Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s the 20th of December when Tommy realizes there’s no tree in the living room.

The realization hits him strangely–like the softness of falling snow, but followed by a stinging similar to when he would play with Wilbur and Techno, throwing snowballs at each other until it settled underneath their mittens and sleeves. However, with that sting came the promise of gentle hands soothing the snowflakes away and a cup of hot cocoa already being prepared for him in the kitchen. Now, it is only him alone in the living room, staring at the empty space that tall green needles should be filling.

He supposes he hadn’t really thought about it until now. Techno always used to get the tree with their dad–a father-son outing of sorts–while Tommy, Wilbur, and their mother would stay at home, throwing on a movie or baking atrocities that only the devil would classify as baked goods.

When it became just the two of them, Wilbur kept their traditions going, even if the baking was much harder and made Tommy's chest scream when there were only two sets of hands to do it.

Tommy remembers the first year that Wilbur finally let him crack the eggs into the bowl–he dropped the entire shell into the batter and his brother’s laughter erupted instantly like a burst of sunshine. Tommy would feel bad about the crunchy cookies if the whole situation hadn’t made Wilbur laugh like that.

Then, once the tree was standing tall in the living room, Tommy would climb atop Wilbur’s shoulders and place the glittering star ceremoniously atop its highest branch. It didn’t matter how old or how big Tommy got–Wilbur would always carry him to the top of the tree, just so Tommy could place the star perfectly.

The house is silent now, save for the sound of Tommy’s breathing and the gentle taps of snow falling against the windows. He’s pretty sure his dad is upstairs in his office, as he has been most of the time lately.

Tommy’s not upset. He’s not.

He gnaws on his bottom lip, bouncing his leg to resist standing up from the couch and running up the stairs to take a peek at what his father’s doing. Maybe he’s just looking at trees online, that’s all. Maybe he didn’t forget. Hell, maybe he’s not even upstairs, and he’ll come bustling through the door any second now, evergreen in tow and cheeks dusted red from cold and laughter.

Tommy holds his breath. He waits. And he waits.

He waits until he hears the quiet clacking of his father’s typing from upstairs. The man clears his throat, and Tommy’s breath deflates from his chest.

He’s not surprised. He’s not, and maybe that’s what makes it feel worse. He rubs a hand along his ribs to soothe the ache, closing his eyes and willing away the lingering images of empty floorboards and empty bedrooms.

He wakes up on the couch the next morning, a crick in his neck and the house empty.

⋆⋆⋆

“So, Will and Techno are coming home for Christmas, right?” Tubbo asks the next day as they’re walking through the cafeteria.

Tommy nods. “Yeah, should be home by the 23rd.”

They stop at their usual table, setting their lunch trays down across from each other. Ranboo takes the spot next to Tommy, pressing their shoulders together. Tommy leans into him slightly.

“That’s good,” Ranboo says, picking up a greasy slice of high school cafeteria pizza and raising it to his lips. “Um, that is good, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Tommy replies. “Yeah, man, it’s great. I’m really fuckin’ excited about it,” he admits bashfully, taking a sip from his milk in favour of ignoring the fond looks that his two best friends are sending his way.

“That’s awesome, dude,” Ranboo replies. “It’s been a while since you last saw them, huh?”

“Mhm,” Tommy answers, not really wanting to go into it. But yeah, it’s been a long time.

Well, Tommy feels that way, anyway. He’s not sure if his brothers feel the same. It’s only been half a year since they went abroad for school, after all, but to Tommy it’s felt like a lifetime. They call every few days, and they’ve both fallen into the habit of sending Tommy random pictures throughout their days, as if they feel the need to keep him in the loop–Look, Toms, somebody spray painted a dick on the Humanities building, and, Tommy, you and my History prof would really get along, his chicken scratch looks just like yours!--which Tommy greatly appreciates. He looks forward to their daily updates, and has found himself immediately checking his phone when he wakes up just to see if he missed anything from his brothers’ college escapades.

They’ve asked him to start sending back updates of his own multiple times, but Tommy always brushes it off, saying he ‘doesn’t have anything interesting.’ They let it go every time, but he can tell from their texts afterwards that they’re aware something is up. He loves them for it, and he wants to tell them, but what is he even supposed to say? Hey guys, sorry for the lack of updates, here’s a picture of the empty living room with no decorations whatsoever! And hey, here’s the front door where Dad’s coat and keys have been missing for hours! Where is he? I don’t know! Stay tuned to find out more!

