Chapter Text
The wet wind hit his face and he couldn’t help the tears that began to fall. He tried to hold them in, will them away, tell himself he wasn’t bothered. But then he gave up, he let go, red hot tears streamed down his face, while strangled breaths escaped his lips. He walked to his car, thick snow making walking tiresome.
He opened his car door, and god he needed a breather. He leaned against the door frame, breathing in deep and slow. Tears slipping down his jawline, running against his neck. “Fuck!” He exclaimed, hitting his fist on the top of the car. The sharp pain in his hand was nothing compared to the feeling in his gut, the sound of his fathers voice in his head. He hit his hand again, and again he sobbed into the deafening surroundings. Embarrassment, sadness, guilt, it all felt the same, nausea in the pit of his stomach.
He only knew one way to cope.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and trudged to the back of his car. He pulled open the trunk, snow slipping off it into the freshly fallen snow below creating faults in the pristine appearance. The trunk was near empty, except for a few tools, the spare tire, and old soda cans. There was also a blanket, he reached under it, hands gripping a familiar neck of a bottle of whiskey.
He sat on the open trunk, staring at the street where the snow didn’t stick to the asphalt. Staring at the bottle in his hands, moonlight glinted dimly off the liquid. Wilbur wasn’t lying when he was talking to Tommy before, he hadn’t drank in nearly four months and he was proud of himself, but it was really difficult. The two bottles in the back seat were empty, he had never touched a drop of the alcohol they once contained. He supposed he once saw alcohol as a comfort, and having them nearby was sometimes the type of coping he needed.
The only bottle of alcohol he owned was the one he kept in his trunk. He unscrewed the top of it, lifting it to his nose, he smelled the familiar tang, he could practically taste it. It seemed to whisk away all his thoughts for a short moment, and part of him knew that if he had a drink his thoughts would be cleared of for longer than that.
What was wrong with one drink? He had lasted four months; he deserved a sip, a break. The whiskey looked pleasing as it rocked against the sides of the glass, he knew he would be able to feel peace if he had a sip, maybe he would finish the bottle just so he could throw it away.
He lifted the bottle to his mouth, breathing in the sweet sour smell. He closed his eyes, all he wanted to do was indulge, to give up, he was tired and hurting and he just wanted to escape.
But, for some reason his head wouldn’t tilt back, his hand wouldn’t move the bottle. The alcohol never came, his mouth dried and he swallowed around nothing.
His brother wouldn’t be happy. His brother would freak out like he did today in the car when he had caught sight of the bottles. Tommy would be angry at him for keeping a bottle in his car. He would have to start counting days again, progress would be lost. Tommy would be disappointed.
Wilbur removed the bottle from his lips.
He turned the bottle over, the liquid poured out, falling far into the snow by his feet. A numbness engulfed his body, cotton in his ears and hole in his chest. Wilbur watched the snow cave in, turning a nasty color, Wilbur shoved the snow with his shoe.
He held the empty bottle in his hand, his body still yearned for the taste, for the feeling. He gripped the bottle by the neck and threw it as hard as he could, it hit the middle of the street, shattering with a noise that was muffled by the snow. Wilbur brought the palms of his hands to his face, wiping his face and staring off into the distance.
He sat on his car until the snow soaked through his trousers, he supposed he needed some sleep. He fetched Tommy's athletic bag from the back seat, without a second look he picked up the bottles as well. He dropped them off in the trash bins before he went inside.
Opening the door, the house was as dark as it was when he left. He dropped the bag near his feet and headed up the stairs.
Wilbur lazily walked into his room, shrugging off his coat and throwing it on his floor, there would be a wet spot the next morning. He reached the door to his bathroom, which connected to Tommy's room as well and closed it. He didn’t turn off the lights because, well Tommy was afraid of the dark. He didn’t like to voice it, Tommy wasn’t good at expressing his feelings, but they were working on that.
Wilbur removed the medal from his neck, the weight was beginning to feel disgustingly comfortable. He flipped the heavy metal in his hands for a moment, something about it felt all wrong. He hung it on his wall, it wasn’t the most fulfilling thing to do, the medal wasn’t his, but Tommy insisted.
Wilbur looked at the wall where he hung it. Next to Tommy's award from the last competition, next to another one, and another one. Below were Tommy's award certificates, it didn’t matter participation or place, they all hung on Wilbur's wall. All of Tommy's skating achievements were on his wall. At times he felt pride, other times it was just another thing laughing in his face, pushing Wilbur's failures in front of him. Tommy would always give excuses of why he wanted them in Wilbur's room, and Wilbur just accepted them.
Wilbur turned off the lights, he could still see the medals in the sliver of light that broke past the tightly strung curtains. Wilbur flipped over onto his other side, staring at the paint of his wall, he fell asleep.
-
Tommy was a light sleeper. He had pulled a stuffed bear to his chest to keep his hands from shaking as he listened to his father and brother argue. They fought all the time, but they never screamed at each other, something bad had to have happened.
Tommy never rested easily, he was up until Wilbur came upstairs and into his room, which was a while after the fight, Tommy wondered what he had been doing. He closed his bathroom door with a huff, Tommy was worried but he knew Wilbur would tell him about it if it was really that concerning.
He didn’t like how he was afraid of the dark, he knew it was directly related to the fact that he didn’t like the nighttime, he didn’t like sleeping. It made him feel unsafe and vulnerable, he wasn’t in control when he was asleep, he was unaware of the things that went on. He’d much rather stay up all night, but obviously sleep was crucial. His body was at war with his mind, he would get sleepy and he had a hard time staying up after three am.
Sometimes sleep felt good, like when he was with his brother, but sometimes a room away was still too far. Sleep didn’t come easy but at least he had Wilbur's promise, that made it a bit easier.
At first Wilbur's words were just a lullaby to stop himself from crying to get him to fall asleep in Wilbur's arms. But when weeks passed and he left to go to his own room, he found that he was attached, he found that he couldn’t function without that promise of Wilbur's.
Wilbur never questioned it, he delivered it with a frown every time Tommy asked him for it. Tommy supposed the hurt was mutual, but just had to make sure, he needed concrete words. He knew Wilbur and him were sharing a similar burden, he knew Wilbur felt guilty, but Tommy didn’t blame him for how frightened he was. He didn’t blame Wilbur for much, he only felt sad for him, at times he was afraid of what he would do to himself.
He knew Wilbur wasn’t his responsibility, but he wanted to be there for him, it felt good giving back after what Wilbur had done for him. Wilbur was dispirited and broken, but Tommy loved him, and he would help him get better. Tommy wanted to see him get better.
He wouldn’t admit that he wanted that because of fear, because of the picture of Wilbur barely moving glued on the inside of his eyelids. There was a mound of things he wouldn’t dare say aloud, and the reality that Tommy wanted to kill himself once too, was number one on that list.
It was winter break, no school and no skating. He could just stay inside with his brother as the snow got thicker outside. He knew the days would go by quickly but he would spend them curled up on the couch with a blanket nonetheless.
Wilbur came downstairs for breakfast with a bruised hand today. He didn’t speak when he pulled left-overs out from the fridge and sat on the counter, he didn’t even look at Tommy. That was usually a sign that Wilbur was in a episode, Tommy guessed that fight last night had something to do with it. Tommy hadn’t seen his father today, but he hoped he didn’t have a matching bruise.
“Good morning,” Tommy perked, carrying his empty bowl to the sink. It clinked against week old dishes–he would have to do them sometime today.
