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Tommy walks along a concrete sidewalk. It was a strange place he was in, but he assumed that it was fitting.
Already, he had seen minecarts without rails— what someone called a car— all over the roads. Redstone engineering was everywhere, and Tommy could wrap his head around the odd communication device that everyone seemed to have on them. He tries to ignore all of that, though, because exploring wasn’t what he was here for.
The town was hot, in the way that a desert would get hot. The grass was green, but it was definitely drier than the dew covered grass he would see in front of his home. Tommy squinted as he walked, frowning at the way that the setting sun got into his eyes. It would be dusk soon, and Tommy had no money to stay somewhere for the night.
He continued to wander, until the sun had set enough so it was out of his eyes but the sky was still light. He stops in front of a pub, the outside decorated in a way Tommy was familiar with— wood and glass. Everything else here was made of expensive bricks and concrete. He hopes that the pub closes late so that he could spend as much time as he could, and walks inside.
He hadn’t told anyone he was leaving before he had gone.
And who would he tell? The only person he could think that would go looking for him was Tubbo, but Tommy disappears from Tubbo from time to time, so it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary.
Tommy looks around the pub, pulling his blue sweater closer to himself. The people here had odd looking clothing too— sweaters and shirts with perfect stitches and seamless patterns. Tommy looks almost poor, among everyone else, but so far, he’d gotten nothing more than a second glance.
The people here are not very confrontational.
He sits down in a booth, the furthest seat from the bar and the stage. He hopes no waiter would come to ask him to order, because they might kick him out if they find out that he has no money. He doesn’t think that anyone noticed him come in, at least.
Tommy spends the better half of the hour observing the people coming in and out, and listening to the music being performed. The music was nice, most of it sang in an accent Tommy has never heard before, but it was nice. It reminds him of Wilbur, of the songs they would sing around the campfire back when Tommy was a soldier, of the lullabies in the quiet moments when Tommy was a brother.
The people were a whole mystery to figure out. They came in and sat down, and past the people at their own table, they didn’t seem to know anyone else in the pub. He would have thought that, living in the same town, you would know everybody, but apparently not.
Outside, night has fallen.
Tommy had come to this town— had got in a boat and traveled until he was sick of the ocean— looking for Wilbur. Apparently, Utah was a pretty big place. Tommy doesn’t know where to begin looking, but he wasn’t about to set out into the sands that surrounded the town he had spawned in.
The chatter of the pub quiets down as another singer steps onto the stage. Tommy is still looking through the outside window when familiar notes register in his mind. It was the start of a song that Tommy had heard a thousand times before, one that he had memorized by heart.
His head whips to the stage so fast, he almost snaps his neck. There, on that stage, in the long brown trench coat that had gone through so much shit, was Tommy’s everything; his older brother, Wilbur Soot.
Wilbur sits on a stool, playing his acoustic guitar to the tune of Since I Saw Vienna . Tommy is frozen in shock, the words vibrating the air of the pub, and slowly, Tommy finds himself mouthing along the words.
The roads are my home, the horizon's my target
Tommy stared at his brother. He had— he had found him. And Wilbur looked—
Would Wilbur want to see Tommy?
He looked like he was doing what he wanted to do. He looked happy, performing. Tommy would ruin that for him. The decision of whether or not to go up to him or not, however, is taken from him when Wilbur looks up at the pub and watches his audience. His eyes quickly look around the place, most of his attention focused on his guitar, when his eyes catch Tommy’s.
Wilbur falters, his voice stopping and his fingers spilling over the strings. He picks up a second later, and his gaze keeps tracking up to Tommy throughout the rest of the song. Tommy sinks back into the booth. He made Wilbur mess up. Tommy wasn’t even supposed to be here.
Without thinking twice, Tommy gets up and rushes out of the pub. It was dark enough for the streetlights to be on. He doesn’t know the town that well yet, so he just sits in front of the pub, making sure to leave room so passerbyers wouldn’t trip over him.
Where would Tommy go now? Wilbur was basically his only connection in this town, and based on the way he had reacted, he didn't want to see Tommy. Tommy might have been Wilbur’s L’manburg, but Wilbur went to Utah . He blew up L’manburg, and then escaped Tommy.
He should just go back home.
Tommy hears the door of the pub open, before footsteps follow. He doesn’t look up when he feels the person crouch beside him.
