Chapter Text
Tommy wasn’t sure why he was in panic mode so fast. Maybe it was the suffocatingly soft blankets around him, something he’s never felt. Or the feeling of cleanliness on his skin, the usual dirt and matted hair feeling on his body suddenly gone.
As his eyes slowly focused, he found himself in a giant bed, a king or queen no doubt. The covers were white and soft, the pillows matching. The bed underneath him was so soft Tommy felt he had to fight against instincts to be enveloped in it and sink away.
He didn’t know why all of this was alarming. And why he questioned it was alarming in itself. He had to fight against his own mind, against thoughts of, its better like this, thoughts of, so much healthier, and listen to his common sense.
(Even if it makes his heart race and drains himself of any calmness he may want to feel, because sometimes to stay safe you have to keep yourself on edge.)
He’s homeless. Tubbo would never let tommy in his house.(His father would kill him) Ranboo doesn’t like white bedsheets.
He never showers.(He doesn’t get a chance to)
He forced himself to sit up, but man did he not want to. It was so soft and warm- No. No, this is Tommy Danger Innit, he can resist some blankets.
(He’s resisted good things before)
“Oh, you’re awake!”
Suddenly, the alarms were going off once more. Tommy’s head snapped to a door straight ahead from the bed. The room was make of quartz, the floor spruce wood. The door was large, made of a wood Tommy’s never seen. A darkened red, yet a slight tint of purple.
“Fuck you!” Tommy was quick to feel for his pockets, to snap at the god ahead of him.(If your quick to offend them, they have to be in defense) He didn’t know why he was here. Nor, how he was here. He wanted to be with Tubbo and Ranboo, even if they’d chew him up after-
Oh.
It was all coming back, now.
“Well, that’s not nice.” The god let out a scoff, and Tommy took in his features closely this time. His eyes were covered now by golden, circular-rimmed glasses. His hair akin to Tommy’s, though brown.
He was tall. Tommy didn’t like that.
(Tall people were always harder to offend.)
He was smiling, but the worst part of the smile was how genuine and almost.. kind.. it looked. As though the person before him weren’t a god.
As though the god before him hadn’t sent Tommy to practically kill himself.
As though the god were just another person that probably would’ve been kind enough to offer Tommy a temporary home back at the village.
He looked human.
And worst of all,
He looked kind.
“Yeah, it’s also not fuckin’ nice to send a guy to battle with demons.” Tommy spat each word out as if it were poison on his tongue. He spoke as though every word were a lifeline. He kept a glare on wilbur, as though losing sight of him means losing his life.
It very well could, Tommy reminded himself.
“Well, next time don’t break into my home. That’s not nice.” The god bickered with Tommy like he couldn’t simply say, “kill yourself”, And be done with it.
“Next time don’t have a fucking brunch near a town in poverty.” Tommy was sitting on the bed with arms crossed, now noting the soft clothes he was changed into. The shirt was stark white, and the shorts were black. What the hell was this all-white-nonsense.
“Huh. I guess you’ve got a point.” The god finally offered, shrugging quickly after. He acted as though he wasn’t a god telling a teen they were smarter than him.
Tommy didn’t know how to feel in the moment. Sure, he’s glad he’d get to tell Tubbo and Ranboo he won an argument with a god, but..
Would he even see them again?
(And if he did.. would they want to see him again?)
So, Tommy brought up the most damning question on his mind.
“Did you fucking undress me?”
The room was silent for a solid few moments, and then the god burst into laughter. A soft, yellow turtleneck proven to be loose as it falls foreward due to the gods hunching laugh.
He looked as though he’s been told the funniest joke he’s ever heard.
“I’m fuckin’ serious, man-! I’m all fucking- clean! And- changed! Did you look at me naked?!” Tommy was shouting amd cursing, “Cause that’s fucking weirdchamp, mate!” Tommy was glaring at Wilbur was he kept laughing, even raising his glasses to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes.
“No, no.. I didn’t look at you naked. I’m a god, not a freak.” The god’s smile told tommy otherwise, but he wouldn’t say that.
“You look like one.” Okay, maybe he will.
The god just smiled more, shaking his head and..
Fuck.
Fuck, he’s walking closer.
“Back off! I don’t want fucking- herpes! Or whatever STD you have!”