Wilbur didn’t respond, unwrapping a piece of cold pizza, Tommy couldn’t even remember the last time they had pizza.
“Are you sure you don’t want something else, like cereal?” Tommy asked, Wilbur's head hung low, he didn’t think he was going to say anything.
Tommy wandered to the fridge, pulling open the freezer, he grabbed a small ice pack. He wrapped it in a paper towel, he didn’t want it to burn Wilbur’s hand.
His brother was finished with his pizza when Tommy jumped up onto the counter next to him. He held out the ice for Wilbur, he hesitated before he took it, Tommy wondered if he got any sleep. Tommy then pulled his knees up to his chest, satisfied with Wilbur's action to ice his hand.
“What happened?” He questioned, he lowered his voice so it was softer. It was his last question, he just wanted Wilbur to say something, but if he didn’t that was okay too, he would come back around.
A few moments passed, Wilbur lifted his head just to look at Tommy with a blank look. Tommy gave a smile, even if Wilbur's eyebags and messy hair and chapped lips weren’t encouraging. Tommy thought Wilbur didn’t look good with a frown on his face, he much preferred the man who was playing with him yesterday. But there were always two sides of healing, of life.
Wilbur jumped down from the counter, leaving the ice behind and he tore his gaze from Tommy's. But reaching the door of the kitchen he stopped, and without looking away from the floor he stuck out a hand. Tommy lit up, hopping off the counter and taking Wilbur's hand with both of his. If the day was spent in silence, if it was spent locked up in a messy room, it would be all okay, because he was with Wilbur and Wilbur wanted him there.
Tommy believed that Wilbur knew what he was comfortable with, and Tommy respected his choices. So if Wilbur wanted to be alone, Tommy would go and find something to do. If it was painting or practicing piano or playing outside, he found a way to distract himself. But most of the time Wilbur was fine with Tommy there, just to sit there with him. Sometimes Tommy would just talk and ramble, usually Tommy would begin to see a crack of a smile when he was one of his rants about animals or video games. Wilbur would begin to talk when Tommy picked up his guitar, it was just small comments on Tommy's fingers placed incorrectly on the strings.
But Wilbur rarely left his room, hell if he ever left his bed. Tommy never knew what was going inside his head but he didn’t think he wanted to. He stayed with Wilbur whenever he could, just to make sure he was safe.
But if Tommy knew one thing about what went on in his brother's head, it was that he despised his father. Tommy didn’t know when it started, the way they loathe each other, but Tommy could see why. His father was neglectful towards him and Wilbur, the fifth day into winter break Tommy had seen his father once. His dad never ever asked how Wilbur was, he only yelled and grumbled, rolling his eyes at Wilbur's every action. It was hard to watch, his family failing to get along. But Wilbur said it was better without their dad, that he would never love them, Tommy was beginning to accept that truth.
But Tommy wasn’t going to shout back at his father when he talked to him, he wasn’t going to be insolent like Wilbur was. Tommy barely talked to his father, but when he did it was short and to the point, no need for arguments where it wasn’t needed. His father didn’t seem like he had anything against Tommy anyway, I mean sometimes he would snap at him, Tommy didn’t like that. Tommy was still in the process of getting used to his fathers absence, the way he wouldn’t come to any of his games or parent teacher conferences or birthday parties. It sometimes hurt, but that's when he leaned on Wilbur.
Wilbur was really the one who detested and avoided his dad, he only talked about him with abhorrence and blame in his tone. Along with that, Wilbur didn’t like it when Tommy talked to him, like their dad was a ticking bomb and Wilbur didn’t want him getting too close.
It was like Wilbur had a third sense when Tommy was talking to their father. Like wherever he was he would come to break it up, Tommy would imagine it like a spidey sense in a way, in an odd way.
Tommy stayed away because there was nothing worse than being in the same room as Wilbur and his father.
But Tommy thought he could get away with talking to his father just this once, because he was bored and Wilbur was presumably sleeping upstairs. Tommy had spent his day in his room, but it was getting lonely. The sky remained a flat color of gray and outside snow was turning brown and slushy. It hadn’t snowed in a day or two.
He laid on the couch looking into the black reflection of his TV. The remote was a wrist-flick away but he was too lazy. His eyes wandered to a door opening behind him, and his dad entered the kitchen.
Tommy bit his tongue, he watched his father walk slowly while distracted on his phone. Tommy was suddenly in the mood to do something. He rolled off the couch and waltzed into the kitchen, joining his father who was standing in the middle clicking at something on his device.
“Hey!” Tommy spoke, he drew a small smile on his face.
HIs father didn’t look up but he moved to the side, leaning against a cabinet. “Hey Tommy,”
“Did you wanna do something with me?” Tommy played with his fingers, he felt oddly shunned but he went on anyway. “Like maybe we could watch spiderman? I was supposed to watch it with Wilbur but-”
“Then watch it with Wilbur,” His dad said, interrupting Tommy. His tone wasn’t harsh but it was uninterested.
“Well, he’s sleeping right now, I was hoping we could watch it together,” Tommy swayed on his feet.
His father finally looked up, he didn’t look very happy. “Tommy,” he blew air out of his nose, “i have work to get back to, I was just coming out here to get a drink,”
“Oh,” His hopes were extinguished but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “I can get you a drink,” He quickly went to the cupboards to pull out a glass. He sat it on the counter and went to get a pitcher of water.
“Uh no, that's fine Tommy I can get it,” His dad protested. “Just go watch the movie by yourself, yeah?”
Tommy gripped the pitcher with both hands. “But, can’t you just spend one day with me?” He spun on his heels, fleeing from his fathers stare, and went to pour the water into the glass.
“Tommy,” His father neared, exasperation leaking out of his tightly spoken words.
Tommy tipped the pitcher, his hands were less steady than he thought, water was heavier than he thought. The water poured out with hasteful force, tipping over the unstable glass, it fell off the counter. Shattering at his feet, pieces of splintered glass covered the ground.
“Tommy!” His father scolded, hands thrown up in the air. Tommy kept his eyes down.
“I’m sorry!” He defended, embarrassment washing over his face, an ill-feeling tremble in his gut.
“Gods, just stay there,” He angrily walked to a closet, pulling out a broom. “Can’t you just stay upstairs in your room like your brother?” His eyes rolled in irritation. Tommy stood still, hands pressing against each other.
“Can’t go one fucking day without one of you guys doing something,” He mumbled too loudly. “It’s annoying Tommy, You know that?!” He shouted, Tommy shivered like he could feel the breeze that was blowing outside.
“Im sorry,” He swallowed, looking into his fathers blue eyes. “I’ll clean it up,” He breathed, keeping his face neutral.
“You bet you will,” A broom was shoved into his hands with unneeded hostility. Tommy blinked nervously, he could have sworn he heard a door close upstairs.
“Go on with it,” His father sighed, crossing his arms, Tommy wiped his eyes. “I have important shit to get to,” he frowned, “just-”
“What the hell are you doing?” Tommy closed his eyes, shoving his chin on his shoulder. His brother's voice boomed from behind him. It was the first sentence he had heard from him in days and it was laced with aggression.
There was a pause, and Tommy could feel his brother's sad gaze on him. He probably looked pathetic standing frozen in a puddle of water, hands pulling a broom to his chest with such strength.
“What did you do to him?” He accused. Tommy opened his eyes to find Wilbur walking up to his father, establishing dominance by standing in his face.
