Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tommy never expected to be caught. In fact, he was so confident that he’d never get caught that he stopped trying as hard to hide it. And, that was just stupid wasn’t it? But it was getting harder to care. Every night the same thoughts echoed through his head. Thoughts about how he couldn’t do this anymore, it wasn’t worth it, it’s not real, everything’s wrong.

So when Wilbur brought it up after school one day, Tommy was so shocked that he couldn’t speak for a minute.

“Are you alright, Tommy?”

Wilbur was driving him to school. It was too early to deal with this shit, and Wil should have known better than to ask potentially emotionally charged questions before Tommy went into the hellscape that was high school.

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

Tommy’s voice was steady, an easy look on his face, unpracticed but natural. If Wil pointed out the things he noticed Tommy doing that were out of character, Tommy could fix them.

“I dunno. Just making sure.”

Tommy didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he thanked Wil for the drive and started to head in. But When Wil was out of sight Tommy turned and walked down the road. About two months ago Tommy managed to get a hold of his dad’s phone and delete the school’s number—also blocked it—without him knowing. So he couldn’t get the absence calls anymore. The only way he could see Tommy’s absences was online on the school website. And Ph didn’t check that because he trusted Tommy to keep up his attendance and grades.

It felt like shit to think about. The trust that Tommy had built up over the years. He had an A average in school and wasn’t known to skip classes. Ever. It had become a regular thing recently. Sometimes Tommy just couldn’t be bothered to be in class. Especially not the useless ones like “oceans” and “tourism”. If he were interested in those classes, he’d understand why they’re important to take. However, they were boring and had nothing to do with Tommy’s dream career: writing.

There was one class that Tommy never skipped and it was his creative writing class. It counted as an English credit for the year and it was awesome. It was fun, it was easy, the teacher was nice, and the classmates—for the most part—were good too. Tommy wanted to write books, action, adventure, fantasy, and maybe even science fiction. Through his writing, he experienced battle, magic, and true friendships that he would never get in the real world.

This world was dull. It was sad, wasteful, and teeming with suffering. He hated it. Tommy hated the thought of living in it, of sitting by and letting millions of people suffer because of millions of different things. He hated that it was “just the way things are”. He hated that “life just isn’t fair”. And he hated that he should “wait until he’s older, it gets worse”.

Tommy didn’t waste time trying to work towards a job he wasn’t going to enjoy, so he didn’t bother going into maths or sciences like most of his friends. He went into something less steady, riskier. There was nothing else he wanted in life. He didn’t want anything adulthood had to offer other than the possibility of being a famous author and having the ability to help people.

He liked to imagine that with enough money he could set up homeless shelters and help houses and businesses go sustainable. It was ambitious but a dream isn’t a dream unless it seems impossible.

Tommy skipped the whole school day and went to the local coffee shop instead. There, he wrote. He was working on a book. It was set in an original world called Essempi, and the main setting was in a country called L’Manberg. Wilbur helped him come up with a lot of the ideas, and Tommy based the characters’ personalities on his friends and family. He particularly liked Techno’s character, the anarchist warlord.

He had over eighty-thousand words of the first draft written. He was aiming for one hundred and twenty thousand. Then there was a lot of editing to be done. His goal was to have it written and published before he left high school. He had plenty of other book ideas to go put into the world of Essempi.

Tommy only went back to the school to catch his creative writing class and his bus home. When he did get home, Wilbur was waiting for him in his room. That was never a good sign anymore. Tommy had learned to expect bad news every time.

“Hey, how was school?”

Tommy shrugged, dropping his bag next to his closet and shrugging off his coat. “It was fine.”

“That’s good…”

Tommy hung his coat in his closet and rifled through his bag for his computer. When Wil didn’t continue talking Tommy looked up at him, with an expectant grin on his face.

“What do you need, Wil?”

Wil ran a hand through his hair. Nervous habit. Tommy was immediately way more on edge.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You just… never leave your room and I never see you pack or unpack your lunch so I wondered if you were eating enough.” Wil wrung his hands together. “You’re up so late and you have to get up so early for school—”

Tommy gaped for two seconds before he went into happy Tommy mode.

“Wil. I’m fine. I pack and unpack my lunch in the morning when you’re not awake. I get enough sleep.”

“Last night I heard you listening to music at three AM. You get up for school at six.”

Tommy didn’t even want to know how Wilbur heard his music. He had tested how loud he could play it without someone hearing from the other side of the door before.

Tommy hesitated before sitting on his bed in front of Wilbur. “I listen to music to go to sleep. Wil, I’m okay.”

“Okay. Would you tell me if you weren’t though?”

No. The answer had always been no and will always be no. Nobody can help this, not in the way Tommy wants. Not in the way he needs. He likes to do things alone, and he will.

“Yeah, I would.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

No. I can’t.

Wilbur clapped him on the shoulder before leaving with an “I love you” that Tommy wished had any good effect on him. He replied with an unsure “I love you too” but Wil seemed happy with it.

It wasn’t that Tommy didn’t love his family, he really did. But he didn’t need to hear that he was loved. He knew that. He just felt so detached from everyone and everything that sometimes it didn’t feel like it had any meaning.

