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Ⅰ
He hated this.
He hated the waiting and what came with the waiting. His leg bounced against the floor, clammy hands clenched into fists, fingernails dug into his palm, teeth gritted to a flat point. To a point where Wilbur just wanted this room to split into two. For a crater to bulldoze this therapist's office, the floor to wreck itself into pieces, creating a seeping hole where Wilbur would just fall.
This was his fifth week with Dr Puffy and no offence to her, but he loathed it.
It wasn’t because he didn’t think all this was necessary, oh it was. In theory, he loved the idea of being able to vent out his problems to a random person paid to hear it all. But then the actual advice came in. The response to his rants. Words and guidance he didn’t agree with yet had to try because they’d tell his dad the same thing.
And on this Tuesday morning, a suggestion hit him.
“I’ve got an idea that you could try,” was what Puffy opened with. It was different to her usual greetings or forced questions of how are you? despite well-knowing Wilbur looked like shit. “We’ve tried comfort items before and you said those didn’t work, correct?”
The grit to his teeth shredded at the mention of that.
Comfort items. The entire thing made him feel like a child. A baby clinging to stuffed toys and nightlights. Puffy advised him to buy a comfort item to squeeze or hold whenever he felt like everything was too much. Something to ground him, to keep him steady as the world proceeded to move in ways it shouldn’t.
Techno, his older brother, bought it for him. The cow plushie stayed hidden under the two pillows on Wilbur’s bed. He was almost eighteen years old, he shouldn’t have to rely on plushies to make sure he didn’t have another breakdown and forget his own name. It didn’t work anyway. Nothing did.
Not the breathing exercises or talking about his problems, the tangles, calming oils, not the medication and orange bottles that stayed filled up because nothing worked.
“What about a therapy animal?” Puffy’s voice pulled him away.
He blinked once. And then another and another but that expression on Puffy’s face did not change. She was being serious.
“A therapy animal?” he repeated, lips pursed with distrust.
He sat here, on his third therapist of the year, with two diagnoses, and apparently, a pet was what stood between him and not feeling like waking up was a chore.
He scoffed darkly, “Is that all you have or...?”
Puffy readjusted in her seat. “Wilbur, bonding with an animal can benefit you in many ways,” she continued on and on about the logistics and psychology behind therapy animals. That they provide comfort, could reduce levels of pain and boredom, increase social interactions and whatever.
It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense, it did. For Wilbur, the hatred was more because the solution was something so simple. Extensive medication literally fabricated to suit the imbalance in his head didn’t work for him. Neither did that summer in rehab or anything else. But an animal. Why would that change anything?
“I’ve already suggested this to your father before in the past so—”
His stomach dropped.
“So you’ve told Phil already?” he interrupted, eyes slit into a glare. “You know what he’s like, Puffy, he’ll jump at any opportunity to fix me.”
“Wilbur, don’t word it like that you know this isn’t a matter of fixing.”
“Tell that to him breathing down my neck every fucking minute of the day to see if I’ve changed, if I’m doing okay, if I need assistance or if I’m his son again,” he took a sharp inhale, it burning against this chest. Breathless all of a sudden and red in the face.
A prolonged silence lingered between them. One where Puffy wrote down two simple words on her notepad, pencil scraping against the page. Whilst Wilbur heaved with fractured breaths, still running after whatever words had left his mouth as it cemented.
He didn’t mean it, he didn’t really mean it. He didn’t think his father wanted to fix him, that Phil craved to do anything just so Wilbur acted the same as he used to. But that didn’t stop the small part of him that believed it. The acceptance of the belief that came in sleepless nights and passing days that didn't feel real.
“The decision of a therapy animal is up to you,” Puffy said, pencil flat on her notepad. “No one else, just you.”
That looming doubt, the shadow that took the heat and peace in the nights, flashed through him.
“Thank you for the session, I’m leaving now,” he bit out, jaw clenched. His chair scraped against the floor as he walked out.
He knew he shouldn’t act like this. He knew that Puffy didn’t deserve this, that she was trying her best with an uncooperative patient. But he was tired.
Tired of being the fuck-up of the family, the failure compared to his brother. The older one who set a standard Wilbur could never meet, not with the head attached to his neck and all the problems riddling inside of it. He was a disappointment to his father who just wanted some stability in his life. The same father he hadn’t called Dad for months because he wasn't deserving to be his son.
As he walked home with that anger seething in each step, a thought came to his head.
What if, unlike usual, he ruined this on purpose? What if he took this suggestion and messed it up before Phil and Techno even got their hands on it?
If there was something out there Wilbur succeeded at, it was fucking up things.
So, with his mind finally letting him feel alive for once, he took a right at the end of the road rather than a left. A right turn that led him directly to the local animal shelter. It was back, he was back. For just a fleeting moment, he was himself again. Pushing store doors open with a mission, a passion for once.
He moved with meaning. And even if this meaning was something out of spite and self-destruction, he did not care in the slightest.
Yet, his catharsis sunk the moment he laid eyes on that. The feline settled behind the bars at the very end of the viewing pens. A disgruntled mess of ginger sat at the back of the pen. Cream and blond specks adorned its back, nose and neck. Half the tip of its ear was ripped off and a scar dug into its right cheek. Soft blue eyes lidded slightly open. Up until it noticed Wilbur’s presence.
Only then were those keen fangs exposed.