“Go back to sulking Will,” His father responded, he didn’t seem surprised that Wilbur showed up.
“Go back to the important shit you have to do and get the fuck away from us,” Wilbur mocked bitterly, Tommy just watched it unfold.
“I am your father and you won’t speak to me like that, I am fed up with you Wilbur,”
“You are not my father after what you said to me,” Wilbur retaliated, “Or what you didn’t,” He finished, but Tommy thought it was more of a correction.
“Oh my god, you aren’t still thinking about that, are you?” His dad said, and Tommy thinks he can visually see the impact it had on Wilbur.
“Yeah I guess I am! You said you wished I was dead?! I'm allowed to think you are a shitty father for that,”. Tommy’s eyes widened, did his dad really say that?
His fathers eyes slipped to Tommy for a second, Tommy looked back with confusion. Wilbur followed suit shortly after, he looked to the door, he was telling Tommy to leave. Tommy looked between them, glancing at the fist in Wilbur's hand. But Tommy was forgotten again once they locked stares.
He heard his father scoff, “Stop lying, you always make up stories about how I'm such a villain,” He shoved a finger on Wilbur's chest, “you're always trying to get Tommy to hate me!”
Tommy trembled at the mention of his name. “What?” Wilbur said it aloud as Tommy mouthed it quietly.
“You are pulling me out of Tommy's life, because you are scared he will like me more after he sees how much of a shithead you are,” His dad snapped. He smiled. Tommy couldn’t breathe.
And then Wilbur threw his fist at their dad. A solid punch knocked his dad to the ground. Wilbur held his father down while he hit him again. “Say that again you drunk asshole!”
“He’s gonna leave you Wilbur,” It was choppy, but not out of breath, his father didn’t look bothered at all under Wilbur's attacks. “He’s afraid of you,”
Blood splattered against the white drawers.
And Tommy couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t talk or scream, he couldn’t breathe. He braced himself with a hand against the counter. The broom dropped from his hands, he took a deep breath but air failed him. His lungs felt constricted, wrapped in a noose at his trachea, Tommy put a hand to his chest. He lowered himself to the ground, glass cutting into his knees. Wilbur's voice came back to him as he began to scream.
“Go fuck yourself! I hate you!” Wilbur was still punching his father, tears running down his face, blood coating his hands. “You are the reason I wanted to kill myself,” He admitted, his breath was stifled. “You are the one who ruined Tommy's life! Not me!” He sobbed, and his hand halted. Tommy believed it was the end, but Wilbur wasn’t like that.
“And i’ll never fucking forgive you,” He spit, and then wrapped his hand around his fathers throat.
Tommy panicked, eyes going wild. Wilbur couldn’t do this. No no no no Tears slipped down Tommy's face, but his head was fuzzy and his heart was beating in his veins and his lungs were too small. He was helpless, and his brother was angry, and his father was choking. Hands shook as he brushed glass away from himself. He needed to get Wilbur away, he needed to do something. He needed to move, but he couldn’t.
Tommy leaned back, hitting the cabinets, his fingernails scraped against the wooden floor. Picking up the broom to the side of him he threw it across the kitchen floor. It hit the ground with a dragging sound, but it was enough to get Wilbur to look at Tommy.
Tommy cried at Wilbur's pained expression, he lifted a hand to his own throat trying to scream for help. He was suffocating, he felt like he was dying, he didn’t want to die.
Wilbur’s hand quickly left his father’s throat, leaving him on the ground, gasping and in shocked distress. He rushed over to Tommy, wiping his hands briefly on his shirt before grabbing onto Tommy's, his expression changing terrifyingly to tenderness and concern.
“You’re okay, You’re okay” He whispered, in the way that Tommy felt undeniably safe–he cursed himself for thinking that maybe he shouldn’t feel like that. He held onto Wilbur, as he cried silently, and a hand came to run soothing circles on his back. “Can you move? Let's get you away from this mess,”
Tommy looked up to his brother, tears dripping onto his lap, and for a minute they could speak with their eyes.
“I know Tommy, I know,” Wilbur responded in a hushed voice, his own tears dripping down his plastered frown, but instead he used his hands to wipe Tommy’s face. “Let's go upstairs, okay?”
So Tommy stood up, his brother towered over him with protective stature, hugging him closely to his side. Tommy’s eyes had the perpetual feeling of closing, as his heart hurt and his thoughts wouldn’t stop rambling. On top of it all he felt like he was drowning, totally at a loss for air, unable to swim high enough, unable to break the surface, it seems like it gets further and further each time he thinks he’s close.
Tommy made up the stairs, his brother silent beside him, it was apparent he wasn’t crying anymore. Tommy was quiet as well, but for a different reason, he didn’t have the breath to let out cries, so he was forced into harsh strangled intakes of air as painful tears shed from his eyes. Wilbur led them into his room, nudging Tommy with his arm to pass the door.
But Tommy stopped himself and Wilbur. One look at Wilbur’s room, his floor, at the bed, he was looking away. He shoved his face in Wilbur's chest, which a hand came instantly to hold him up. With one more breath, Tommy could cry, he could sob, and he did. Wilbur backed them up into the hallway and leaned against the wall.
Soon enough Wilbur slid down the wall, so they were both sitting. Tommy’s arms around Wilbur's midriff as he cried loudly and breathlessly into his shirt. Wilbur just sat there with him, a hand in his hair, whispering apologies and pleading for forgiveness.
Being brothers with Wilbur was messy, it always has been and it always will be. But they were family, so Tommy would always be the one who cleans up the mess. He’ll be the one wiping blood from the floor, picking the glass off the ground and out from his knees, and giving ice packs to Wilbur in the mornings. He didn’t have a problem with it, as long as Wilbur was always there to pull him out of the water when he’s drowning.
-
It was the last day of winter break and Wilbur felt bad. He had ruined Tommy’s break with his isolation and impulsiveness. He felt bad, not for punching his father, but for doing it in front of Tommy. He always acts out of anger and forgets about other factors, like his brother, it made him hate himself. But Tommy seemed to be getting better from his panic attack the other day, which made Wilbur happy, proud. He watched Spiderman with Tommy last night. It was fun to watch him be a kid again, because that's what he was, maybe Wilbur had a problem treating him like he was older than that.
It was dawn, the sun hadn't breached the horizon yet. Wilbur laid in his bed squished slightly up against the wall because Tommy took up the other half of his bed. He stole all the blankets and was wrapped up with them with tight fists, Wilbur was never going to get one. He snorted to himself in the dark, Tommy nuzzled himself further into his pillow, smiling slightly in his sleep.
There was one thing though, perhaps the thing keeping him from sleeping because it wouldn’t leave his head.
He knows his father is a dumbass, but when he said that Tommy was scared of him, something snapped inside him. He was afraid it was true.
That day when he looked over to Tommy after hearing something smack across the ground, his face was red, his eyes were wide, and that looked a lot like fear. Now Tommy slept peacefully next to him, how could he feel both? He desperately wanted to know what went on in his brother's mind, was he really afraid of him? Wilbur didn’t know what he would do if that were true.
He didn’t want to think about that, besides, today was going to be a good day.
He leaned back onto his pillow, and closed his eyes, what was the point of being up if Tommy wasn’t as well?
“Wilbur! Wilbur!” Tommy was shouting, but in his giddy voice, the one that Wilbur went to shut up at this early in the morning. He moved his arm to slap Tommy but his hand only hit the bed, Tommy wasn’t there.