There was this problem he’d had for a while. Google called it derealization but Tommy wasn’t sure if that’s what it was. He had this constant feeling that things weren’t real. Like they were wrong, slightly incorrect at all times. He couldn’t explain it very well. But it fucked with his memories a lot. Anything that happened more than an hour ago didn’t feel like it happened. It was terrifying sometimes.

Tommy refused to try and look back on good times because he couldn’t tell if they’d happened or if they were real. The best way he’d ever thought to describe it was that he’d been stuck here, in this world and body just seconds ago, with made-up memories. That’s what it felt like. So things he’d done with his family, important moments, were meaningless to Tommy some days. Only on the worst days. The worst days were four out of seven days a week.

Wilbur couldn’t help with that problem. He could tell Tommy it was real and Tommy would have no reason to believe him. There was no way to show him either, there was no proof. It was just fucky, trippy, so much so that Tommy tried to shake out every thought in relation to it.

And, well, life felt pretty pointless because of it. Nothing was real, nothing ever happened, nothing good lasts and nothing good feels real. Not that anything bad did either. It was all just a void of numbness and neutrality. It sucked.

And, hey, Tommy didn’t want to die. Not really. He didn’t want to live like this anymore, but he had just a little bit of hope. Google said that this feeling should pass—he didn’t feel like it would—and Tommy wondered if he would figure the point of it all out someday. So there was hope. Not a lot but it was there.

Sometimes he still had those thoughts though. That it’d be easier if he just died. That he didn’t want to deal with it. It would be so easy—there were so many ways to do it—and Tommy had so much trust built up with his dad that he could go off on his own for hours at a time. There was no cause for concern in regards to Tommy in anyone’s eyes.

Or, there wasn’t. Not until recently. He just wished he knew what Wilbur saw, where was Tommy slipping up? His natural state was happy and loud, he didn’t even have to try to keep up the facade. He was physically incapable of being sad around others—he’d tried to rile himself up before and it never worked—and he just couldn’t help but seem happy. He wondered sometimes if that was another psychological problem he didn’t know the name of.

Tommy distracted himself by writing. He started working on his book again. Later he was called downstairs for dinner—he hated dinner—for salmon. Wilbur loved salmon, Tommy thought it was mediocre.

“So, parent-teacher is coming up, Tommy,” Phil said.

Tommy’s heart leaped but he kept his face cool. “You gonna go?”

Phil shook his head, easing Tommy’s nerves. “I don’t think I need to, not unless you want me to talk to any teachers about anything.”

“Nope.”

Wilbur was giving Tommy a look. He had to know something. Maybe he’d seen Tommy at the cafe during school hours. Maybe he’d spoken to Tommy’s friends and found out he hadn’t been around much. Fuck. What did Wilbur know?

“I’m going grocery shopping tomorrow. Anything you boys need? Lunch meat?” Phil asked.

“We must be out of lunch meat by now,” Techno said.

Okay… so Tommy didn’t eat a lot. It wasn’t because he was trying to be thinner. A lot of the time he just forgot. He forgot to pack his lunch—fuck Wilbur for noticing—and he just didn’t like eating in the morning. When it was too early, food in the morning made him feel sick.

“There’s some left,” Tommy ended up saying before somebody went to check.

On a more serious, less healthy note. It may have been a form of self-harm. And Tommy could explain this well even if he wanted to, but occasionally doing bad things to oneself was nice. It was a rush of adrenaline, it was like giving the world a middle finger—no he was not going to do what he’s supposed to, fuck that—and Tommy knew that thinking like that was stupid. There was more to it, more that he didn’t know how to put into words.

“Do you guys want to watch a movie tonight? I’m thinking uncharted, staring the Tom Holland?” Wil asked, specifically looking at Tommy.

“Sure,” Tommy said, because what else could he do?

“Okay,” Techno said.

Phil nodded.

**********

It was late. That was never Tommy’s best time. It was when the rest of the day started to catch up to him. It was when the guilt of skipping school and lying to his family hit him the hardest. This was the time he stopped working and writing and could finally think. Thinking was a dangerous thing for Tommy. But the movie wasn’t done yet, so he had to hold on.

When it finally did end, Tommy gave his thoughts on the movie as cheerily as he normally would and headed back to his room. He didn’t let himself have his nightly breakdown until at least midnight—that’s when Phil was asleep for sure. Wil and Technow ere unpredictable but they didn’t bother him this late.

So, as he usually did, Tommy let his brain run loose. He played music sad music because trying to cheer himself up never helped. It was like when he was grumpy and Phil tried to cheer him up, it was annoying. He just wanted to feel what he needed to feel. And sometimes, the songs explained things better than Tommy could.

He ended up crying. He usually did. Most of the time just a few tears, but tonight he couldn’t stop. He was so tired. Of existing, of trying, of having to do anything at all. Tommy couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that he wouldn’t achieve his dreams, the only thing—in his mind—that was left living for.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the state of the world. It wasn’t getting better. Maybe it shouldn’t. The idea of the planet without people on it was a sweet one. Tommy thought that he’d wipe out all of humanity if given the chance. Just so human life could start over. Because what the hell was all of this? The poverty and famine and killing and war and misogyny and racism, it was all too shit to think about.