Yeah, no. The updates will have to stay one sided for now.

“Well, I’m very excited for you, Tom,” Tubbo pipes up, mouth full of pizza. Tommy cringes.

“Mate, close your mouth.”

“Close yours,” Tubbo replies indignantly, kicking Tommy’s leg from underneath the table. Tommy gasps mockingly.

“How dare you!” He kicks back, making Tubbo drop his pizza as he’s jolted in his seat.

“Oh my god, you two are so annoying.” Ranboo’s got his head in his hands, rubbing his temples as if he’s never been so god damn burdened in his life. Tommy grins.

“You love us, Ranboob.”

“You have no proof.”

“Your face is proof.”

“What does that even mean, Tubbo?”

Tubbo throws his head back laughing, and Ranboo’s eyes are squinting the way he does when he can’t contain his joy, and Tommy feels his chest swell with the heat of a crackling fire.

He bites on his straw to contain his smile as his friends continue bickering, letting their voices wash over him until he’s drowning in them.

⋆⋆⋆

Tommy’s standing in the kitchen with a mug of peppermint tea in hand when his father walks through the door.

He’s got snow dusting his shoulders, a scarf wrapped around his neck and pink lining his cheeks. He lets out a gust of air, as if letting the cold out through his lungs, then skims the room until his eyes land on Tommy, staring.

“Oh! Hi, kiddo.”

Tommy’s fists clench around his mug. He’s stupid to look for a tree behind his father, but he does anyway. He’s met with empty air.

“Hi.” He hates how small his voice is, hates it hates it hates it.

His dad doesn’t seem to notice, shrugging his coat and scarf off and draping them on the nearest hook. He toes off his boots and makes his way into the kitchen, standing across from Tommy on the other side of the counter. Tommy thinks if Wilbur were here, he’d call it something poetic, like a granite barrier that parts them like the sea, or something equally stupid that Tommy would scoff and roll his eyes at. Right now, however, he thinks the sentiment feels appropriate, and wishes his brother were here to say it.

“You alright?” His father asks, leaning his elbows on the counter to get a good look at Tommy’s face. Tommy stares back, unable to tear his eyes away from the ones that almost identically resemble his own.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and shifts on his feet, the fluffy pads of his socks gripping the tiles like they’re the only things keeping him upright. In a way, maybe they are. Techno got them for him many Christmases ago–they’ve got little raccoon patches stitched onto the ankles.

“You?” He continues, realizing how rude it felt to let the silence hang without asking how his father was in return. The man shrugs, still looking Tommy’s face up and down as if analyzing him.

“Mm. I’m alright.” He steps around the counter now, trying to get closer. Tommy inches away slightly, small raccoon patches leading the way. “I haven’t seen you in a bit, bud.”

Tommy hums noncommittally in the back of his throat. He grips the mug in his hand until the heat sears against his knuckles. “Yeah. You’ve- Uh, you’ve been busy, I guess.”

His dad nods, and Tommy thinks he sees a bit of regret shining in his pale blue eyes. He finally has to force himself to look away, the tendrils of that regret worming their way around his heart and squeezing painfully. His dad makes a noise that Tommy can’t pinpoint. Distress? Hurt?

“Yeah. I have, bud. But never too busy for you, you know that, right?”

Tommy feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat, and he has to take a gulp of tea to keep it from spilling out.

Never too busy for Techno and Will, you mean, he thinks bitterly, letting the tea burn as it slides its way down his throat. The instant they left, you just shut me out.

He takes another sip. They’re better than me. You love them more. You wish I’d left instead of them.

“Sure,” He says instead, heart pounding and hands numb. “Yeah, I know.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Tommy lets it hang this time. He stares out the window, the moon’s pale light reflecting across his face.

Techno taught him about the moon. The two of them used to drape themselves in the grass, back when Tommy was really small, and Techno would point out all the constellations that surrounded her, the alignments which lit the sky into perfect pictures.

“That one there is Corona Borealis,” Tommy remembers him saying one night, brown eyes glimmering in a way that made them almost shine red. His breath fogged in the cool night air, and Tommy remembers wondering what it’d feel like to float away on the tendrils of mist, spoken on words shaped like poetry–the way Techno spoke was poetry–simply to disappear the next second, forever molded into the darkness of the night.

He was always envious of the mist.

“What is that?” He had asked, desperate to cling onto every word his brother spoke, to latch onto the fog and never let go.