“Wilbur, wake up!” He repeated. Wilbur cracked open an eye, Tommy was sitting on his desk looking out the window. The blinds were open letting in copious amounts of sunlight. Tommy blended right in.
“What?” His voice was scratchy from sleep, he leaned up on his forearms. Watching Tommy with weary eyes, he seemed like he was awake for a while, but Tommy was Tommy he barely needed sleep to function.
“It snowed again finally!” He jumped off the desk, hurrying to the side of the bed where he had let all the blankets drop to the floor. “Can we go play in it today? Please?” He smiled brightly, no trace of any anxiety or fear, Wilbur couldn’t help but smile back.
“Sure,” Wilbur loved the snow, it had been a while since he had been outside, this was good. Plus Wilbur would do anything for Tommy's blue eyes to sparkle like they do. “That's a really good idea,”
“Yes!” Tommy celebrated, “Can we go sledding?” He asked like Wilbur had the heart to say no.
“Of course, after we eat breakfast,” Wilbur nodded, “what do you want?”
Tommy’s face wrinkled slightly, “you’re gonna make something?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Tommy shrugged and answered, “Can you make me pancakes?” He made his hands into a circle and held it up to his face, looking through them.
“I'm not your personal chef, pick something easier,” Wilbur jokes. Tommy sighed sarcastically, he climbed back onto the bed, sitting down.
“Um” He hummed with a hand on his chin.
“I’ve never made um,” Wilbur giggled, it was a dumb joke but Tommy liked that.
“Shut up!” Tommy pouted. “Can you make me a smoothie?” Tommy tilted his head, questioning.
Wilbur pursed his mouth, looking upwards, thinking.
“What can you make?!” Tommy asked, flopping his arms.
“Hey!” Wilbur pulled on one of Tommy's arms, making him fall down on top of him. Attacking his stomach with tickles.
“Stop! Stop!” Tommy laughed, kicking his feet up in the air. Wilbur rolled them over so Tommy was below him, he was now screaming overdramatically. “I'm just saying you are a bad cook!”
Tommy tried to wiggle out from under Wilbur but failed time and time again. “Take that back you gremlin!” Wilbur continued to tickle Tommy's stomach, too distracted by Tommy’s smile and laughter to see the pillow that slammed into his head.
“Let me go!” Tommy whined, hitting the pillow repeatedly against Wilbur's head. “And make me pancakes!”
“Fine!” Wilbur gave up, falling onto his side of the bed. Tommy rolled over, hitting him one more time with the pillow before leaving it on his face. Wilbur pulled it off, throwing it behind his head. “I'll make you pancakes, but only if you give me a hug,” Wilbur smiled lopsidedly.
Tommy looked at him with lowered eyebrows, a flat smile wandering his face.“no,” He crawled off the bed, “i have to go get dressed,” Flashing a smile he ran through the bathroom and into his own room.
Wilbur got dressed himself and went downstairs to make breakfast. Which it turns out, pancakes weren’t that hard to make. He made two for Tommy and one for himself, soaking both in syrup.
Tommy ate his quickly, shoveling mouthfuls into his mouth. “I’ve got three pairs of socks on so i won’t get cold,” He said around the food in his mouth.
“I'm gonna hold you to that,” Wilbur looked to Tommy through the corner of his eye as he drank his coffee.
“The cold never bothered me anyway Wilbur,” Tommy said with too much sarcasm in his voice, Wilbur chuckled, he was sure he was looking with an impossible fondness in his eyes. Tommy pushed his clean plate towards Wilbur and hopped off his chair. “I'm gonna go put my snow pants and my jacket on,” He stated, wiping his face with his hand, then ran off towards the closet.
“Don’t forget a hat!” Wilbur called after, sipping the rest of his coffee down before carrying the dishes to the sink. The sink was clean, yet he couldn’t remember when he did the dishes last.
Wilbur slipped on his own socks and then pulled on boots and was typing them up when Tommy came back into the kitchen. He was trying to zip up his jacket with his gloves on.
“You have to put on your jacket before your gloves,” Wilbur snorted as Tommy continued to fail to get a grip on the zipper.
“No, because the sleeves have to go over the gloves,” he explained, “plus i already put them on, i don’t want to do it again,” He stepped up to Wilbur, silently asking. Wilbur zipped up his jacket and Tommy bolted off again.
“Where are you going?”
“I'm going to get the blue sled!”
They had two sleds, a red and a blue one. The blue one was technically Wilbur's, but it was better, quicker, and bigger so Tommy liked it more. But Wilbur wasn’t going to be stuck with the shitty red sled.
Wilbur popped up, running around the corner, but Tommy was already standing, jumping around while holding the blue sled on his head. Finding Wilbur's gaze he giggled and said, “Meet me outside, you old man,”
Wilbur locked the door behind him, bitter wind and wet snowflakes littered his face as he pulled his gloves on. The sky was still cloudy, but the sun was able to peek through, giving a shimmer to the freshly fallen snow on the ground. The snow in front of the house, however, was already faulted with Tommy's footprints.
Water dripped onto him from above, falling from melting icicles frozen to the door frame.
Ice had formed under the snow, coating the sidewalks and streets. Apparently Tommy knew this too, pulling his sled onto the driveway and sitting down on it. “Pull me!” He held up the rope connected to the front of the sled.
It was only a small walk to the hills where they would be going sledding. And Wilbur would usually pull Tommy anyway, it was sort of a tradition. Wilbur nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. He pulled his beanie off his head, hair already blowing into his eyes, but he shoved it away.
Bending down next to Tommy he pulled the hat onto Tommy's head. “I told you to get a hat,”
Tommy took the beanie by his hands, covering his ears with the thick fabric. Wilbur's ears were already pricked from the cold but he could deal with it. “I forgot, now come on!”
“Okay okay! Hold on!” Wilbur took hold of the rope and his own sled, bolting down the driveway and around the corner of the pavement. The sled slides easily over the ice, Tommy cheered in amusement behind him, grasping the edges of the sled as snow flew up.
Making it to the hills, Wilbur sent Tommy down the first one in sight. Following Tommy, Wilbur jumped onto his own sled, racing his brother down.
Outside in the snow has always been a safe place for Wilbur and Tommy. The cold was refreshing, the wind felt oddly nice against reddened cheeks. Sometimes when Wilbur would lay back into the snow it was like what he imagined heaven was like, quiet and carefree. The grayed sky and icy snow muffled all sounds, all of his thoughts, his problems seemed to float away.
Hanging out with his brother in the snow was always his favorite thing to do. It was like they were kids again, when Wilbur would get back from skating practice and take his brother into the backyard to build a snowman. Even if Tommy was so little, barely comprehending why their father wasn’t outside with them, Wilbur would whisk him away into a world where it didn’t matter. He’d put snowballs in his hands and skates on his feet and distract him like he did himself. Wilbur would make Tommy realize he didn’t need his father if he had him.
And now it was the same. Wilbur gets nailed in the face with a snowball as Tommy ducked under a makeshift barrier he made with snow. Luckily with Wilbur's height the barrier was nothing, he threw multiple snowballs, hitting Tommy’s jacket and exploding into chunks. Tommy screeched, grabbing his sled, using it as a shield as he ran back up the hill.
