him, but silent now, waiting for him to speak first. “I’m still here,” he answers in a rough voice.

   “Buddy…is that the answer to my question or are you just reassuring me you haven’t left the call?”

   “A bit of both,” he answers honestly. It is true, he is still here thanks to that boy he met on the roof tonight. He can hear Puffy inhale sharply through her nose and the clacking of a keyboard before she speaks again.

   “Toby. I need you to answer honestly for me, okay? Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

   He sobs a bit at the small crumb of endearment, nodding his head before realizing that he needs to speak for her to understand. “O-okay Aunt Puffy.”

   “Alright buddy, real easy question. Are you safe right now?”

   “No.”

   The typing sound gets even faster. Her fingers must be real tired, he thinks sluggishly. Crying always used to tire him out, a part of the reason he decided to stop doing it. It was always a nasty, uncomfortable process that left you feeling worse than before you started. Not a very good coping mechanism, in Tubbo’s opinion. Puffy says something else, but his ears have stopped working for a second after thinking about her fingers. “Sorry, what did you say?”

   “It’s alright, bud, no worries. I asked where you are right now?”

   “Oh, ‘m at the house. In my room.”

   There’s a brief pause with no noise coming from the other end of the line before there’s a sound of keys jangling and a soft “mom, where are you going?” in the background before Puffy makes a shushing noise in his ear. “Toby, you’re at home? Why don’t you feel safe at home, sweetie?”

   “It’s not home, it’s a house. Schlatt’s house,” he answers softly, the feeling of sleep slowly overtaking his other senses. The bitterness is still there, though, and he can feel Puffy sense the emotion coming from him. Before she can speak again, he continues. “Aunt Puffy, I haven’t been completely honest with you. ‘M sorry.”

   “No, no, don’t be sorry bud, you’re doing good! What haven’t you been honest about, Toby?”

   “Remember when you asked me if I was doing alright with just me and dad? Y’know, after he killed my mum?”

   There’s a sharp intake of air and a slamming of a door before her soft voice comes through the speaker again, this time a bit wetter than it was. “I remember. You said you were fine, everything was fine.”

   “I lied,” he croaks into the receiver, tears tracking down his face again. At this rate, he’s going to pass out on the line before asking her about staying in L’Manburg. “I haven’t been fine in a long time, Aunt Puffy, and I’m sorry for bothering you but I just met a kid on the roof of the hotel and he told me to talk to you and I almost didn’t and I’m sorry but I don’t wanna live anymore! Here, I mean… I don’t wanna—fuck!”

   His breath comes in short gasps as he clutches the phone with one hand and his chest with the other hand, heart beating entirely too fast for his liking. God, this sucks, what is this feeling? He tries to calm down by listening to whatever is going on around him, or in this case, what’s going on over the phone. There’s an engine revving, a screeching sort of sound, and heavy breathing over the speakers. It’s rhythmic, the breaths he hears. Tubbo tries to copy them if only to stop his heart from beating so quickly. In and out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out again. As he breathes, Puffy’s voice becomes clear again.

   “That’s good, Toby, you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, kiddo. You stay right there, okay? I’ll be there in two hours or so. Stay on the line with me until I pull up. Can you do that, baby?”

   “W-wait,” he sniffs and turns to the door fearfully, “why are you coming? Schlatt’s here, Puffy, I don’t—you don’t want me anyways!”

   All he can hear is the soft rumble of her car in his ear. The words he just basically yelled at her reverberate in the silence. Tommy told him he was wrong tonight, that she does want him safe and secure, but he can’t be sure. So, he said it. She wants him to be honest with her, here is the honest, bitter truth.

   “Toby, listen to me, alright? Really listen to me. Not that voice in your head telling you you’re a burden or unworthy or any of that bullshit it spews at you, you listen to my voice, alright? Can you do that, sweetheart?”

   “Mhm,” he barely responds.

   “I’m sorry, Toby. I haven’t been there for you as much as I should have been after your mom’s death. For that, I am truly sorry. And this isn’t me trying to make up for it now, or any crap like that. You are in danger, you need help, and you reached out to me. Thank you so much for doing that, Tobes. I love you, bud, just as much as my own sons. I’m sure they would be happy to see you after so long, y’know? I want you, Toby, I want you here. I want you with us. Buddy, I want you to live and not just live, but fucking thrive, okay?”

   Puffy’s voice got a bit thicker towards the end and Tubbo can hear her stifling quiet sobs in order to be the adult he needs right now. Eyes wide and mouth open, he nods vigorously and tries to smile through half-hearted cries. Tommy was right. He was right. A peaceful life by the sea with someone who cares about him is only two hours away, give or take an hour thirty minutes with however much Puffy plans to speed. Perhaps Puffy can take up Tommy’s case again. Tubbo thinks he deserves peace too.

   “Okay.”

Notes:

This took a bit longer to write, but the next chapter might take even longer. Thank you all so freaking much for all the bookmarks, kudos, and comments! I love seeing all of them, it makes me really happy people like my first fic on this site! I have a bunch of other ideas as well, so once this is over with, I hope to write those as well.

Chapter 5: We struggle to see what others do

Summary:

Tommy is thwarted yet again, but not in the way you may think.

My laptop is currently dying, you get no nice sounding summary tonight, bitches /pos

   “Thomas, can you step into my office please? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

   It’s bright and early three days after his second attempt and what Tommy doesn’t need is Dick’s voice on the other side of his door right now. The walk back the second time was worse than the first. Constantly thumbing the newest piece of clothing on his wrist kept him grounded enough to keep himself wary of his surroundings, but only just. There were too many thoughts swirling around in his head to even try and sleep that night. He didn’t leave his room the next day. Worried about him, apparently, Dick had decided to postpone the meeting he was to have with the new placement family. Fucking good, in his opinion. He doesn’t need another house. He doesn’t need more pity from people he doesn’t know. He just needs out. The waves of self-loathing have started to abate again, which means that tonight is going to be attempt number three if he has any say in the matter. In fact, this matter is the one thing he can control, so he should have all the say. Screw the universe, it can blow up for all he cares. Tommy’s death is his and his alone.

   Tommy rolls out of bed and manages to throw on an old Metallica shirt and some ripped skinny jeans before heading out. He pauses briefly at the greasy mirror hanging on the wall and catches his reflection. It’s downright ghastly at this point; there are clumps in his hair from not showering recently, bags under his eyes that have only gotten worse. Those eyes used to be a bright blue, the color of a summer sea flashing bright with the glinting of the sun riding its waves. The sea is calmer now, greyer than the last time he looked at himself properly. There’s no light in them anymore, it’s all been sucked out of him over the course of eight long years. Tommy shrugs at the pale reflection of himself and saunters out the door, slamming it on the way.

   Dick’s office is terrifyingly bright and cheerful for someone who deals with worn-down teenagers that have nothing better to do than ride out the system until they age out. The aging out plan isn’t for him, though. Once, it seemed like a pleasant thing to look forward to as the hope of finding a family died out. He could almost picture himself with a job and a small ass apartment, living paycheck to paycheck before finally finding a stable footing in the world; not something a typical kid dreams about, but then, Tommy’s circumstances are far from normal. And normal is what screams at him whenever he enters his caseworker’s office. There’s a simple desk in the middle of the room, backlit by a window fortunate enough to not be staring out at one of the buildings encasing the complex. There is a bird’s nest in the window. It is a pleasant distraction to whatever Dick has to say to him most days.

   Tommy saunters in and slumps into the chair facing the man himself, immediately on edge. Dick looks less than overly optimistic today, which gives him a bad feeling. The man’s face is still smiling, but it is a forced sort of smile, a sad one you give to a person when you are about to deliver bad news. Tommy has had that smile directed at him many times before (he tries not to think of Puffy giving him the same smile). So, with a forced smile of his own, bordering on an odd grimace, he regards Dick with an air of nonchalance that he wishes he actually felt.

   “Hello, Dick, how’s your morning going?”

   Dick chuckles a bit, nowhere near his usual good-hearted one after Tommy insults him. Not a good sign. “Well, Thomas, I’m gonna be honest with you; it’s not going so great. I had to officially cancel the meetup with the placement family after a better inspection of their house. Turns out their basement had a barely rubbed out circle in the center of it with remnants of wax buildup on the sides hidden underneath a rug.”

   “Holy fucking shit! I was almost sent to a goddamn cult?!”

    Dick winces at his loud yelling and rubs the area between his eyes with his thumb and index finger, possibly trying to stave off a migraine. “As impossible as it may seem, yes. I am truly sorry, Thomas, I really thought they would be a good fit for you. Heh, you know, you may have been right about me after all. I guess I’m not as good at finding kids a home as I thought I was.”

   It's at this that Tommy really looks at the man. He’s a bit disheveled this morning, hair mussed, and suit jacket crumpled slightly. In short, a mess. Sure, Dick may be overly cheerful and optimistic and downright obtuse at times, but he is genuine, nonetheless. He honestly wants to get kids into homes that want them and help give them a better chance at a future. In his heart of hearts, he just wants to do the right thing. Tommy can’t blame the man for that, even if he knows in his heart that he would never find a family. He is a lost cause, and when someone who is determined to help meets a lost cause, they will crash and burn alongside them. Tommy sighs and looks into Dick’s eyes.

   “Listen, Richard, you’re not terrible, okay? You just got stuck with me, that’s all. I’m sure you’ve helped a lot of other kids, you and your fucking happy schtick. But let’s face facts, mate, you just got stuck with the worst fucking case of your career. It’s not your fault.”

   Dick just stares at him for a minute, eyes locked onto his own. He squirms in his seat, starting to stare at the birds just waking up in the window behind him when Dick speaks again. “You’re right, Tommy.”

   He jolts at the sound of his name. He just said his name, his real name! Not the formal sounding one that makes him want to scratch his throat out, his name, the one he chose for himself. But with his name comes the bittersweet truth of being right. As soon as he jolts, immediately, he deflates again, all happiness of hearing his name sucked out of him. “I am?”

   “You are. And it’s not fair to you. You deserve better, Tommy, better than me trying. You deserve results. That’s why I called you in here this morning. As of today, I am no longer going to be working your case. Effective immediately, as a matter of fact. The head office called in and told me somebody more qualified is going to be taking your case off my hands. Hopefully…they can help you more than I ever tried to.”

   Fuck. Fuck. It’s been a while since his last ‛changing of the guard’, so to speak. The last person to leave him in the dust was Puffy and well…he doesn’t like to think about that very much, so he is not going to. Now it’s Dick’s turn. By the tone of his voice, it sounds like he has already given up on him. Time for a new person to watch him fail house after house. Bitterly, he wonders if they all have a giant meeting to discuss and laugh at his attempts at finding a place to call home. Of course, they don’t, nobody would care enough to have a meeting about him, even if it was only to poke fun at his misfortune. Dick ruffles through Tommy’s files nervously, glancing up at Tommy every few seconds to gauge his reaction to the news.

   He doesn’t grace him with a reaction. Tommy’s face is a blank slate, trained that way and maintained for situations exactly like this. News like this should not affect him in the slightest, so he doesn’t show it. It doesn’t matter if his heart is crying out in pain at the thought of another person who showed him the barest hint of human decency and affection is leaving him, again. It doesn’t matter, he is fine. After all, tonight is attempt number three, and third time’s the charm, right?

   “Thank you for letting me know, Dick. I know you did the best you could,” he says as he stands to leave, “just like everyone else.”

   Dick scrambles to put the files away before reaching out to him, a hand waiting for something. “Wait, Tommy, are you alright with all this? I know it might be a lot all at once.”

   As the door is slowly closing, he turns his head and stares back at his former caseworker, soon to be his last one. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

   He waits until the sky is dark, until the last of the noise in the complex dies out and all he can hear is the sound of his own heart beating harshly in his chest. The thrill of sneaking out doesn’t fade, not even after every failed attempt so far. He hastily throws on his favorite jumper, the beanie, and makes sure the bracelet is tied on tight. Meeting those people, Wilbur and Tubbo, those had been flukes. All a part of the universe’s grand scheme of ruining the ending notes of Tommy Danger-Kraken Innit’s discordant symphony. Not this time, he thinks angrily as he shimmies out the window and rushes down the rickety stairwell. This time I am getting my fucking show-stopping number, and whatever greets me after better be fucking applauding.

   Tommy stalks irritably down the pavement, passing Niki’s bakery whose doors are already closed with the lights snuffed out an hour ago. Fine by him, there is no time to stop, no time to rethink this. His death has been put off for far too long and he is not about to quit now. The lights of the city blur past him as he walks faster and faster, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The hotel is in eyesight now, the sight of it making his stomach twist, and with it comes the bad feeling in his guts once again. Tommy stands at the crosswalk, staggering footsteps coming to a halt as he clenches his stomach with tight fingers.

   You’re not supposed to be here, the treacherous feeling whispers to him, where are you supposed to be? It’s not here, not here, not here. Where do you need to go? Small tears form in his eyes, and he shuts them tight before they can escape down his cheeks. For once, just once, he wishes it would tell him. Who knows, perhaps it wouldn’t have come to this if he just knew where he belonged. Curse his guts, curse his intuition and curse the universe for trying so damn hard to keep him alive.

   Gritting his teeth, Tommy runs across the street and up to the door of the hotel, harshly pushing against the revolving entrance until he is once again blasted with warmth from the indoor heaters. His teeth start chattering as his body realizes how cold the walk here was. Rubbing his hands and blowing hot air on them does little to stave off the chilled shaking of his hands, but it will have to do. Sam is still sitting at his desk, surrounded by coffee cups. Tommy smiles a bit at the never-changing comfort that Sam is, always believing him and making the process slightly more pleasant. The man in question spots him across the lobby and smiles, eyes crinkling as he does.

   “Good evening, kiddo! Nothing for your brother tonight?” He asks kindly as he waves him forward. Tommy chuckles a bit and tries to sidestep the man’s desk to make his way to the elevator quickly.

   “Howdy there, Samuel. No time to chit chat tonight, I’ve got big man things to do. So, if you’ll excuse me—”

   “Well, can I at least know the big man’s name before he rushes off again?”