Tommy was never having kids. He wasn’t going to bring them into this. Never in a world where only the rich are happy. And people could say that money doesn't buy happiness all they wanted, Tommy didn’t buy it. He knew what his dreams were, and he needed money for them. Good house? You need money. Good food? You need money. Healthcare? You need money. In most places. Everything required money. Safety meant money.

So if Tommy didn’t get rich by writing his books… then he’d failed.

And the guilt. So much guilt. And loneliness. Tommy had his family but they were busy, they didn’t have time to distract him from his brain when he needed it. Tommy hung out with his friends a lot so he couldn’t feel sad, they distracted him. But, recently, they’d been canceling on him a lot. They would say they want to hang out and never ask him. He always has to engage first. And when he did ask them, they’d say they were available and cancel a day or a few hours before. It was happening way too much now.

Then Tommy cried because he didn’t know how to fix it all. He couldn’t go to therapy, the things he thought could have him put under watch. And he didn’t want medication—not because he thought it was wrong or weak or unhelpful or unsafe. He just didn’t want to be forced into happiness. He wanted to be shown that life was worth living, he didn’t want his brain to have dopamine squeezed out of it.

And prime, he knew it wasn’t that logical. It wasn’t moral. It wasn’t even necessarily smart but he didn’t want to take the medications if they offered them. He didn’t want to be forced into thinking everything was okay and real and worth it. That was his whole reasoning, that was everything he planned to say if it ever came to that. He didn’t want to be forced, he wanted to be taught and shown.

Fuck, and he couldn’t let anyone know that he had suicidal thoughts. Then they’d watch him and if it ever came to it, it would be harder to pull off his own death. Tommy cringed at his own line of thought.

And he hated being asked if he was okay. Fuck you, Wilbur. He hated it. He wanted to be left alone to deal with shit on his own. If he wanted help he’d ask for it. He hated it. He hated it so much, it got on his nerves when anybody tried to cheer him up, ask him if he was okay, or just talk to him about feelings in general. He couldn’t handle it and he didn’t enjoy it.

Tommy had always been a silent crier. He didn’t make any noise at all beyond whispers of gasps. And that was just to catch his breath after soundlessly screaming into the air, his mattress, or his pillow.

His head hurt. His heart hurt. His arms hurt from where he dug his nails into them. And he gagged once. He forced himself to breathe and calm down just so he didn’t catch any attention puking in the bathroom. Then he went back to silently crying himself to sleep.

The next morning Tommy was getting ready to catch the bus, but Techno stopped him before he could leave.

“What class do you have first?”

Tommy paused and took his hand off the front door’s handle. “Oceans.”

“Do you want to skip it and go get breakfast with me?”

Tommy cocked an eyebrow. Phil was just in the other room. Tommy nodded though and Techno grinned. He grabbed the keys, put his shoes on, and then was dragging Tommy out the door.

“I’m driving Tommy to school!”

“Bye!” Phil called back.

Techno had never asked Tommy to skip before. He had certainly never promoted or supported the act of skipping. Tommy wasn’t even sure if Techno ever skipped when he was still in high school.

They got in the car and Techno took Tommy through a drive-through to get breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Then they drove to a park within walking distance of the school. They sat outside at a picnic table together.

“Why did you do this?” Tommy asked.

“For fun,” Techno shrugged. “I know you don’t like that class, and I wanted an iced coffee.”

Tommy smirked and took a sip of his own coffee. Also iced. Iced vanilla latte. Because what kind of lunatic drank hot coffee from a restaurant? Everybody knew you only had hot coffee at home, where you made it yourself.

“Been meaning to talk to you about something too.”

Oh.

“Uh oh.”

“It’s not that bad. Wil and I have talked about it before…” Tommy held back a cringe. “We know you haven’t been packing your lunch every day, and we know you only get like three hours of sleep—”

“Techno,” Tommy groaned.

“No, just, listen. It’s starting to look like you’re picking up habits that Wilbur had when he was depressed.”

Tommy forced himself not to gape, or get defensive. He had to play this off. He preferred not to use the term depressed, he liked “realist” better.

“Techno. I am not depressed. I get sleep, I get food. I am literally eating with you right n—you were just getting me to eat.”

Techno snorted at Tommy’s sudden cutoff. “Yes, I was.”

Tommy took a deep breath. It was very very possible that for the first time ever, he was on the verge of crying. In front of someone. That never happened. Ever.

“I pack my lunch early, and the music you guys hear is what I go to sleep with.”

“That lunch meat was bought weeks ago, if you used it as often as you say you do it should be gone. You only use it every three or so days.”

“You’re keeping tabs on my meat?”

Techno pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh that was almost a huff of laughter. “Tommy, please. You have to tell us if you’re struggling.”

“I am.”

Techno straightened in his seat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I am struggling to understand why the fuck you think I’m depressed—”

“Tommy.”

“And won’t believe me when I say I’m not!”

Okay so maybe he got a little defensive in the end. He didn’t mean to yell. He didn’t mean to let his facade slip. He didn’t mean to get angry. He certainly never wanted to snap at Techno.

“I have a friend who works at the cafe you go to when you’re skipping class.”

Tommy’s breath nearly hitched. He held it in. He kept himself steady. “I don’t skip class—not unless my annoying brother drags me away.”