No one else was there, wind blew over the snow carrying squeals and laughter as Wilbur and Tommy sledded down each hill. Finding which ones were the steepest and the quickest, as if they haven’t done it every year. Sometimes they would go on the same sled. Or maybe trying to stand up on them, acting like they were snowboarding. Wilbur thinks he may have seen Tommy try to do a handstand on a moving sled, it was all fun. Winter memories to keep when summer slumps came around, or perhaps this year Wilbur would be okay.
Tommy fell back into the snow with a sigh. Probably tired from running up and down hills. Wilbur watched from where he sat knee deep in the snow, Tommy began to make snow angels. Wilbur would tease Tommy everytime he stood up and messed it up. Eventually the valley was covered in vaguely Tommy-shaped holes. Tommy emerged from the last one covered in snow, glittering on his eyelashes and sticking to the hair that poked out of his hat.
“Did I do it?” He brushed off his sleeves, planting his hands on his hips. Wilbur tilted his head, swinging an arm around his brother's shoulders, and looking at the shape in the snow.
“It's perfect,” Wilbur commented, shaking Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy looked up, eyes like crystals in the sunlight, Tommy was an angel himself. Wilbur turned them around, pulling his arm away to pick up his sled, “want to go make a ramp?” He said giddy.
Tommy nodded, “hell yeah!”
Wilbur and Tommy took a good amount of time making a ramp with snow. They used their sleds as shovels to move abundant amounts of the snow to a place where Wilbur would pack it together. After a few test trials, and making it strong enough it was time to use it.
Tommy went first, gaining speed before hitting the ramp, he jumped off the ground, the sled flying into the air. Landing in the snow with a grip on the sides of the sled and wide eyes, he popped up and begged to go again. Wilbur remembers the very first time he made a ramp with Tommy, he had forgotten to hold on and landed on the ground without the sled, it was funny but apparently not to Tommy who complained about a sore tailbone for a few days.
But since then, they’ve become a bit experimental with the sport. Like trying to sled off, let go, and land on the sled with your feet. If you don’t fall off, you win. Wilbur, obviously, was the reigning champion. Tommy always failed to stick the landing on a moving sled.
But Tommy was persistent, trying over and over. Wilbur would keep trying to show him how to do it, flaunting his excellence.
“Okay I get it, stop showing off,” Tommy rolled his eyes.
“Fine, your turn,” He flicked Tommy’s forehead, flashing a competitive smile.
“I’ll do it this time, I’ve got this,” Tommy insisted, and marched by Wilbur up the hill. Once he got to the top, “Are you watching?”
“Yep! Stop stalling!” Wilbur crossed his arms, laughing to himself as Tommy shot him a look.
Tommy climbed onto the sled and pushed himself down, he hit the ramp and was up in the air, then to Wilbur’s surprise landed on his feet, sliding on the sled a bit before stopping.
“I did it! Did you see that, I did it like you!” Tommy stepped off, pride in his stance.
“What sorry? I wasn’t looking, can you do it again?” Wilbur teased.
“Bitch,” Tommy muttered, but turning around all the same. “Look this time!”
This time Wilbur watched, and Tommy fell with a frustrated noise. “I can do it!” And quickly ran back up.
After another fall, Tommy laid there for a minute, catching his breath.
“Giving up?” Wilbur asked, sitting in the snow.
“No,” Tommy picked his head up, “strategizing,” He laid back down.
“Of course, the big man Tommy never gives up,”
“He doesn’t,” Tommy stated, flipping over and onto his feet. He ran back up the hill once again.
And this time, Tommy stuck the landing. “Did you see me?!”
“I did! Good job!” Wilbur praised, lifting up a hand for a high five, Tommy returned the gesture.
If you’ve ever been sledding you know there's a moment that comes to end, the air shifts and it's unpleasant, you would much more enjoy being at home.
Sometimes it’s just getting tired, but Tommy never got tired of being outside. But for Tommy it was getting snow in his gloves. Because the feeling of the snow burning at his fingertips was too much. The struggle to take his gloves off and put them back on, when now they were soaking wet inside, his hands freezing and numb. And outside in the gentle but biting wind there was no way he could ignore it.
Wilbur recognized his discomfort, pulling him up from the snow by his hand. “Wanna go home?” Tommy nodded as Wilbur handed his own gloves to Tommy. “I'll make some hot chocolate,” Wilbur assured and Tommy smiled as he pulled on Wilbur's warm gloves. Wilbur carried both the sleds home, watching Tommy run home in front of him. If he could trust anything he would be safe on, it was the ice.
Tommy dropped all his snow gear on the ground, uncaring that it was surely going to leave a mess. He ran off towards the kitchen though, leaving Wilbur to take care of it. Wilbur put the wet clothes away and shook off the snow on the sleds. After changing into dry clothing, he began to hear voices from downstairs.
He jumped down the stairs faster than usual, swinging around the corner of the kitchen, mal-intent already on his mind, brash words on his tongue.
But when he entered the room, it was just Tommy sitting at the counter, he looked up at Wilbur's abrupt presence. “Were you talking to anyone?” He asked, confused, eyes darting to his fathers room.
“No,” He said, almost bashfully, looking down at the toys in his hands. “I was just playing,”
Wilbur's mouth opened and closed, oh, he thought. He slapped himself internally, feeling embarrassed, he felt bad. He rubbed his face and turned to get glasses from the cabinets. “That’s fine, you can keep playing, did you want water or milk in your hot chocolate?”
“Whatever you are having,” He responded. Wilbur could hear slight mumbles and plastic figurines against the counter top. Wilbur smiled to himself.
Wilbur made the hot chocolate, warm steam escaping and sticking to his face as he placed marshmallows in the drinks. He plopped in a straw in each and carried the mugs to Tommy.
Tommy added so much color to Wilbur’s life he didn’t know how to live without him. He was always smiling and laughing, he was loud so Wilbur didn’t have to be. He blew bubbles in his hot chocolate, and when they popped he looked up to Will, just to check if he was grinning with him. He always was.
When Wilbur looks back to when he tried to kill himself, he wasn’t just leaving Tommy alone. They would both be alone. The afterlife wouldn’t be paradise without Tommy. He would much rather be alive, if that meant he had his brother with him. He was an idiot to ever think he didn’t need Tommy, to push him away, because really he was better with Tommy. Tommy made him better.
Tommy’s mug was now filled with more marshmallows than hot chocolate. He used his straw to play with the contents as he asked, “can we go skating after this?”
“At the lake?” Wilbur perked, he would gladly go, it was only around 2 pm anyway.
“Yeah, we haven’t been skating in a long time,” Tommy said, even though it hasn’t really been that long, Wilbur understood.
“Are you sure you aren’t tired? Weren’t we gonna watch spider-man?”
“We can when we get home,” Tommy sipped, the mug was obviously empty.
“Okay, sounds like a plan,” Wilbur grabbed Tommy's mug from him, “I’ll go clean up, go get ready,”
Tommy threw his bag into the bag seat of Wilbur's car, it held their skates. Tommy zipped up his jacket while he sat down in the passenger's seat. Then, putting on the heat higher than it should be, Wilbur turned it down a bit.
“Do we have everything?” Wilbur looked to Tommy, who looked like he was making a list in his head.
“Yeah,” he paused, and then his hands flew to his head. “Wait, I forgot my hat,”
“My hat,” Wilbur corrected. Tommy reached for the door but Wilbur stopped him, “I'll go get it, be right back,” He stepped out, leaving the car on. Reaching the door he could hear music coming from his car, and it only got louder. Wilbur shook his head as he opened the door.