The cat ran up to the bars. It scratched and hissed. Thrashed its paws against the metal. It did anything sharp and loud enough to make you want to stroll right past. And yet Wilbur knelt closer.
His fingers traced the same metal bars the cat clawed at. Familiarity struck itself in the pest. Though not familiarity like a reunion with a long lost pet, but more of, I know what made you this way because I am the same.
“What’s their name?” he didn’t break his gaze from the ginger kitten who attempted to bite at his fingertips.
“Theseus,” the woman said.
Theseus. The hero that fell from grace—quite literally. Something Wilbur had hoped to achieve two months ago. But just like with everything, he couldn’t stick to it.
There was a fight in this cat’s eyes. Maybe a fight to continue falling or to grasp on that cliff ledge and heave yourself back up. Either way, it was something they both shared.
“But someone else named him that so we stick with Tommy.”
Tommy. Wilbur hummed, sounding the name on his lips. That fitted him better, a common name rather than one that pledged a legacy of falling. Still had the roots, the reminder of that slip or push. Just like the torment that followed Wilbur, that namesake did the same for this little kitten.
Without another thought, he asked, “How much?”
And later left that shelter with a caged cat in his arms and a skip in his step.
The cat wouldn’t come out of his cage.
In fact, the ginger kitten seemed to have lost that fighting spirit he had in the shelter. Instead of hissing and biting, he shook. Trembled behind the fenced hatch.
“So your solution is to bond with something more messed up than you?” Techno asked.
Wilbur gasped and gently pulled the cage further towards him. “He can hear you.”
“It’s a cat.”
“His name is Tommy.”
“Wilbur,” Techno said shortly, giving him that look that he knew too well. The, you’re doing it again and it’s bad this time. There were many secrets between the pair that accompanied those looks. Things Phil never knew of because if he did, Wilbur would be sent away somewhere again.
He sighed and fiddled with the hatch door. Hissing spat from the inside, more hesitant and quiet than before.
As he leaned down to stare between the fenced bars, he wasn’t going to lie this time. Not about this. There was some truth to Techno’s words. If he managed to get this cat, this aggrieved mess to learn how to love, to heal, then maybe there was some hope for himself.
“Wilbur, don’t even think about it. If you open that cage, that cat will rip you to shreds,” Techno warned.
“No, he won’t.”
“And did he tell you that?”
Wilbur scoffed and unlatched the door. He pulled it towards him and the cat didn’t move. Tommy’s nose wrinkled and ears pinned back. He held out his hand, reaching for the cat. Nothing came of it. No louder hissing, swatting or unsheathed claws. In fact, Tommy let himself be picked up.
His lips parted in shock as he steadied his grip on Tommy. Parts of his fur were matted, especially the patches around his ears and sides. But he was so soft. So small in his arms. A smile adorned his lips as he adjusted his hold on the kitten.
“Fucking told you Techno, I’m a cat whispere—”
Then Tommy attacked his face.
Claws extended and dashed at him. Outstretching to hit at his overhanging curls and glasses. Wilbur shrieked and almost dropped him, but kept him steady in his arms. Far away enough that his claws didn’t graze his face, but his hands were still open to be used as a scratching board.
The kitchen door pushed open and Phil blanked at the sight.
“Wilbur,” Phil said with that fucking tone. A tone that once brought him to tears of happiness because it was so bright with care and solace. Yet now it rang bitterly. “A therapy animal is supposed to be trained, you know.”
Tommy’s ear flicked and he suddenly stilled. The hissing ceased, as did the claws digging into his hands, scratching until red marks ripped into his skin. The cat stopped every attack. Instead, he felt lighter in his arms, softer, and a wet nose dug into his chest.
“They’re supposed to calm you,” Phil carried on.
He narrowed his eyes and cradled Tommy further into his chest, careful and slow in case he decided to resort back to swatting at his face. But Tommy stayed still. A small meowl muffled into his sweater.
“He does calm me,” Wilbur responded, bringing an absent hand to stroke Tommy’s back. “And it’s Tommy, by the way.”
The cat made another meowling sound, louder and with a bit more edge. Wilbur’s upper lip twitched, amused.
Phil’s mouth thinned to a line. His hand rested against the kitchen island, almost as if the entire ordeal brought him great fatigue—which it probably did.
“I’m guessing my Amazon Prime is gonna be used for cat stuff then,” Techno said, interrupting the stare-off between the two. “I already have Wilbur’s credit card memorised, just text me the links,” and with that, Techno walked up the stairs.
With only two left in the kitchen, Wilbur clutched Tommy closer to him as Phil’s silence extended. His silence was rare, especially in these instances. Normally when it came to Wilbur’s solutions, Phil was quick to reply, quick to fill any silence that reeked of unease. But with this, Wilbur’s fingers trembled into the kitten’s fur.
“Will it help you?” Phil finally asked.
Wilbur did not know.
He didn’t think anything could help him anyone, incapable of getting better and seeing the colour of life again. But as this kitten squirmed in his arms, wrapping its paws around Wilbur’s forearm, almost as if Tommy was hugging him instead, he dotted on an answer.
“I think so,” he muttered. His lip twitched upwards once more as Tommy struggled to detach his claws from his sweater, leaving him to tug with a displeased yowl.
Hopefully was better left unsaid.