“Niki sees you at least every other day.”

Niki. Niki. Oh prime. Tommy talked to Niki often. He didn’t know that she was Techno's friend. Oh prime. Oh fuck.

“It must be someone else, Techno, my average is ninety-eight. It wouldn’t be that high if I was skipping.”

Techno nodded. “Yeah, I thought that at first too. But you’re a smart kid, you get all of your work done out of class. And you blocked the school’s number on dad’s phone.”

Tommy was about to lose his breath. Hell, he was about to lose each of his lungs. How did he know? How did he know—holy fuck—how could Tommy get out of this?

“Marks get brought down by bad attendance,” Tommy said, knowing very well that they weren’t doing that this year because of the pandemic.

“Not this year.”

Tommy held Techno’s gaze. “My next class starts in ten minutes, we should get going.”

“Today’s a cafe day though.”

Tommy felt his eyes sting. He rolled them and stood up with his bag. He started walking to the car, just so he had a few seconds to gather his thoughts and blink away the beginning blur.

Techno got behind the wheel and didn’t make a comment about Tommy’s potentially teary eyes, which was a good sign that he’d hidden it. Tommy would have to pray to every god alive that Techno and Wil would drop this—that they hadn’t already told Phil.

Techno took an odd route to the school. He was driving toward the cafe. And when they were coming up on the building, he just had to be a dick.

“Want me to drop you off here?” he asked.

“No. What the hell, Techno.”

Techno just shrugged and took Tommy to the school. Tommy went in, not looking back at Techno, not thanking him for the drive or breakfast. He was just grateful it didn’t make him feel sick.

Tommy didn’t go to class. He stayed in the cafeteria and did what schoolwork he saw on the online classrooms, then he wrote his book some more.

He had to shut his brain up after it tried to remind him that Techno wasn’t just being nice earlier, he wasn't just having fun with Tommy, they’d only gone out to get Tommy to eat and to interrogate him. Techno wasn’t just having fun. Techno didn’t do it just because he wanted to.

But Tommy couldn’t let himself cry. Never at school. Never.

**********

When Tommy got home he practically snuck to his room to avoid Techno and Wilbur. He’d been stressed all day. The second he got to his room the tears started to come. His mind screamed that he needed to stop, they could walk in, they could come try to talk to him. They couldn’t see him cry.

Stop stop stop. Idiot. Stop.

He wiped at his eyes and tried to breathe deeply.

“Tommy?”

He nearly screamed at Wilbur's voice outside his door. Instead, Tommy shook out his hands and used his go-to excuse.

“I’m changing!”

His voice wasn’t raspy or muffled, he’d become an expert at hiding the sob-ruined voice effect.

“Okay, just wanted to ask if you’d listen to the new song I told you about.”

“I will, give me a minute.”

Wilbur left with a quick “k” and Tommy scrambled to change his clothes and check the mirror. He looked like he had cried a bit. So he dried his eyelashes and practiced his smile before heading to Wil’s room.

“Hey,” Wil greeted as Tommy opened the door. “This one has some heavy stuff in it, so just tell me to stop if you need me to.”

“M’ not depressed,” Tommy muttered, flopping onto Wil’s mattress at the foot of the bed.

Wilbur didn’t say anything. Anxiety swirled in Tommy’s chest. Was this song about to be Wilbur’s way of showing Tommy how bad his mental health was. “Some heavy stuff”. What the hell did that mean? “The name is Jubilee Line.”

Tommy loved the sound. He loved the guitar and he loved Wilbur’s voice. It wasn’t until he really thought about the first few lyrics that he understood the entirety of the song. And it was when Wil started repeating one line in particular, that Tommy found it hard to stay in his happy character.

“There’s a reason, that London puts barriers on the tube line.”

Tommy kept watching his brother though. He observed the way his fingers moved over the strings, he watched Wil’s face as he sang.

“There’s a reason they fail.”

Tommy didn’t dare say anything until he was sure he had himself under control. Wilbur looked up expectantly. Tommy thought that Wil almost looked disappointed that he wasn’t sobbing.

“I love it. I love it a lot, do you have it recorded?”

“Yeah. I can send it to you if you want.”

Tommy nodded, eagerly, maybe a little too eagerly. “Yes please.”

Tommy listened to Wilbur talk about his song, the meaning behind the lyrics, some alternate ones he was going to use, some things he might change still, and more. They talked for an hour or so before Tommy went back to his room. A few minutes later his phone buzzed and he saw that Wilbur had sent him the song. He played it.

Wasting your time.

You’re wasting mine.

Tommy felt like he was running out of time in life. And that wasn’t fair because he was only sixteen. If he wanted to be happy for most of his life he had to get shit done now. He needed money, now, and friends, now, and a good job, now, and he needed his book done, now. It was all now now now. There was no time for next week or in a month or a year or a decade. It all had to happen now or it was just more time wasted. Tommy felt like a waste.

He had so much potential, he knew he did. He should have started earlier, he should have been taking more time to write. He should have done so much better because he knew that he could.

Tommy wanted to retire his dad and pay off Wil and Techno’s student debts and he wanted to get Tubbo out of his unhealthy house and he wanted to buy Niki a bakery to run and he wanted to buy Ranboo a streaming setup. Because why couldn’t people just do what made them happy? It never made sense, and it never will.