He ran inside, going through the living room to grab the hat off the counter. He stopped suddenly, his father standing in front of the window, looking outside. He turned around, locking eyes with Wilbur.
Wilbur licked his chapped lips, but didn’t say anything. He just stared at his father who had a black eye and a split lip. “I'm going out,” He said.
Wilbur broke away, grabbing the beanie off the counter, ignoring his dad.
“I won’t be back for a few hours,” He stated again, like Wilbur cared where he went, “just letting you know,”
Wilbur looked back to his father for a minute, jaw locked and his stare impenetrable. He was starting another game, lighting another fire, one that Wilbur would gladly stomp out. Because if his dad was making him choose between fighting and pursuing this unavailing conversation or going out. He would choose Tommy every fucking time.
“Wilbur-” His father was starting but Wilbur was already opening the door. Wilbur was already closing it before he could get another word out. Wilbur sucked in a breath, blowing it out along with his anger. He got into the car, tossing the beanie back to Tommy. And it was all smiles and that's all Wilbur wants.
Of course Wilbur was still in his head. Staring at the icy streets as he drove, failing to make conversation. Tommy was speaking beside him, he just couldn’t make out what he was saying. His father doing anything made him angry, it made him sad, and he couldn’t deal with it. He told himself he wouldn’t let his father ruin his day. He wouldn’t ruin Tommy’s day.
Slowly things came into focus. Like how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. Or how hunched his back was. When he looked over to Tommy it looked like he didn’t notice, he was busy rambling out something else.
“I need some sort of practice or I'll be the worst,” Was what Wilbur heard, and that sparked something in him. Something that made his head swivel towards Tommy.
“What?” He questioned and Tommy looked like he wasn’t expecting for Wilbur to say anything. “You are not going to be the worst Toms,” He spoke incredulously.
“Yeah I am, I won this season but next season I heard more people are joining,” He said, his voice was serious but Wilbur wasn’t understanding.
“So?”
“So?” He asked Wilbur rhetorically. “Do you know who these people are?! They are kids who have been playing their whole life.”
Wilbur was finally beginning to get what Tommy was saying.
“I've been playing three years, they have been playing since they were three,”
“Okay okay calm down,” Wilbur looked over to Tommy who was talking with his hands nervously, “Tommy you are playing with people like that already and you are better than them, you have nothing to worry about,”
“But these people are new,” He paused, “it’s intimidating,”
“Tommy!” Wilbur dragged on. “You’ve won more awards than anyone I know,” Wilbur laughed trying to expel Tommy’s ridiculous thoughts, “You are the one that should be intimidating other people, where's the confident Tommy I know?”
“I guess you are right,” Tommy said quietly.
“I am,” Wilbur said with a glance at Tommy. “Plus you have the best coach,” He smiled playfully.
“Yeah, Sam is pretty great,” He laughed.
Wilbur smacked his shoulder. “Hey!”
“Fine I guess you are okay too,” He added, “you will make me the best figure skater ever right?” He asked, Wilbur was sure it was a joke, but holding his brother’s gaze, he was determined for it not to be.
“I will,”
Wilbur pulled to the side of the road. The lake that they practiced on wasn’t hidden but it was not popular which meant it was used rarely, it didn’t even have a parking lot. Yet, its secrecy was Wilbur's favorite thing about it, it was private, it was just theirs to use.
Tommy’s golden locks were smothered by Wilbur's beanie. Wilbur then grabbed the bag and Tommy jumped out of the car, leaving the warmth. Wilbur followed Tommy who was running down the small hill that led to the lake, but first he stopped at the top.
The vast lake was a sight, frozen over and framed with snow and frost glazed trees. It was beautiful, no matter how many times he visits it, it always manages to surprise him. At one time in his life it was known by pain and exhaustion, but now thanks to Tommy he had new memories to know it by. It was bright and glacial, he adored it, he couldn’t look away.
He spotted Tommy making it to the edge of the lake, looking around and sitting on the small bench that was near the shore. Wilbur ran down the hill, meeting him gladly and thrilled to put on his skates.
Wilbur tied up his skates, while Tommy did it much faster, obviously eager to get on the ice. He was on his feet but before he left Wilbur stopped him. He had a question, it was poisoning his mind.
“Tommy?” He asked him to stay. Tommy looked back, and already Wilbur was regretting it.
Are you afraid of me?
He just needed to ask it, to know the answer. It was eating him alive, his fathers words, dumb words that were fake and lies but what if they weren’t?
Do you think I will hurt you?
“Yeah?” He answered. And Wilbur would have to be the devil to plague his look with worry and fear. To take his joy and ruin it. To wreck his day. He was selfish.
And all of the sudden, Wilbur didn’t need to know the answer. Not right now anyway.
He cleared his throat, erasing his thoughts, “can you show me your jumps?”
“Sure!” Tommy walked onto the ice, skating to the center. Watching him Wilbur thought that it was foolish to think he’s not as talented as any other skater.
Soon Wilbur joined him on the ice, keeping an eye on Tommy as he skated solo. He enjoyed everything about skating, it was times like this that Wilbur got sick to his stomach. Looking at Tommy and his skill, his excitement to be in another competition. Wilbur missed it. Like a piece of him he left behind and could never get back, he chose to never get it back. Perhaps that's why he and Tommy worked so well, he was Wilburs missing piece.
Wilbur couldn’t take his gaze off his brother. His movement and technique, his jumps that he landed, snow and ice thrown up into the wind. Everything about the way he moved was perfect, he remembers being called a prodigy, but he thinks the term is much more suited for Tommy. Because a prodigy, a real athlete, would never quit, Tommy would never quit. Wilbur still made small comments about Tommys form, although there was nothing much to fix. He was elated with the thought that he gets to see Tommy get better and learn more. To make it past fourteen, then he wouldn’t be a fuck-up like his brother. He would have avenged him.
Tommy skated up next to him, pulling Wilbur out of his thoughts. “Hey,” Tommy said, Wilbur couldn’t pinpoint the emotion in his voice.
“Everything alright?” Wilbur asked, skating backwards so he could look Tommy in the face.
“Yeah, I've just been thinking about something,” He admitted, eyes darting all around.
Wilbur brushed his hair from his face. “What is it?” He said softly, trying to soothe whatever was bothering Tommy.
“So you know how the season is gonna start up again soon,” He paused in an enticing way.
“You aren’t still nervous are you?” Wilbur tried to guess.
“No, that's not it,” Tommy cleared his throat.
“Oh?”
“Yeah so, I think Sam might retire soon and was wondering if you’d like to be my coach,” Tommy asked and Wilbur could practically feel the hope in his gaze.
It was Wilbur's turn to look away, he was shocked by the question, definitely not expecting it all. His thoughts raged and calmed like an angry sea in a storm. A coach? Tommy coach? He could feel his skates slowing, knees locking, in confusion? In fear? He couldn’t get a grasp on what he was feeling.
“Of course it’s up to you, I don’t know if you are feeling up to it, I just wanted to ask,” Tommy added. His hope dissipated into disappointment, his eyes were directed down.
“I'm only seventeen Tommy,” Wilbur started, his voice wavering, eyebrows creasing.
“I know, I-”
“I don’t know how to coach, I don’t know the sport well enough, I haven’t gone to school, I haven’t graduated,” His voice was unintentionally harsh, it was more targeting it at himself. He was confused, frustrated.