Phil sighed once more and nodded. “We’ll get everything sorted out for the little guy tomorrow,” he moved to pet Tommy, though he hissed and tried to bite at his hand. “I’ll leave you with him.”
Wilbur stood standing in the kitchen, legs weak. He swallowed the lodge stuck in his throat and carded his hand through the cat's back.
He had a new cat then.
Ⅱ
Contrary to belief but Tommy did not want to be someone’s cat.
Not some little plaything to stroke once a day when you remembered its presence. A mannequin to put all those outfits on, matching collars to the colour of the shirt forced on his body.
He was a shifter—sure an abomination against humanity, but he wasn’t a pet. Not docile, civilised or trained. And when that man bent down and picked him out of all the other cats and dogs, he knew he had to make this guy’s life a living hell.
Up until someone mentioned him being a therapy animal.
Now, Tommy may be rough around the edges, yet he wasn’t this much of a dick. He never liked to be touched or petted and was prone to bite. But a therapy animal, if he was a therapy animal, he couldn’t do that. He had some taste.
Though, it made everything else a bit more obvious. The man seemed unstable enough as it was. He looked at Tommy through that pen in the shelter as if there was else than just a fucked up person on the other side of it. As if the marks of others littering Tommy’s body meant something more.
And as he sat at the end of Wilbur’s bed, bundled up in blankets for the night, he began to understand.
A notepad lay in Wilbur’s hands. It was ripped at the corners, scruffy with its leather binding. But as he scribbled down onto those pages, hand gripping that pen so tightly, Tommy could tell those etched words were darker than the black of the ink.
He pretended to be asleep as Wilbur wrote into the night.
But then it got louder. The scribbling against the paper, the distressed groans and exhausted shuffling. Wilbur sighed and slammed his pen down on the notepad. Tommy flinched and rested his chin further on the blankets. His whiskers bristled.
He frowned as Wilbur’s face reddened. The man reached into his bedside drawer and grabbed something, an orange tube with pills inside. Then he shoved it to the back of the draw and rammed it shut.
His breathing increased, more erratic and short than his past sharp exhales. Wilbur’s hands grasped at his hair.
Tommy meowed. But it didn’t catch Wilbur’s attention.
He meowed, again and again, more high-pitched than the last. And yet Wilbur still sobbed dryly into empty arms. Tommy ignored the distress growing inside him and staggered out of the blankets. He needed his attention, he needed Wilbur to stop pulling at his hair and breathing like that.
So Tommy pounced.
He aimed for Wilbur’s legs, the outlines under his bedcovers. With his paws, he swatted, jumping to hit the figured outlines. Wilbur flinched, hands dropping from his hair.
Tommy trilled as Wilbur tugged the bedcovers up so it hid his legs. As the covers landed back down, he jumped again, leaping on the outlines of his legs. Slowly, as he continued and Wilbur realised this wasn’t hurting him, that his claws couldn’t get through the sheets and Tommy wasn’t hissing, Wilbur began to laugh.
He laughed wetly, unleashed tears streamed down his face. But they were happy now. Happy as Tommy continued to jump from place to place, landing on his front paws and snuggling against Wilbur’s knees as he attempted to nab at him.
No longer was Wilbur panicked with his head in his hands or tearing at himself.
Then, as exhaustion hit them both, Wilbur resided under his covers. Tommy stayed standing, eyeing his next move. Yet, instead of another round of Wilbur prodding him playfully, he reached over and scooped him to his side.
He yelped, caught off guard by the sudden touch. Tommy wiggled out of Wilbur's grip but stayed next to him. It was warm, sharing the covers and heat. So, he let himself rest.
The next morning, after Tommy had explored all of the house in both cat and human form, he lounged over the bottom staircase. He didn't let anyone pass out of spite. Not Phil, who woke up early to prepare breakfast, not Techno (though he just pushed Tommy to the side with his foot). And especially not Wilbur.
As Wilbur walked down, Tommy allowed him to get a single step down. Then he lept and attached himself to Wilbur's back. His claws clung to his school blazer.
"I'm being attacked!" Wilbur shouted, laughing freely as Tommy fought to secure his place on his shoulders.
As Wilbur caught him, Tommy dropped to the floor and stayed under the table as everyone ate their breakfast. He drank the milk left in the bowl by Wilbur's chair.
"I bought the stuff you texted me last night," Techno announced. "It's coming later today."
Wilbur nodded and threw Tommy a piece of bacon. He had a smile on his face, something vastly different to last night.
But then, that smile had to twist into a tense line with a single statement.
“I checked it again, Wilbur,” Phil said. And that smile fell.
Tommy frowned and jumped up to the empty chair.
"Checked what?" Wilbur asked, gritted teeth hidden in his nonchalant tone. His land lay flat on the table yet the other trembled underneath.
"You know what I checked."
"Do we have to do this now?" Techno interrupting, sparing Wilbur a look.
"Boys," Phil paused and sighed. "Wilbur, you know you have to take them."
"What if I don't want to?"
"Why wouldn't you?" Phil sounded so tired of having to ask.
"Because they don't work," Wilbur spat out, volatile in the open air. Both hands curled to a fist, close to slamming just like that pen on his notebook last night. Tommy knew what came after that. The tears, the self-destruction, all too familiar from seeing it first hand and experiencing it himself.
"Then we'll get you some that work," Phil said, earnest and patient.
