Chapter Text
Chapter 2:
Intervention of Mr. Tom
A week. It took one more week before servants began to flee. First it was one. When he wasn’t found dead the next day, it became two. Then four. Then six. Now ten. Currently, Tommy’s trying to keep any and all staff he can here. In the now grimy, squalid manor.
It only worsened when the head maid disappeared. Leaving half the staff unattended, without instruction, she dropped everything onto Tommy’s shoulders at once. It took him more than a few hours to not only navigate everyone, but to motivate them. He’s sure not a single staff member is doing a thing when he’s not monitoring them.
Staff members have even begun to mouth off, snip at Tommy, or ignore his authority all together. It wasn’t till one of Tommy’s better and more loyal workers stepped in, reminding them all that Tommy’s still incharge and if Phil returns, he’ll be the one to remind them all of that. They’ve been polite since then.
Phil already had to remind them of that a few years ago, when Tommy had first been appointed head of the male staff. Due to his age they’d been. . . reluctant to listen, but Phil kindly reminded them it wasn't up to them who was incharge and to quote “be happy with it.” With that, slowly Tommy gained their respect and trust to be a more than competent leader.
It’s shocking him to see it crumble away so quickly, all because of what, his age? Hasn’t he proven his worth? Tommy shakes the thought away.
Sitting tall in Phil’s large, purple and black office, Tommy slaves over the man's grand marble desk trying to scramble together any amount of organization and money he can. Looking over documents of unpaid labor, marking who’s been absent, who’s disappeared, and dismissing the meetings and appointments Phil had scheduled at this time.
With the limited amount of cash he can get his hands on, Tommy’s been stuffing envelopes with the servants' names scribbled on them. Not as professional as Phil had done it, but Tommy’s doing his best.
At least they’re getting paid, Tommy reasons with himself.
Even with half the workers paid, he’s still got so many to go and he’s running out of cash. He can grab money from Phil’s bank account in Logstedshire, but even that's limited. Not to mention, he’s starting to get some disagreeable glares from the tellers from that particular bank. While Phil has many accounts, in all different kinds of banks all over the district, Tommy only has access to the one. He’s tempted to begin reaching into his own personal account but he shuts that idea down, he’s not that desperate. Yet.
One more lookover has Tommy beginning to worry as he’s left with thirty people who have not been paid in two weeks. He begins to prioritize the better workers when an. . . idea comes to mind. He almost shuts it down as he goes back to looking over the missing workers. But after realizing he doesn’t have any other ideas, he packages and stores everything away, making his way down to the South Wing.
The Watson quarters are silent, the hall is dark, all the doors are shut and if Tommy didn’t know better, he’d assume this hall was empty of all life.
Well- maybe it is.
There's a seemingly dead man sleeping on another dead man's bed.
“What in the-” Tommy mutters as he walks into Techno’s old bedroom. “Master Wilbur!”
The older man is draped over the naked bed, all the sheets and blankets are kicked off to the side and spilling over the edges. Tommy doesn’t see the pillows and doesn’t know where to look.
Brows furrowing, Tommy turns his nose at the sight of dirty dishes stacked beside Techno’s old side table. Spoons and forks poking out from the different layers, grimy and revolting.
Tommy fixes his glare onto the brunet still seemingly dead to the world, drooping across the bed.
“Fuck Prime herself,” Tommy hisses as he makes his way over to the bed, kicking the blankets off to the side.
“Wilbur,” he calls again. The man doesn’t move, causing a small part of Tommy to shiver. He shoves it down and remains, mostly, impassive.
Sighing, Tommy looks towards the mass of blankets and starts shuffling around it to yank up one of the four missing pillows. Raising it up, he throws it down onto Wilbur's face, only for him not to twitch at all. The man growls. Which is. . . something. Tommy supposes.
“Wilbur.” There's another growl. “Wilbur! I’m trying to make sure you don’t end up homeless!” Tommy tosses the pillow to the side.
“What’s the point,” Wilbur drawls, turning his head slowly to face the mattress.