“Well, I didn’t think about that, but can’t you graduate and you can learn about it, and then you can coach me,”
“It's not that easy,” Wilbur looked up, matching gazes with Tommy.
“I know,” he shrugged, eyes sad. “I was just hoping–” He paused and shook his head. “I don’t know, I just think you really like to skate and you are good at it,” He complimented then Wilbur tilted his head, urging Tommy to continue.
“but every time you do it you look” he licked his lips, “sad, I was just thinking if you could be my coach, it's like you're competing again, also i’d just like to have you there with me,” His hands hung by his sides, swinging while he played with his fingers.
Wilbur wanted to grab his hands, calm the shaking and picking, but instead he stood still. “I don’t know if i’d be good at it, you could get much further in your career if I wasn’t coaching,” Wilbur looked away, fully believing the words he spoke.
“I don’t believe that,” Tommy said, “You are a talented skater and you taught me how to skate, you practice with me over break, what’s different between that and being a coach?”
“Tommy-” Wilbur started impassively, but got cut off.
“Wilbur! I want you to be my coach, I want you to do something. You need to stop beating yourself up, because you are more than your suicide attempt!”
Silence flooded through Wilbur's head. Tommy’s never mentioned that before, he’s never spoken those words.
Which made sense because Tommy's hands were shaking as he held them up. He stood up a little bit straighter, “You can’t wallow in guilt because you made a mistake, because I forgive you, it's time you forgive yourself.”
Wilbur looked at Tommy's eyes, they were near translucent. He looked at Tommy, and for being so young, he was smart and well-spoken and he wanted to listen. “I think you have so much potential that can’t be wasted, I want you to try, for me.” For him “I really think that you should be my coach, it will make us better, I know you don’t think you’ll be good at it, but I think you will,”
Wilbur couldn’t look away, trapped under Tommy’s gaze. He was finally confronted about his actions and by Tommy, he never thought it would be him. He didn’t know if he could do it, it was scary trying something new, going back to competitions. He would have to finish school, and apply to be a coach. It was hard to motivate him, and what if he screwed up, it was up to him to get Tommy to the top, to get Tommy the recognition he deserved.
But then again he would be with his brother, if he made it he would be at competitions with his brother. It made him smile, thinking about them kicking ass, earning trophies, they would be a team. Everything Tommy was saying made sense, it was hard to accept it, but he believed it. Tommy knew him better than himself, and if he thought this was best, he would do it.
“Okay,” He blew out, nodding he could see his breath in front of him.
“Really?” Tommy asked, optimism in his voice, his smile expanding.
“Really,” Wilbur laughed, confirming. Tommy skated into Wilbur, wrapping his arms around him. Wilbur patted his back, resting his chin on his head.
“I'm proud of you,” Tommy said, it was barely audible. Wilbur didn’t know how to reply, he closed his eyes, pulling his brother closer to him.
When Tommy pulled away he giggled, “My friends are gonna be so jealous,”
Wilbur’s face bunched up in confusion, “why?” He blew air out of his nose.
“Because,” he said, like it was obvious. “I’ll have the best coach ever,”
Wilbur was smiling at his brother. He was smiling and it hurt. Something tickled in his nose, something sentimental, like was gonna cry. But no, not today.
Wilbur yanked his beanie off Tommys head, his hair popping up at awkwards angles, frizzy and curly. He pulled it onto his head, with a flicker of puzzlement from Tommy, Wilbur reached over to ruffle his hair. Tommy’s eyes darkened with annoyance, skating away so Wilbur couldn’t touch him.
“Fine, fine!” He watched Tommy take a leisurely skate around the curve of the lake before returning to Wilbur.
“Don’t touch my precious locks with your grimy hands,” he criticized, pursing his lips with charisma.
“Okay well your precious locks are looking a bit messy at the moment,” Wilbur pointed. Tommy’s eyes widened a bit, Tommy brushed his fingers through his hair but nothing was fixing it.
Wilbur laughed at his attempts, Tommy flipped him off. “Its fine, you aren’t looking much better,”
Wilbur opened his mouth in mock offense, but pulled at his beanie, revealing his deep hairline. Tommy covered his eyes. “Stop, stop, I can’t look at it,” He pleaded.
“Shut up,” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pulling his beanie down. “Wanna play a game?”
“What is it?” Tommy asked.
“It's called ‘try not to get hit by the snowball’” Wilbur declared and immediately bent down to shovel snow into his hands. He compacted it into a ball, and launched it at Tommy who was retreating. It missed and landed on the ice, breaking.
“Ha, ha you missed!” Tommy taunted.
Wilbur didn’t miss the next one. Or the after that, but that's when Tommy realized he could throw snowballs too. Having a snowball fight when you can fly across ice was a much different but subjectively more fun game.
Wilbur and Tommy spent the day playing games, they talked and laughed and they enjoyed the last of winter break. Reveling in the hours where it was day, where the sun gave a sparkle to Tommy's eyes, and a glisten to the snow. They were happy. And Wilbur could say that with confidence.
At a point in the afternoon, the sun was covered by the thickening clouds. The day was slowly coming to an end. The atmosphere was darker, shadows creeping under the trees and the alluring lake became a black and white picture. Although it wasn’t quite the evening yet, they still had hours to kill, it was bright enough to see. It was fine, Tommy could be the substitute for the sun until tomorrow anyway.
Wilbur held Tommy's hands, pulling him along the ice, as fast as he could. Tommy was screaming, his hands digging into Wilbur's.
“Stop! I don’t know if this is a good idea,”
“It's a fine idea, one of my best,” Wilbur's skated backwards, smiling at Tommy as he watched the trepidation fade from his expression. He pulled Tommy as he skated, he couldn’t see where he was going but that was part of the fun.
After a moment Wilbur spoke again, “Ready for another idea?”
“Not really,”
“I'm gonna launch you forward, okay?” There was no response of Tommy's behalf, suggesting that he was interested in it. He chuckled, “ready? Three,” He counted down, “Two, one!” He pulled Tommy forward and past him, throwing him forward.
“Yeah!” Tommy cheered as Wilbur slightly wobbled, gaining balance he wrapped around the rink. “That was fun!”
There was something crawling under Wilbur's skin, a bad feeling that he couldn’t shake. It had to be the way the darkness was crawling like smoke around the edges of the lake. It buzzed in his stomach, maybe it was the hot chocolate, maybe it was his instincts, he couldn’t tell. The wind was whispers in his ears, anxiety rising in his chest. It was odd, because there was nothing to worry about. It was probably nothing.
“Tommy, i'm getting pretty tired, I might go sit down,”
“What?!” Tommy spun in circles. “Already? Play with me some more please?!”
Wilbur looked around, the trees shook slightly, snow sticking to the branches lacking leaves. He pulled his gaze to the top of the hill where his visibility was lacking, nothing seems wrong. Nothing was wrong. He was just anxious, they should go soon because it's getting dark.
“Just a little bit more, and then you can go sleep grandpa,” Tommy begged.
“Fine,” He tore his stare from the surroundings. “What do you want to do?”
“Can we race?” Tommy raised his head.
“Didn’t we do that already?” Wilbur remarked.
“You mean two weeks ago? You cheated, I want to beat you fair in square,” He spoke with a poised attitude.
“You're ridiculous, I didn’t cheat, but I'll gladly beat you again,” Wilbur teased, obliging to Tommy’s game.
“You are on,” Tommy’s eyebrows pulled together, puffing his chest as he skated to the side of the lake.