Techno had laughed his quiet laugh, the one that rumbled the ground beneath them and shook the trees until the leaves fell. Tommy was frozen in a state of wonder, entranced by the wisdom of his brother instead of the stars.

“It’s Theseus, kid. It’s based on Theseus.”

He can’t see Corona Borealis from the kitchen window, but he knows it’s there. He always knows it’s there.

“Okay. As long as you know that,” His dad continues, voice kind as if the two of them have even had a conversation in months.

Tommy hums, ignoring the sting in his throat.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed, Dad.” He places his mug down in the sink, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. His dad jumps slightly, as if surprised that Tommy wants to leave so soon.

“Oh, yeah, okay. Sleep well, son.”

Tommy nods, turning on his heel to trudge his way up the stairs. He hears his father sigh from behind him, which makes it hurt all that much more when he closes his bedroom door behind him.

He goes to sleep that night with the sounds of childish laughter and Christmases long forgotten ringing in his ears.

⋆⋆⋆

Wilbur and Techno look the same as they always have.

Well, not really. Wilbur has let his hair grow out to the point that it wisps over his ears in lazy curls, and he’s got a new pair of glasses that frame his cheeks gently compared to the harsh square-shaped rims that he adorned when he left home. His clothes look tighter, as if he’s filled them out a bit, and his shoulders are straighter and broader. His dimple carves an even deeper crater into his cheek, and his smile lines look more pronounced, from what Tommy assumes were long nights filled with laughter.

Techno, on the other hand, has cut his hair completely off, so short that it barely brushes against his jaw. It’s still pink, but the roots have begun to fade into brown, like he hasn’t had time to re-dye it recently. He’s got a new piercing in his ear, a third one added to his lobe, and Tommy likes the way it glitters in the early morning light.

Despite all these differences, the two boys–men, he realizes–in front of him still carry the same eyes as they always have; kind, bright, and glimmering with a certain sparkle that Tommy has always known he would follow to the ends of the earth.

They close the front door behind them, the sound of their suitcases dragging against the floor ringing out unpleasantly throughout the house. Tommy thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

His two brothers turn to face him, and when their eyes meet, it’s like time stands still.

“Well, well, well,” Techno starts, the familiar rumble of his voice instantly settling something deep within Tommy’s chest, “If it isn’t the gremlin child. Long time no see, kid.” His eyes are fond, so fond, and Tommy wants to bury himself into his brother’s chest and never leave.

“Hi, Tech. Hi, Will.” His voice is barely a squeak, but he can’t bring himself to hate it when they continue to look at him with that shine in their eyes.

They stare at each other for a moment. Tommy can hear an entire ocean rushing in his ears.

“Well?” Wilbur suddenly breaks the silence, melodic voice demanding attention from the entire room. He’s always had a knack for that–getting people’s attention no matter the situation. Tommy would listen to him read terms and conditions, and Wilbur knows it. “You gonna come give me a fucking hug, or do I have to do it myself?”

Tommy laughs, laughs in a way he hasn’t in forever, and those words are all he needs. He drops all reserve, shoulders loosening and heart soaring as he barrels towards his brother, throwing his arms around the taller man’s torso and squeezing like his life depends on it. Wilbur laughs and takes his weight in stride, barely getting knocked back as if he was ready for Tommy; as if he was always ready for Tommy. He squeezes Tommy back just as tightly, and maybe this is what getting pieced back together feels like, Tommy thinks.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Techno interrupts.

“I’m gettin’ kinda jealous over here.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, regretfully loosening his grip on Wilbur. “C’mere, idiot,” He says, reaching his arms up to latch onto Techno. Techno instantly abides, grabbing Tommy underneath his arms and tugging him close to his chest in a solid embrace.

Where Wilbur’s hugs are soft, Techno’s are hard, and Tommy wouldn’t trade either of them for anything.

He stays rooted in Techno’s arms, snuggling closer when he feels Wilbur’s hand drop on top of his head to ruffle his golden curls gently. He could stay like this forever. He could become mist in their presence; could get whisked away by their holds and their words and feel no regret.

Of course, their father enters the room, and Tommy has to step away, solid matter in the way he always has been and always will be.

He watches the three of them hug, his father’s grip on the boys strong and grateful, like he’s been sonless for a year but has been fulfilled once again by the presence of children to parent. Tommy feels the sting like he always does, but it’s duller now, quieter in the presence of his brothers.

When they’ve finished their greetings, Wilbur smiles widely at him, reaching to ruffle his hair again. Tommy feels his heart fall even.

