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Wilbur could just tell that Tommy was little as soon as he walked into the building. In the reception to his little brother's sixth form, sat Tommy, hunched over, ear defenders on his ears [despite the fact that the room was near silent, save for the faint clicking of acrylic nails against a keyboard that slipped through the closed glass window; either Tommy was really struggling with sensory input right now, or he was just enjoying the familiarity and light pressure of wearing the headphones] and fiddling with his lanyard.
He cleared his throat and caught the attention of both the receptionist and Tommy. The little has watery eyes and a quivering lip - usual for when he slipped in school. College was hell for autistic people in general, even worse when you add the fear of sipping into littlespace into the equation.
Tommy rushed towards Wilbur, slamming into him [enough to elicit a small oomph from Wilbur] and wrapping his arms around Wilbur’s middle. When the young boy looked up, he looked so young, Wilbur was flooded with the feeling of nostalgia - despite the fact he had never seen Tommy when he was actually a small boy. [Anemoia, his brain whispered, recalling a time when Tommy had info dumped about unique words that could be used in Lovejoy songs, a feeling of nostalgia for a time you never knew].
“Hey bub,” he almost whispered, enamoured with his little brother, captivated by the overwhelming feeling of how much he loves him, “You ready to go?”
Tommy nodded, burying his head into Wilbur’s collarbone, and Wilbur looked to his left, smiling bashfully at the waiting receptionist.
“Just sign this and you can leave after he signs out.”
Wilbur nodded, taking the clipboard and pencil and scribbling away as quickly as he could, which wasn't easy with a kid attached to your front, he'd like it to be known. Once the form was handed back to the receptionist, Tommy tapped the ID badge attached to the end of his lanyard to the scanner, and Wilbur was leading them out the doors, to the parking lot.
“Want me to carry you, precious?” Wilbur asks, to which Tommy shakes his head. Figures. They're still on campus, despite the car being so close, and there are kids still milling about. They, shakily for Tommy's part, make it to the car. Wilbur is beyond thankful that he hadn't taken the carseat out of his car from when he had regressed with Phil, so all he needed to do in his panicked mind was grab Tommy’s littlespace bag - which was sitting right next to the little.
“I grabbed that before I left so you could have some proper toys, not just stim toys. Tommy moved the bag towards Wilbur so he could unzip it, and took it back once it was open. He grabbed a crinkle toy that looked like a giraffe, followed by his dummy, and Wilbur saw, as he was starting the car, that Tommy hesitated.
“Don't worry, Sunshine, these windows are tinted. Nobody at your school will know that I have such a little boy with me.” This satisfied Tom, who slipped the paci between his lips with no qualms.
The ride was peaceful - a tad long, but Wilbur knew that both he and Tommy enjoyed car rides, big or little. Unlike the short walk from the school to the car, when Wilbur opened the door and undid Tommy’s seatbelt, the boy made grabby hands, which Wilbur knew meant uppies. The boy was silent for the entire ride, and clearly tired, which normally meant he was very young, so Wilbur was happy to indulge his sweet little boy some cuddles as they made it upstairs to Wilbur’s apartment.
Once they got inside, Wil gave Tommy a kiss on the forehead before placing him on the sofa, hoping the kid would be okay with him slinking to the kitchen for a moment.
Tommy didn't understand. One moment, Dada was giving him cuddles and the next, the man was gone. He remembered that sometimes Wilbur had to leave for a little while to go to the toilet, but it had been forever and Dada wasn't coming back. Was he bad for leaving school early? Was it because he hadn't spoken? Dada usually didn't mind when he went quiet, but his parents never liked it [back when he still lived with his parents]. But it just felt so wrong. Words were for big kids.
He tried to calm himself, looking at the bedtime story Wilbur had read to him a couple of nights ago, still on the coffee table in front of him, looking at the fun posters on the walls and the ecosystems on his mantelpiece. He really tried to calm himself down, but he didn't know what to do when he was so small and vulnerable and alone. So, Tommy, so small, a baby really, did what babies do: he cried.
