Chapter Text
Tommy wakes up groggily, his signature cheeky nature faltering and fading, his forehead had the imprint of the very steering wheel he'd slept on.
He leaps from the car with no grace and love. However, not without a hint of doubt, one must be cautious on this day of the year of our Lord, 2001, on September 10th.
He tumbles on to the cement, directly into a puddle.
He sniffs.
Then drinks its flowing nectar.
Delicious. The earthy notes of dirt and that acidic tang of gasoline made it worth the tumble.
But Tommy IÑNIT is no tumbler, nor a fumbler, because it's a new day. Nor is he a Tumblr, he’ll never quit Instagram, his sweet beloved. He loves pictures of aesthetically pleasing food and middle aged mothers too much.
Wait-! But Molly and Tubbo are his beloved?! What is the meaning of this!
This liquid…
Timble stares at it with incredibly incredulous eyes.
He licks it again, tasting it, his wolfy witch (reference!!) powers activating. He frowns.
This is no ordinary water.
His knees start to shake. His hands quiver. His teeth chattering.
God no…
It's…
It's still water.
Chommy bolts back to the pathetic stupid fucking good for nothing pointless car I hate that car so fucking much it failed at it's one purpose no I'm not projecting whatever could you mean and grabs his Fortnite™ Golden Scar gun.
Chommy yommy yummy’s mind is now fully awake, unlike the previous previous chapter he featured in. With a deep breath, he recalled his mother wolf words of wisdom. His emotions? Steeled and hard. His heart? Hard. And his vision? Eagle eye sharp. Very hard too.
And then he starts blasting.
“BEGONE YOU WRETCHED CREATURE!”
But alas, the water remains. In fact, it spread like a disease.
Tom Simons snarls, the formerly cheeky boy throws down his gun in a fit of uncontrollable American rage. What poppycock! Oh good heavens!
He plops down and fixes himself into a criss-cross applesauce position, then thinks.
First a mud god that swears, a car that failed it's one purpose on this green god forsaken earth and now this?
It almost feels like there's something preventing him from success. He's supposed to be Big Crime Time! He's supposed to win back Tubbo and Molly's love! He's supposed to trump old men and win the public's loving gaze!
The blond boy gazes at the heavens.
He scoops some mud and squeezes it. It oozes out between his fingers, leaving his hand slick and mmmoist.
Perhaps the mud gods weren't all that after all.
He slaps his face. Stop! What is this blasphemy?! He's no heretic!
He believes in the mud gods, he does.
A wheel of the stupid car pops off, nearly decapitating him.
He truly does believe.
Oh, what good is it to believe in something that never helps you. Something that gives presents and shoves you in a direction and expects you to Deal. With. It.
Tommy sighs.
He didn't need A direction, he needed directions!
Despite mother Wolf's words of love from when she was alive, he wasn't a true wolf boy. He's the runt of the litter. He's not even a wolf!
Tommy sighs again.
Whatever.
He lays down.
Perhaps he'll have a prophetic dream that'll show him the way.
Maybe.
Soft footsteps crunch as they fall on concrete, gravel and sand.
Timbo jumps to his feet and readies his claws, it could be anything.
“Big Crime Time I presume?”
It was that one guy from the convenience store! Wow! He looks less dead than before and oh wow he smells like death itself oh fucking shit JESUS CHRIST (and garlic).
Tokky init coughs.
“Dude you smell like ass with two s’s.”
Wilbur blinks, “But as only has one s? Whatever-! I have something important for you.”
Hommy lowers his defenses, something important? Perhaps the mud gods have heard his pleads!
“Oh?”
“I’ve heard about your alpha wolf abilities, you seem to possess incredible powers. I've also heard you've been failing to accomplish your goals, correct?”
“........yes?”
Just who does this Wilbur guy think he is?
Wilbur grins, revealing his gums then clasps his hands in a rather very evil way. Tommy has to resist the urge to vomit. Now is not the time.
“I too have been failing, so how about we team-”
“Aren't you like, unemployment or something?” Chimpo Ain't It picks his nose, emergency rations. He forgot to eat breakfast, mystery floor water just doesn't cut it.
“What-? That's not- That's not relevant!”
Tommy swore he saw the brunet’s hand partially fall off.
“I can offer you something more important, more valuable than you've ever realized.”
“Yeah? Whatever it is, I don't want it. I don't like solicitors.”
“I can-”
“Why's your hair white? Are you old or something?”
“...I-”
“Why are you wearing glasses? Are you blind? Omg are you blind and old? Omg. You're old and blind ong.”
“I. Can. G-!”
“What's your views on the socioeconomic climate of America?”
Wilbur slaps his hand over the mouth of Chommy innit. The beautiful blond boy sticks out his tongue as a natural defense mechanism but Wilbur holds firm and slaps his other hand down. What a determined bastard.
“As. I. was. saying… I have something very important to you. Something you can use to get Tubbo and Molly back.”
Tommy's eyebrows furrow, then quirks one up.
“I have….”
Wilbur removes his hands and pulls out two shiny black discs, one with purple and white stripes in the center and the other, a bright green.
Chommy whispers in awe, “The discs… I've only heard about these in legends…”
“The very same,” Wilbur nods, “With these you can get your beloved(s) back in no time. But!
He pulls them out of Tommyinnit's striking/killing range.
“You have to work for me first. Then I'll give them to you.”
Tommy frowns. Working for an unemployed employee? And how did he know Tubbo and Molly?
But those are the discs. The only two like them in the world.
Wilbur sticks out his hand.
“Do we have a deal?”
Tommy licks his own hand and shakes Wilbur's. Wilbur cringes and shudders.
“Deal.”