   “Oh,” Tommy sputters a bit at the question. He forgot that Sam doesn’t really know who he is. It’s a damn good thing that this Nathaniel guy who is acting as his big brother in the fabricated story he’s running with hasn’t spoken to Sam at all. Otherwise, his ass would have been handed to him at the front door and sent on his merry way to the group home. Or maybe the police station. “It’s Tommy, sir.”

   “Oh, please do not call me sir, it makes me sound fifty years old. Well, nice to meet you for the third time, Tommy. So, why do you need your brother this time?”

   Crap, he missed his window to Niki’s tonight in his rush. Not that it would have mattered, he avoided it on purpose to avoid seeing her. No more unneeded emotions to cloud his judgment. There’s no food fodder to fall back on, he has to think of something else. What do older brothers do? Annoy you? Steal your things and not give them back? Yeah, let's run with that, that sounds like a good excuse!

   “Well, y’see Sam, Big Nate stole the last bag of Gushers from the cabinet. My Gushers, Sam, the sour kind too! You can see the absolute injustice here, can’t you? I need to get them back, or at the very least, money to buy a new box. I was really looking forward to them after dinner.”

   Sam lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head, still mildly amused at this whole interaction. Yeah, keep being amused bitch, Tommy thinks as he inches minutely towards the elevator. “Next time I see Nathaniel, there’s going to be a long lecture about bringing his own food to work.”

   Well, that’s a first. Tommy stops moving and subconsciously moves closer to the man behind the desk, tilting his head a bit and looking at him more intently. No other adults have ever really cared about him before, especially not for small things like this. Granted, this is all a giant lie that Tommy is carefully weaving, but it hits him, nonetheless. “Well, I don’t mind it, honest,” he says quietly.

   “I do though. A kid like you shouldn’t be out this late. Winter break is coming on fast, it’s near the end of November. You need sleep to do well on your finals, don’t you?”

   “Sleep is for the weak and I ain’t no bitch.”

   Sam lets out a surprised laugh at the statement, hiding his growing smile behind a hand. Tommy smiles a bit at this, glad to make someone laugh before he gets on that roof. The elevator dings open and his eyes immediately are drawn to it. But Sam is still looking at him, so he just watches a couple breeze past them, and the elevator doors close once again. An urgency enters his mind at those doors closing; he has to get to that elevator soon or else he might not make it at all. He cannot fail a third time.

   “Still,” Sam says to catch the boy’s attention, “it would make me sleep a little easier to know you aren’t freezing out there.”

   He bends down behind the desk which has Tommy standing on his tiptoes to try and sneak a peek at whatever he’s grabbing. Why must the desk be so abnormally tall and large? Maybe because Sam is a tall person, the desk must match the man he supposes. Sam resurfaces with his hands outstretched towards Tommy and he takes a look. There is a pair of bright yellow gloves in his hands. They look brand new with the tag still attached to them. Sam is still smiling at him, but his own face turns harrowing as he steps backward.

   “Please tell me you didn’t buy me these gloves.”

   “I may or may not have stolen them from Ponk’s dresser a few days ago. I bought them for him a while back, but he doesn’t really need them anymore.”

   Tommy softens his gaze just a bit before snatching the gloves and ripping the tags off them. If there are two things he hates it’s knowing the price of something being handed to him and the feeling of tags on his skin. That shit is nightmarish. It is thoughtful, the gesture Sam is offering. Kind, even. But he has no time for kind, he has a roof to get to. So, squashing down the rising affection in his heart, he smirks at the man as he pulls the gloves on.

   “You are committing a crime for a kid you don’t even know.”

   “I am indeed,” Sam responds with fake solemnity.

   “That’s poggers.”

   His hands are gaining their feeling back as the gloves work their magic. Maybe Sam is another type of witch, not at all like Niki, but warm and kind all the same. His spells are more for protection, though, since he guards the hotel from wronguns. And the gloves to him are unnaturally comforting in the same way curling up under the covers after a particularly shitty day is. The yellow contrasts the red and white of his jumper and the red of his beanie, only slightly covering the green bracelet Tubbo gave him three days ago. Looking at the scrap of green brings his thoughts back to the roof. Distantly, he hopes the boy called someone for help like he told him to. Before he can ask Sam if he can have the go-ahead for the elevator, the revolving doors of the hotel bring someone new to the lobby.

   He is big, that much is evident. He carries himself strongly, like he is built for protection the same way Sam is. The lights of the lobby reflect off his glasses which almost hide the sheer amount of intent in his eyes. Half of his face is apathetic and framed in pink trails of hair before being pulled back into a fishtail braid. The other half of his face is hidden behind a light blue scarf with gold accents. The outfit as well just screams rich to Tommy, with more blue and white on the coat; even the boots are trimmed with white fur and accented blue. He gets the distinct feeling that this is someone who he does not want to mess with. The man’s eyes lock onto him for a second before shifting to Sam, the lobby guard straightening in his seat.

   “Sam,” the man states simply, his voice so deep and monotonous that it shakes Tommy to his core. Scary motherfucker.

   “Techno, glad you could make it.”

   Tommy turns to look at Sam, then back at the scary man. Then back to Sam, and back to the scary man again in complete confusion. Do they know each other? Do they go to the same coven meeting about gains and protection spells or something like that? The larger man, Techno apparently, shifts from foot to foot, glancing around every so often as if scanning for potential threats. Or…maybe not. His face slowly begins to edge around discomfort rather than intimidation. The scary mask he puts up, an indifferent expression, is slowly starting to become clearer to Tommy. It seems as if the man is just being awkward. Techno takes a hand out of his coat pocket and brushes the back of his neck almost shyly (as if anyone that big and tall could be considered shy).

   “Well, don’t know how glad I am to be here, per se. Not exactly under the most pleasant of circumstances.”

   “I get it,” Sam responds in a voice so gentle that Tommy almost did a double-take right in front of them. “The door should already be unlocked for you. You need closure, I understand that more than anyone.”

   “And Phil doesn’t know?”

   “No, he doesn’t. But he is always a speed dial away if you need him to pick you up or for anything else. If you need me to call…”

   Techno holds up the hand he was previously using to rub his neck, as if stopping the man from continuing to speak. “That won’t be necessary…thank you, Sam.”

   “Of course.”

   It only takes Techno a few steps to get to the elevator, already calling it down with the press of a button. Immediately, Tommy scrambles after him to catch the ride up as well, not wanting to waste any more time. He can hear Sam chuckle behind him, and his ears turn warm at the sound. Standing side by side, it must look rather ridiculous. Tommy himself can admit that he is not that tall, perhaps around kids his age he is, but next to Techno he must look like an infant in comparison. The man shifts his head to him, peering behind his glasses with a quizzical look.

   “Uhhh…goin’ up?”

   Tommy nods, not bothering to speak to him unless absolutely necessary. He turns back to stare at the door as it opens with a dinging of the bell, hearing the man above him sigh as well.

   “Alright.”

   If it wasn’t already cramped enough in the elevator, standing next to Techno makes it almost unbearable. Tommy’s claustrophobia is already starting to set in, no way he can make it all the way up next to this living heater. Standing so close, he can feel the heat coming off of this Techno guy in waves. Must be all that muscle he’s hiding. Even with the coat and scarf, Tommy can tell the guy is ripped under there. Scratchy words of a cover of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” ring out in the small, enclosed box hurtling upwards to…huh. The man already punched in the highest floor possible. Lucky me, he thinks sarcastically, I get to ride with him all the way to the top.

   “Oh, sorry,” a deep voice cuts through the horrible singing coming from the speakers. Tommy cranes his neck to look at Techno who appears the slightest bit sheepish. “I kinda just…hit the floor I need to get to. Uh, what—what floor do you need?”

   Tommy smirks just the faintest bit, the feeling of being in a too-tight space still holding on tight to his lungs. The man is awkward, of course, which means he can work with that. “I think my brother told me to meet him on Floor 69. Yep, that is a very real floor he asked me to meet him at.”

   He snickers as Techno’s face shifts to a more uncomfortably disturbed one only hinted at by a scrunching of the eyebrows and the rise of one side of his lips. It is impressive, the amount of emotion the man can hide behind his mostly deadpan expression, but if Tommy has learned anything in all the houses he’s been in, it is how to read emotion from the smallest indicators.

   “How old is your brother, thirteen?” Techno asks in mocking disbelief.

   “Hey, I thought it was funny!”

   “And how old are you?”

   Tommy looks anywhere but the man next to him; the numbers of the floors are steadily rising, each one heralded by a small beep indicating the previous floor has passed and they are now onto the next one. He shifts from one foot to the other and places his hands in his jumper. “…Fourteen.”

   “I rest my case.”

   “…fucking, bitch,” he mumbles under his breath. The man spares him another glance at the comment but says nothing, clearly not interested in continuing the conversation. They ride the rest of the floors together in silence, the man motioning every so often to the buttons as if silently asking him if he wants to punch in his own floor. Every time, he softly shakes his head no. After all, why waste time when the same floor Techno needs is the same one that he’s going to?

    Eventually, the numbers come to a stop and the elevator dings its last as the doors open to let them out. Techno steps out first and turns to him as if he wants to say something, but instead he steps away and heads towards the stairwell. The same place Tommy needs to go. A sudden realization dawns on him and all his urgency about tonight is replaced with equal amounts of rage and despair hurtling him into a downwards spiral. “The door should already be unlocked for you,” Sam had told Techno earlier in the lobby. He had meant the door to the roof, hadn’t he? He shuffles to the door of the stairwell and listens intently for the telltale sound of the metal door. Sure enough, there’s a small screeching sound and the slam of something metal above him.

   As much as Tommy wants to curl up into a ball and sob about how shit a deal the universe has handed him tonight (again) he simply snarls at the frustration that’s beginning to mount in his heart. How dare this bubblegum-headed bitch ruin his strategy, a plan so mapped out in the beginning only to be cut and pasted back together not once, but now three times. This has to be some sick joke at his expense like all things are, and this time he is not letting anyone else have the last laugh. With a righteous fury brewing on his face, he marches up those stairs and all the way up to the door, ripping it wide open to see the man from before standing right at the lip of the hotel’s edge.

   Techno whirls around at the sound of the door opening with eyes wide, staggering away from the edge a bit; thankfully, he hasn’t stepped onto the ledge yet, which means that he is on solid ground. Tommy couldn’t give less of a shit, honestly. He is pissed, so beyond pissed at this guy. Why on earth would Sam willingly let another suicidal maniac onto the roof?! If he didn’t know, he can’t blame him. This guy doesn’t seem like the type to jump off a roof, but then again, with his story staying strong neither does Tommy. But he’s here, right at the edge, and Tommy can’t help but explode on the guy with all the fury and frustration he’s been bottling up.

   “For fuck’s sake, man! Please tell me you’re not about to kill yourself, too! I can’t deal with another one, not tonight of all nights! Get away from there and march your ass back down to Sam or so help me God I will clart you!”

   Techno holds out his hands and steps away from the edge a bit more as if hoping Tommy would calm down a bit. Well, fuck him, he is not going to calm down. This outburst was a long time coming and the large awkward scary man is going to get the brunt of it.

   “Easy, kid,” he says, “I’m not here to kill myself.”

   Tommy crosses his arms and squints at him, anger simmering down into a much more agreeable level. “Oh, really? Because you got awfully close to the edge there, pal. Thinkin’ a bit too much, maybe? Having an existential crisis on top of a hotel? Well, I won’t have it!”

   “I…what?”

   Techno looks absolutely confused at his words, and he would try and explain better if he isn’t so fucking tired of all of this. It’s one inconvenience after another, even if the first two unexpected meetings left him with somewhat warmer feelings than when he arrived. The one thing that Tommy has control over, and it is being taken away from him yet again. There’s a treacherous part of him that whispers thanks to the large pink-haired man for stopping him, but it is drowned out by everything else swarming around in his head. His disappointment in tonight’s attempt is immeasurable and he lets out a sigh, wishing to all hell it was a reset button on the evening’s events.

   “Listen man, I don’t have time for this, can you please just get off the roof? I have had a difficult and confusing couple of days, and I’d just as soon forget it all. So please. Get off. My roof.”

   As he finishes speaking, Techno seems to come back to himself, and he stands up straighter than before with a slight furrow of his brow. He looks a bit mad himself. “I have a right to be here, kid. More than you do.”

   Tommy scoffs. “Oh, sure you do. Go on, why are you up here, then?”

   “To understand,” he replies simply, voice a bit quiet now. He backs up back to the ledge and sits on it sideways, one foot still on the roof and the other crossing over his leg. He’s not going to fall, at least. With what he just said, Tommy isn’t sure he’s going to jump either. He walks closer to the man and catches him staring at the alleyway below them, eyes scanning the darkness for something. An answer, maybe, he can’t be sure. All Tommy knows is that the man in front of him looks haunted. So, he sits on the ledge next to him, the closest he’s ever gotten to falling in his past attempts, and crosses his arms over his knees, bringing them up to his chest. Techno looks back up at him, gaze curious and a bit sad.

   “You okay, big man?” Tommy’s voice goes a bit calmer than it was, all previous fight in him drained.

   “Yeah, I think so. I…I don’t understand. I can’t understand. How could he just walk to the edge of a roof without even thinking about it? It baffles me even now, looking down at everything.”

   So that’s it. Techno is up here because someone close to him committed suicide, or at least tried to. He’s heard of this before; people close to the victim will sometimes return to the scene of the crime in hopes of connecting with them or understanding what they were going through at the time. Tommy thinks those people are ridiculous, but there’s a way that Techno is holding himself that makes him wonder just how badly he wants to understand. The man is so close to the edge, no doubt thinking about what it would be like if he were the one on the ledge instead, about to jump and end it all. Those kinds of thoughts aren’t good for normal people to have, it messes with them. Tommy fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, slowly twisting and turning the woven strands for some time before looking up at the starless sky.