Okay, so, maybe rocking a boat while a shark is nearby-
Isn’t smart.
But,
It’s Tommy.
And the god pressed a hand to his chest, gasping and faking a hurt expression. As though he was truly insulted. Except it was clearly a joking expression.
Tommy wished he was insulted.
(Damn tall people)
“STD’s? How lowly do you mortals really think of me..” He offered a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Are you some fucking theatre kid, or did you become the god of drama too?”
The god smiled a little, walking over despite Tommy’s shouts and curses to “stop that!”, “Back the fuck off!”, And just “fuck yourself!”
But, the god was soon sitting on the end of the bed. It had tall pillars on all four ends, a canopy over it that looked to be folded over the top, kept from falling. Tommy wished there was some railings or ends- keep the fucker off.
But tommy, pressed against the head board, was at complete mercy to the god at the foot of the bed.
(He tried not to ignore the nausea in his gut at that realization..)
“I’m not going to hurt you.” The god offered.
Tommy could smell the bullshit from a mile away.
He wished he were a mile away from this fucker.
“Sure. And I’m the richest man alive.” Tommy bit back bitterly, scowling at him. “You should go kill yourself. Nobody would miss you.”
Okay, maybe he’s being a bit too viscious.
But this man deserves it.
The man whose ended millions of lives simply because he felt like it.
The man who represents suffering.
Who enjoys the suffering of everyone.
And maybe Tommy can show his anger and cuss at this man until his throat is raw-
But he’s terrified.
Tommy’s only 15. He’s a big man, of course he is-!
But..
He knows he could die right now.
His heart won’t stop hammering in his chest.
He’s yelling and talking fast so his offset breath isn’t picked up on-
He’s folding his arms so they shake less.
“I know your scared, but I haven’t hurt you yet, and I don’t plan to.” The god’s words worked to scare and anger Tommy further.
“I’m- I’m not fuckin’- scared! You’re scared!” Tommy could hear the tremble in his words. He could feel his throat closing up as he finished the sentence. He could feel the tears daring to build.
The god frowned at Tommy, reaching out his hand.
Tommy hated the way his composure broke to flinch at it, to cover himself with now, extremely visible shaking hands.
“..I’m not always viscious.” The god gently held Tommy’s trembling hands, completely breaking Tommy’s angry exterior and causing the entire damn to break.
The tears flowed freely and he could feel everything rushing in.
The god just held his hands. He wasn’t hurting him, wasn’t twisting them, just holding them.
His grip wasn’t tight- but it wasn’t loose enough to free his hands when he’s breaking down like this.
Aside from the fact of who was holding his hands- It was nice. It was.. It was warm. Calloused hands around his, bringing him back.
Grounding him, he realized.
“I don’t want you to feel unsafe around me-.. I’m.. I’m not always heartless.” His words were soft, quieter than most have ever spoken to him. He didn’t understand why the god was so gentle. Why he was being treated like a.. person.
Wilbur didn’t seem to know Tommy’s querys, just uttering the same words of comfort. That he wasn’t going to hurt him. He was safe.
Tommy wasn’t sure if he could believe that. A part of him wanted to. Really.. really wanted to.
When you fight for so long, when you’re always angry..
You want to be safe.
You want to believe you can be soft, you can be gentle and beloved.
But when you’ve been angry so long,
Having to second guess everything for as long as you recall-
You don’t want to think that maybe, just maybe-
You never had to do all that.
That if you made a choice sooner, you’d be safe sooner.
(Because Tommy’s the only reason he’s stuck in the life he’s living. Nobody roped him into this. He made these choices.)
Staring into the gods eyes, Tommy isn’t sure to see an enemy, or to see safety.
In a way, he sees both.
In another way, he refuses to see either.
When he looks at Wilbur, he urges himself to see a stranger.
To see someone you’ve once merely brushed the shoulder of, on a random store corner in a bustling town, and never seen since.
To see someone without any heart.
To see a face with no story behind it, a book forever unopened.
But even if Tommy chose to keep Wilbur’s book closed,
He was certain the god would read every subtext and publishing mark on Tommy’s cover until Tommy would allow him to read.
And staring at Wilbur was hard to do, knowing that.
He knew, somewhere distant, he’d have to make a choice. Have to decide whether Wilbur was friend or foe.
But he didn’t want to.
And for as long as he can- He won’t.