“Well then,” their father claps his hands together, gaining attention opposite to the way Wilbur does; loud and sudden rather than soft and compelling. “You boys settle down, and then we eat?” He suggests, voice bright and excited. Tommy can’t remember the last time the two of them sat down and ate a meal together.

“Sure, sounds good. You haven’t turned our rooms into storage yet, have you?” Wilbur jokes, nudging their dad’s shoulder.

Tommy watches a grin identical to Techno’s stretch across his father’s face. “Nope, ‘fraid not. They should be almost the same as when you left.”

“Emphasis on ‘almost,’” Techno remarks, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Tommy raided them the first chance he got.”

“Hey!” Tommy squawks, shoving his shoulder playfully. “I resent that. And you.”

“Mhm. Sure, kid.” Techno smiles down at him, and Tommy could burst.

“C’mon. I want a tour, Toms,” Wilbur says, throwing an arm around his shoulder and grabbing his suitcase’s handle, prepared to drag it up the stairs on its wheels.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “You literally lived here not even a year ago, dickhead.”

“And? How does that equal me being denied a tour?” He asks, tone dripping with mirth. “Surely your room has changed in a year, hasn’t it?”

Tommy hums, thinking. Wilbur’s right–some of the decor has changed, especially in Tommy’s room. He’s got some new posters hanging up for indie bands that he knows Wilbur would love, and a huge collection of polaroid pictures from his trip to Tubbo’s cabin that he’s been dying to show someone. All that plus some new fairy lights, at least three new Marvel pop vinyls, the necklace Ranboo made him for his birthday, a really cool rock that he picked up in the woods–

“Yeah, okay.” Tommy smiles, silencing his own thoughts and grabbing his brothers’ hands. “C’mon.”

He tugs them up the stairs and pretends not to feel fond eyes pinned to their backs, instead focusing on the harmony of his brothers’ laughter and the warmth of their hands in his.

The instant they get to his room it’s like they never left. Wilbur immediately finds his spot on the end of Tommy’s bed, curled up in the throw blankets like a fucking cat, and Techno migrates to stand over by the window, arms crossed as if he’s guarding something. Tommy stands in the middle, arms outstretched.

“Welcome to my crib,” He announces. Wilbur smirks, twiddling the frayed ends of Tommy’s blue blanket between his fingers.

“I see you’ve got some new posters,” He remarks, and Tommy knew he would notice.

“Yeah, do you like?” He asks eagerly, scampering over to his Los Campesinos! poster and running his hands over it.

“I do. Your music taste has changed.” He says it wistfully, in a way that makes Tommy miss the days when he would wait for him and Techno to get home from elementary school.

“I guess so,” Tommy responds, rubbing the back of his neck. “I still like Khai Dreams, though, promise.” He feels the need to promise that, maybe even apologize for the fact that he’s changed–apologize for the way that the house has shifted, and with it, Tommy’s feet. Wilbur just shakes his head.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do still like him, though.”

He shrugs. “Okay.” He holds eye contact with Tommy for a moment, something meaningful and pointed glimmering in familiar brown pools. “It’d be alright if you didn’t, though.”

Tommy swallows. Wilbur knows him. Wilbur knows him so well. It almost scares him sometimes.

“Thanks, Will.”

The man nods, eyes kind and understanding and knowing. Tommy has to look away before they suffocate him.

“What’s this?” Techno asks, snapping the moment in half. Tommy turns, feeling a wide smile spread across his cheeks when he sees what Techno is referring to.

“That’s the camera Tubbo got me for my birthday,” He says, smiling fondly at the thought of his friend. “It’s a polaroid. We used it loads over the summer, but now I mostly- heh, mostly just use it for like, scenery and stuff.”

Techno hums. “Tubbo’s big on cameras and film, right?”

Tommy nods. “Yeah, he’s real good at it, and he’s kinda- he’s kinda got me interested in it as well. I’ve filmed a few things for school and stuff. Nothing, uh, nothing crazy like he can do, but–a few little projects, I guess.” He realizes in the middle of his ramble that he’s never told anyone about this, other than Tubbo and Ranboo.

“That’s great, Tommy!” Techno says, voice booming and dripping with pride. Tommy feels his cheeks go hot. “I always knew you could be a filmmaker. Those little iMovies you used to make when we were kids always blew me away.”

Tommy’s not so sure he’d go that far–the iMovies he used to make were filmed on a shitty iPod Touch and the plot was entirely based on the adventures of a dog running from one side of America to the other. He used a stuffed animal and their backyard for the entire thing, and half of the audio was muted accidentally. Still, he appreciates the compliments–he always does when they’re from Technoblade.