   “Well…some people are like that. They don’t stop and think about what they’ll leave behind. Who they will leave behind, even. Some people make a plan for it, y’know? Tie up the loose ends before ending it all. Easier that way.”

   “Mmm. Perhaps.”

   It’s quiet on the roof for the first time tonight. The sounds of the city are far below them, a nice backdrop to the endless sky above them. Wherever stars go, Tommy wishes just once that they would travel past his city one night, just so he could see them. Images on a computer screen just can’t compare to seeing the real deal. Briefly, he recalls stars being dead when you see them in the night sky. It’s just an afterimage of an already dead gas giant. Maybe when he dies, he will become one of them. He hears Techno next to him shift on the ledge until it falls quiet again. When he looks over, the man is looking at him intently, almost invasively. It is a bit unnerving; he’ll be honest.

   “So,” he says to try and disrupt the man’s gaze, “he lived then? Whoever you’re here for tonight?”

   Techno nods, gaze never leaving Tommy. “My brother.”

   Tommy hums as a response. Techno’s eyes don’t leave him at all, only blinking when needed. He scratches at his arm, making a face at the man to try and get him to stop looking. He continues.

   “He told me he almost didn’t make it home. Said some kid talked to him and make him rethink everything. He even said that the kid told him to tell people about it so he could get the help he needs.”

   The man pauses for dramatic effect, tilting his head as Tommy begins to put the pieces together. “Now that I think about it, that beanie you’re wearing looks awfully familiar.”

   Tommy immediately jumps up and points at Techno, mouth slack jaw in realization as the man lets out a laugh at his antics. “You’re Wilbur’s brother?!”

   “You must be Tommy, then,” he replies behind a hand brought up to cover the laughter still coming through in his voice. This cannot be real, Tommy thinks as he grips the edges of the beanie with both hands, trying not to freak out on top of the hotel more than once tonight. A bit too late with this sudden info drop. It’s almost like a bomb went off in his head and nothing makes sense. Those two are brothers?!

   “You two are brothers?! But—but you have fucking pink hair! You guys don’t even look like brothers!”

   “Well, that’s weird considering we’re twins.”

   Tommy looks at Techno in front of him, all tall and broad with a silent look about him and tries to mentally bring up a picture of Wilbur to compare. And there he is, all tall and lean, full of music and laughter and banter enough to knock a man to his knees. He has curly brown hair, and he tries to picture the man in front of him with the same kind of locks but to no avail. At this point, it would just look weird on him if it was brown, pink really suits Techno. There is almost nothing about the two of them that screams brothers. Except that when Techno smiles, his eyes scrunch up in the same way Wilbur’s does. When he speaks, he can hear the same warmth in his otherwise cold exterior as Wilbur does when he said he hoped to catch him at Niki’s. Except when he looks at Techno, all he can feel is warm, and the warmth of Wilbur’s hand on his head still burns with phantom touch.

   “I guess so,” he mumbles hesitantly, “yeah, I’m Tommy, bitch. Nice to meet you, I guess.”

   “Technoblade. It’s a bit of a surprise to see you here, I’ll be honest.”

   Tommy snorts at the name and the statement afterward. “Why’s that, big man?”

   “Wouldn’t you rather stay away from what was probably a traumatic experience for you? It’s not every day you talk somebody off of a roof. Not that I’m not grateful, of course I am. I-I mean, uhh...without you—”

   “Okay first of all,” Tommy interrupts with a hand held out as if to stop him, “you don’t get to decide what is traumatic for me, asshole, I can do that myself. Second of all, Wilbur was being a little bitch so of course I helped him. Anybody would have done the same. And third of all…well…I guess I needed closure too, maybe. Bitch.”

   Tommy slumps back down to the ground, head propped against the ledge and just barely brushing Techno’s leg. He hears the man above him hum and then watches him slide down to his level, sitting so close to Tommy that his side is pressed against his. The warmth from inside the elevator was no joke, now with it being actively pressed against him, it was extremely evident that the man just runs hotter than most. Cold wind brushes his cheek, but he barely feels it with the surrounding warmth that is Technoblade. Wilbur would have missed out on this kind of comfort if he had jumped that night, Tommy realizes. That would have sucked for him, he thinks sleepily. The gut feeling from earlier tonight has dissipated completely, replaced with contentment. The absence of it confuses him. The feeling has plagued him for his whole life, why is it suddenly gone when it was here only a little while ago?

   “Technoblade,” he says suddenly, disrupting the calm of the moment, “can I ask you a question?”

   “You just did.”

   He shoves his shoulder into Techno’s a bit, causing the man to let out a small grunt of amusement. “Oh, fuck off, man. Seriously though, may I?”

   “Sure,” he says as he turns to shift more towards Tommy, as if to let him know he’s actively listening. It makes him smile a bit before he shifts back to ask his question.

   “Have you ever had this…feeling, like you don’t belong where you are? Not in an oh-pity-me-I-don’t-fit-in kind of way, just… No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, it’s wrong? It’s a feeling in your guts, right, and you know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s still there! Does that make any sense to you?”

   Techno is silent next to him for a moment, before sighing and looking up at the sky with Tommy. “I used to feel that way when I wasn’t around Wilbur. We both were foster kids; we didn’t want to get separated. It always felt like I should be somewhere else, with him, rather than alone. I had to figure out when we were taken in by our dad that being alone is okay sometimes. In fact, now I cherish my alone time. Am I getting close?”

   “Not really,” he says sadly, “but thank you anyway.”

   Techno hums in acknowledgment before sitting up straight, stretching his arms above his head. As the warmth leaves Tommy’s side, he begins to shiver. The feeling that left him slowly crawls back in, begging him to find something, but not showing him what it is he needs. He sighs and resigns himself to the cold beginning to seep back in, even with the new gloves covering his hands.

   “It’s just sometimes you wonder if being nowhere is better than being in a place where you feel like you don’t belong.”

   Tommy follows Techno’s start and pushes against the ground, bits of gravel falling off the fibers in his gloves and making a tinkling sound as it hits the roof. As Techno turns to look back at him, going to ask about the question Tommy had for him, he notices the boy shivering. Even with those new layers, he is still as skinny as a twig with no protection against the harsher winds of winter. Techno has a coat, gloves, and even a scarf for protection. The kid has nothing; a kid, he knows, because Tommy said he was fourteen in the elevator ride to the top. What kind of parents would let their kid out in such bad shape, he will never know. Maybe he can ask Sam to give his concerns to that Nathaniel guy he was talking about earlier.

   Tommy is picking the rest of the gravel from his gloves and wiping any excess off his ass (why must gravel be so clingy??) when a large hand grips his shoulder lightly. He turns to Techno and is hit again with just how much smaller he is in comparison. The man is looking at him with concern. Before he can ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, he removes his hand and starts to unwrap the scarf from around his neck.

   “Technoblade, what the actual fuck are you doing?” Tommy squeaks as the man brings the now flowing scarf to his face and begins to carefully wrap the still warm fabric around his neck, covering his mouth a bit to keep his face out of the wind. He ties it off with a loose knot, brushing the scarf to flow smoothly down his shoulders. Each brush of Techno’s hands sends warning shots through his body, slowly tingling with the pleasant warmth from earlier. It’s strange, this moment between the two. Perhaps it’s some weird gesture of gratitude for aiding Wilbur. Or maybe he’s just nice. Either way, Tommy feels warm again once Techno stands up straight, fiddling with his own hands now that the scarf is properly attached.

   “You looked cold,” he mumbles, fixing his glasses in a similar manner to Wilbur. Really, Tommy sees how they’re brothers now.

   “Thank you.”

   “No problem. Well, I should probably head back before Wilbur has an aneurysm. You find your brother and get home, alright?”

   The comment shouldn’t sting like it does. But it does anyway. He sighs and follows Techno to the door, all the way down the stairway and to the elevator doors. So, he failed again. Fantastic. He really should be better prepared for inconveniences, but he really wants to do this quietly and without hassle. His thoughts swirl with conflicting emotions fighting for their spot in his head. Selfishly, he wants to come clean to the man now entering the elevator alone. Tell him what he was really doing on the roof tonight. Maybe if he did that, he can see Wilbur again. But the thought of finally ending it all and entering a blissful state of nothing pulls just the tiniest bit harder.

   Techno feels a tugging at his sleeve and turns to see Tommy trying to get his attention, hanging his head to avoid his gaze. He hums quizzically to him and watches him clutch his coat just the tiniest bit tighter.

   “I won’t see you on the roof tomorrow, right big man?”

   He smiles, even though the boy doesn’t see it. “You won’t, Tommy.”

   “Promise?”

   “I promise.”

   The elevator doors close between them, cutting off the contact. Tommy smiles sadly at his promise, hoping against hope that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow is his time; it needs to be. The bad feeling swirls dangerously in his stomach, but he pushes it aside with the warmth still clinging to him from the baby blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He burrows his face into it, trying to gather some of the comfort he felt as it was being wrapped around him protectively. Tomorrow it is, then.

Notes:

We reached over 100 bookmarks tonight! Thank you all so much, this makes me so happy to know you guys are enjoying this! Laptopisdyingnowohgod

Chapter 6: And our hearts stop beating as we come to the conclusion

Summary:

Their meeting last night was unplanned and a surprise, for sure, but Techno is glad to have met him. ...Things that the kid said last night aren't fitting together right in his head. The reason the boy was up there to begin with is still a mystery to Techno, but maybe it's one that Wilbur can help him with.

 

Techno tries to piece together the puzzle that is Tommy and realizes something important was said last night. Something he shouldn't have forgotten.

   Techno stares across the dinner table, eyes squinted in contemplation and hands clasped in front of his mouth. His trip to the roof last night left him with more questions than answers. He had met the kid who saved his brother, a boy named Tommy. Or was it Theseus? So young, only fourteen, yet he was on the roof the night of Wilbur’s deadly spiral. Their meeting last night was unplanned and a surprise, for sure, but Techno is glad to have met him. However, he wasn’t at all like Wilbur had described. Sure, there was a fiery spirit in him when he yelled at Techno to get away from the edge and leave the roof. There was more there, though. Something under the surface that the kid was trying desperately to hide, a sadness of some sort, or maybe an acceptance. Things that the kid said last night aren’t fitting together right in his head. He had expected a kid happy to have helped Wilbur, not someone so…resigned to keep meeting people on the roof. As if he plans to keep going.

   Techno rubs his temple with a sigh, trying to expel the thought of him from his mind. Maybe this is what Wilbur was talking about, how he kept thinking about Tommy, hoping the kid was okay where he was. For the week after the roof incident, Wilbur had been scouring Niki’s bakery every day for that particular mop of blonde hair or even his old beanie. He hadn’t been successful. There had been no sign of the kid since until last night. The conversation he is going to have to have with his twin tonight is not one he’s looking forward to, but it’s unavoidable. Yes, he’d told Phil he was going to the hotel for closure, but not Wilbur. God knows Wilbur would have kept him locked in his room.

   His thoughts are cut short by a small cough from the other end of the table. Techno clears the fog in his brain to see a short brown-haired boy across from him looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Oh, right. They had been talking before his mind had wandered back to the roof. And he has been staring at the kid the whole time. Fantastic. “Sorry, Tubbo, where were we?”

   “We were talking about possible discord tutoring sessions in case my English grade drops again when I transfer schools. Are you okay, boss man? You look tired.”

   “Right, sorry,” Techno says rubbing the rest of the fog out by wiping a hand over his eyes. It was a last-minute favor for an old friend, Phil had told them this morning. Something about a desperate situation, though he wouldn’t go into too many details. Tubbo, however, decided to tell them his story when the three teenagers were alone, albeit with a few gaps here and there. Turns out that the Manifold hotel is a hot spot for suicidal adolescents. Wilbur and Techno both agreed that this was the best option for him after hearing what happened, especially since Techno has known him for a while now.

   “So,” Techno says finally. “you’re leavin’ me. It was only a matter of time, I suppose.”

   Tubbo slumps in his chair, a look of exasperation inching across his face. “Technoblade— “

   “Just promise me you’ll remember our training, all those long hours of work can’t have been for nothing,” he pauses, putting a hand on his chest for dramatic effect. “You’ll be far from my guidance, stringing along in an endless—”

   “Jesus,” a voice interrupts, “and people call me the dramatic twin.”

   Techno swivels his torso towards the hallway to see his brother walk over to the table and, after sitting down with a huff, place his feet on top of it while leaning back in his chair. Immediately, Techno pushes his feet off with a grimace, not caring about the squawk Wilbur lets out as the chair tips backwards dangerously at the force of his push. “You are, Wilbur.”

   “Guys, please,” Tubbo groans, holding his face in his hands. “I’m not moving that far away!”

   Wilbur sits back up to right his chair, the legs letting out a resounding thump that echoes through the room as it hits the ground, making Techno wince at the sound. He stares at his brother for a solid ten seconds before slowly looking back at the boy. Wilbur splays his hands out on the table in front of him as if he is plotting some sort of scheme in his head and needs to lay out all the details on a spreadsheet. Yep, Techno thinks, dramatic twin.

   “Tubbo,” Wilbur drawls, “L’Manburg is a two-hour drive! That’s far, man!”

   Tubbo leans forward and crosses his arms, leaning on the table in front of him. His face is a bit sheepish at the statement Wilbur makes as if he simply forgot about how long of a trip it takes to get to L’Manburg from Essempee. For as much as the two places claim to be sister cities, they sure are further from each other than you would think them to be for supposedly being founded by two brothers in arms decades ago. Wilbur had found the history of the two cities to be very fascinating when they first moved into the penthouse suite, reading up on all the literature he could find before suddenly losing interest. After all, what you can read in a textbook isn’t the same as experiencing this city to its fullest. Not that Essempee ever gave them much hope in the first place.

   “Okay, maybe it is.” Tubbo rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before looking back at Techno and pointing an accusing finger at him. “And for the record, it is called tutoring, not training. It’s not like I’m a Jedi, I just suck at Literature.”