“Keeping your sorry ass alive ,” Tommy sneers as he walks back towards the door to fetch some items from Wilbur’s room. “Now get up and ready, we’re heading into town.”
Not sticking around to listen to Wilbur’s grumbling, Tommy makes his way into the man’s bedroom to grab some clothes. He grabs a pair of high waisted, slim, gray trousers, a matching gray single breasted overcoat and a white collared dress shirt and along with some other necessities. Knowing Wilbur will kick up a fight if dragged away from his “nesting room,” Tommy brings it all back to Techno’s room to get him ready there.
The man hasn’t moved an inch.
Tommy scowls, throws the clothes onto the bed and hauls Wilbur to sit up before shoving him off the edge of the bed.
The man yelps as he falls hard onto the ground with a deep thump, shaking the floor.
“What the fuck,” he swears as he sits up to glare at Tommy from over the bed.
“If you thought Phil was cruel getting you ready for the day, then you have another thing coming,” Tommy promises as he points to the clothes. “Take a shower, get your ass dressed, and meet me downstairs in the next thirty minutes. Choose not to comply and all hell will rain down on you by my wrath. Do you hear me?”
Wilbur glares but doesn’t move nor respond.
Tommy raises a brow.
Wilbur’s glare hardens.
“Ten. . . Nine. . . Eight. . .” Tommy counts down.
Scrambling to move, Wilbur slips on one of the sheets and falls on his ass before he grabs the clothes and rushes into Techno’s bathroom slamming the door shut.
After hearing the sound of water hitting a tub, Tommy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Reaching down to gather all of the loose sheets to be washed, he makes his way through the house to put them in the downstairs washroom to be cleaned later. Trying to ignore the way his steps echo through the gaping halls, he opens a cupboard stuffed with blankets and sheets.
Scoffing at the untidiness, Tommy grabs a familiar red duvet and pink sheets. He can’t help but smile at the sight of the old bedding. It was Wilbur's one and only time he attempted to clean the bedding in the South Wing; it ended up staining all the white bedding pink. He’s been banned ever since. But unlike Phil who had his sheets thrown out, Techno kept his, to embarrass his brother whenever he ended up in the other’s room.
Tommy dresses Techno’s bed with his old favorite bedding. As he fluffed out the sheets, he paused. If he let himself believe hard enough, it might’ve still smelled like him and his dumb rose shampoo.
By the time Tommy was stooping to collect the stacked old dishes into his arms, the bathroom was silent apart from the occasional shuffle of someone moving inside. He takes the dishes downstairs and washes them all himself.
It didn’t take too long, Tommy now waits at the bottom of the stairs, his dark overcoat held over his shoulder by two of his longest fingers. His black umbrella hangs from the crook of his arm as he gazes at the time on his silver watch. Frowning as limited time ticks down.
It feels both comforting and odd to be mandating Wilbur around like this. Familiar as it’s his job to prep him for the day, but odd as Wilbur never needed this much guidance. Never this. . .avoidant. Never this. . . detached.
Tommy shakes his head, reminding himself of the unorthodox circumstance they are both in right now. One he doesn’t want to remind himself of.
Finally, the brunet appears, skidding around the banister, his own brown overcoat thrown over his shoulders as his shiny shoes skid across the tiled floor.
He watches as Wilbur nearly flies down the stairs, taking three at a time before he’s stood in front of Tommy with a sheepish smile.
Raising a brow, the boy doesn’t respond as he glances down at his watch right before it tics its thirty minute mark.
He glares at Wilbur as the man swallows.
“You’re damn lucky I don’t have enough energy to be angry,” Tommy spits.
The man in front of him slouches with a sigh before reaching to fix his coat around himself more properly. “Look, I’m sorry, I–”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tommy waves it off. “I’m not mad, I just need you for thirty minutes to an hour.”
“You haven’t actually explained what we’re doing,” Wilbur mentions as he grabs his umbrella from the dark ceramic vase next to the coat hanger. Its sides are decorated with painted crows and feathers. Phil liked it for some reason.