“Thanks, Tech. I could–uh–” He freezes. In the back of his mind, doubt is creeping in like an icy, familiar friend.

You’re an idiot if you think they’d want to watch your stupid videos, It whispers, taunting but achingly honest with every word.

“Uh–I could–I don’t kn–”

“I’d love to watch them sometime,” Techno says, cutting him off completely but not looking remorseful in the slightest. “If you want to show us.”

Wilbur nods, eyebrows furrowed like he knew what Tommy was going to say had he not been interrupted. Techno’s mirroring the same look in his own eyes, and it always surprises Tommy how alike they can still look after all this time. It’s easy to forget they’re twins when they have such different energies about them.

“Uh.” Tommy lets a small smile slip out, heart relaxing from its previous hummingbird pace to a much calmer, steadier beat. He should have known his brothers would know. He should’ve known they would care. “Yeah. Yeah, I would like that.”

They both smile, Wilbur’s wide and glowing while Techno’s is small and victorious. There they are, Tommy thinks. So different, yet so alike.

“Sick,” Wilbur says, and that’s that.

“Now, show us the basement,” Techno says, walking over to Tommy and clapping his hands down on his shoulders. “If you touched my computer, I’ll maim you.”

Tommy cackles. “As if I would ever do such a thing.”

He most definitely has touched Techno’s computer, and all three of them know it. Techno rolls his eyes.

“Pain in my ass.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“You–Wilbur, will I go to jail for murdering a child?”

“Not if no one finds out.”

“Hey!”

⋆⋆⋆

The rest of the night is like a trip through a time machine.

He shows his brothers the basement, and Techno only throws him a few feet across the room for messing with his PC setup–“There’s Tommy grease all over my keyboard, you dick!”–and shortly after he lets them go up to their respective bedrooms and settle in. He’s not sure where to go once they’re up there, what with his dad preparing dinner in the kitchen, so he goes up to his own room for a bit and messages Tubbo and Ranboo until he gets called down to eat.

The kitchen table is stocked to the brim with all of Wilbur and Techno’s favourites, and the aroma in the air takes Tommy back to simpler times when he still couldn’t reach the top shelf. Wilbur sits in his designated spot next to Tommy, with Techno and their dad across from them. Tommy sneaks fries off of Wilbur’s plate, and the older man doesn’t even complain. They talk about how their schooling has been, and Techno’s annoying roommate, and all the music that Wilbur has written in the past year. Tommy soaks up all the information greedily, then asks for more when they run out of things to say.

They eventually migrate to the living room, and Tommy glues his eyes to his brothers’ faces in favour of avoiding the lack of festivities in the room. They throw on an old home movie–a recording of Wilbur’s 1st grade Christmas concert–and Techno laughs so hard that milk shoots out of his nose.

They laugh, they talk, and they hold each other’s hearts in the palms of their hands until the moon is high in the sky.

“Game night tomorrow?” Dad suggests once they’ve cleaned everything up and are about to head to bed. “I think we’ve still got some old board games lying around.”

Wilbur nods. “Sure, Dad. That sounds great.”

Tommy nods along, because when does he not follow along with Wilbur, but inside his stomach is turning and his mind is reeling.

Dad likes them better, that sick voice inside of him says again. He wants to spend time with them. He makes special dinners for them.

He missed them more than he’d ever miss you.

“Alright.” Their dad is smiling, smiling so god damn wide and why can’t Tommy make him smile like that? “Goodnight, boys.”

They all say goodnight over top of each other, the different octaves of their voices mingling amicably before turning to jog up the stairs, one boy after the other like ducklings in a row. Tommy’s got the farthest to walk–something about his bedroom being the furthest from danger, or something–but for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to reach the end of the hallway. He halts by the bathroom door, distantly registering the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest.

His hands feel completely numb. He’s not sure why–his brothers are home, shouldn’t he feel happy?--but he can’t seem to shake the look on his father’s face that’s been plastered there ever since they got home.

It looks like the version of his father from when he was a kid, back when their mother's perfume still permeated the air. Light, breezy, with the world laid out in front of him like a clear path. Lately, with just Tommy in the house, he’s looked like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Techno doesn’t seem to notice Tommy’s inner torment, whispering a goodnight as he closes his door softly behind him, but Wilbur stops.

“Toms?” He whispers, squinting in the dim hallway light. “Y’alright?”