Wilbur met him there, keeping a fair distance from Tommy. He would race with an equal advantage this time. He would try to keep his ego from being that bruised if Tommy beat him. With a glance at his younger brother who looked too prideful, he spoke, “So here all the way to the end?”
It was a fairly big lake, a long way to go. “Yep, too scared?”
Wilbur shook his head, “Stop boasting, you haven’t won yet,”
“I'm not doing anything,” He laughed, fixing his stance. “Ready?”
Wilbur hummed in response.
“One, two, three, go!”
Wilbur pushed off his foot, finding rhythm quickly. He was ahead of Tommy, but he was getting closer. Wilbur pushed forward, ice grinding beneath his skates.
Tommy passed him barely, he yawned. Wilbur rolled his eyes, flipping him off as he sped past him, he heard a scoff in his wake.
“This is technically unfair! I should have a head start because of your abnormally long legs!”
“Ohh” Wilbur responded looking behind him, “I see how it is, but thought you wanted a fair race?”
Tommy groaned.
Then Wilbur was gone, into his competitive head space as Tommy neared him. He always knew he loved the feeling of when he was skating. He loved watching other people skate. But when he quit he never thought he would skate again, but he was wrong. And now with Tommys help he gets to be a part of competitions again. It’s going to be the best. He gets to feel like how he did when he was young. He gets to teach Tommy, and he’ll make him the very best figure skater.
He never thought to be a coach but honestly it was a good idea. He was glad Tommy asked it of him. He was right, he did need to do something with his life. It was always going to be bad if he kept in his room, sitting in his own guilt and failures. He doesn’t know if he will ever get over it, but skating was a distraction and maybe it could keep him happy for a long time. One thing that he knew was that Tommy wasn’t a distraction. He always made him happy, he wasn’t temporary, he was a light that would never burn out.
“Wilbur!”
Tommy was so brave, he was more courageous than Wilbur would ever be. He was confident and talented and the greatest person Wilbur knew. Even through everything, it was always going to be Tommy to pull him out of the messes he indulged himself in. He was smarter and brighter, he pushed through his problems with his wit, it was impossible to do in Wilbur’s eyes. But not for Tommy, because with Tommy nothing was too difficult, he could always get through it. He wished he had a mindset like his brothers, he wished he was more like his brother, which was weird. Wilbur was supposed to be the person he looked up to, but instead it was the other way around. Wilbur wondered why Tommy even tried to help Wilbur, when he was a lost cause, Tommy was hopeful. But that was Tommy, he was optimistic and bright, he was the sun shining when Wilbur was the moon. Wilbur, scared with faults and imperfections, but with Tommy's help he would do great things. He would glow, shedding moonlight, but behind the scenes, it was all the sun, it was Tommy.
Wilbur shivered, hairs on his neck stood up. He blinked, the end of the lake coming into view. But when he looked down, dizziness overtaking him, the world seemed to shift. The wind was quiet, calm, carrying no other breath other than his own. Pins pricked his skin.
Something was wrong.
He spun around, “Tommy?”
The silence was too loud. Wind brushed over the surface of the ice, pulling snow with it, slithering up Wilburs stature. His heart dropped into his throat, and everything came into perspective, everything rushed into Wilburs mind. For a moment he could just stare, petrified, but he couldn't, he needed to run.
“Tommy!” He bolted, metal slicing strenuously into the ice below him. Blood was pulsing in his ears. In the center of the lake was a breakage in the ice, originating from it were large white cracks. A large hole, pieces of shattered ice swaying in the moving water below the sheet of ice on top of the lake. “Tommy!” he shouted again, he hoped for a response, for a trace of a movement, but there was nothing.
He made it to the edge of the hole, bone-chilling sounds of cracking ice sounded underneath his footsteps. It echoed through the empty surroundings. It was too empty, it was suddenly too cold. His chest was burning with alarm. Falling onto the ice, he dunked his hands into the water, it was frigid. He pulled out the large pieces of ice, but nothing was visible under the dark water. “No, no, no” he cried, his breath painful against his convulsing throat. He looked around for anything, for some sort of help, but he couldn’t think. His chest tightened, dread flooding his bones, he was hyperventilating. Air went in and out, fire in his chest, he pulled at his hair.
“Tommy!” he sobbed into the unresponsive water, it rocked back and forth, no sign of Tommy. Wilbur didn’t know he was crying until his face was burning, hot streaks of tears cascaded down his face, juxtaposing his frozen cheeks. He looked up the hill, he needed to call someone. He rose from the ground, and ran. Making it to the shore he struggled to get his skates off, untying them and throwing them into the snow.
He sprinted as fast as he could, breathing was laboring as his feet throbbed in pain. He made it to his car, opening the door, hands shaking as he grabbed his phone. He dialed the emergency number and once he heard the lady pick up, “My brother fell through the ice,” he sobbed, his sentences broken, “Please help me!”
That was a long night. The longest Wilbur's ever known. The sobs are still stuck in his throat, like choking on something painful. It drags down his throat, cutting him open on the inside. It wasn’t fair.
Tommy was pulled out of the water, pale and breathless. He was dragged along the ice in the dead of night, while bright flashing lights illuminated the lake. He couldn't bare looking at his brother like that. And it wasn’t fucking fair.
It wasn’t fair that Wilbur was here without Tommy. That Wilbur was seventeen and Tommy was ten and now Tommy was gone.
Wilbur couldn’t escape, even if he wanted to. There was no one to run to, no one to hold, for the first time in ten years he was alone and he didn’t know how to cope. He didn’t run to alcohol or drugs or anything, because he tried his hardest to remember Tommy's words.
The night Tommy died, was the hardest thing Wilbur had to get through. For a night, he understood Tommy’s pain, but it wasn’t quite the same because Wilbur knew Tommy wasn’t coming back.
That night, Wilbur had no one to make a promise to. Yet, it was the same night Wilbur could finally say it without Tommy asking first.
Wilbur still whispered the promise, this time to himself. Tommy always believed in Wilbur's promises, he always trusted him with everything. So Wilbur would always keep his promise, he wouldn’t kill himself, he would be here, everyday, and he would try to get better.
So there he was, speaking his promise to the sky every night. He wouldn’t let it go. So he promised when he laid Tommy’s flowers down on his coffin. He promised when he went back to high school. He promised when he graduated and when he moved out of his house without a goodbye to his father.
He promised the day he walked into the skating rink and got himself a job. And at the beginning of every competition he would make sure to do his best, teaching others, because that would make his little brother proud. He set up Tommy's collection of toys on his desk, remembering the days when it was just them, driving around because they had nothing better to do. He thought about those days a lot, missing his brother's smile, and his laugh. He missed their banter, he was angry that his talent was thrown away, that such a good person was dead.
Why had the universe chosen to kill him and not Wilbur?
It was a mystery, Wilbur would spend eternity trying to solve it. Ultimately, he knew it would never make sense. But the way his heart hurt continuously, it was unbearable, he had lost his best friend, his missing piece. At times he couldn't function, he had always thought him and Tommy would always be together, hand in hand, he had never planned to live in a world without him.
Some days it was bad, others it was worse, but he was determined to have good days. It would be what Tommy wanted of him. He just wished Tommy was here to see it, to see him grow from the person he was. But sometimes when the sun beats down on his back, like the other day when he was bringing flowers to plant near the lake, it feels like Tommy is there, smiling down on him.