“I would’ve had you gotten up at an appropriate time,” Tommy snips again as he goes to open the front doors. Dark and foreboding like most of the decor and style of this house. He looks down at his watch again. “Not at two o'clock in the afternoon.”
Wilbur pouts with his lip puckered out and sad eyes.
Rolling his eyes, Tommy gestures for Wilbur to exit. “Stop being sensitive, I already said I’m not mad.”
As they leave, he throws his coat on, buttons it up and makes his way down the flight of stairs leading to the front of the Watson Manor. The sides of the wide, gray marble staircase are lined with short green hedges and littered with small old statues of boar, sheep, cows, and crows.
A sleek Mercedes Benz is waiting at the bottom, shiny and clean as Tommy asked it to be. While the manor may be falling apart on the inside, no way in hell is Tommy going to let it show outwardly.
The servant hired to clean it stands to the side, his arms tucked behind his back as he waits for them with a blank expression on his face. But Tommy knows the man is writhing inside, doing yet another task unpaid, exactly like his previous labor. Tommy has to remind himself not to blame, even as his judgment gets the better of him. Bitter words and exasperated thoughts fill in his mouth and mind, begging to slip and come tumbling out. Biting his lip, he keeps them firmly in.
Opening the back door for Wilbur to slip in was the servants final task as he closes it. Tommy nods his head as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket to pull out an envelope.
“Apologies for the delay,” Tommy says quietly, handing it over to the man.
Suddenly, the man's blank expression drips into one of relief as he sighs, “Thank you.”
Nodding again, Tommy looks away as the man retreats up the stairs to the manor.
Making his way over to the driver's side of the car, Tommy lets himself in, starting the engine.
“So,” Wilbur drawls from the back as Tommy fixes his mirrors. “What are we doing?”
“Paying your damn workers,” Tommy states as he pulls the car out and around the roundabout fountain before making his way on the open road, following along the dark brick of the manor property. “You do realize they haven’t been paid since Phil left right? Four weeks ago?”
The air around them seemed to go cold. Cold and stale. It’s a familiar feeling now.
“I noticed it was getting quiet,” Wilbur finally said after a moment. He suddenly froze, before glancing up at Tommy. “Have you been doing everything around the house?”
Tommy pursed his lips in thought. He’s certainly done a lot but not everything. The backyard hasn’t been touched by Tommy’s hands in nearly three years, he certainly wasn’t going to start now. It wasn’t a priority. Priorities in the house were cooking, laundry, dishes, cleaning, and everything else that came with making sure a household didn’t fall apart. Recently, he picked up the whole paying workers thing as it was clear Phil. . . Phil probably wasn’t coming back. Not for a while at least.
He’s been doing a lot, yes, but it’s not. . . that much.
Tommy shrugged as he turned the car to enter town. “I haven’t done everything, there’s still workers helping me out. I’ve only been picking up the slack of some of the lost workers.”
“And how many workers have we lost?” Wilbur asks, leaning forward.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tommy brushes aside.
“I will not,” Wilbur says. “This actually makes sense to me now. I was wondering why no one came to clean Te- the bedroom earlier. Not until you came at least. You’ve been doing everything.”
“I’ve not done everything,” Tommy rolls his eyes.
“It’s clear you are and I won’t have it.” Wilbur is nearly in the front seat now as he leans forward. “Let me help.”
“Help do what?” Tommy laughs. “I can hardly trust you to do laundry!”
“Well I could-”
“Leave it Wilbur,” Tommy says finally. “I've got everything covered, I’ve got help even if I’m doing a bit more than my usual. You can help by getting me money out of Phil’s other bank accounts so I can pay his damn workers and possibly even myself.”
“Don’t you have access to the one towards the west side? The one in Logstedshire?”
“Yes but only so much, I’m getting some nasty looks from the security guards there, so I’m taking us to the one in Esempi and possibly L’manberg.”