   Techno shrugs with an amused face breaking through his usual flat expression. It has been roughly one year since the day Tubbo found him during a lunch break in the school library and simply demanded that he tutor him in English so he could get a better grade in the class. Ranboo, his mutual friend and a part of Techno’s book club, stood behind the smaller boy, flushed and embarrassed at the whole interaction. Normally, Techno would have just said no and been done with it, but he did owe Ranboo a favor and, well…there was a lot more to Tubbo than he let on. So, he agreed. And the rest is history. “Same difference,” he says smugly.

   “It’s really not.” Tubbo sighs and shifts in his seat to be sitting up straight, looking more than a bit apprehensive. “Um…thank you guys, by the way. I know it was all a bit sudden, letting me stay for a bit. My aunt should get everything sorted in a couple of days and then I’ll be out of your hair in a couple days.”

   Wilbur places a steady hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, reaching across the table to do so. Techno can see him shaking his head and looking at the boy with a somewhat stern face.

   “Hey, it’s no problem,” Wilbur says. “I’m just glad you’re out of that rat bastard’s house.”

   Tubbo’s head snaps to the side to stare at Wilbur before glancing back to Techno. He looks panicked, Techno notes, with his hands grasping the edge of the table as if his life depends on it. Silence permeates the room and Tubbo slowly unlatches his fingers from the table to clasp them together, a slight tremor in his hands.

   “You…you guys knew about…Schlatt?”

   Techno stands up and makes his way around the table to Tubbo, making sure they are both making eye contact, even if Techno doesn’t care for it. He can see it in the way Tubbo holds himself that he has been carrying this burden for far too long, longer than a kid his age should, or even have to. Of course, he does not have the specific list of horrible shit that Schlatt subjected Tubbo to throughout his life, but he can take a wild guess. The first time Tubbo came into a study session with a bruise on his wrist is one he will never forget. Tubbo is a fantastic liar, especially with the story the boy spun about a kid in gym class grabbing him too hard, but the hand-shaped bruise looked far too big for another kid to have done it. It only got worse from there. Incidents didn’t happen every single tutoring session, but it was close.

   “Tubbo, I tutor you. I’ve seen those bruises every so often, you really think I wouldn’t have put two and two together by now? The only reason I didn’t bring this up with Phil when I first started tutoring you was because you would have had no one to go to. If I had known you had an aunt, I would have said something.”

   A whispered fuuuuuck is all Tubbo lets out before a cough interrupts their conversation. All three of the boys turn to see Phil leaning against the banister of the stairs, arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. The look of suspicion, courtesy of one Phil Z. Watson. It would be funny if it wasn’t directed at Wilbur and Techno, who know to fear that look. When Phil gets that look you knew that either you were in trouble, or you were about to be. The effect is instantaneous; Techno moves quickly, sitting back down in his seat and Wilbur moves back to his original position, both schooling their faces and looking away from their father innocently.

   “Boys, what are you bothering Tubbo about, now?”

   “Nothing,” Techno and Wilbur say in unison. Phil shakes his head and chuckles under his breath, moving past the table and giving Tubbo a kind smile.

   “Right, sure. I’ll believe that. Tubbo, would you mind helping me in the kitchen? I just need to get some pots and pans for pasta tonight.”

   Tubbo nods emphatically and follows Phil into the kitchen. Compared to the rest of the penthouse, it’s surprisingly homely. There is still a modern look to it like the rest of the place, but with the sheer number of knickknacks adorning the fridge and various shelves above the stove and sink, it feels alive somehow. There is a paper mâché salmon sitting and staring at Tubbo when he opens the pantry looking for the pots and pans, its googly eyes making him smile a little. Phil walks up behind him and reaches overhead, grabbing a medium-sized pot from one of the higher shelves. Tubbo takes the hint and grabs the large saucepan and the jar of sauce from one of the shelves on the door.

   “Tubbo,” Phil starts as he separates the noodles for the four of them, “you doing alright mate? I hope they weren’t making you uncomfortable back there.”

   “Uh, yeah? I think so.”

   Honestly, Tubbo doesn’t really know how he’s feeling right now. The night Puffy came to his house and held him close, taking him away from that festering hole in the wall is still hazy with confusing feelings. But the almost motherly embrace of his Aunt Puffy had brought him to tears yet again and for once, he didn’t feel bad about it. The next two days were a blur with legal jargon and stressed-out phone calls behind closed doors in the hotel room they stayed in, Puffy occasionally coming out with a worried look hidden behind a smile, still asking him if he was alright. She cares so much; he realizes this later when he is dropped onto Phil’s doorstep and being handed into his care for a small while. The prospect of becoming a burden hadn’t crossed his mind in the company of his aunt until he saw Phil and his two sons ushering him inside their suite.

   Tubbo hates being here, but he loves it at the same time. The emotional clashing can’t be good for his mental health, so he figures that ignoring them for now would solve that issue. All he needs to do is stay out of the way, stay busy and helpful so they don’t become annoyed with his presence. His brain supplements bits of information to him to try and get him to stop thinking that way, that Techno cares about him since they became friends through tutoring, that Wilbur likes his jokes and small quips here and there, and that Phil and his bleeding heart wouldn’t even consider throwing him out. Of course, the thoughts of getting kicked out at all overwhelm any positive thinking. He just needs Puffy to hurry it up a bit and he can get to L’Manburg and rest.

   He feels a calloused hand rest on his head, lightly ruffling his hair and that snaps him out of his thoughts. The jar of tomato sauce is gently taken out of his hands and placed next to the saucepan on the counter. Phil looks him in the eyes and Tubbo can feel all that suppressed guilt and tension bursting at the seams, just waiting to be let out at the sight of Phil’s calm gaze. The man places both hands now on Tubbo’s shoulders and he can’t help but look down at the grout lining the kitchen tiles.

   “Tubbo, I need you to look at me.” His eyes flit back up and he is met with compassion he hasn’t seen before in his lifetime. “You are not putting us out by being here. We are happy to have you and even happier that you’re safe.”

   He smiles, a bit more watery than he’d like. “Thanks, Phil.”

   “Of course, mate. Now, let’s see if we can’t make a half-decent spaghetti.”

---

   “So, brother mine, where were you last evening?”

   Now that Tubbo is in the kitchen with Phil, of course, now Wilbur decides to start his interrogation. It had to happen eventually. At least Tubbo isn’t in the room, Techno thinks as he levels his gaze to the front door, anywhere but his brother. Wilbur scoffs and scoots his chair closer to pointedly stare at Techno, knowing he hates the prolonged eye contact. These two have been fighting for years, listening to each other for years, and they know how to get on the other's last nerve. At this point, it is a matter of perseverance. Techno looks back at Wilbur who is no longer blinking, in fact, his eyes are watering because he’s keeping them open. Right, dramatic twin. Seeing it now.

   “Out.” The one-word response makes his twin downright suspicious even more so than before. Wilbur stands and towers over Techno’s still sitting form, shoving his face in his personal bubble, and squinting his eyes at him.

   “Where,” he demands viciously.

   “Do I have to tell you?” Techno stands as well, walking over to the other side of the table to clear it off for dinner, only to have Wilbur follow close behind. He picks up a few scattered papers and his small handbook before turning around and promptly shoving it all into his brother’s arms. Wilbur lets out an exasperated breath and sets everything down on a nearby ledge before grabbing Techno’s shoulder and spinning him around.

   “Yes, Techno! You have to.”

   And this is the moment that Techno wishes he could avoid. It’s one thing to admit to going out without his brother and another thing entirely to tell him that he went to the same spot he almost tried to off himself. There’s no way out of this, no amount of lying will convince Wilbur of where he was last night, so the honest truth it is. The truth is that he still doesn’t know why Wilbur went to the roof in the first place. That night he came back, he had said it was a downward spiral, something he was known for having. Just…never to the extreme. Techno sighs and crosses his arms protectively across his chest. The closeness helps, but not that much.

   “I went to the Manifold Hotel.”

   “What?!”

   Techno winces at the volume. Did he really have to yell right in his face? This conversation is already going downhill fast. Briefly, he can see a flash of brown hair in the corner of his vision. “Wil, quiet. Just, hear me out—”

   “Why would you go?! Are…are you okay?” Wilbur pulls away a hand to frantically pull at his curls, running his fingers through them in a self-soothing motion. Techno recalls long nights of his twin braiding and re-braiding his hair after a stressful day when he can’t play any more music for fear of spiraling further. “Fuck, did I not see something I should have?”

   Right away, Techno grabs the hand holding onto his shoulder still and grips it tightly. The brown in the corner of his vision is still there, but now it is moving around the kitchen. He has no doubt Tubbo is keeping an ear on the conversation though, so he tries to keep his voice calm and lowered. “No, Wilbur. I am fine, I promise. I didn’t go up there to die.”

   “Then why go?” Wilbur seems to calm down at his reassurance, removing his hand from his now messy hair and letting it hang limply at his side. Techno sighs and looks away for a minute. That is the question of the hour, isn’t it? In fact, he has asked the same question ever since this morning. He did want closure, that was for sure, but he didn’t necessarily receive it. Wilbur has talked about his feelings about the incident before now, surely. He must have missed something. Or perhaps Wilbur wasn’t being as truthful as Techno thought him to be.

   “I’m not quite sure. I think I wanted to understand what you were going through, but my own thoughts got in the way. And…I still don’t get it, not even when I was staring over the edge into the alley you would have ended up in if things went wrong that night. I left with questions. And I got no answers.”

   Wilbur takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, processing what his twin just told him. Slowly, he wraps his long arms around Techno, running a less frantic hand through his long, pink hair like he used to do when they were younger. It used to be a surefire way to calm his brother down on nights when emotions ran high and raw, and it looks like they both need it right now.

   “I’ll be honest with you, Tech,” Wilbur whispers. “I still don’t quite know, myself. Maybe…I thought I deserved it. For all the potential I had as a kid to now be squandered away as I try and figure myself out. I guess I thought dying would be easier than living out my days as a disappointment.”

   “You’re not a disappointment, Wil. You never were.”

   “I know that now. I’m still struggling to believe it.”

   Their embrace is cut short by Techno, who lets go first as he thinks of the bit about last night that’s been giving him pause this whole time. A hidden smile runs across his face as he thinks of what Wilbur’s reaction is going to be. He is the one who’s been trying to track the kid down and now Technoblade just happens to meet him on the very same rooftop. And the reason the boy was up there to begin with is still a mystery to Techno, but maybe it’s one that Wilbur can help him with.

   “By the way, Wilbur, you were kinda wrong about the kid.”

   “What? What do you mean?”

   Techno lets his smile shine through. Might as well gloat a bit. “I met him last night.”

   Wilbur stays still, silent for only a few moments before Techno can see the pieces falling into place. As soon as that happens, he finds himself being shaken back and forth like a fucking rag doll as Wilbur grabs at him again. “He was there?! Really?!”

   “Yeah, he was.” Techno has a genuine smile on his face, and Wilbur almost thinks he’s gone a bit soft. The boy has surely wormed his way into Wilbur’s heart, and now apparently, he has made his way into his twin’s as well. “You were right about him being a spitfire. He cursed me out as soon as he saw me on the roof. Kid was wearing your beanie.”

   Wilbur glows with a misplaced sense of pride. It’s not like he asked the boy to wear his beanie, but the fact that he was means that Tommy is still thinking about him the same way he has been. Techno can already see the smugly fond look on Wil’s face, astonished that those two emotions can coexist at the same time. That beanie meant an awful lot to Wilbur and the fact that the kid who saved him is still wearing it says a lot. It looks like it’s doing wonders for his self-esteem, that much Techno can deduce.

   “Little shit,” Wilbur says fondly. “So, he looked okay? He was alright?”

   Techno’s smile does a slow 180°, now onto the topic of the kid on the roof. Theseus (Tommy?) did leave an impression, that’s for sure, but everything he’s gotten from both the kid and Wilbur aren’t fitting together right. How does a kid so selfless come up to the roof again? Was he looking for Wilbur? And the somehow surprisingly deep conversation they had has his mind spinning again. Those kinds of questions weren’t normal for a teen his age to be asking. What is he missing?

   “I’ll be honest, Wilbur. He didn’t seem all that good. He looked tired. Worn down is a more accurate description. There’s gotta be something either you’re not telling me or that Theseus failed to mention about the night you met on the roof. He asked me these questions about a ‘bad feeling’ he would get sometimes, something that tells him he isn’t where he needs to be? I don’t know what he means. And there was something else he said…what did he say…?”

   “Woah, slow down Techno. One step at a time. First, though, his name is Tommy, not Theseus. Dunno where you got that. Tommy.”

   “Right, Tommy. Sorry, but Wil I think—”

   A loud crash from the entrance of the dining room cuts Techno off and both boys spin around at the noise to see Tubbo staring at them, the empty jar of sauce now in shards all over the place. He looks pale, like he just witnessed a murder right before his eyes, with a terrified face to match. Wilbur takes immediate action and ushers Tubbo away from the glass, calling into the kitchen for Phil to grab the broom and dustpan.

   “Oh my God, Tubbo, careful not to step on any glass, you don’t have shoes on! Thank God no shards smashed the top of your foot. You alright? Tubbo?”

   Tubbo doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at Wilbur. All he can look at is Techno, who is starting to sweat a little under his collar. Again, eye contact, not the best thing for long periods of time for someone with little or no social skills. Phil quickly gets the mess taken care of, but Tubbo still isn’t moving. At this point, Wilbur looks concerned and bends down a bit to try and look the boy in the eye.

   “Tubbo? Hey, buddy, we’re not mad. It’s fine if you dropped the jar, accidents happen! You’re not in trouble.”

   “Tommy.”

   Everybody freezes at the name that Tubbo whispers almost like a fervent prayer, like hoping beyond hope that something wasn’t happening. Techno walks closer to his friend, the boy he tutors and cares for, and the puzzle pieces in his mind become more jumbled than ever. Techno can see the tremor in the smaller teen’s hands as he pulls at a braided red bracelet on his wrist, thumbing over it every so often. His eyes are distant until they suddenly lock onto Techno, now bright with a sorrowful panic that he didn’t think was possible for anyone to feel.

