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Tommy knew that Wilbur and him acted like brothers—he made jokes about it all the time.
Light-hearted jabs aimed at one another after a long day, quite often followed by either hasty objections or a muttered insult. Their tag team effort for annoying Phil, expertly perfected over many months. Hours spent on call into the early morning until one or both of them fell asleep.
Hell, even their appearances looked vaguely similar—going so far as to be mistaken for actual family when they were out in public together.
He couldn't really say this was something he had expected them to have in common, however.
“Are you alright?”
Everything was spinning—Wilbur's concerned face just barely visible before it swam out of focus once again. Warm hands reached out to grab him by the elbow when he stumbled, a comforting weight to fight against the wars of dizziness with.
“Ha, that’s- Lovejoy, am I right? I don’t…” he trailed off weakly, leaning further into the arms all but wrapped around him.
They pushed him away before he could properly sink into them, something Tommy made the considerable effort to glare at Wilbur for. The brunet stayed undeterred, however—placing a shaking hand on Tommy’s cheek as anxiety slowly started to seep into his voice.
“Hey, Toms, what’s going on? Are you okay? Can I- what can I do?”
It took all the strength Tommy had (which, arguably wasn’t a lot) to stay standing as the horrifically familiar sick feeling settled deep in his gut, curling up just under his ribs. He pressed harder against the hands holding him up as his knees almost buckled, blood rushing from his head straight down to his toes.
The blonde blinked, attempting a flimsy smile when Wilbur came back into focus for a bit. “Sorry, I’m- It’s just my blood pressure. Can we sit down somewhere—just for a minute?”
Thankfully, the elder seemed to steel himself pretty fast—nodding a couple times before carefully pulling Tommy away from the side of the road they had randomly stopped at.
Tommy couldn't quite tell where they were going, probably due to the fact that time skipped anytime he blinked his eyes shut for too long. Wilbur's hands were relatively grounding on his upper arms; soft and firm at the same time, though still accompanied by a slight tremor.
Cool wood against the back of his thighs did an even better job of dragging him back to full consciousness, old rainwater soaking through his jeans from when it had drizzled earlier in the day. It wasn't the most pleasant feeling, Tommy noted silently—though still miles better than the aching vertigo that overtook him at the very core. Neither of them felt the need to speak up, the only sound filling the damp Brighton air the distant hum of cars passing them by.
Tommy groaned as he let his head tip forward, suddenly feeling far too heavy for his neck to hold up on its own.
“Shit! Okay, uh-” Wilbur cried anxiously as he jumped to catch the blonde’s head almost as soon as it dropped, pressing it against his shoulder carefully. “You’re okay—I’ve got you.”
Breaths stuttered from the boy's chest as he tried and failed to breathe through the swarms of dizziness, head leaning further into the warm weight of the brunet’s arm with a pathetic whine. Normally he wouldn't even dare to show this side of himself to anyone—let alone Wilbur of all people.
Something about this particular moment made it seem okay, however. Though he suspected it was something to do with the fact he felt too weak to move an inch from that spot, and less about the choice to be emotionally vulnerable.
The shoulder his face was pressed against moved slightly under his weight, stilling to a perfect stop when Tommy faintly voiced his complaints.
“Is there anything that helps? Like, uh.. Fuck, man- you need sugar? Do you want me to call your dad?” Wilbur fussed, reaching for his back pocket before Tommy stirred his limp hand to stop him.
“No, it’s.. ‘m okay. It’ll pass. You just gotta… give it a minute.”
Wilbur hummed softly, slowly moving his hand away from his phone as if he wasn’t quite convinced he wouldn't need it yet. His eyes stayed trained to the top of Tommy’s head where it was slumped against him pitifully, worry intense enough that the blonde could practically feel his hair singeing at the roots.
“Put your head down.”
Tommy didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to waste his energy on sending a confused look in Wilbur’s general direction. “...what?”
“Just trust me! Put your head down, like, between your knees.”
Gentle yet insistent, Wilbur's hands shoved the teen up off his shoulder and tipped his head forward—keeping one hand on his arm in case he leaned too far forward.
Tommy shakily moved to prop his elbows up on his thighs when it seemed the elder wasn't going to give in, pressing fingers to his forehead in an attempt to lift some of the weight bearing down on him. The colours shifted in his peripheral vision—brain somehow feeling as if it could float off into the heavens and sink through the floor at the same time.