Tommy swallows thickly, praying that his brother can’t see the stiffness in his shoulders through the darkness of the night.

“Mhm.” He clenches his fists to keep himself from doing something stupid–although what he’s stopping, he’s not so sure. Maybe he’d tug his hair, or punch something.

Maybe he’d beat on Wilbur’s chest and beg him to stay.

Wilbur pauses, taking a breath. Tommy’s always wondered what his pauses mean. He knows it’s not because he isn’t sure what to say–Wilbur always knows what to say–so he’s not sure what his mind is thinking in those moments. Maybe he’s contemplating if the words are ready to be brought into the world, or if he should keep them exclusive to his own mind. Tommy would love to hear the thoughts that he decides to keep to himself one day.

“You’ve seemed…off, today,” Wilbur finally says, and Tommy’s grateful he let this thought free, “Not because you’re different, of course I knew you were going to be different. We all are,” It doesn’t sound like such a bad thing when Wilbur says it. “But you’re sad, too. Distant. Like something’s been wrong lately.”

Tommy shrugs. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Wilbur grimaces, like that answer upsets him. He walks over to Tommy, placing his hands on his shoulders gently as if he’ll scare him away otherwise.

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

Tommy hates the way it sounds so similar to that night in the kitchen with his father. He knows it’s different, that Wilbur is different, but his heart aches all the same.

“I know,” He says, and he thinks he means it this time.

“Okay,” Wilbur whispers back, a soft smile gracing his pale face. “So what’s wrong?”

Tommy purses his lips. On the one hand, he wants to tell him. He wants to let it all spill out until he’s blue in the face, until Wilbur’s strong hands pick up all his broken pieces and put them back together again. He wants it so badly that he can feel everything on the tip of his tongue.

The other part of him, the louder part, feels disgusted. Disgusted at himself for even entertaining the idea of ruining Wilbur’s time at home like this, for almost spilling to him how angry he is at the man who raised them and has shown them nothing but kindness.

He’s so disgusted with himself for even thinking it. He wants to drain his insides clean of the feeling until he’s pure again.

“Nothing’s wrong, Will. I promise.” He tries to smile, for the sake of his brother, but Wilbur’s face just falls.

“Well then,” Will squeezes his shoulders, “I guess we’ll just have to have a sleepover until you tell me.” He nudges Tommy’s cheek gently with his hand. Tommy can’t do anything but stare.

“What?” He asks, bewildered.

“You heard me.” Wilbur grins, dragging him by the shoulder towards his bedroom. “You’re chilling with me tonight.”

Tommy’s not sure what to say, so he doesn’t say anything–simply letting Wilbur drag him through the door and to the end of his bed. He lets Wilbur push him down to sit, still a bit frazzled at the sudden change of plans. Wilbur leaves him for a moment, and Tommy reaches out on instinct, only relaxing when he sees that Wilbur’s just gone to close the door and is coming right back to sit next to him.

“Why are you doing this, Will?” Tommy asks. He is so utterly confused why anyone would take the time to do this, especially for him.

Wilbur doesn’t seem to share the sentiment, looking at Tommy incredulously.

“Because it's you. What do you mean?”

When Tommy just stares back at him, Wilbur continues, “Something’s bothering you.”

Tommy feels a protest on the tip of his tongue, but the disappointment blooming in Wilbur’s eyes kills it before it can even begin to escape his mouth. He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his entire chest before trying again.

“Maybe.” It’s a start.

Wilbur nods. “Okay. Talk to me.”

Oh, Will, where do I even start?

“I-I don’t know where to start.”

Wilbur takes this in stride, because of course he does. “That’s okay. Say the first thing that comes to your mind.”

Tommy sorts through the noise inside his head, desperate for one thought to stand out among all the rest. One in particular reaches its ugly hand out to him, shaking and desperate to be reached for in return.

“We don’t have a Christmas tree this year.”

Wilbur pauses, pursing his lips in thought for a moment. The momentary silence gives Tommy time to realize how keyed up he is in anticipation for his brother’s response.

“I noticed.”

“You did?” Of course he did, Tommy thinks. Wilbur notices everything, the bastard.

“Mhm.” Wilbur inches closer to him. “Why is that?”

Tommy shrugs. His breath feels thin.