Almost immediately, Dada came skidding round the corner, sliding on his socks that Tommy knew were inside out, like his. He looked at Tommy, and seemingly relaxed when he realised Tommy hadn't moved from his spot on the sofa.
Dada moved towards him, kneeling down so that they were eye level. Tommy, still sitting, shuffled closer to Wilbur, head looking towards Wilbur's face but eyes decidedly looking elsewhere. They're so close, Wilbur can see the bags on Tommy's face a million times more defined, as if studying the younger's face through a microscope. Slowly, hesitantly, Tommy lays his head on his Dada's shoulder, which Wilbur takes as permission to play with the golden mop on Tommy's head - the action making him shudder, clearly unused to the sheer amount of love he's receiving.
They stay like that for a while, silent- the only sounds being Tommy's soft breathing and the sound of Tommy's sweatshirt under Wilbur's calloused hand from Wilbur rubbing comforting circles into his baby's back. Then, Wilbur scoops him up, placing him with minimal strain on his hip, and moved to the kitchen, right hand gently brushing the curls from the child's eyes.
"My sweet little boy," Wilbur croons, tapping the kettle on, and going to grab the milk from the fridge, "My Tommy, what an angel."
Tommy raises his head, as if shocked Wilbur would talk so highly of him, and smiles, all teeth around his dummy. "How old are you, bubby?"
He hadn't really needed to ask that question honestly, it was pretty obvious that Tommy was just between toddler and babyspace. However, it was routine for him to ask that, and little Tommy - although not always answering - always appreciates it, Wilbur could tell.
He sets Tommy down on the island, and Tommy just looks up at him, all yellow dummy and wide eyes. Tommy usually slips quite young, and for that reason is usually nonverbal. Not, by any means, to say that he's quiet, no. His unmatchable energy as a teenager is only, well, matched by his energy as a toddler. Tommy doesn't answer his question, but again, it wasn't hard to figure out. Wilbur chuckled, "You want some angel milk, bear?"
Tommy nods, making grabby hands at Wilbur, wanting to be carried. "Sweetheart, I can't make your milk if I'm holding you, but I'll give you lots of cuddles afterwards, I promise."
Tommy pouted, pulling his legs toward himself to cross them and stimming as he watched his Dada. That, Wilbur thought, was as much acquiescence as he'd get.
So Wilbur pulled a bottle and a mug from his cupboards, placing a tea bag - green tea with lemon - in his mug shortly after.
It wasn't long before both drinks were done - this was simply routine for him.
He opted for leaving the tea on the counter to get later once it had cooled to a manageable warm temperature, and grabbed the luke-warm angel milk, sweeping Tommy off the side and into his arms smoothly. This elicited a quiet giggle from the boy, and Wilbur planted a small kiss to his temple in return.
Wilbur moved them back to the sofa, sitting down and positioning Tommy on his lap, arm underneath his head, ready for his milk. It wasn't long before Tommy was drinking, hasty little sips draining the bottle in no time. Wilbur just watched, starry-eyed at his brother (son?), overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love he felt for TommyInnit.
Whilst Tommy's eyes had been blinking sluggishly as he drained the bottle, he was still awake. Wilbur looked at the storybook still on the coffee table from the last time they'd ended up like this - Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch. Big or Small, Tommy often found it hard to accept that people loved him for him, so the book quickly became his favourite. Wilbur read it every night, he knew his little brother liked the stability of rigid routine.
He picked up the book, thankfully not disturbing the baby in his lap too much, and flipped it open with one hand. He was sure the other hand would get numb under Tommy's head, but that was a problem for future Wilbur.
"A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang:
I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always-"
Wilbur turned his head to look at his baby's sleeping face, not needing the book to recite the last line of the poem, "As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."