   “Tubbo?”

   “You said you saw Tommy yesterday. On the roof. The roof of the Manifold Hotel?”

   “I did,” Techno answers slowly. “You know each other?”

   “He was the one who talked me off of the roof the night I tried to jump.”

   The statement was short and concise, exactly like Tubbo is, and Techno feels the pieces in his mind start to slot together. When Tubbo had talked to both Wilbur and him about that night he almost died, he had mentioned meeting someone on the roof who talked him out of it and gave him more hope than he had had in the past couple of years since the death of his mother. It was nothing more than a mention, Tubbo hadn’t even given them a name, but now there is a name attached to the story and it’s Tommy. Techno can feel his stomach start to churn a bit with the new information handed to him.

   “Tommy helped you too?” Wilbur staggers a bit to the side and leans on Phil for support, the man not wanting to leave his sons’ sides for this conversation. “I mean, I’m glad he helped you Tubbo, God knows I’m fucking grateful, but he was on the roof again? What the fuck are his parents doing letting him out so late at night?”

   “He doesn’t have parents,” Tubbo says bluntly. Techno can see Phil straighten a bit, eyes wider and sadder than before. His adoptive parent instincts are kicking in, Techno is sure. Before he can say something, Tubbo goes on. “My aunt used to be his caseworker, he told me on the roof. He shouldn’t have gone back to the roof. I told him I would see him again, why the fuck would he go back?”

   Tears start to spill over Tubbo’s cheeks, and it startles everyone, including the boy himself. He lifts a hand to his face and wipes the tears away, but more start to form regardless. It’s as if a switch flipped on in his brain and suddenly, Tubbo is crumbling to the floor, Techno just barely there to catch him. He starts sobbing into Techno’s shirt, shaking like a leaf with grief that Techno can’t even begin to comprehend. “Oh, God. He told me to tell her he’ll miss her. How did I not see it?!”

   “Tubbo,” Techno says hoarsely, “I need you to tell me what happened that night. Why was Tommy on the roof with you?”

   Tubbo leans back in his arms to look up at him and Techno’s heart nearly breaks at the sight that greets him. Green eyes are rimmed red with a blotchy face to match the heartbreak he sees on the smaller boy’s face. According to Tubbo’s story, he hadn’t met the person on the roof before, so Tommy was a complete stranger to Tubbo. This reaction shouldn’t be so potent, but here they are, and the words Tubbo said are helping the pieces of the puzzle fit together. There’s just something out of reach, right at the edge of his memory to help this all fit together. It was something Tommy said to him before the doors of the elevator closed between them. What was it?!

   “T-Tommy,” Tubbo stutters, finally catching his breath. “h-he said he was up there for the same reasons I was. If he was there last night, Technoblade, that m-means he’s still going to the roof. You were there last night, but…what if you weren’t?”

   Techno can hear Wilbur faintly, a muffled sob behind a hand; he can hear Phil rubbing his back through it all, trying to comfort one of his sons, but Tubbo’s confession is ringing in Techno’s ears. Suddenly all the pieces fall into place: why Tommy was there on that roof in the first place, why he was coming back, the questions about bad feelings and feeling like he doesn’t belong, all of it makes sense. He was with Techno last night. They were both sitting on the edge of that hotel last night, but one of them had full intentions of jumping off of it. Techno had probably been his only deterrent. Dread lines his chest as the hollow-sounding voice of the boy with golden hair rings through his memory. “Some people make a plan for it, y’know? Tie up the loose ends before ending it all. Easier that way…It’s just sometimes you wonder if being nowhere is better than being in a place where you feel like you don’t belong.” Techno scans his memory for that last puzzle piece. Now he knows Tommy was up there for the same reason Wilbur and Tubbo were, but he’s still missing something important.

   “I won’t see you on the roof tomorrow, right big man?”

   “Fuck,” Techno breathes out.

   He wastes no time. Immediately, he gets up and rushes up the stairs, pulling his coat out of the closet and slipping on a pair of running shoes. He hears footsteps behind him and doesn’t need to turn around to know that his twin is there. “Techno? What are you doing?”

   “Get your shoes and coat. Now. Tell Tubbo to do the same,” he replies frantically. He rushes back down the stairs with a bag in his hand to put any items they might need in there. Racing to the kitchen, Techno notices Tubbo putting his shoes on in a rush with a confused look on his face, tears subsiding for the moment. Phil catches his gaze and makes a move towards him, but he ignores his father for now. They need to hurry.

   Techno runs into the kitchen and beelines it to the sink, throwing open the cabinet underneath and grabbing the emergency first aid kit. The junk drawer is next, its contents emptied out on the kitchen island before a flashlight, rope, and pliers are added to the bag. Techno heads towards the living room, but Phil catches his arm in a vice-like grip before he can leave the dining area. It doesn’t hurt him, but Phil hasn’t been this forceful in a long time, not since they first arrived at his house years ago. It makes him pause.

   “Techno, mate. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

   “Phil, I can explain everything, but we need to get going now or we might not make it in time.”

   “Make it where? Tech, what is going on?!”

   Before he can answer, Wilbur rushes into the kitchen with a panicked look on his face and phone clutched tightly in one hand. His coat has been thrown on haphazardly, something he would never allow himself to do unless he was in a rush. Even then, he would at least try and make himself a bit more presentable. Techno tries to make his way to Wilbur, but Phil is not letting him go so easily.

   “Niki just texted me,” Wilbur says anxiously, “she just saw Tommy run past her. He usually stops by her shop even just to say hi. She’s worried about him. Techno?”

   Techno turns to his father and rips his arm out of his grip, instead placing both of his hands on Phil’s shoulders, grabbing them too tightly. Niki’s bakery is not that far away from the hotel. They don’t have much time to get there. There is so much he wants to say, so much to tell all of them, but right now he needs his father. Because Tommy needs them.

   “Tommy’s going to try again. Tonight. I know he is. Phil, I need you to call Sam, make sure he doesn’t let Tommy onto that roof. I’m heading over there, Wilbur and Tubbo are coming too. I don’t want you stopping us.”

   Phil just grabs his son’s shoulders as well, grabbing ahold just as tightly, if not more so. There is a fierce determination in his eyes, the blue in them burning like an icy flame. Techno and Wilbur both look at him with surprise. They knew Phil would protect them, but to see it aimed at another person is something else entirely. Because it is aimed at someone else, they both know it, and Techno is grateful that Phil is the one who adopted him because no doubt someone else would have tried to stop him and let the police handle things. Phil is not that kind of man. Tubbo runs into the room as well, still shuffling his coat on. He sees the standstill and gestures towards the front of the living room.

   “Come on you guys, we need to run!”

   Phil turns to him and then back to his boys, grinning wildly with grim resolve. “Oh, there’s no fucking way you’re running all the way there in time. I don’t mind a few speeding tickets if you don’t mind me coming with.”

   All three boys grin at him before they all rush out the door of the penthouse, Phil making sure the stove is turned off before running out after them. Don’t want to come back to a burnt house with another kid in tow. Because Tommy is coming back with them tonight. He has to. As the engine revs and tires squeal on the slick pavement, Techno thinks back to that dead-eyed look Tommy had last night as he made a promise to him. I’m sorry kid, he thinks as he listens to Phil yell over the phone at Sam while running through every red light they come across, I’m going to have to break my promise. You’re gonna see me tonight, whether you like it or not.

   He hopes against all hope that it won’t be at the edge of that red-lit roof.

Notes:

Y'all, it is almost one in the morning, RIP morning me who has to go into work.
Thank you guys so much for all the lovely comments and endlessly entertaining bookmark comments. I'm gonna have to list my favorites at some point, cuz there are a few I keep looking at to make my day a bit better. I love all you guys and I hope you are all doing well! Stay strong! <3

Chapter 7: Hinted at your own despondency, you fall

Summary:

All alone on the roof; it is what he’s wanted all along (isn’t it?) and the opportunity is now available. The snow falls slowly, as if time itself is pausing for once in its existence, just for him. Being alone all his life, he should be used to the feeling of loneliness. However, as he inches his way across the roof to the ledge he is destined to throw himself off of, the prospect of dying alone scares him. He hesitates.

Tommy sets off for attempt number four.

   Tommy stands in his room in silence, taking it all in with tired eyes. Years of staying in the same spot tend to get to you, the unending despondency of the never-changing décor. The peeling wallpaper and limply hanging posters left behind by roommates long forgotten almost look like they wave goodbye as the breeze from the open window drifts in. It’s going to be colder than it has been the past few weeks, the forecast told him this morning. Perhaps they are going to get snow. Tommy hopes he gets snow tonight. The snow almost looks like stars falling down from the heavens; it is the closest to seeing them as he will ever get. He shivers at the chill but makes no move to get warmer. It’s not like it will matter soon, anyways. Tonight is the night, he can feel it. The universe has already interfered with his plans one too many times now, and he is not going to tolerate it any longer. He’ll force it if he has to.

   He throws on his signature jumper and a pair of jeans that is more a deep purple than dark blue in the shitty glow of the fluorescent lights. There’s no need to color coordinate where he’s going; in fact, he can dress how he goddamn pleases tonight. A sick sort of smile graces his features at the thought of it. Not like anyone cares what he looks like. All that matters is him right now, and he thinks that his outfit looks perfectly fine for a dead man. He pulls on his scuffed converses, hastily tying and retying his shoelaces before turning to his bed to grab some sort of covering for the cold.

   The beanie and scarf sit haphazardly on his pillow. Wilbur’s beanie and Technoblade’s scarf. Tommy rubs his cheek at the warmth spreading across his face, thinking about last night’s encounter with the tall pink-headed man. Sorry, teen apparently. Techno had said Wilbur and him were twins, a fact that Tommy is still trying to come to terms with. They’re both so different in almost every way, it’s almost laughable to call them brothers. But then Wilbur had given him his beanie, pushing it further onto his head in a soft gesture. But then Techno had to give him his scarf, carefully wrapping him up in it as if Tommy was something fragile, something easily broken and in need of protection. His heart had beat faster both times, and the bad feeling had subsided, leaving Tommy more relieved than he’d care to admit.

   So, he won’t admit it. Tommy steels his face, his resolve, and begins to rummage through the small closet next to his dresser. He takes an old school backpack he barely uses and stuffs both of the clothing items inside, zipping up the side harshly and letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. No more distractions. No more thinking about things, he needs to run strictly on impulse. His hands find their way to the green bracelet on his wrist, untying the strands and letting it fall into his palm. Tommy stares at the bracelet for a few seconds before shoving it into his jumper pocket alongside the yellow gloves Sam had given him. His heart aches for the briefest moment as the warmth leaves him. The cold settles deep in his bones and he isn’t even out the window yet. Time to get going, he thinks as he escapes the group home for the last time. Don’t wanna put this off for much longer.

   For once, the rickety stairs don’t creak and sway as Tommy clambers down them. Given how rusty they are, it is a straight-up miracle that it is this quiet. As soon as he’s back on solid ground, Tommy sets off down Prime Avenue with the looming apprehension that tonight is bringing to the table. So much of his original plan has been scratched out and replaced with simply getting to the hotel with no holdups and jumping to the alley below. The atmosphere is somber tonight, much more than any other attempt. He can’t hear the usual hustle and bustle of the city streets. Even the cars seem muted in comparison. As Tommy approaches the corner he saw the bongo man at on attempt number two, he notices that the music is missing. What once brought such life and vivacity to the street is now gone, and in its place is just Tommy; standing there, waiting for the light to change.

   Most of the shop lights are dimmed down around this time. Tommy knows it is to conserve power. Everyone knows how expensive the taxes get here, but he likes to think they are lowered with respect for his decision. At least someone respects his choices. Tommy’s steps become slower as he rounds another corner and then stops completely at the sight before him. Up ahead, he can see Niki locking her store up for the night; one more shop turning its lights off. The food money lays heavy in his jeans pocket, and he swallows heavily, forcing any emotion that may be bubbling up back down. She looks happy from where he stands, even when closing so late. Wilbur’s comment about them both being seniors in high school flashes through his mind. She’s only eighteen and she is running a business all by herself. How does she manage to keep up with everything? Does she do homework in the back or something?

   Maybe she really is a witch, he thinks as he readjusts the backpack on his back. The straps are tightened, and he looks past her shop towards the next street. Just three more of those turns and he will be at those large double doors, ready to feel the false warmth wash over him. But he needs to make it past Niki first. No talking: he doesn’t think he can handle that right now. The sense of not being in the right place surges again, trying to fill his mind with thoughts of this is wrong, where are you supposed to be, not here not here not here—

   “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, pinching his side harshly to try and force the thoughts away. He is not about to let some internal monologue ruin his last shot. So, with another tug on his backpack, he walks quickly towards Niki’s shop, hoping that she doesn’t notice him so he can pass by without stopping. In the odd quiet of the city tonight, however, his steps seem thunderous to his ears. Tommy just grits his teeth at the noise and walks even faster. A walk quickly turns into a light jog as he gets closer. Niki perks up at the noise of his gait and turns her head towards him, smiling as she notices just who is running towards her. Because now he is running, his heart hammering in his chest and the shriveled-up conscience inside of him trying to get him to stop and at least say goodbye to the woman.

   “Hi Tommy! Sorry, the shop just officially closed, but if you’d like, you can come back to my house with me? I can make you something there and I’m sure Ranboo would be glad for the company—"

   He doesn’t stop. He can’t, it would only be harder on the both of them. They are so close when he barrels past her, close enough to hear her gasp a bit as she turns to see him run off. There’s a grimace on his face when he hears her shout after him. Niki sounds confused and shocked, but over all of that, she sounds afraid. As if she is afraid for him. The pavement is slick under his converses as he skids to a stop at the red light barring his path to the next street. Quickly, he checks back behind him and jolts in horror. Niki is looking away from him and pulling out her phone, clenching and unclenching her free hand into her coat in a worried manner. Tommy can’t make out what she’s texting from so far away, but it is obvious who she is talking about when she glances back at him and catches his eye.