“I don’t- I don’t know. I didn’t even notice, until a few days ago. I guess I didn’t think about it, because Tech is-is supposed to do that, and, and Dad, but Dad didn’t think of it, I guess. Or he didn’t- didn’t want to, I- he didn’t want to. I can tell he didn’t want to. He didn’t wanna get me one Will, and he doesn’t wanna see me, he doesn’t- he doesn’t wanna talk to me, he doesn’t want anything to do with me–”

“Woah, woah, Tommy!” Wilbur grabs his shoulders, eyes alarmed and so, so concerned. “Breathe. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Tommy hadn’t noticed how fast his breathing had gotten, but now that he has, he’s almost to the point of hyperventilating. Unshed tears in his eyes distort Wilbur’s face as if he’s looking at him through a fishbowl. Through the distortion Tommy can still see the man’s worry, clear as day.

“Toms, what brought this on?” Wilbur’s voice breaks. “What’s going on with dad?”

Tommy feels his bottom lip trembling as he answers. “I don’t- Will, he just- he-”

God, Tommy can’t breathe. He feels like there’s a million pounds weighing on his chest.

“I- Wilby, I don’t-”

“Alright, c’mere.” It’s like something snaps in Wilbur, and he rushes to stop him before he can continue working himself into a fit; instead grabbing his hands and pulling him gently so that their backs are both against the pillows at the head of the bed.

Once they’re situated there, Wilbur grabs Tommy’s arms and rubs them reassuringly, creating a friction up and down his skin that grounds him and brings him back into his body. Tommy melts into the touch gratefully.

“Breathe, Tommy. It’s just you and me, okay? There’s no rush. We’re just gonna breathe.”

Tommy does, copying Wilbur’s breathing patterns as best he can as the man’s touch and words bring him back down to earth. Moments pass, and little by little he starts to feel less like he’s floating and more like solid ground. He exhales shakily, finally fully relaxing into his brother’s hold.

“Okay?” Wilbur asks, slowing his rubbing motions to hold Tommy by the elbows. Tommy nods, unable to meet his eyes.

Wilbur smiles softly. “Cool. I’m proud of you.” He says it like it’s so easy–like it’s an obvious fact but he wanted to say it anyway. Tommy feels a rush all the way from his head to his toes at the blatant praise.

“Do you wanna talk some more about it? Because you don’t have to,” Wilbur continues, brushing stray hair off Tommy’s forehead, “We can just sit. We can watch a movie–Up, yeah?”

Wilbur’s eyes are glowing with concern accompanied by so much love that Tommy doesn’t know what to do with himself. Despite his brother’s stubbornness, he still won’t force Tommy to say everything that’s on his mind, and he feels eternally grateful for that.

Tommy clears his throat, the sound wet with tears. “Um. Yeah, Up would be nice.”

And Wilbur doesn't even look disappointed that Tommy doesn’t want to talk–if anything, he looks proud, proud of Tommy for knowing what he wants, because he simply smiles widely and nods.

“Up it is. I’ll get my laptop.”

Tommy may still be harbouring the ache of loneliness that his father’s absence has sprouted in his chest, but he falls asleep that night with his favourite movie flickering in the dark and his head on his brother’s shoulder, feeling unmistakably and utterly wanted.

⋆⋆⋆

He wakes up the next morning to rough shaking and a loud voice in his ears.

“Tommy! Tooooommy! Wake up, loser, we’re going shopping!”

Tommy huffs. Wilbur.

He lazily paws in the general direction of Wilbur’s voice, rolling over and stuffing his face further into his brother’s pillows.

“Are you r'ferencing Mean Girls?” He whines, voice muffled.

Wilbur croons. “Aw, Tommy, you got my reference! My genius baby brother, so aware of popular culture,” He puts on a campy posh accent for the last two words, and Tommy rolls his eyes even though his brother can’t see his face.

“S’ch ‘n idiot.”

Wilbur huffs. He grabs Tommy’s shoulder again, this time shaking him even more violently than before. “Get up! It’s Christmas Eve!”

Tommy finally rolls over, if only to give Wilbur the most deadpan look he can muster at this hour. “Aren’t these roles supposed to be reversed?” At Will’s confused look, he continues, “Y’know, I wake you up?”

Wilbur smiles. “You used to, you know.” His voice is once again dripping with that nostalgia that Tommy has grown to despise if it’s coming from anyone other than Wilbur. (And Techno, on the rare occasion that he does openly reminisce.)

“I know.”

Wilbur shakes him by the shoulder again, as if trying to shake off the memories and melancholy tone that has overtaken the room.

“C’mon then, let’s go!”

Tommy groans, but finally lets himself get pulled to a sitting position. “Go where?”

“To get a tree, silly!”