To give Wilbur credit, it helped, just a little. Over time the toppling dizzy feeling faded to a slight light-headedness, thrumming faintly at the back of his skull. His eyes managed to focus themselves after a minute or so; the uncomfortable prickly sensation slowly fighting the dull numbness for control of his hands and feet.
“Why’d that actually work?” the blonde asked feebly, tipping his head to the side so he could peer at the elder through his fringe.
Wilbur laughed softly, the last edges of anxiety finally dissolving from his face. “Yeah, I uh- I get dizzy spells a lot,” he explained quietly, reaching a hand out to carefully ruffle through Tommy’s hair. “You kind of pick up a couple tips after a while.”
Shoving away the brunet’s hand with a laugh, Tommy moved to stand from the bench with an air of complete confidence—though he still took Wilbur’s offered hand when everything blurred for a second.
“I’m calling it your old man wisdom, actually,” he declared, walking back in the direction they came and leaving Wilbur’s offended gasp and hurried footsteps over his shoulder.
“Okay, alright, I see how it is. You can buy your own ice cream then, you fucking child.”
Tommy whined dramatically, stepping all his weight on one leg and leaning across Wilbur’s front, smirking when the man still moved to catch him. “Fine, young man wisdom then. God.”
“FUCK!”
Whatever chatter had previously filled the living room ceased as Jack’s shout resonated from the next room over—all three teens stilling to try gain a sense of what was going on.
“Fuck, fuck- shit! What the fuck!”
Tubbo tipped his head from his place on the carpet to look up at the two residents of the sofa above him, quiet concern churning in his coffee tinted eyes. The other two couldn’t really give him an answer, however—Tommy already halfway out his seat with his sights trained on the door.
His socked feet pattered softly across the living room carpet, creaking on the hall’s hardwood as he neglected to step over the one loose plank in the doorway.
The two left behind in the living room shared a single look before rushing up after him, almost running right into Tommy’s back when the blonde suddenly came to a stop.
It was reasonably easy to see why—the second the youngest moved from the doorway the lovely view of Wilbur sprawled out across the kitchen floor greeted them. Legs bent at awkward angles against the tile, head slumped to the side in such a way that made you fear for his neck, skin a sickly white; he certainly looked the part.
Niki and Jack flitted around him nervously, working together to scramble up the scraps of knowledge on first aid they had between them. They looked frazzled—in both appearance and actions—hands tapping anxiously against the brunet’s ghostly cheeks with little to no response.
“What the fuck even happened?” Tommy demanded as he shook himself out of his daze, jumping to also kneel by Wilbur’s side on the floor. “You knock his fuckin’ lights out, or somethin’?”
Jack spluttered for a second as he looked between the blonde’s narrowed eyes and the lump on the floor in front of him. A glass of water held in front of his face managed to finally shut his mouth—Niki moving back to her spot kneeling beside Wilbur’s head as Jack placed the water to the side.
“He passed out. Can one of you call an ambulance, please?” she asked the room, a sturdy presence in the chaos of whatever the fuck was going on in Wilbur’s kitchen.
The two at the other end of the room blinked for a second before Tubbo started back towards the living room, likely in search of his phone. “Yeah, hang on, I got it-”
“No! No, he uh- I’m fairly sure he just does this sometimes, it’s fine,” Tommy interrupted quickly, feeling the eyes of every other person turn to him the instant he spoke up. “..probably.”
It took a bit of time for the information to settle—Tubbo’s few steps back into the room far slower than the ones he took out of it, Niki’s gaze lingering on him before she inevitably moved her attention back to Wilbur.
If anything, he looked even worse than he did before. Eyelids twitched softly to show the whites of his eyes, shallow breaths caught at the very top of his ribcage. His head lolled against the cold floor in a way that didn't look comfortable—neck strained backwards to show his racing pulse.
The sight made Tommy want to reach out to him. To smooth his hair down and shift him around so he didn't have to kill his neck. To tell him he was gonna be fine; to believe it.
Jack’s hands also hovered skittishly, seemingly caught between wanting to help and being scared to even touch him.
“Is there anything soft we can put under his head? Or uh- something we can prop his legs up with?” Niki proposed, saving Jack from his plight of indecision and stirring the room back into action in one fell swoop.
Ranboo pulled his hoodie over his head—fast enough to whip his hair into his eyes—in the same second that Tubbo manhandled one of the kitchen chairs halfway across the room. The smaller teen struggled to lift Wilbur’s gangly legs up high enough on his own, only managing to get them to rest comfortably on the chair with Ranboo’s combined effort.