Tommy grunted and got up from his bed to keep writing. He didn’t get a lot done. He was demotivated and tired and hungry. It was two AM when Tommy decided he would go get a snack. He snuck out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen. The chances were that Wil was awake songwriting but Techno had to “go somewhere” in the morning apparently so hopefully he was asleep. Phil was old so he was asleep for sure.

Tommy quietly pulled the fridge open and brought out sandwich supplies. He managed to make it almost completely silently. He didn’t like leaving the cheesegrater uncleaned because the cheese hardened and got stuck, then it was all hard to do later, but the sink would make noise. So he left it, just this once.

He grabbed a Kool-Aid pack too. It was the blue one. He liked the blue the best. Then he went back up the stairs. But when he reached the top his light was on, his door left open. He did not leave it like that.

Holding back a whine of frustration, Tommy walked in.

“Oh. You’re eating. That’s good,” Techno said.

“You have to get up early tomorrow,” Tommy said, closing the bedroom door behind him.

“I am up early.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and sat on the bed against the headboard. Techno was at the foot of the bed.

“I’m getting really sick of you and Wilbur.”

Techno snorted. Then he shuffled up to sit against the headboard with Tommy. They were silent for a while, Tommy got through half of his sandwich.

“Your journal’s getting full right?” Techno asked.

Tommy had a few journals. He was on journal four, he wrote in them a lot. Life events, rants, things to remember. Everything. His family gave him one basically every christmas.

“Have you been reading it or something?”

“No, Tommy, I wouldn’t go through your journal. I just figured you’d be writing in it a lot more lately—” Tommy groaned, “and I was gonna ask if you wanted to go get another tomorrow.”

Tommy glanced over at his desk to where his current journal was sitting. Then he looked at his shelf where his filled ones were. He did want to expand his collection.

“You gonna get me out of school for it?”

“Yeah. We can get breakfast or lunch again.”

Oh.

Tommy was not going to get emotional. He was not. So he nodded and kept eating his sandwich. Once he was done he drank his Kool-Aid. All while Techno watched with an odd smile. It might have been fond, it might have been concerned.

“Go to sleep now, Tommy. You need to fix your schedule,” Techno said before standing up.

“Okay dad.”

Techno took Tommy’s plate and rolled his eyes. Then he took the empty Kool-Aid and took it downstairs. Techno turned off Tommy’s light and closed the door. And Tommy couldn’t not go to sleep after that.

**********

The next day Techno took Tommy to the cafe and they got the same breakfast they did before. Tommy thanked him for paying this time. Then they went to the bookstore for journals. Tommy couldn’t decide between two that he liked so he just got the cheaper one. He was pulling out his wallet to buy it when Techno swiped the book away, card in hand, and bought it for him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tommy said, holding his journal closely on the way to the car. “I could afford it.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to. Early birthday present.”

Oh, prime. Tommy’s birthday wasn’t that far away. He hated his birthday. It was just a celebration of one extra year added to his life, more time wasted, more time lost, more memories gone that he couldn’t connect to. New years sucked too.

“Want to go to your next class and I’ll pick you up for lunch? It’s creative writing.”

Tommy laughed. “How do you know that?”

“I looked at your schedule… online.”

Oh, fucking fuck and prime and balls and shit.

Tommy sat in the front passenger seat with a defeated look on his face, journal in hand, backpack at his feet. He considered trying to play it off still, but Techno didn’t seem mad about it. So maybe it was okay.

“How did you even have the log in?” he asked instead.

“Dad is extremely organized and doesn’t lock his office.”

Techno had seen every single absence Tommy got over the semester. There was no playing that off. That wasn’t possible, shit.

“I have better shit to do than go to school,” Tommy mumbled, fully admitting defeat.

“I don’t doubt that, Theseus. Do you want to go to your writing class or not?”

Theseus.

An old name Tecno gave Tommy when he was younger. They had it engraved on everything. Techno made him a sweater with the name on it, Wilbur put it on one of Tommy’s journals, when they talked about him to friends and family they always tell the “little Theseus story”. Because Techno loved Greek mythology, and he loved his little brother, so he matched them up, stuck them together, and it meant the world to Tommy.

“No,” Tommy squeaked. “Can I stay with you?”

“Of course. Why don’t we go back to the cafe so you can write, I can do some work, and then we’ll have lunch together too?”

Tommy nodded. “That sounds good.”

**********

Tommy got a little bit of writing done. Techno was helpful when he couldn’t think of words and needed synonyms and things. It was like having a talking thesaurus. English major freak. Techno laughed when Tommy called him that.

Then Techno offered to take Tommy to the school again. He went. He only sat in the cafeteria, not wanting to face his teachers after so long. It was only a matter of time before they emailed Phil. Tommy managed to block four of his teachers from Phil’s email, he just hoped the others didn’t care enough to say anything until he could get back on his dad’s computer.

Then he wrote more. It was exhausting. He wondered if his fingers would fall off someday from overuse. He wondered if they would bruise.

Then he took the bus home. When he got home, Wilbur was in his room. And Wilbur had a coke can in his hand, and the guitar was on Tommy’s bed.