   There’s no time to second guess himself now, not when Niki could very well call the cops on him next. As soon as that pedestrian light hits the last second, he’s off. Running past parked cars on the side of the road, skipping over more puddles, and dodging what little pedestrians are walking this late at night, he lets go of himself. It is easier this way, he notices. No worrying about people who look at him on the way, not even bothering with the cold now making his hands and toes completely numb. He isn’t there, not really. Going through the motions is a comfort, almost, in his last hour. A trick he picked up after maybe the second-ever house he was placed in was how to distance himself from whatever he’s doing. Not when he is on the roof, though. Those moments are meant to be felt, since they will be his last.

   It gets him all the way to the hotel. Once he sees that red and black tower, his emotions and the plans for tonight get switched back on. Leaning against the side of the building, Tommy gulps for air with strained lungs. The cold air is refreshing for a moment before it becomes choking, freezing his airway too tight. A round of shuddering coughs rack through him and through it all, he can hear a small meow and feel a weight press against his legs. Startled, Tommy looks down and sees the cat from the night he met Tubbo trying to rub up against him, purring loudly once more. It has a new tear in its ear, but its black fur and happy purring are the same. There is a certain comfort that brings, to see a creature remember you and come back with the same amount of love it gave you the first time. He smiles sadly and scratches the cat under its chin with numb fingers.

   “Sorry, pal. I hope you forget about me, soon. I won’t be around long enough to give you a proper name.”

   The cat lets out a sharp chirp and bites his jumper sleeve, somehow missing his skin in its attempt. Tommy lets out a laugh at its antics, much more lighthearted now then after his interaction with Niki.

   “Okay okay, I see you don’t like that idea. Hmmm…what about Shroud? Like a shadow in the dark, innit? I think it fits you, no matter what gender you are.”

   The cat chirrups back up at him, swerving around his legs one more time before hopping onto a dumpster in the dark alley beside the hotel, knocking over a few cans that clatter to the concrete. Shroud looks at him expectantly, waiting for Tommy. He looks up to see the ledge of the hotel high above him, the red lights of the Manifold sign never dimming. In a few minutes, he will end up in Shroud’s little alley. Tommy smiles again, a bit melancholy now. Shroud, his little guardian angel sent to retrieve him after tonight, watches him walk towards the front doors, meowing loudly after him. With one last look at the cat and a wave goodbye, Tommy enters the hotel.

   Instantly, he is slapped with warmth once more from the heaters above him, revolving doors making their way around him in a dizzying display of wealth. The lobby is empty except for Sam who is at his usual post, writing something down in a large notebook. Tommy shoves his hands into his pockets and feels the soft material of the gloves brush against his palm. Sam gave him these, it would be rude to show up without them on. Quickly, before the man decides to turn towards the front doors, he pulls them out of his jumper pocket and pulls them on. The relief is immediate; the heaters mixing with the heat of the gloves help thaw his fingers and get them to stop shaking. They were definitely shaking from the cold and nothing else.

   Sam still hasn’t looked up from his writing, seemingly very invested in what he’s doing. Maybe he is writing new protection spells to cast on the hotel or something. A new fitness routine perhaps. More than likely, he is keeping up with the names of the patrons inside the hotel, but Tommy can imagine all he likes. The elevator is only twenty feet away. Its call is unavoidable and enticing. The roof is only a few minutes away and, subsequently, his end. The thought of it makes all his nerves twitch with apprehension and excitement. All he needs to do is get by Sam. No food from Niki to go by this time, he just needs to be quick about it. Not like he hasn’t lied before, but tonight’s lie is either going to have to be spectacular in order to get past the guard, or he just needs to stun him with fast-talking.

   He starts making his way to the elevator, pace picking up a bit with the itch to get this show on the road. “Hey, Sammy boy! Can’t talk right now, gotta get to my brother you know how it is—”

   “Tommy.”

   Sam’s serious voice is one he only heard once before, but it is one he hasn’t forgotten. With Ranboo being at the brunt of it, Tommy did not take Sam’s threats to heart since they weren’t aimed at him that night. But now? Sam is staring right at him with a frown on his face, disappointment etched across his forehead. Fuck. The man seems taller, somehow, when he stands up and makes his way around the desk. The clean-cut vest and white collared shirt underneath do little to hide the muscles waiting to be used against anyone who threatens the hotel and its patrons. Which apparently, happens to be Tommy with the way Sam is staring at him.

   “S-Sam?”

   “Nathaniel isn’t working tonight, he’s out sick,” is all Sam says in an almost monotone, mimicking Techno’s speech pattern a bit.

   “Oh.”

   “Yeah, oh.” Sam crosses his arms and peers down at Tommy. In this moment, he has never felt smaller, never felt more his age. This is an adult, and he is only fourteen years old. Given the circumstances, there is zero chance he can win in a fight against this guy, even if Sam went easy on him. Tommy looks down at the floor, ashamed of where this conversation is heading.

   “I talked to him recently,” Sam continues, “ready to chew him out for asking his little brother to bring him snacks on the job. You wanna know what he told me?”

   “I mean…” Tommy rubs the back of his neck with a gloved hand, eyes still downcast. He doesn’t notice Sam glance at the gloves the boy is wearing. Doesn’t see the way his eyes soften just the faintest bit. “I think I can take a wild fucking guess.”

   “Tommy. Why would you lie to me?”

   The sadness in the tone makes Tommy snap his eyes back up to the man in front of him. Sam looks so disappointed in him, a boy he barely knows given all the lies Tommy has been feeding him, and it slaps Tommy across the face with a guilt so potent he hadn’t thought it was an emotion that was still in him to feel. Remorseful is not what he should be feeling right now. If anything, he should be annoyed at his night going to shit once again, this time ruined by his own hand. He should be angry, he should be vengeful, he should be all of the things his past homes have molded him into. But he feels regret. And that terrifies him.

   “Listen, it’s not…” Tommy stutters on his words and wrings his hands together, again not noticing Sam following the motion with his eyes. “I-I just…I’m…”

   He can’t apologize. And he feels like utter shit for it, but he cannot apologize for lying. Because Tommy isn’t sorry. It’s not his fault the world hates him, it is not Sam’s fault that he happens to work here and also has a bleeding heart for cold, lost little boys. It is not anyone’s fault that they happened to meet at the most convenient suicide spot in the city. And he is not sorry. This is still his plan, his night, his time to die. If anything, Tommy feels sorry for Sam, sorry that the man has to see him in his last moments. Nothing will change once Tommy is dead, and for anyone to think that his death will have consequences is downright laughable. The lobby is silent as Tommy stares the man down, his heart and mind running on autopilot once again.

   All he has to do is get to the elevator. The elevator stands fifteen feet away.

   Sam sighs and uncrosses his arms, placing one hand on his hips while running the other through his green hair. “You do realize I can’t in good conscience let you into the hotel anymore, right?”

   “I understand.” The monotone Tommy takes on startles both him and Sam, though Tommy doesn’t let it show outwardly. The scene around him moves slowly, almost like a dream. Were the lights always that blurry? “But there is still something I need to do here tonight.”

   “Look, Tommy,” Sam says, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder and leaning down a bit to talk to him, “if you need a warm place to hang out, you could have just told me. You could have stayed in the lobby with me. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded the company. But you betrayed my trust, so I can’t let you any further. I’m sorry.”

   He doesn’t feel anything right now. Not Sam’s hand on his shoulder, not the gloves on his hands, not even the heaters of the lobby. The cold sinks deeper than he ever thought it could, latching onto his very core. The body he cruises around in can function without him for a second, right? This feeling of…not feeling is very calming. Sure, he is going to have to snap out of it again once he gets to the roof, but for now, he can have this one moment of peace. “I’m sorry too, Sam.”

   Sam smiles sadly at him, shaking his shoulder lightly in a good-natured gesture. “Hey, kiddo, maybe I can—”

   Obnoxious music rings from the man’s pocket, starling him into taking his hand off of Tommy for a second. Subconsciously, Tommy inches a leg out and points it in the direction of the elevator. All he has to do is wait for the right moment to sprint to the doors and he will be set. Sam fishes a cellphone out of his pocket with a huff and a “fuck, why now” under his breath. The casing is a dark green, one to match his hair, and has a dangling lemon charm attached to it. For someone so serious about their work his phone is very personal. So, it’s not a work call. Judging from how Sam’s face morphs from annoyed to somewhat concerned, it is very personal. The man turns away but still pins him down with a pointed look in his direction.

   “Stay there. Do not move. I will be watching you.”

   The ringing is cut off as he answers. At this point, Tommy is only half paying attention. His focus is still on the elevator, but he can’t help but try and listen at the same time. Every few seconds, he inches closer to the elevator. Thirteen feet away now.

   “Phil,” he can hear Sam say quietly into his phone. A hand is over the receiver to try and muffle any other noise. “Why are you calling this late? I’m in the middle of a—woah, woah, woah, slow down, what?”

   Ten feet away now. Sam is checking on him periodically, but Tommy knows this game. All he needs to do is wait until the guard lets his guard down when he talks louder than Tommy’s footsteps. At one point, the elevator dings open and Sam whirls his head back to him, but it looks as if he hasn’t moved, so he looks away again. Nine feet…eight.

   “Yeah, Tommy’s here. He’s right in front of me.”

   Now Sam turns to him again and stares him down with a stern look on his face, his jaw set. The man on the phone is making some sort of racket, possibly yelling into the receiver. From this distance, Tommy can’t say for certain what the bloke over the phone is saying, but that name Sam answered the call to sounds familiar. In fact, the name has come from his lips once before now that he realizes it. Techno hadn’t wanted Phil to know he was on the roof the night they met. Wilbur had said not to tell his dad that he was trying to die the first time Tommy ventured out towards his own death. They’re twins, brothers. Phil is their father, he’s sure of it.

   Suddenly, Tommy snaps back into himself and starts to shake again, the feelings all rushing back to him. Anger at how the night is turning out, apprehension at being found out by Sam of all people, and now the bitter sense of betrayal is beginning to eat away at him. Because how would Phil have known to call Sam if someone hadn’t told him about Tommy? Honestly, it could have been any number of people, at this point. How has Tommy met more memorable human beings in the past two weeks or so than in the past eight years he has been in the foster system? How have they all made burning impressions of themselves into the heart he keeps so closely, dwindling away behind a steel cage with a lock that has no key?

   His death is not going to go unspoken, unnoticed like he wanted in the first place. People know him; not truly, not completely, but they know him enough to want to care. Which is a terrifying concept that he has no time to dwell on. When Sam turns his head away again, Tommy shakes his own to try and rid himself of any hesitation, even if it keeps pushing for him to move forward and stay by Sam’s side. The elevator is now six feet away.

   “Why are you calling me about Tommy? He’s…wait, what was that?? Phil, are you driving?!”

   A ding rings through the lobby and a family ushers themselves out of the elevator and past Tommy, completely blocking his view to Sam. Now’s my chance! With a surge of adrenaline, Tommy leaps the last five feet to the elevator and quickly punches the highest floor button. Once the people pass the desk, Sam has already turned around and they both lock eyes. Horror is etched all across his face while Tommy can only guess he himself looks a bit panicked. Sam runs towards the elevator with an urgency he never had with Ranboo, reaching out for Tommy as the doors start to close between them.

   “Tommy! Tommy, get out of that elevator right now, young man!”

   Sam never would have made it. It was fifteen feet from the desk, Tommy counted on that distance. As the doors close, he can hear Sam shout his name again with a desperate “please!” following it before the music drowns everything out. The rumble of the elevator soothes him somewhat as he collapses to the ground. His knees bang against the floor, but he can’t bring himself to care about any pain he feels. A deep breath in…and out. In and out. The tiles on the floor are cold and smooth. The lights are bright above him, always steady and never flickering. Labored breaths huff in time to the shitty elevator music as Tommy tries to pull himself together. This is what he wants to do, isn’t it? So why is everyone trying so goddamn hard to keep him from his fate?! There is one thing and one thing only that Tommy gets to control in this lifetime and no one else should be allowed to make that decision for him.

   A groaning sort of sound assaults his ears as the music is shut off unexpectedly. Tommy tries to stand up, but suddenly, he feels the elevator lurch and come to a complete stop, the doors opening about five floors away from the number he punched in. The once bright white lights of the elevator now turn a haunting red, indicating that it was an emergency shut off.

   “That bastard,” Tommy growls. He grips the straps of his backpack and runs out into the hallway as the doors shut closed behind him suddenly. Sam must have called the elevator back down to the lobby. Well, he should have thought about how smart Tommy has been up until this point. There’s no way he actually thought that he would stay in the elevator, right? A smirk shows through the panic rising in his chest, his face contorting as he almost laughs at the poor man’s attempt at stopping him. It’s just a few more floors to go and he will be free.

   The race up the stairs doesn’t take long at all with the amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Floor by floor he makes his way to the top, his body running by itself with him taking a backseat. Sure, Tommy may be out of breath as he leans against the door leading outside, but he is here now. It will be worth it. Picking the lock takes no time at all, the skills he’s picked up now prove themselves worth the time it took to learn them. The metal of the door is cold as he cranks the handle and shoves it open, taking in the atmosphere of his last stand. Large, white flurries drift down from the sky, illuminated by the red light of the Manifold sign. They dance on the frosty wind whipping at his hair, causing him to shiver.

   Once Sam realizes that Tommy is no longer in the elevator, surely, he will come after him. Maybe find someone to take his post at the front lobby to track the boy down himself. Without a second thought about it, Tommy turns to the metal door of the bulkhead and locks it from the outside, double-checking to make sure it’s secure. There is no room for error now, not when he is so close to being free. He turns towards the edge of the roof roughly thirty feet away from him. His chest hurts as the emotions begging to be set free are battling it out inside of him. All alone on the roof; it is what he’s wanted all along (isn’t it?) and the opportunity is now available. The snow falls slowly, as if time itself is pausing for once in its existence, just for him. Being alone all his life, he should be used to the feeling of loneliness. However, as he inches his way across the roof to the ledge he is destined to throw himself off of, the prospect of dying alone scares him. He hesitates.