“Tommy?” Wilbur asks.
Tommy looks up at him. His face was worn, and the matching white strip of hair almost covered his eye. Tommy’s own white strip was bunched into curls, almost blending in with the rest of his blond hair.
“Wil?” Tommy breaks.
It’s barely a second later when Wilbur was gathering Tommy in his arms. Tommy clings onto the front of his coat, pushing himself into Wilbur’s space.
“How are you here?” Wilbur asks, voice full of awe.
“It was fucking difficult, for one,” Tommy starts. Wilbur breaks away from him, and Tommy tries to not let the disappointment show on his face. He stands up, offering his hand down to Tommy.
“I’d imagine,” Wilbur says.
Tommy takes his hand and stands up, only to be pulled towards Wilbur again. His brother hooks an arm around his shoulders. “Follow me.”
Tommy does as Wilbur says, following him back inside the pub. They walked all the way to the back, where there was a staircase leading upwards. They take it, ending up in a hallway with a couple of doors. Wilbur goes through one.
Once the door was closed and the sounds from the pub below were muted, Tommy tenses up. He sits down on the bed, nervously looking up at Wilbur as he pulls out two mugs.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers.
Wilbur turns around. “For what?” He asks incredulously.
“For coming here. I know you wanted to get away—”
“Not from you,” Wilbur says softly. “You’re my brother, Tommy. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I was just done with that Essempii, so I left. I’ll never be done with you.”
But you left me.
Tommy is silent for a second, watching as Wilbur starts to boil water in a kettle. He walks over to Tommy and sits beside him on the bed.
“I missed you,” Wilbur admits. “It’s kinda lonely out here.”
“Why didn’t you,” Tommy starts, before he loses his voice. He clears his throat. “Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”
Wilbur blinks for a second. “Because you would have said no? You still had a home in Essempii. I don't anymore.”
Tommy feels his eyes start to water. He takes in a sharp breath. “Wilbur— don’t you get it?”
Wilbur scoots forwards, face full of worry. “Get what? Tommy, please.”
A tear escaped his eye, and then suddenly he couldn’t stop. “Wilbur— you are my home.”
Wilbur freezes. “Oh.”
Tommy launches himself forwards, wrapping both his arms around Wilbur and pressing his forehead to his collarbone. Wilbur hugs him back a second later, just as, if not, tighter.
“I didn’t know,” Wilbur says quietly.
“You fucking— it’s fine. I can go back,” Tommy cries.
“No,” Wilbur says immediately. “I’d love to have you here. It’s— it’s peaceful here.”
Tommy shifts so he can look up at Wilbur. “Are you sure?”
Wilbur nods. “No one would know. And we can always ask your friends to come visit.”
“Wilbur,” Tommy sighs.
“You’re my brother, Tommy,” Wilbur says. “I don’t think I would have lasted another month without coming back to see you.”
“I know,” Tommy says quietly. “I just thought— nevermind. I’m glad I’m here.”
“So am I,” Wilbur says. “I can’t wait until you try ice cream.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll see,” Wilbur hums. “God, the moment I saw you sitting there, my heart stopped. I thought I was hallucinating.”
“You still sing the same stupid songs,” Tommy whines.
Wilbur grins, falling back onto the mattress and taking Tommy down with him. “I thought you liked my stupid songs?”
Tommy shifts so that his ear was lying atop Wilbur’s chest. “You’re a shit singer,” Tommy lies.
Wilbur laughs quietly. Tommy smiles at the sound— he had missed it.
The tea kettle clicks to signify that it was done boiling the water, and Wilbur stands up to pour it into two mugs. Tommy watches him as he carefully lifts them up and walks forwards to hand one over to Tommy.
Tommy blows the steam off the top of his, but before he takes a sip, he glances up to see Wilbur holding his own cup out towards Tommy.
Tommy catches on to what he was doing, and clinks his mug with Wilbur’s. Wilbur sits down on the bed and bumps Tommy on the shoulder— lightly, so that the tea doesn’t spill. Tommy still scowls.
“To a new life,” Wilbur says, to a room empty except for the two of them. To a place where all they were, were civilians. Not soldiers, not generals, not rejects. Just— people. The NPCs of other people’s stories, as some would say.
Tommy allows himself a small smile as he raises the mug to his lips.