Tommy almost cried at the sight.

“Got you this,” Wilbur handed him the coke. “I wanted to try something with you—I need another voice for this song I think.”

Tommy was going to cry.

“Okay. What song?” he asked, voice steady so far.

Wilbur showed him the lyrics and they sang it without music at first, then Wilbur played and sang himself, then Tommy joined in. Through sips of coke, guitar strums, and laughs, Wilbur figured his song out. And Tommy was distracted from himself again.

As he was thinking to himself, this time doesn’t feel so wasted, he remembered that it wouldn’t even feel like it happened in a few hours. Then the good day became one of those really bad days. The ones where Tommy’s vision dimmed and brightened, one of the ones where things swirled and blurred. One of the ones that he couldn’t cheer himself up from.

“You okay?” Wil asked, noticing his sudden lack of ‘spunk’, as they usually call it.

“I’m good Wil, long day. It’s catching up to me.”

It was all catching up. Always. It never stopped.

“Okay, why don’t you have a nap then? I can keep playing if you want, or I can leave, doesn’t matter.”

“Stay?”

If Wilbur stayed Tommy could hold himself together a little.

Wilbur stayed. Until dinner, when he woke Tommy up. They were having nachos. Tommy loved nachos. They didn’t make them a lot though.

Tommy at a lot of nachos. Like, a lot a lot of nachos. He might puke. But they were so good, and so worth it. He was considering scooping more onto his plate when Phil spoke up.

“Mate, you can’t possibly eat anymore.”

“I should, just out of spite.”

“You’ll throw up,” Phil said, standing and taking the plate of leftover nachos with him.

Techno and Wilbur looked at him simultaneously with proud looks on their faces. He hated it. He didn’t have any trouble eating, he loved eating, he didn’t want them to be concerned about him eating. It was annoying. Couldn’t they just leave him alone?

“What?” he asked, just to see if they’d rat him out to Phil, just to dare them. Maybe it was risky. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” they mumbled with knowing looks.

Tommy went to bed that night drinking gallons of water just to try and soothe his overfull stomach. Worth it.

**********

About another month of these antics with his brothers went by before Tommy realized it wasn’t helping. Techno took him out to eat pretty often, Wilbur always came to see him—even if only for a few minutes—after school. And it wasn’t helping. It made him sadder. The more happy good things that happened, that they did, he got sadder. It wasn’t fair, that’s not how it should have worked.

His birthday had happened a few days ago. He was seventeen. He hated it. That was closer to eighteen which meant drinking and driving and all sorts of shit. Jobs and money and taxes and dating. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want nay of this anymore.

Tommy wanted to run away. Not to get away forever, just to have a week of doing whatever the hell he wanted. He had a plan. He’d slowly start taking cash out at the bank, not enough to have an alert sent to Phil, and he’d leave his card and phone behind. Then he’d just leave. He’d hitchhike, and get buses. Whatever, he'd just go and get as far as possible. Just for fun, just to see if he could.

Then when he was inevitably found, he’d let himself shut down. He would not move, not talk, not eat, not drink. He would just lay there and see what the world did. He didn’t want to do this. Anything. He was done. It wasn’t worth it. And he couldn’t kill himself—not yet—because he had to see if it all unraveled first. If the illusion stopped, if he woke up.

Prime, he sounded crazy.

Maybe he was.

It was another month later when Tommy thought he had enough cash to last him until he either got caught or got hopeless enough to end it. His brothers had started trying even harder to talk to him. And the night before this one, Techno had finally threatened Tommy with his worst nightmare.

“You have to talk to me, kid, to us. We’ll have to tell dad if you keep this up, and I know you don’t want that.”

Tommy kicked him out, told him to fuck off, and said he was fine. That night he packed a backpack. He took all of his journals. He took a pen. He took his computer and his chargers, he left his phone. He packed Wilbur’s monster energy stash—well three cans out of twelve anyway—and he stole Techno’s beef jerky from the pantry.

He considered leaving a note, but he wanted them to only realize he was gone when he didn’t come back from school, not right in the morning when he left.

Tommy only wore clothes he hadn’t in a long time and things he recently bought without showing anyone. He left the house “for school” at the time he usually would. He tried to be cheery but he was almost shaking with nerves.

Tommy caught the bus and got to school, from there he went to the cafe, got food, got coffee, and started walking. He wanted to get to the city. He wanted to find a place that would let him on the roof—that would be hard to find—not to jump, just to see. Just to be up there, alone. Just cause he could.

But he ended up climbing a fire escape instead. He may have been seen. Oh well, he hoped no one cared that much.

But he got his roof. He was there and he was sipping coffee in the golden morning sun. He pulled out the blanket he packed, wrapped himself up, and pulled out his computer. He didn’t fully understand why this was something he’d always wanted to do, but it was. There, one small dream accomplished before everything went to shit.

Tommy wrote. He wrote his book, he wrote letters, he wrote his would-be suicide note, and he wrote little drabbles.

Then his phone rang. And he nearly jumped out of his skin. Because he’d thought he left it at home, he meant to. It was stuffed in the bottom of his bag. Maybe it fell in? Or maybe he was just fucking stupid. But now Wilbur was calling him.

He answered, thankfully it wasn’t windy up here.