But Tommy saw the irritation, the understandable irritation. Bystanders who never had to take the pills and swallow each fighting battle. Those who didn't know how hard it was to gulp it down. They didn't notice the shaking hands as white pills rotting in your palm, feel the cold on the water bottle in the other. All they cared about was you just taking it and nothing more. Not the thoughts, not the gagging inside your head, the urge to throw it up and never do it again.
They didn't care about that because they had never known of its existence. But Tommy did, Tommy had.
He meowed quietly, paw flicking at Wilbur's clenched fist under the table.
"Please, leave it alone," Wilbur pleaded, voice wavering.
A silence filled as Phil looked in pain. Tommy didn't know what was going to come out of his mouth, whether it would be a reassuring, okay, okay, I'll bring this up another time when you're ready or a cry of his own.
So Tommy jumped on the table. Straight into Techno's cereal. It disturbed the tension, the thick strains between them all. It stalled the waves swelling in Wilbur's eyes and the matching ocean in Phil's.
Instead of a potential shouting match, Tommy brought gasps and rushes to get tea towels. Techno groaned and Wilbur wiped at the milk that splashed on his sleeve.
Before Phil could even bring up the conversation again, Wilbur excused himself for school. Shortly followed by Techno heading to work.
Phil sighed at the mess of Tommy on the table. Bits of Weetabix stuck to his fur. But he licked it off, liking the taste.
Just as he went to lick his paw again, Phil pinched the bridge of his nose and whispered something under his breath. Something like, "I don't know what to do, Kristin," it almost sounded like a prayer but too particular. Too tired and intimate.
Phil's eyes locked with his.
Tommy glared because he didn't know what else to do. It was easy with Wilbur. He'd picked it up overnight because he just treated him how he'd hoped to be handled in the past. But with the father, the dad who didn't know whether to act the same around the son he had lost momentarily, Tommy was stumped.
"Bath time?" Phil asked and a surprised trill left Tommy.
However, instead of Phil leading him upstairs to the bathroom, he picked him up and set him down in the sink. The sink.
"Stop licking yourself, I know it's milk but have some dignity," Phil grumbled, no longer seeming as burdened in his tone as when he whispered to himself.
Tommy narrowed his eyes and continued licking his paw. Only for Phil to turn on the tap, causing him to squeak.
Phil laughed and poured some soap over his body. Eventually, bubbles filled the sink. He tried to eat them but they didn't taste as nice as it looked.
"I think you saved me back there," Phil said as he scrubbed out the chunks of Weetabix from Tommy's coat. "It's best to leave Wilbur alone sometimes and I... I just struggle to know when. When to stop pushing," he sighed and Tommy leaned into the hand threading through the matted patch on his neck. "I don't know what to say to him. How to show him that I don't want the old Wil back, just one that wants to be here."
Tommy stayed silent.
"Why am I speaking to a fucking cat?" Phil muttered and Tommy swatted at his hand.
The rest of the day Tommy played with the things Techno had bought for him. A scratching board (though he preferred attacking Wilbur's sweaters), toys with those little bells that made his ears perk up and flick, and a laser. Phil wouldn't stop teasing him with it.
Now, he lounged over Wilbur's bed, hoping to tear holes in the sheets. The door suddenly opened, making him jump.
Wilbur burst in, an excited look on his face and a bounce to his step. "Guess who got out of a therapy session because they passed out in maths class," he dragged out, sounding happy with his words.
Tommy scowled. When he last saw Wilbur, he was on the verge of letting those shouting words fly and unleashing that anger in his clenched fists. Now he was happy, though the smile and enjoyment didn't reach his eyes. They were a dull brown, different to the soft whiskey shades that swirled in them last night when those tears weren't out of sadness. But this, these eyes were voids. Dark and empty. He didn't like it.
Wilbur scoffed at Tommy. "It wasn't my fault! I just... I just don't get things sometimes in my head and, and yeah," he exhaled heavily then shook his head. "Anyway! That means I got back to you quicker."
Tommy found himself smiling at that.
There was energy residing in Wilbur, not a good one. But Tommy could make it good. Tommy nipped at Wilbur's outreached hand and ran around the room. Giggling to himself as Wilbur began to chase him.
He chased him around the room, breathless as Tommy scaled the closest. Then he jumped onto the bed and hid under the pillow. Yet, there was something under it. Something soft and round. Wilbur pried the pillows up and exposed a cow plushie.
Tommy immediately dashed to wrestle with it, grinning as he traced his claws over the fluff. But Wilbur didn't continue to chase him or pick him up for another game. Instead, he stood, conflicted.
He meowed sharply, to signify a what?
Wilbur sat down next to him, energy depleted from him.
"Techno got me that," he said at last.
Oh.
Tommy spat the cow’s ear out of his mouth.
“No, no! It’s fine, Tommy, it’s fine,” Wilbur leaned to stroke him but Tommy flinched back.
Wilbur retracted his hand and sighed. He shuffled and moved the cow plushie closer to Tommy. The name Henry read on its fabric collar.
“It’s supposed to be a comfort item,” he revealed, almost with distaste. “Puffy recommended it and it’s been hidden under there ever since I got it.”
Hesitantly, Tommy brushed his cheek against the cow's stuffed head. It was soft, soft against his whiskers. It smelt like Wilbur—and Techno a bit too.