   Tommy shakes his head in frustration, an attempt to scold himself for being afraid of death. Death itself is not scary. After all, it is the one constant of the universe. Well, that and taxes are what one of his foster parents told him before burning a cigarette into his hand. Your life should be an occasion, you should rise to it. What a joke. Life isn’t an occasion; it is one big, jumbled mess and you are responsible for putting it together yourself. Normally, a kid should have someone to help them with that in their formative years, but Tommy never got that. He’s shunned help a long time ago. If there is something to be done he can damn well do it himself.

   Still, the loneliness gets to him, no matter how alone he’s been thus far. Along with it comes the bad feeling, shouting at him that he isn’t supposed to be here. He grips the sides of his head in an attempt to block everything out. At this rate, he won’t make it to the edge in time. There has to be something to get it to stop. The cold of the snow is starting to get to him as well, making it nearly impossible to keep walking. I need to stay warm; his survival instincts lend him a hand as he rips his backpack open and takes out the scarf and beanie, hastily throwing them both on before taking the time to completely wrap the scarf around his neck and bring it up to cover the bottom half of his face.

   The material is soft and warm from being in close contact with his back, even through the pack’s material. Through the fogginess of his mind, it is as if he can feel Wilbur and Technoblade there with him, warm hands patting his head and gracing his shoulder with a comfort he hasn’t felt in years. A false comfort it brings, but comfort nonetheless. Silently, he reaches into his pocket and takes out the green friendship bracelet Tubbo had given him. Regret tries to worm its way back in with the dead promise to see the boy again ringing in his memory, but he stifles it for now as he ties it carefully to his wrist. Tight enough so it would not blow away when he falls. For his fall is inevitable, and he is going to make sure it is spectacular.

   There is a muffled thunder of footsteps coming from the other side of the door that startles him, his steps faltering for a split second. Surely Sam couldn’t already be up here, that’s impossible! The steps get louder until they stop at the door. There is too much noise for just one person, so I can’t be Sam. Then who? The doorknob wiggles violently and Tommy can barely hear curses coming from the inside. That lock won’t be budging anytime soon, he’s made sure of it. However, that doesn’t fucking matter when suddenly he can hear harsh banging on the door followed by muffled yelling. He takes a few steps backward as the metal of the door creaks with the force of a weight against it. Tommy has no more time to hesitate. He needs to go.

   Now.

   He races to the edge and steps onto the raised lip of the building, just barely making it as he hears a muffled “get back” yelled from behind him before a much louder bang against the door. The voice is loud enough for him to hear somewhat clearly, even through the rushing of blood in his ears as his heartbeats quicken. It is deep and it sounds familiar. In fact, as the other voices start to become more pronounced, so do most of the others. Feet teetering close to the edge, he can just about see the alley below him, all dark and gritty and waiting for him to grace it with his fleeting presence. It’s time. He steels himself for the jump, trying to ignore everything around him: the snowfall, the voices behind him, and the ones inside his head screaming at him to go back go back go back, jump jump now’s your chance. As Tommy crouches, ready to spring forward, the door bursts open with a loud crash, making him turn around with wide, grey eyes.

   The door is completely off its hinges and behind it is a sweaty Technoblade who is quickly surrounded by three others. Wilbur and Tubbo he recognizes, but the last man he does not, though it isn’t hard to pin down. They all are breathing heavily, Techno most of all, and they all stare at Tommy with varying levels of distress. And isn’t he a sight to stare at. On the edge of a building, Tommy is a technicolor dream etched in chalk outlines, dressed up in red, white, yellow, green, purple, and blue. All colors that don’t belong to him for he lost his color a long time ago. White flurries get caught in blonde hair that reflects the red sign to his left, almost making him ethereal. If only he was, then. Because staring back at all of them just makes the feelings worsen inside of him, reminding him of how truly human he is.

   “Tommy!” Wilbur is the first to move, trying to run towards him as if to grab him from the edge. The man Tommy can only guess is Phil is quick to grab him by both arms, stopping him from getting further. That doesn’t mean Wilbur stops trying to make his way to the boy, struggling against his father’s grip. “Tommy, stop! Please!”

   All he can do is stare back at them. Words fail him at the moment, all the motivation to throw himself off of the hotel is replaced with a sullen sense of betrayal. Techno is holding Tubbo now, consoling the boy as he tries not to start crying. Judging by the tear tracks already prominent on his face, it looks as if he already did. Tommy ignores everyone but the larger man, a dead glare aimed at him.

   “You promised I wouldn’t see you here tonight.”

   Techno has taken off his indifferent expressions for the night it seems as he looks back at Tommy with an apologetic one. But he knows he isn’t sorry for this. “I know, kid. But once I figured you out, I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.”

   “Well, you should have.” Tommy looks away from the group intruding on his time here to stare back down at the alleyway, all dark and waiting for him. “This changes nothing, you know. I’m still gonna fucking jump. This has been a long time coming.”

   A wounded sort of sound escapes Wilbur as he tries to escape Phil’s grip. Out of the corner of his vision, Tommy sees the both of them take a few steps forward, possibly to try and appease Wilbur. Even Tubbo looks seconds away from running up to the ledge and dragging Tommy over to the other side and never letting him go. The only two who seem to have any common sense are Techno and Phil. They keep their distance while still slowly making their way towards him. Twenty-five feet between them and him. Too fucking close in his opinion. He dangles a foot off the side, daring them to come any closer. That makes them pause, Phil’s eyes widening at the sight. Techno forces impassiveness.

   “Surely not,” he can hear Tubbo whisper from under Techno’s arm. “Tommy, how long have you been planning this?”

   A rueful sort of look crosses Tommy’s face as he looks back at the boy barely older than him, a grim smile gracing his lips. “Tubbo, I have been thinking about this moment on and off for about two years. I only just took the initiative a few months ago…after my last placement.”

   That last placement…Tommy doesn’t like to think about it. In fact, the whole suicide plan was what generously took up a lot of his mind, so any thoughts or nightmares about the wretched place were pushed to the side. It was a blessing, honestly. Harsh words and beatings he could deal with, but what happened in that house is going to be with him for the rest of his life. Which thankfully is going to be a lot shorter than what it should be.

   Tubbo stares at him in shock while, surprisingly, Techno and Wilbur look towards each other with a sort of ghastly look of understanding. Of course, Tommy remembers, they were both in the system too. Long nights of suicidal ideation must run in the business. A fleeting image of Wilbur standing on the roof with a despondent, desperate look in his eyes and a guitar strapped to his back reminds him that it won’t always get better. Might as well end it before things get any worse. Besides, his plan is already in motion. And Tommy Innit is no fucking quitter, no matter what gut feelings are trying to force his feet back down to more solid ground.

   “Mate, I know you don’t know me,” Phil starts as he walks towards him slowly, Wilbur in tow. “But this shouldn’t be the end-all solution to your problems.”

   Tommy sneers at him and shifts even closer to the edge, shuffling whatever snow was accumulating there off the edge and down to the ground. “You don’t know me, asshole. You couldn’t even begin to know!”

   “I know.” Phil stops walking at the sight of the snow clump falling off the side. Seventeen feet away now. Wilbur looks at his father with wide eyes beginning to water; the sight of the young boy standing just where he stood a little over a week ago is hard to take in, but there he is all the same. “But,” Phil continues, “I would very much like to. And I can’t do that for you if you jump, mate.”

   “I’m not asking you to do anything for me!” At this point, Tommy explodes on them. All the anger and disappointment (fear, but he won’t admit it) spills out of him. “I don’t need anyone to do anything for me! I have gotten by on my own and I have survived this long. Isn’t it my decision?! I made this plan, I decided to come here, and no one else should get a say in this! Dying alone would have been just fine with me, but if you all wanna watch then grab a fucking seat!”

   “I don’t want to watch you die, Tommy!” Wilbur finally yells after what seems like hours of silence from the man, once again trying to rip himself from Phil’s grip. “I’m fucking selfish, okay? I want you to come down for my sake, if not for your own! I want my friend to be alive. I want to go with you to Niki’s place and grab a fucking beignet and coffee. I want to watch you thrive. You’ve been surviving for so long, but I want you to live, dammit!”

   “You just fucking met me!” Tommy grips the ends of the beanie in his hand and pulls down, trying to block everything from his senses. It doesn’t dim down the feeling of wrong wrong wrong screaming at him, begging him for something he can’t know. “You don’t even know who I am, o-or what I’ve been through! And when I’m gone—when I’m gone, you’ll forget about me, easily! You’ll be fine. I don’t matter, can’t you see that?!”

   Snow falls down and coats the roof with a thin layer of white, making the area glow red as the lights glint off the frozen water. The space between them is still far, but Tommy can make out Wilbur’s form, slumped in disbelief at his words. His heart is beating faster after yelling, pumping him full of adrenaline once again, but he doesn’t take the dive just yet. He needs them to see what he does, to understand. There is no hope for Tommy, there never was. All of this talk and worry will get them nowhere with him, he is too far gone to care. A small part of him whispers that he is wrong, but it is drowned out again by Wilbur speaking, softer than the snowfall surrounding them.

   “You’re wrong, Tommy.”

   Tommy shakes his head aggressively, trying to butt in and disprove him, but Wilbur simply puts his hands up in the same manner that Tommy did for him when he was on the edge. Phil reluctantly lets go of his son and Wilbur takes a few steps forward. Fifteen feet away.

   “Ever since I met you on the roof a week or so ago, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About what would have happened that night if you weren’t there. You saved me, Tommy. All of us.” Wilbur gestures to Tubbo and even Techno, who both meet his gaze with a determined look on their faces. “And I will let you know now, that if you do this…I will not be able to forget about you. No matter how much pain it brings me, I won’t ever stop thinking about how I could have stopped you from dying tonight.”

   Once those words are out in the open, Tommy knows that Wilbur isn’t lying to him. An awful, sinking feeling settles in and all he can do is let it wash over him. The one thing Tommy wanted to do tonight is leave peacefully and now that illusion is shattered because these people think they care about him. And they shouldn’t, they really shouldn’t care about some poor, hopeless teenager with no life left in him, no color. But Wilbur isn’t lying to him. He can tell when people lie. You have to know when people are fucking with you or else you might end up on some poor school kid’s milk carton. Wilbur is going to regret this for the rest of his life, and from the looks the others are sending him, it seems like they will too. His knees buckle a bit, and he goes from standing tall and resolute in his decision to deflated and aghast.

   “That’s not fair,” he whispers before glaring at them and raising his voice. “That’s not fair! Why can’t you just let me do this?! I have to!”

   “Do you have to, Tommy?” Phil’s voice is quiet and questioning as he stands beside Wilbur, still fifteen feet away from him. “Or has everyone you’ve ever known made you feel that way?”

   “What?”

   “Like you need to do this,” Technoblade interjects as he goes to stand beside his brother, Tubbo still clutching onto his coat and staring up at Tommy as if he could disappear at any second. “Like you have to die. Truthfully, Tommy, I feel that deep down…you don’t want this for yourself. You want to live.”

   “I do want this! I do, I-I…I want…”

   Does he want this? Surely, he does, he’s planned it all out and everything, down to the last second. Sure, his plans may have gotten a bit scrambled but he’s still on the edge of a hotel roof ready to do what needs to be done. But the question remains: does it need to be done. The foot he was dangling off the edge comes back to sit next to his other one, his thoughts running a mile a minute. Tommy is here though, that has to count for something, right? Time and effort went into this endeavor, he shouldn’t just give up now. However, just behind all the bravado and insistence, there is that smidgen of doubt worming its way in, bringing with it something he never thought he’d feel again. The feeling he’d sworn off after months and months of disappointment, house after house, family after family.

   Hope.

   Hope.

   Out of all the monstrosities that escaped Pandora’s Box, hope was left behind, leaving humanity in the dark and doomed to repeat history. Hope is there, warming his heart and chest, and it is standing right in front of him. It clings desperately to the idea that Wilbur, Tubbo, Techno, and Phil are up here for him. Not just out of some misplaced obligation or pity, but because they care about him. It is cruel to pretend to care about him, but Wilbur wasn’t lying. And it is not Sam on the roof with him, it’s not a bunch of cops trying to get him to come down, it’s people who were on the roof in the same position he’s in now.

   Tommy grips his chest tight, and his eyes begin to water as they flit back and forth, not spilling over just yet for fear of them seeing him cry. No one has seen him cry in years. All of his tears were wasted in his younger years. He is still young. He doesn’t like to think about that. Tubbo can sense the shifting change in the atmosphere and steps away from Techno’s side a bit, inching closer to the place Tommy stands. Both boys are swaying in the wind, their eyes locked and tired, but Tubbo stares at him with fierce determination.

   “Tommy. You deserve the same chance you gave me.”

   Those words hack away at the barriers Tommy has put in place around his heart and pierce through to his very core. It’s as if the dam has been breached as he begins to cry. No sound comes from his mouth, just tears mingling with snowflakes that stick to his cheeks. They are ruddy and warm, wet and straining as he tries not to let out a sound. It is all too much for him, seeing Wilbur start to clutch his jacket near his heart and both him and Tubbo starting to cry as well. Phil holds onto Wilbur, still staring at Tommy with an undeniable look of sorrow and encouragement, as if he needs to keep crying. And he does so. Everything that has been building up is now being let loose and all those feelings he has been trying to avoid are brought to light.

   “I-I don’t wanna die.” He wraps his arms around his torso in an attempt to hug himself for the feeling of comfort he so desperately yearns for. “It’s just that everything’s been building up for so long…and nobody would have cared. Nobody would have noticed I was gone.”

   He begins to sway dangerously with every sob and breath pushing in and out of him. Wilbur and Phil try and push forward some more but they stop as Tommy locks eyes with them, shifting one foot again towards the edge, more snow falling to the ground below. They pause, and he keeps going.