“Hey Wil, I’m busy.”

“It’s your lunch break,” Wil deadpanned.

“Yeah, and I’m busy eating and talking to Tubbo.”

Tommy hated lying. He hated it so much. Especially when he lied to Wilbur, Techno, and Phil.

And then Wilbur had to go and speak all softly at him. “Tommy, you were marked absent for your classes this morning. You’re not at the cafe. What are you doing?”

This was not how things were supposed to go. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair.

“Just walking around.”

“Can you come home then, please? Tech and I think… that maybe it’s time to talk to dad.”

Tommy hung up.

He felt a little bad. Just a tiny bit. He couldn’t go back home now even if he wanted to. They were going to tell Phil everything. They tried to be patient. They tried to help. Tommy just wished he could have convinced them that helping him was impossible.

Then Wilbur was texting him.

Wilbur: Tommy I'm worried

Wilbur: please come home or tell me where you are

Then Techno.

Techno: Theseus, where are you? If you tell me where you are I won’t bring dad and Wilbur.

Techno: If you talk to us we can consider not telling dad.

Tommy: ill come home in a bit dont tell dad

Techno: Come home now.

Tommy could cry.

Tommy: fine

Tommy started back down the fire escape after packing up. It was a long walk home, he hoped Techno could wait a while before telling Phil anything. Tommy started brainstorming what he could say to get out of this. He’d have to come up with a fake problem or something, bullies maybe?

Oh, that was good. Bullies that he’s avoiding in class. But then they’d want to talk to the school about it. Tommy was pretty confident he could convince them not to though.

When he got home he noticed that Phil’s car wasn’t in the driveway. However, Wilbur and Techno were sitting on the front porch. Motherfuckers.

“Tommy!” Wilbur called, speedwalking toward him. “Where did you go?”

“I told you, I just walked around. Where’s Phil?”

Techno came over too to stand in the driveway and apparently lecture Tommy. Because what else in life was there to do?

“He went out with Kristen, he’ll be back at ten so you have until then to explain what’s been going on with you,” Techno said.

“And you’re not getting out of it this time,” Wil added.

Tommy felt himself start to tremble but he hid it as he walked into the house, his brothers trailing behind him. He went up to his room, they followed. He couldn’t unpack his bag with them here, they’d see all the shit he packed.

Tommy set the bag down and sat against his bed’s headboard with his arms crossed. Techno and Wilbur bot sat in front of him, Wil leaning against the wall and Techno with his knees hiked up to his chest.

“Why have you been skipping school?” Techno asked, sensing that Tommy didn’t know where to start.

Tommy took a deep breath, preparing himself to lie. Fuck. “Bullies.”

His brothers seemed to freeze, like it wasn’t at all what they were expecting, like they hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“What do they do?” Wil asked.

Tommy shrugged. “Shove me around, bother me, distract me—it’s why I leave and do my work in other places.”

Techno nodded. “Why wouldn’t you tell us? We can help.”

Tommy resisted the urge to snort. “I wanted to deal with it on my own, I don’t need my dad and brothers to stand up for me.”

“So you run away instead?” Techno asked. Wilbur slapped his arm. “What?”

“They don’t listen,” Tommy continued, smooth enough to impress himself, “you know I’m not scared to cuss people out and give them shit, but they don’t care. And I’m not about to punch them.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Techno!”

“Wil, don’t act like you never punched anyone.”

“What?” Tommy asked, utterly taken by surprise. “You punched people?”

Wilbur sighed, glaring at Techno before nodding and giving no other context. He shifted where he was sitting against the wall, eager to get the attention back on Tommy.

“Are they what makes you not want to eat?” Techno asked.

Tommy slapped his forehead and rubbed at his left eye. “No! Holy shit, I eat. I eat. I love food. I don’t care about getting skinnier.”

The next five minutes consisted of Tommy convincing his brothers that he did not have trouble eating. He managed to convince them to back off and let him deal with things. He ended up having to promise that he would try and go to class again, and if the bullies gave him more trouble he should tell someone. Techno and Wil also both assured him that he could punch someone if they deserved it and they would back him up if Phil was mad.

So Tommy got away with it. He didn’t have to mention the roof, the dangerous thoughts, the derealization. He didn't have to admit that he wasn’t okay, and he didn’t have to talk to Phil as long as he convinced his brothers that he would tell someone. That wouldn’t last though. Tommy would have to make his escape again, and he would have to do a better job. Not yet, but soon.

**********

After another week Tommy managed to go to all of his classes. All of them. Just to get Techno and Wil off of his back. It was hell. Each and every one of his teachers talked to him. They asked him things that he refused to answer and they said they’d be calling his dad—he hoped that meant from the school number.

But it was so exhausting. It was the worst he’d felt all week. Wilbur kept trying to talk to him and hang out after school, Tommy kept telling him to fuck off. Techno wanted to take Tommy for breakfast and lunch twice in that week, he also told him to fuck off. He said that things were better with the bullies. They seemed satisfied.

Now Tommy was sobbing on his bedroom floor at midnight. Tommy was a quiet crier. Usually. But not tonight. He had to muffle himself, nearly suffocating with his face against his pillow. So many things were running through his head.