Something flashed over Wilbur’s face. “You know that was the first time in ages that Techno looked me in the eyes,” he announced quietly. “When he gave me that,” Wilbur clarified as he ambled closer. “Partly my fault because I was so… reactive. Unpredictable. It didn’t scare him but he just didn’t want to set me off, I guess. It’s stupid,” he whispered the last part.
Tommy nudged his nose against the cow.
“It can be yours now,” Wilbur said as he cast a hand through Tommy's fur and he let it happen. He began to purr slightly with his head buried in the cow plushie and a hand scratching his cheek. “Your comfort item.”
Tommy frowned and bit the cow again, but to drag it near Wilbur. He grabbed it by the scruff and put it on Wilbur’s lap. A moment later he crawled onto him as well. Curled up with Henry, back against Wilbur’s torso.
A hum left Wilbur, bathed in surprise and affection. It made those brown eyes shine lighter as he looked down at him.
“Well, I guess we can share it then."
Later after Tommy was sure Wilbur was asleep, he shifted forms. He hadn't been in this form—human—for weeks. It was better for him as a cat. Underestimated, pitied despite how he hated it.
Fourteen-year-old boys weren't given the same comfort as a stray kitten on the side of the street.
But then there were the dangers of being something so small. The time he was picked up by a masked stranger and taken into their home. The night he gained a scar on his cheek and had half his ear bitten off by another cat in a fighting pit. Money exchanged as he had another reason to flinch at any upcoming hand.
At least this house wasn't like that.
Light on his feet, he went down into the kitchen. He opened the fridge to get a bottle of water but then a scraping sound came from further in the kitchen. Like a spoon against a bowl.
Techno stood there in his slippers with his hair wrapped in a drying towel.
Tommy froze. Arm still extended into the fridge as Techno gaped at him.
"No one will believe you," Tommy retorted as he ran off with the bottle.
Breakfast the next morning was awkward. With how Techno persisted that there was a teenage kid in their house last night. But Wilbur just laughed at him, saying their alarms would've been triggered. Leaving Tommy curled up on the empty chair, hiding his grin.
He expected this to happen though. He waited for it. For himself to have bad days just like Wilbur.
The days where he remembered. When he didn't want to be touched, didn't want eyes on him or anyone near him.
He woke up at the end of Wilbur's bed. Wilbur was already awake and readying his backpack for school. As he noticed Tommy blinking himself to consciousness, he walked towards him. But Tommy yowled, fangs baring. His claws sunk into the blankets with his fur standing on end.
Wilbur backed away with a frown.
"Tommy?" called for him gently as he hid under the covers. "Tommy, you alright?"
A hand pressed on top of the covers near him. He whimpered, whiskers scraping against the fabric. Everything was too much. He needed to hide but hiding hurt.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, I'll leave you alone." The hand left but something tugged at Tommy. He called out, a distress call, only one kitten's made for their carers.
He shuffled out from under the covers and meowed again. Loud and longing, a whine and a cry all rolled into one. A cry that he wanted to be left alone but not for Wilbur to leave. He didn't want prying eyes or unwanted touches yet Wilbur needed to stay. He yearned for his presence, his eyes on him, his hand close but not on him. A hand just waiting if he wanted to brush against it.
He cried out again until Wilbur stopped at the door. Wilbur turned and walked back, concerned.
"Okay, I'm not leaving," he got closer, hands still in eyes view.
Wilbur sat down on the bed and shrugged off his school blazer. He laid on his stomach, chin resting on his arms. With an uncomplaining smile, Wilbur stared at him, face open to show no anger or danger.
Tommy liked that.
He meowed again, a please. Please don’t leave me, I don’t want to be alone, please—
Wilbur placed his hand on the covers. Palm facing the ceiling. It never inched closer to Tommy, it just laid there. An invitation, an offer that Tommy had the choice to indulge in or refuse.
"I'll stay," Wilbur promised and that was all Tommy needed to hear.
He stumbled forward and brushed against Wilbur's hand. He rubbed his head and ears next to the tips of his fingers. He poked his nose against his palm, just curling around it. Safe, so safe and warm. It was all he ever wanted.
This was the patience he never received from anyone. Not from Dream or the woman in the shelter, never from people who passed in the streets when they leant down and pet him. Patted his newly scarred face so it burnt.
Tommy purred and let Wilbur caress the healed scar. He meowed, keening into the scratches against his cheek and strokes to his fur. Into the touch that didn't hurt.
"You're okay," Wilbur murmured and Tommy crumbled. Voice as soft as his touch. Gentle with him without it feeling patronising because Wilbur knew how it felt. He knew what being babied felt like, how it differed from comfort. The pain of people walking on eggshells around you and the relief when given the space you needed.
Wilbur knew. He knew and he cared.
Someone cared for him.
Tommy crawled closer, chest no longer heaving and skin burning. He stretched out his arms and Wilbur knew what he wanted again. He picked him up with a little laugh as he muttered, "Big stretch," under his breath.
He cradled Tommy over his shoulder, his paws clung to the fabric of his shirt as Wilbur's arms hugged his side.
Wilbur rested his head against his neck, smiling into the ginger fur.
"You're just a little baby, aren't you?"
Tommy grumbled and squirmed against his shoulder.
He laughed and rocked him some more. "Little baby man, just a little guy."