Ignoring his friends, admittedly comical, actions, Tommy turned his head back to Niki as the elder folded the offered hoodie under Wilbur’s head. The brunet appeared to stir at the movement, face scrunching up just a little until his hazy eyes slowly blinked open again.
They stayed foggy for a second or so, glazed over enough that Tommy almost shook Wilbur awake just to get rid of the confused look to his eyes. It cleared up after a second, thank fucking god—soon replaced by soft creases at the edge of brown eyes.
“..ayup.”
“Don’t ‘ayup’ me, you fuckin’ prick,” Tommy protested lightly, sliding his legs out from under him to sit more comfortably. “You okay? D’you need something?”
Wilbur shut his eyes again, tension melting from his shoulders as he sank back into the cool kitchen tile. The exhaustion seemed to roll off him in waves—strong enough that Tommy almost wanted to sink to the floor next to him.
“‘m good.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” Niki asked surely, brushing the fringe from Wilbur’s face with a gentle care. “You don't need an ambulance or anything?”
The brunet hummed weakly, bringing a hand up towards her in what was probably supposed to be a wave of dismissal. It fell a little short—the overall lack of strength in his muscles leaving his wrist to plainly smack off the floor. “mmm.. happens a lot. ‘s fine.”
Jack didn't look particularly convinced, looming awkwardly at the side with his hand twitching to grab the glass of water once more. “Are you-”
“Mhm. Can y’shut up? ‘got a headache.”
“Shutting up now.”
Everything was going great.
Well, it had been until about a minute ago.
Vlog filming always had its ups and down, and a full day of nothing but ups was practically destined for something to go wrong already. Tommy has managed too long without a major mishap—had gone a day too long without the snowball of misfortune hurtling down towards his cottage.
God always found a way to right her wrongs, in the end.
“Tommy?” Ranboo cried from the other end of the first road—his call still breathy from their ten minute or so run. “You good, man?”
Despite his best efforts, Tommy couldn't bring himself to open his mouth and reply. The strain in his ribs was painfully tight and his muscles didn't seem to want to obey him anymore. They gave up on trying to work altogether as his knees buckled under his weight—slowly sinking down to dig his jeans into the soft dirt below.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Suddenly Ranboo was in front of him, warm hands pressed to his shoulders and voice no longer muffled by the mask on his chin. Tommy couldn't answer. His brain was far more focused on keeping his face off the floor then trying to force words from it.
“C’mon, work with me here. What’s going on?” the elder asked, an edge of urgency bleeding into his tone for a second.
Tommy leaned into the hands virtually holding him up as he splayed his own on the ground in front of him, letting the silence stretch on just a moment longer as he waited for the wave to pass. “Sorry, my uh- my blood pressure’s like, going. Just need a.. need a minute.”
“Oh fuck, alright. You wanna go find Phil?”
Letting out whatever sound his throat chose to make, Tommy nodded—letting Ranboo carefully pull him to his feet when the other teen moved to stand.
Colours and shapes alike swirled across his vision the second he lifted his chin from his chest, blonde hair falling into blue eyes as he pitifully leaned half his weight onto Ranboo.
They must have looked ridiculous; stumbling through the woods as a collection of gangly unkempt limbs, Tommy flipping between being close to carried and almost falling to the ground at a pace you could only call impressive, Ranboo still wearing his skewed sunglasses. In all honesty, it was no surprise that Phil did laugh at them as they approached—glancing up from where he had his hand holding up Wilbur’s head.
“You too, huh?” he asked, stupid smirk spreading across his face just when Tommy didn't have the energy to wipe it away. “I said ‘jungle athletics’ was going to be a bad idea, now look at us!”
Wilbur mumbled something incomprehensible as Ranboo maneuvered Tommy to sit on the floor beside him, forehead slipping down in Phil’s hold before the blonde moved to support it properly again. Sighing lightly, Tommy blinked against the dizziness and slumped his head against Wilbur’s rather boney shoulder.
Under the watchful eye of Phil, Wilbur moved his head to lean against Tommy in return—temple resting just above the crown of his head. Neither spoke, though the brunet shakily reached out a hand to interlock his fingers with Tommy’s.
“You know what this makes us, Wilbur?” the younger asked, smile clear in his voice even with his face turned to the floor.
“..don’t you fuckin-”
“Wilbur, we’re like brothers.”