All of the lies he told. All of the people he avoided. All of the time h’s wasted All o the suffering in the world. All of the pressure he was under. Every good memory that seemed like a joke. Every bad memory that he couldn’t push away.

And he couldn’t help but wonder if he should have jumped off that roof when he had the chance.

But he was sick of waiting for things to make sense and fix themselves. He was sick of not being able to enjoy anything. He didn’t believe his brothers when they said that they could help him. He thought they were delusional.

Tommy prayed that they were right.

Because he stumbled through his door, gasping, soaked in tears, and across the hall to Wilbur’s room. He knocked, and it was so harsh and desperate that he thought he heard Wilbur startle.

“Come in,” Techno answered.

Tommy was relieved knowing that they were both in there. He shoved the door open, stumbling over himself. His brothers gasped and Tommy fell into Wilbur, laying on his bed. Wil caught him so easily that it made him cry even more, he was so ready to just be there.

“Tommy? What’s going on?” Wilbur asked, hand snaking into Tommy’s hair, other arm wrapping around his back.

Tommy sobbed harder.

Techno’s hand landed on his back, the mattress dipped, Techno was laying next to them. Wilbur was scratching through his hair and Techno was rubbing his back. He felt pathetic but it was so nice. It was nice to let someone else take care of him. Because Tommy was so sick of doing it himself.

“Breathe, Theseus. You’re okay.”

Tommy wheezed and shook his head.

“You are, you’re okay. Shh,” Wilbur whispered into his hair.

Tommy was gripping Wilbur’s shirt so tight it hurt, his face was smushed into Wil’s chest. He moved his arms to circle around Wil’s back, cushioned against the pillow they were propped up on.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, hugging Wil as tight as he could.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, what’s going on? The bullies?”

Tommy shook his head, trying to breathe so he could just explain himself. His words came out muffled and broken. “I lied. There’s no bullies.”

Wilbur’s hand didn’t stop moving in his hair, Techno’s steady circles didn’t slow.

“Then what, Theseus? You can tell us, we’re not mad. We love you.”

He could lie again. He could try to get out of it again. He could keep going, he could keep fighting. But he was so tired. He was so fucking tired.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he choked, hoping they know exactly what he meant.

And judging by the twin gasps above him, they knew what he meant. Wilbur’s hold got a little tighter, Techno’s circles a little more firm.

“You don’t want to live?” Techno asked, voice shaky.

Tommy didn’t want to die. Not really. He wanted to live, but he wanted to live and not just exist. If death was the less painful option, then yeah, he wanted to die.

“I don’t know,” he settled on. “I don’t want this.”

Wilbur blew out a breath, it ruffled Tommy’s hair. “Thank you for coming to us. Keep breathing. Do you think you can tell us a little more?” Techno pulled away, Tommy almost whined. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get dad.”

Tommy tensed, but it was too late to catch his brother’s arm, and Wil was holding him down anyway.

“Please. Don’t. Not until tomorrow. Please.”

The silence dragged on long enough for Tommy to get the courage to lift his head. He looked at Techno with teary eyes.

“Okay. Tomorrow.” Techno lay back on the bed.

Tommy sniffled, then he laughed and it morphed into another cry. Wilbur pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m sorry for lying, and being rude to you guys.”

“No, no, sunshine, it’s okay. You thought you had to, it’s okay. Just please, tell us when you feel like this,” Wil said.

Sunshine. Sunshine? Sunshine was Wil’s old name for him. Sunshine.

“Where were you today, Tommy?” Techno asked, something terrified in his tone. Something expecting and hesitant and all too awful.

“I don’t want to answer that. Tomorrow.”

Tommy watched almost in slow motion as a tear dripped down Techno’s face. It made him panic and try to get up, get to Techno. Wilbur held him too tight though.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, Tommy it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

Techno shook his head and wiped away his tears. He took Tommy’s hand in his own. He kept shaking his head, lost for words.

“I don’t want to die,” Tommy urged. “Sometimes I think it would be better—”

“No,” his brothers said in sync.

“But I don’t want that.”

Techno took a deep breath. Tommy couldn’t look at his distressed face, so he shoved his own back into Wilbur's shoulder.

The silence stretched on for too long and it made Tommy panic, worried he’d messed everything up, worried he shouldn’t have come to them. His tears started spilling again.

“No, nonono, it’s okay Tommy. You’re okay,” Wilbur muttered. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? You can stay here, we’ll stay here with you.”

Sleep sounded good. But it meant that the morning would come quicker. That meant that he’d have to explain himself sooner. He didn’t think he could do that.

But Wilbur was turning them to the side and still playing with his hair. And Techno turned off the lights, then he came back and was warm against Tommy’s back. When his breathing picked up Wilbur gently shushed him and Techno rubbed his arm.

He fell asleep blissfully fast.

**********

NOTE: this will not be continued, I don’t want to write the aftermath but just know that it was going to be happy. Tommy was going to get help, he was going to find coping strategies and learn better lines of thought. It was going to take a lot of work, time, and backtracking.

Reach out if you ever need help. Look up your hotlines and resources.

Kids Help Phone (1-800-668-6868) [Languages: English, French, Ukrainian, Russian, Pashto, Dari, Mandarin and Arabic]

List of international suicide hotlines: https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/