When Tommy growled, a light-hearted warning, Wilbur's laughter turned to cackles. The rumble of his chest felt like home. His laughter, the vibration, the warmth that followed.
“A baby—” Tommy bit his shoulder. “Fine, fine, fine,” Wilbur beamed and hugged him closer. "You needed this, didn't you?" he whispered suddenly. Tommy meowed, no longer growling at being called a baby. "I knew we were the same."
Wilbur missed school that day and Tommy couldn't be more grateful.
As Tommy dug into his canned food, the rest of the table watched with disgust. It wasn't his fault that wet chunks of meat flicked into their direction as he ate. The jelly stuck to his whiskers and dragged down the fur on his chin.
Phil sighed and wiped Tommy's chin before carrying on with his conversation, "What if you go on a walk today, Wil?"
It was an attempt at a casual tone. Although you could tell he was worried if you looked for it. And by the expression on Wilbur's face, he had found it. The eggshells. "You haven't gone on one in ages."
Wilbur remained quiet.
"I could come with you," Techno offered. Wilbur smiled sadly but shook his head. Techno rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd say that. I bought a cat lead yesterday, take Tommy."
"A cat lead?"
Techno grabbed a box from the living room and threw it at Wilbur. "I've been replaced by a cat," he jokingly grumbled.
It was a nightmare to put it on Tommy. Especially as he attempted to lick the gunks of meat still on his chin as Wilbur wrapped the harness around his feet.
But they did go on a walk.
Tommy dashed through the long grass strands. The sun grilled his back, giving light to the cream and blond patches. The hiking trail seemed to concern Wilbur with how tight his grip on the harness lead was. But as Tommy whacked at the grass, attempting to grab it as if he had thumbs, Wilbur laughed.
They entered deeper into the forest and stopped by some logs. A lake pooled to their right. It was a murky green, similar to Phil's dressing gown (the same one Tommy had caused holes in).
Tommy tried to drink from the water but Wilbur grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. "No, nope. You'll die if you drink that," he gave Tommy the cat treat biscuits instead.
Wilbur lay with his back on the wooden log. Tommy jumped up onto his chest, causing him to heave a breath from the sudden weight. His ear twitched and he snuggled down. Wilbur brought a hand to comb through his fur.
The silence was nice. Peaceful with the tweaking birds, brushing forest leaves, tinkling lake water and even breathing.
"I missed this," Wilbur whispered.
Tommy meowed quietly, a soft why? Why do you miss it?
He just wanted to reply. To talk with him, exchange human words instead of meowls, trills and hisses. He wanted more. Tommy rested his chin on Wilbur's sweater.
"When you have these kinds of thoughts in your head, it's bad to just go out in a forest by yourself," he began, chest humming against Tommy. "When there's the intrusive, what if you just didn't come back? Or, jump," he winced. "I can't be alone out here anymore. I ruined that for myself. I ruined myself."
Tommy patted his paws against his chest, almost like a tap if it was a human hand. A gentle shove on the shoulder to tell the other to quit it, that he was wrong. Wilbur didn't ruin anything. It wasn't his fault.
"At least I'm not alone anymore," he mumbled as he looked at him. Brown eyes meeting blue. The brown in the forest and the blue of the lake. Like it was meant to happen here, this was their place where neither could be alone.
Those thoughts disappeared in the gaze of the other. It didn't vanish forever. But just for long enough that they enjoyed the slight breeze, the nature and sun peeking through the forest ceiling.
Purring matched Wilbur's even breathing. Wilbur rested his head back against the log, eyes peering up at the sky. A smile lingered on his lips, one matching Tommy's.
By the time they got back, mud coated Tommy and he had grass stuck in between his teeth. Wilbur forced him into the bath so he splashed and got all his sleeves soaked. When Wilbur went to shower himself, Tommy left to go downstairs.
Just as he began to relax, hands picked him up by the scruff of his neck. He went limp, despite how he wanted to kick at whoever it was.
Techno held him up with a glare.
"I'm on to you," he warned, eyes slit into dangers. "You're not normal."
Tommy growled out a, neither are you. No one in this family was normal.
But then Techno's face softened, just for a fleeting moment. "And thank you for going on that walk with him," he then scratched behind his ear and dropped Tommy on the floor. He yelped and landed on all fours.
"Techno, stop irritating Tommy!" Phil called from the kitchen, watching as Techno huffed out a laugh and walked away. Tommy meowed in agreement.
Later that evening, he shifted into human form again. He hoped to run into Techno, just to fuck with him, but he had a mission this time. He climbed onto the kitchen counters and opened up the cupboards.
Tommy grabbed the basket filled with cardboard boxes. Prescription boxes. Orange tubes, similar to the ones in Wilbur's drawer, scattered around the basket. He picked up one of the boxes.
Wilbur Soot-Craft read on its side. Prescription for Prozac. Then another box, looking older and discarded with Yentreve and a final box unopened of Zispin.
All antidepressants. Different things, things called SSRIs and SNRIs—whatever those were. It was a garbled mess and all Tommy focused on was the depression part printed all over them.
As Tommy put the boxes back into the basket, the light switch flicked on. Techno stood by the kitchen door to the sight of Tommy sitting on the counter with a medical basket in his lap.
"Fuck off," he blurted out. And surprisingly, in his sleep-deprived state, Techno just sighed and walked up backwards.