“The ones I have access to,” Wilbur confirms.
Tommy nods as they pull through the big town of Esempi. Big brick office buildings, mixed with modern estates built with rounded edges describe the city perfectly. Red brick and green weatherboard with an occasional pop of modern pastel pink and turquoise makes for an oddly fitting color palette. It’s packed with people this time of day, it's why Tommy prefers to do all his errands early in the morning. He’ll make do anyway.
Parking the car isn’t an issue, and they step out to make their way down the road towards the town bank. The clouds make the day rather dreary. Bland. And if Tommy hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed the pair of cloaked figures walking along the other side of the street. They’re both fast paced as if they’re in a hurry, or hoping not to be seen.
If wearing a cloak on its own wasn’t odd enough, there's a symbol on the back of their drapes. It almost looks like a roman numeral ten and an open door beside each other in the center of an intricate circlet.
Tommy chooses to ignore them, tucking their existence into the back of his mind as he gets closer to their destination, before stopping in front of it. It is a run down building. Nothing like Kinoko’s pearly white and pink hued pillared palace of a bank. This bank reminds him of the rundown buildings from western ghost towns, the ones that were once filled with cowboys and rebels. It still fits in well with the brick buildings surrounding it.
Tommy pulls the door open for Wilbur to enter before following after him.
It's not very crowded, most have congregated on the right side of the bank, away from the entrance. The only security guard is leaning against the wall, asleep at his post.
People hardly glance at their arrival. If they do, they stare before realizing who they are and looking away. Tommy’s lip twitches upward.
Glancing over at his Master causes his smile to fall. Wilbur seems uneasy. His eyes keep darting around the room rather than focusing on the task at hand. Tommy mentally scolds himself for not giving the man a run down on how this is supposed to go. Even then, it’s odd to see him so. . . afraid. Unsure. Normally, Wilbur has no issue with environments like this, but Tommy reminds himself of the circumstances. Now, father and brother aren’t here to protect him from possible fall outs, so he’s hiding. That’s not great. . . but nevertheless, Tommy can work with this. Hopefully.
“ Tómas! ”
Eyes catching movement, Tommy watches as a familiar figure leans across the counter.
“Quackity,” Tommy greets with a small smile as he makes his way over, Wilbur following close behind.
“Long time no see my friend!” Quackity smiles back, his gold tooth shimmering. He’s a short man, dark hair, and even darker eyes. “How’ve you been? Heard it's chaos up in the manor.”
Resisting the urge to frown, Tommy waves the comment off as he and Wilbur stand across the counter from the man.
“Hardly. Master Wilbur and I are doing quite well, all things considered,” Tommy says formally. “We’re only running errands today.”
“Errands that include me.” Quackity walks around behind the counter, grabbing paperwork. “It’s busy today, was it hard getting that big ass car down here?”
“Only just,” Tommy replies, he perks up a bit. “Though, I noticed some cloaked figures. Know what that's about?” Teach him to try and start shit .
Quackity falters at the blatant ask of information. Tommy’s almost certain he’s going to ask for payment, but the man purses his lips and goes back to work as he says, “There's a new church down the road. ‘Call themselves many names but the one the sticks out the most is ‘ The Breathing Totems .’”
Tommy’s a bit shocked Quackity took the bait. “A new religion?”
“Not just that,” Quackity leans closer, giving Tommy a dead, irritated look before glancing to see no one’s looking. “A new god.”
Tommy scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Sure. Of course there is.”
The man suddenly relaxes and leans back with a stack of papers in his hands. “That’s what they're claiming, I’ll be keeping tabs.”
Tommy nods as Quackity grabs a pen and passes it over to Wilbur.
“So, Wilbur’s stepping into his papa’s shoes is he?”
Wilbur opens his mouth to respond but Tommy puts a hand on his arm and tightens it in a warning under the counter. This isn’t Wilbur’s conversation, no matter how rude it is.
“He is,” Tommy nods, “Doing a stand up job at it as well.”