   “That’s what was so perfect about it, y’know? It was so easy to do…” He lets out a sad laugh, choking with another sob forcing its way out, raw and heartfelt. “I fucking hate this! Richard left me in the dust yesterday, Puffy left me, my own parents left me! They didn’t care about me! I hate them, I hate them, I hate all of them! Nobody cares about me; nobody ever wants to fucking stay!”

   Techno and Tubbo move to stand next to the others, and Tommy watches them with tears still streaming from his eyes. They appear bluer than they were, Wilbur notices. His heart clenches at the sight of the youngest out of all of them, his heart held in his palm for the world to see but the world isn’t watching. It’s just the five of them on top of this hotel. And Tommy is a stranger in name only because he is so much more than that.

   “And you’re all here,” Tommy continues. His voice is barely heard, but the odd, reverent quiet of the city tonight allows it. “But I don’t deserve your concern. And I know I shouldn’t want it, but I do, and I hate myself for it.”

   “Tommy,” Wilbur cuts in, his voice pinched, and brows furrowed. “You deserve the world, Toms. I would give it to you if only you’d ask it of me.”

   With the quiet of the night and snow falling around them, it feels like it’s just Wilbur and Tommy on the roof once again. There is no cookie bag from Niki, no guitar strumming into the night, but the same warmth he got from Wilbur putting the beanie on his head for the first time rushes back through him. Tommy looks at Wilbur with big, sad eyes as the latter reaches out with both arms, roles of their first encounter reversed. It almost makes Tommy want to laugh. Almost. The world, huh, he thinks dully as he shifts from one leg to the other in an attempt to make them less numb, I really just want to see your dumb smile again. I don’t care if it’s selfish of me.

   “I don’t want to be alone anymore, Wilby,” he whispers.

   Wilbur smiles, a bit wobbly and teary-eyed, but a smile just like the one he gave him the night Tommy met him. “You don’t have to be. We’ll figure it out, yeah? Now come down here so I can hug the shit out of you.”

   A wobbly smile crosses his face as he shifts a foot forward to jump back down onto the roof. All of them look relieved, Tubbo even leans against Techno with a sigh. But the snow has been falling for the past twenty minutes or so. There is ice and snow under his feet, making the ledge slippery. Unstable. A shift of his other foot has him stumbling, his face going white and slack as his center of gravity is thrown off balance.

   And he falls.

   The world spins for a split second as he tumbles off the side, shouts from beyond the ledge screamed by people he can’t look at because the world below him is all he can focus on. The alley is dark and looming, something that seemed a comfort now terrifying. If there was some semblance of a life to flash before his eyes, he doesn’t see it. People tend to exaggerate their brushes with death, he supposes. He can hear the wind rushing past him for the briefest of moments. If he wasn’t about to bite the big one, it would be peaceful.

   Suddenly, there is a yank on his arm accompanied by a bruising grip, the force of gravity causing him to cry out in pain. The weight of his body slams full force into the side of the hotel, making his side sore, but he couldn’t care less. He’s still alive. The prospect of it makes him somewhat giddy even though he is still terrified out of his mind, dangling over the alleyway like this. Tommy looks up frantically to see Phil grasping at his left forearm with both hands, just barely straining to hold on to him. Thankfully Tommy doesn’t weigh nearly as much as he should for a kid his age.

   “I’ve got ya, mate, just hold on! I’ve got you. Techno! Get over here and try and grab his other arm. I can’t lift him back up by myself.”

   Techno peers over the side and basically hangs the upper half of his body over the lip of the building in order to grab his other arm. Slowly and as carefully as they can manage, the two of them hoist Tommy upwards, switching from forearms to securing their hands underneath his armpits for extra surface area. It is a dangerous process, but for some reason deep down Tommy trusts them. He shouldn’t as much as he does. Maybe it's the adrenaline that accompanies a near-death experience.

   Soon enough, he is back on the roof safe and somewhat sound; the blood rushing through him is still taking its time to settle. Once he has his footing, he is barreled into from both sides. He can feel both bodies shuddering against him, but there is a steady, warm hand grasping the back of his head and leaning it towards that person’s shoulder. The smell of paper and coffee with cinnamon enters his nose and he clings desperately to the other person like a lemur, all gangly limbs crossing over each other in an attempt to be closer.

   Wilbur.

   He can feel the other person cling even tighter than he is, sticking their head under his chin and burying their face into his chest. Tommy can hear faint crying muffled by his red and white jumper, and his heart aches at the familiar sound. He wraps an arm around Tubbo’s back in order to give him some comfort. Reassurance that he’s still alive. All Tubbo can do is burrow further into the jumper, somehow squeezing even tighter. Tommy tries not to wince at that.

   “Are you alright, Theseus? No lasting damage?” Techno walks up to the group hug and somehow finds Tommy’s head in the jumble of bodies, trying to turn it this way and that, checking for any cuts or forming bumps. Tommy shakes his head no, even though the side that hit the building is throbbing dully. Techno sighs in relief at his answer. “Good. I think it’s time we head home.”

   “Me too,” Phil says sidling up next to his son, placing a hand on Wilbur’s head as well in a nonverbal suggestion to get off of Tommy. Reluctantly, Wilbur leaves the group hug but still keeps the boy under his arm as a protective mannerism. Tommy can see Techno smirk at his brother before catching Tommy’s gaze. The smirk immediately turns into a softer smile, making Tommy feel warmer than he has all night. Tubbo is still clinging to him, moving with him in sync so as not to let them trip. He is oddly happy that Tubbo decided to stay in the hug. That terrible feeling of not belonging anywhere, of not being where he’s supposed to be, is slowly fading away, replaced by that comforting heat.

   They all shuffle inside and take the elevator back down to the lobby. The thought of seeing Sam again rears its ugly head and now it is all Tommy can think about. Has he already called the police? Even if he knows Phil, will that be enough to stop him from going to jail? He did try and kill himself just a little bit ago. And that thought almost sends him into a downward spiral if not for the constant touch of Tubbo and Wilbur keeping him grounded.

   I just tried to kill myself. A six-year-old Tommy stands in front of him in his mind, crying and scared but still hopeful for the future. He scowls at the image, a darker part of him wanting to shake the boy and tell him of what’s to come. What horrors await him and how he should be glad to want death better than what happens next. Instead, he leans forward and scoops him up into his arms, holding tightly with whispers of I’m sorry leaving his lips. The boy disappears in his arms.

   He blinks and they are on the ground floor, about to exit into the lobby. Tommy shuffles closer to Phil, though he doesn’t have to move much since the elevator is cramped as it is. His claustrophobia is ringing major bells in his head, but the presence of the others makes it bearable. But what is waiting outside that door is more terrifying than the cramped box they stand in. Phil looks down at him and senses his hesitation. Tommy can feel him grab his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. All of this touch in the past couple of minutes is doing a number on his psyche and it’s all he can do to keep from crying again.

   There’s a dinging as the elevator opens and his eyes are immediately met by Sam standing up straight from where he was sitting at the desk with his head in his hands. Their eyes meet and Tommy can tell the man has been crying. Upon seeing all of them shuffle out of the elevator, Sam runs forward and stands in front of Tommy, not making a move to reach out to him since Wilbur and Tubbo both shoot him down with glaring faces. Even Phil and Techno look a bit cautious, but Phil just smiles at him and nods.

   “Thank you for trying your best to stop him, Sam. Those few minutes helped.”

   It looks like someone just cut his strings as he slumps forwards a bit in relief. Realization hits Tommy like a train and suddenly, Sam doesn’t seem all that scary anymore. He cares, he cares in the same way the others do. Tommy shrugs out of the hold Wilbur and Tubbo have on him, much to their disappointment, and takes a step forward in Sam’s direction. Sam looks at him and smiles, tears starting to form back in his eyes. He sure is emotional, Tommy thinks as if tears aren’t also welling up in his own eyes. Silently, Tommy opens his arms. Not so silently, Sam leans into the offered hug.

   “I am so glad you’re safe, kiddo,” Sam breathes out shakily. Tommy isn’t any better on the crying front than he was back on the roof. Tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry before becoming a bit clearer as he lets them flow down.

   “Me too.”

   Phil leads them to the minivan parked right in front of the doors of the hotel. And by right in front, it means there is one side of the car way up on the curb and the other haphazardly still in the street. Surprisingly, not one cop bothered to ticket them or call for a tow truck. At least this city is good for something. Phil looks a bit sheepish at the scuffed parking job he did but ushers them all into the van anyway, eager to get going. Tommy hesitates at the door, gripping the handle tightly.

   “Where are we going exactly?”

   Wilbur leans into his space and looks at him questioningly. “We’re going home, Toms.”

   “Where is home?” The question is quietly asked, and Wilbur’s look turns unbearably soft.

   “Home is with us, Toms,” he says, “I promise it is.”

   “You can’t promise anything, Wilbur.”

   All Wilbur does is smile. “I can if I mean it. Now hop in, you’re stuck with me and Tubbo in the backseat because Techno always gets shotgun.”

   “Quit your whinin, Wil, you’re just making an excuse to sit next to Tommy.”

   Tommy laughs a bit at Wilbur’s splutters of indignation and crawls into the seat beside Tubbo, Wilbur close behind him. The engine starts as soon as the doors close and they’re off. The snow looks like stars as they whiz past them, the cold kept out by the car heaters and the two clingy growths he’s formed on either side of him. It is nice, though, he’ll be honest. Tubbo talks about anything and everything, Tommy slightly muted and only giving straight answers and barely asking questions. Tonight has been a lot for him and all he can think about now is sleep.

   After a while, Phil pulls up to this extravagant-looking penthouse suite and it takes everything in Tommy not to gawk at it. They exit the car and once they enter, he tries even harder not to gawk at the interior. There are a lot of windows and the living room is expansive, filled with sofas and chairs and one loveseat. It is barely decorated, but as they pass some shelves laid in the walls, he can see pictures of Phil, Wilbur, and Techno through varying stages of life. It’s sweet.

   “Aw fuck,” he hears Phil swear from a few feet away. He’s disappeared somewhere and it isn’t until a blonde head appears from behind a corner wall that Tommy knows where he went. “I forgot about the bloody pasta…anyone up for McDonald’s?”

   “Chicken nuggets, sweet and sour sauce,” is all Techno can get out before face-planting into the sofa. Wilbur half drags Tommy over to the other couch and flops down on it, dragging Tommy down with him. He lets out an oof! before lightly punching Wilbur in the side. Wilbur only smiles and brings him closer to his side, effectively shutting him up as the warmth encompasses him again.

   “I want a McFish, Dadza,” he calls to the kitchen.

   “It’s a Fillet o’ Fish, Wil, for the love of God.”

   “Nah, it’s a McFish, bossman,” Tubbo agrees, bouncing on the couch next to Tommy on his opposite side. “I’ll have a McRib! Tommy, what do you want?”

   “Uhh, I don’t know, big man. You pick.”

   A mischievous glint shines in Tubbo’s eyes at his comment. He leans back and calls back to the kitchen. “And Tommy wants a Happy Meal!”

   Tommy shoots up immediately and reaches for Tubbo who ducks out of the way. “Fuck that! Do not get me a fucking Happy Meal, just get me a double cheeseburger or some shit! Do not listen to Tubbo!”

   “What’s that,” Phil says from the entrance to the kitchen, a smile inching across his face, “double cheeseburger Happy Meal? What toy did you want?”

   “I am not a kid!”

   After a few more rounds of child comments and the insistence that Tubbo also gets a Happy Meal if he has to get one since they are both around the same age, Phil orders them the food and it arrives earlier than he thought it would. Thankfully, no Happy Meals are in the order, but there is a mysterious moth beanie baby that wound up in the bag regardless. Phil hands it to him and Tommy quickly pockets it before anyone else sees it.

   After they all finished eating, Tommy could feel the crash coming a mile away. He slumps in his seated position, unconsciously leaning into Wilbur’s side on the couch. He’s blinking slowly, almost asleep already and fuller than he’s been in a long time. There are a few moments of silence before he hears shuffling and suddenly, he is lying down on the couch, almost on top of Wilbur. The lights go dim and he can sort of feel someone carefully taking his shoes off his feet and placing a blanket over the two of them. The heat from both the blanket and Wilbur is nice and it soothes a part of his soul that hasn’t been touched in almost a decade.

   Tommy feels safe. He doesn’t feel at home, but then again, home was something he learned he couldn’t have after his parent’s death. It’s not like his parents provided him with a “home” either. They were barely present, even if their bodies were there next to him. Listening to Wilbur’s breathing and hearing Tubbo and Techno both lightly snore on the sofa next to him, he can almost figure out what it should feel like, to have a family.  Whatever tomorrow brings, he doesn’t have to worry about it now. Right now, with everyone in the room and not a trace of that awful feeling in his guts, he feels safe. And that’s enough.

Notes:

Here we are, friends. The conclusion to the roof saga. Where Tommy goes next, well, that's a problem for morning Tommy to deal with.

Thank you guys so much for all the love for the last chapter! I completely missed that I left you with a cliffhanger until I posted it. Sorry about that. Hopefully, the length of this chapter will make it worth the wait!

(is it weird that I wanna draw fanart of my own fic??)

Chapter 8: A/N for those who want to read it

Summary:

Just an author's note regarding the deleted chapter eight.

Hello everyone!

I just wanted to let the people who are still reading this story know that chapter seven is indeed the end. I had originally not planned anything beyond that chapter, so trying to get my brain to come up with more for the story was hurting my creative flow. So, yeah. I got rid of chapter eight. As much as I wanted to keep all the interactions there and keep going, I was feeling burnout. Re-reading that latest chapter just filled me with regret and it just didn't seem as good as the other chapters in this story. It just didn't seem fair to you guys.

That being said, I love all your comments and love for this story! I honestly loved every second I was writing it and I lived to see all those comments and bookmark notes because honestly a lot of those were pretty sweet and sometimes hilarious!

I will be posting another story soon and uploading will be sporadic as I am currently looking for a new job while also still being employed. Listen, 13 bucks an hour after 6 years of working there just isn't fucking cutting it :/

Thank you all again! <3