Everything was nice. It all pandered out fine.
Tommy went on more walks with Wilbur, explored different hiking trails. Techno joined them once after they got lost. Only, he dangled Tommy over the lake because he bit his ankle. Wilbur quickly solved the dispute before Tommy bit him again and would be dropped.
Phil continued giving him baths in the sink whenever he got muddy in the garden from digging up Techno's carrot farm. Though, Phil bought a proper cat shampoo which smelt like strawberries instead of Fairy Liquid dish soap.
And Wilbur... Wilbur was okay. As fine as he could be, now that Tommy partly knew what bothered him.
But then, as Tommy wrestled with Henry the cow plushie on the sofa, the front door opened. It was Wilbur. Red in the face, hitched breathing, on the verge to do something. Something dangerous, whether for himself or other people.
Tommy meowed but Wilbur stormed right past him. He rushed upstairs, followed by his door slamming shut. Tommy ran after him and clawed at his door, especially when he heard a smash. A shattering of something.
He whined, pushing against the door, panicked. He needed to get in, he wanted to get in.
Then he remembered.
If he shifted into his human form, he could twist the door handle. He could burst into there and stop whatever Wilbur was doing.
But would Wilbur even let him in? Would Wilbur still care for him when he wasn't orange all over and small? When he was human, a fourteen-year-old with nothing to his name except marred flesh and a whole bunch of untreated issues.
He whimpered at even the thought of Wilbur not accepting him. Not caring about him anymore.
But then the door creaked ajar. Wilbur rushed back to his bed, burying himself under the covers. The window was broken and glass littered the floor. Almost like a fist had punched straight through and judging by the gashes on Wilbur's hand, he was right.
Tommy grunted. He jumped on the bed and nudged Wilbur until he opened up his arms. Without wasting a moment, Wilbur held him close, hugging him as he cried. As he sobbed and breathed in his fur. His chest heaved against Tommy, halting sobs and broken whines.
Warmth spread between them. Tommy purred loudly, a calming loop so Wilbur could steady himself. Tommy moved to poke at his hands. He licked Wilbur's fist, cleaning the scrapes on his knuckles so they could heal and get better.
Wilbur winced.
"I don't deserve you," he sobbed as he adjusted his hands to stroke Tommy again. "I don't," his voice broke. "I don't deserve Phil or Techno," he sniffed, "or anything."
Tommy trills, disagreeing. A huff as he brushed his head against his chest. His tail clung around his wrist.
You do. He wanted to say. You deserve so much more than what you were given.
Wilbur wiped his eyes and hugged him again.
A knock rattled the door. Phil entered with a first aid kit in his hands, a knowing look written all over his face.
Tommy curled on Wilbur's lap as Phil cleaned his wounds properly.
"Did it happen again?" Phil asked. No force adorned his tone, it was patient and open. A tone Tommy tilted his head to.
"I can't do anything right," Wilbur whispered back, harsh to himself. "Phil, I can't."
Phil stayed silent and continued to clean the cuts.
"I failed another test," he continued. "I needed to pass that, I needed to fucking—" a sharp breath impaled his chest. Phil dropped the cleaning wipe and put a hand on Wilbur's shoulder, who caves into it. Into the human touch.
“You did your best.”
“You always say this,” Wilbur scoffed, tired.
"Because it's true." Phil threaded through Wilbur's hair. "All I ask is for you to try and you always do. You try so hard, Wilbur and I am so proud of you."
Tears pool in Wilbur's eyes.
“Sleep in the spare room for tonight.”
Wilbur sniffed. He cupped Tommy close to him, who yelps at the sudden touch. But he didn't flinch.
"Thank you," he muttered and Phil picked up the first aid box.
"Get some rest," Phil said back softly. "I'll bring up dinner later and painkillers."
Tommy kept swishing his tail over Techno's keyboard as he typed on his laptop. Wilbur failed to hide his chuckles as he did his own maths homework at the same dinner table.
It took only two minutes for Techno to push him onto Wilbur's lap. His ears flicked as he gazed over the homework Wilbur had in front of him. Tommy tapped his paw on the correct box Wilbur needed to circle for his algebra question.
Wilbur frowned down at him. "Damn, you're pretty smart for a cat, y'know." Techno glared at them both, Tommy joined in and clawed at Wilbur's hands. "I am complimenting you, what the hell."
Phil walked in with the food shopping and Wilbur perked up.
"Dad, did you know that cats know algebra?" he asked, ticking the box Tommy pointed at.
Shopping bags fell to the floor. Phil stood there, in shock. Wilbur scowled with confusion. And then Tommy realised.
Wilbur called him Dad.
Tommy brushed his cheek against Wilbur's hand as he too realised.
"Yeah, Tommy's helping with his homework apparently," Techno added, trying to ease whatever shock Phil was going through.
Phil blinked. He cleared his throat and picked up the bags and put them on the kitchen island. "Um, yeah, that's good to hear, cool," he said, still taken aback.
"Is that it?" Wilbur asked quietly, holding onto Tommy.
"Is what it?"
"Am I... am I allowed to call you that again?"
Wilbur's hands shook into Tommy's fur.
"You never had to stop," Phil said.
He gulped, lips thinned to a line. Then Wilbur smiled. "Good, good," he nodded to himself, smile widening, almost in disbelief.