“Hm,” Quackity hums dismissively. Then he’s sliding a stack of papers over. “Fill this out.”
Shakily, Wilbur starts to fill everything in. After a moment or two, he sets the pen down and pushes it back towards Quackity. He scans it over.
“How much?” He asks.
Tommy gives him the number.
The man chuckles before disappearing in the back.
“To-”
Tommy hushes Wilbur with a silent finger before pointing towards the back.
Quackity will always be listening. Always.
The man returns with a thick envelope. He hands it to Tommy but doesn’t let it go when Tommy grabs his end.
It’s like wrestling a lion keeping the scowl off his face. He despises it when Quackity gets into these moods. Though he did push first.
“Wilbur.”
The man hums, noticing the tense air.
“Wait by the car please.”
Wilbur has a much harder time than Tommy hiding his distaste. He’s almost sure Wilbur isn’t going to move until Quackity winks at the man, blowing a kiss, causing Wilbur to blush. He scowls with disgust before disappearing outside.
Letting go of the envelope and allowing Tommy to tuck it into his jacket, Quackity’s passive expression melts into that of disapproval.
“Do you know what the fuck your doing Tommy? Or are you running around blind?”
“I’m not wearing a blindfold if that’s what you're asking,” Tommy denies as he turns to lean back on the counter, back facing Quackity, looking at the far window. “Why does that matter to you?”
“It matters because people are talking. Lots of people are talking.”
“Well aware of that,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “You're not helping though, talking to Wilbur that way.”
Quackity rolls his own eye, the blind, milky white one not moving at all. “Please, that imbecile would’ve had no idea what’s going on if it happened right in front of him.”
Whipping around, Tommy snarls and gets up towards Quackity’s face. “He shouldn’t have to know. And he’s a lot smarter than you give him credit for.”
“Then why haven’t you told him?” Quackity accuses. “Why haven’t you told him the reason his daddy hasn’t returned is probably because of the mafia after his head? Why haven’t you told him his brother probably died the same way? Why haven’t you told him that his servants are frothing at the mouth for his head, not to mention yours.”
“Because he doesn’t have to know,” Tommy spits. “He doesn’t have to know any of that shit. He shouldn’t have to. So for as long as it takes, I will bear this burden, and you will be happy with it. Do you understand me, Quackity of Las Nevadas? ”
The man stiffens.
“I like you, Quackity. But you forget who the Watson family is. Why they’ve been safe from the mafia for all these years. Believe me, I understand the dangers coming forth, what Phil protected that house, that family, from. But I believe there is more to this story than just “ the mafia ”.”
“So you’ll just keep living oblivious to it all?”
“No,” Tommy leans back as he shakes his head. “We’ll live quietly.”
{x~xXx~x}
Leaning against the car door, Wilbur wears a frustrated expression as Tommy walks out of the bank. His brows are furrowed, wrinkling up his face as his nose twitches every time his lips curl and uncurl. Tommy briefly smiles at it as he makes his way over, the man noticing quickly and standing up straight.
“Did everything go okay?” Wilbur asks. “Did Quackity give you any trouble?”
“He gave me a bit of a word but nothing to be concerned about,” Tommy shrugs as he opens the car door for Wilbur. “I got the money in the end.”
“I will be concerned,” Wilbur snarls. “He tried to kiss me.”
Barking a loud boisterous laugh, Tommy slams the car door on Wilbur as he makes his way to his own side, laughing under his breath along the way.
“He did not try to kiss you Wilbur,” Tommy chuckles as he gets in.
“He did though!” Wilbur exclaims. “You saw that didn’t you!?”
“He just wanted you to leave,” Tommy explains as he pulls out the car and down the road. “There was nothing else to that. Just Quackity being Quackity.”
“I don’t know,” In the mirror, Tommy watches Wilbur lean back and gaze dreamily up at the roof of the car. “I kinda felt a spark there.”
Tommy can’t help but crack up with laughter.
He’s got this handled.
Hopefully.
:] :) :D ;p