"Now can we get back to more important subject things?" Techno complained. "Tommy knows algebra, he's a cat. Doesn't anyone see a problem here?"
"No," both Phil and Wilbur replied, still smiling at each other. Tommy grinned and jumped to sit across Techno's keyboard again.
It had been a couple of months since Tommy stayed with them.
One night, Tommy was finally awake to see it again. To see Wilbur writing in his notebook, but not scribbling frantically like last time. Instead, it's calming. He hummed under his breath, mumbling lyrics. Then eventually he yawned and reached into his drawer.
Wilbur paused as he picked up that orange bottle. A newer one, sealed.
Rather than shoving it back into the drawer, Wilbur opened the bottle and swallowed down two of the white pills. His hands shook but he did it.
As he resided under his covers, Tommy strolled over. He cuddled into his side, tail tangling with Wilbur's forearm. Beaming with pride, love and everything in between. Because he was so proud.
Ⅲ
Wilbur woke up to the sun peering into his eyes.
He clenched them shut, groggy with his movement. Still tired, he reached for Tommy but there was more weight next to him. More of a body to touch and hold. Not just a little lump curled to his side but something heavier and not as soft. Different.
A disgruntled sound left his lips, he just wanted to go back to sleep and hug his cat. He reached again, pulling Tommy closer to his chest. Yet, something else brushed against his face, something that wasn't fur.
His eyes pried open.
There was a human kid, a child, next to him.
Where the fuck is Tommy?
He jumped back from the kid. But the stranger woke up from the movement. His nose twitched. Wilbur gulped because someone he didn't know was in his bed, in his house.
He pushed the kid and they grumbled, "Wilbur, what the fuck—" then their breath hitched. The kid scrambled out of the bed, red in the face and scared. Terrified and shaking.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" he demanded. "How do you know my name?"
"Uh," the kid stuttered out. "Look, um, I can, I can explain."
Wilbur grabbed for the lamp on his bedside table, only for it to still be attached to the wall. He thrashes it forward to defend himself. "Why were you in my bed? And where is Tommy? What did you do to my cat?"
The kid scowled. "I'm Tommy."
Wilbur blinked, bewildered.
"What?"
"Me, cat," he said, pointing to his chest. "I am the cat, I am Tommy."
"No shot."
Wilbur thought of that little ginger cat who helped him with everything. The kitten who occasionally woke up from nightmares and had to be patiently cooed back to sleep. Ginger fur that kept him stable and still. The soft swirls he'd brush into his coat.
But this kid looked familiar. Not a complete stranger.
Just like how Tommy's right ear was bitten off at the tip, the kid had tears in the same place. He had a scar across his cheek too. Cream patches of fur matched his blond curls. And the eyes. The eyes were Tommy's. Blue and his.
"There's no way."
Tommy gripped at his hands, still shaking. But then he moved. Shifted into something smaller, something homely and his. Into a cat.
He meows and jumped on the bed.
Wilbur gaped at him.
"It's you," he whispered, hesitant to reach out a hand, to cup his ears and stroke his face. "It's you."
The cat, no, Tommy, the teenage boy shifted back.
"Why didn't you just tell me before?" Wilbur's hand still cupped Tommy's cheek. His skin felt different to fur but the warmth remained. The comfort in the hold.
He threw his arms around Tommy, hugging him close. The boy trembled against him.
"I could've- I would have given you the spare room, treated you like a human, like- like you're one of us."
Tommy shook his head, blue eyes wet with tears. He didn't hug Wilbur back, his arms stayed limp by his side.
"You don't believe me but I would have. I'd force Phil to clean up that room, Techno to paint the wall whatever colour you want, and I'd love you the same."
Then he stilled.
"You mean that?" Tommy asked, so vulnerable and young.
Wilbur loosened the hug and stared at him. So earnestly and loving. "You have done so much for me," his smile sweetened with so much affection. "I'd do anything for you."
Short arms pulled Wilbur into a hug. Tommy tugged him close and cried into his shoulder. It was like hugging him as a cat but so much bigger. It endured the same warmth, yet lingered longer, meant something more.
He didn't want to let go. He didn't want this to end. Wilbur brought a hand to trace the same patterns he used to stroke into his fur onto his back, calming him down.
“Come on, let’s get breakfast,” he said once Tommy's tears had dried. Once it settled in and a smile came to his own lips. "In this form, as my brother, we'll go together."
When they approached the table, Phil frowned at them both.
"Uh, did a friend sleep round?"
Yet a sudden gasp breached the room. Techno pointed his knife accusingly at Tommy. "It's him!"
"What?"
"This is the kid I kept seeing in the kitchen at night. You guys told me I was hallucinating but it's him."
Wilbur sighed into his hand, shoving Tommy as he failed to hide his laughter.
"This is Tommy," he introduced.
"You have a friend with the same name as our cat?"
"No, this is our cat."
"Hi," Tommy waved and shifted quickly, then shifted back.
Phil blanked, perturbed. "Why am I not surprised?" he sighed. "Have a seat, Tommy."
Wilbur smiled as Tommy did so. He sat next to him and ignored the glares Techno sent his way.
It felt whole with Tommy by his side, knowing that he was more than just ginger fur with his swatting paws. He was more than that. More to him. The reason he went along with the new advice Puffy gave him, why he wanted to wake up every morning just because a pair of ears was buried into his chest. Why he was here.
He was a brother.