Oh.

Huh. That’s not what Tommy was expecting.

“Get a– Get a tree?” All of a sudden he feels very awake.

Wilbur notices the shift. “Yeah, Toms.” He grabs Tommy’s hand and squeezes. “A tree.”

Tommy’s thankful that they’re both ignoring the tears brewing in his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sunshine. Really.”

Tommy pulls the covers off his legs, bounds to his feet, and suddenly he’s in his brother’s arms, having thrown himself at the taller man’s torso to borderline squeeze the life out of him. Wilbur hugs him back silently, rubbing his back and holding the nape of his neck gently.

“Can Tech come, too?” His voice is muffled in Wilbur’s sweater, but he knows his brother will understand him all the same.

“Of course he can. Wouldn’t dream otherwise.”

And so that’s how Tommy finds himself bundled up in his bright blue coat, mittens on and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face–”Your nose will get cold otherwise, don’t fucking complain,”–waiting outside in the falling snow for the line to move forward.

Techno is on his left, all tall and broad, grey coat framing his form in a way that makes him look intimidating. The snow dusting his eyelashes kills the big scary vibe just a tad, but Tommy’s not going to let him know.

Wilbur, on the other hand, is the poster for childish joy. With his hands in his pockets and fuzzy reindeer antlers adorning his brown curls, he’s rocking back and forth in excitement whilst trying to get a peak over strangers’ shoulders at the options for Christmas decorations and attire. Tommy would make fun of him if he wasn’t so touched by his brother’s acts of kindness–and if he wasn’t feeling equally as excited, himself.

Techno, however, considers the two of them to be free reign. “You guys look stupid.”

Wilbur scoffs. “Says you. You look like our fucking bodyguard.” He looks Techno up and down. “That’s embarrassing for you.”

“Yeah!” Tommy pipes up. “That means we’re, like, celebrities, or something. You work for us, Blade.”

Technoblade shoves him with his shoulder. “And what exactly would you be famous for, hm? Being a royal pain in my ass?”

“Don’t speak to me like that. I’ll–I’ll simply fire you, Technoblade.”

“Ooh, full name, I’m scared.”

Tommy glares. “Wilbur. Defend me.”

“Shush, Tommy.” Wilbur grabs him by the arm, and Tommy’s about to snap at him, defensive, until he realizes why Wilbur wanted him to shut up.

The woman in front of them is the next in line, and she’s about to choose her tree. However, looking around–Tommy can only see one tree left.

There’s only one tree left.

“Shit,” Techno mutters, and Tommy feels like he could cry.

“Oh,” He says, and his voice is barely more than a whisper. “Oh. I mean–I guess that’s what we get for trying to get a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, huh?”

Wilbur clicks his tongue sympathetically, wrapping an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Toms. Hey, tell you what!” He pokes Tommy’s cheek playfully, trying to get the boy to meet his eyes. “We can get a fake one. We’ll go to IKEA or something, they’re bound to have one.”

And Tommy thinks, yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad, except they’ve always had a real tree; ever since their father met their mother and their lives intertwined and they created a family. Ever since Techno’s first Christmas, and Wilbur’s, and Tommy’s, and every Christmas after that. It’s always been a real tree, that’s just what their family does.

He’s so grateful for Wilbur’s suggestion, but he also knows that the lump brewing in his throat is for their mother. He knows with every part of himself that she would have wanted a real tree.

“No,” Techno says. “We’re getting that tree.” He gestures to the last tree in the lot, the one that the woman has now approached and is examining carefully.

“Tech,” Will starts. “We’re too late, man.”

The people behind them have realized it too, the majority of them dispersing back to their cars now that they’ve noticed there are no trees left. A few of them file into the gift shop portion, but for the most part they’re all starting their cars and pulling out of the parking lot. Tommy grimaces. He hopes none of them have a tradition to uphold too.

“No we’re not,” Techno grumbles, determined, and in the next second he’s marching over to that woman, shoulders back and jaw clenched. Tommy trails behind him, pulling on his sleeve.

“Uh, Techno, I think we should just go–”

“Excuse me.” Techno completely ignores him, coming to a stop a few feet away from the woman. He crosses his arms. The woman looks–well, she looks like quite the Karen if Tommy’s honest, so he’s not feeling too optimistic about the upcoming interaction.

“Can I help you, young man?” She asks, and yup, Tommy was right to be apprehensive.

Techno smirks. “Yes you can, ma’am. This tree is going to be comin’ home with my family today.”

Tommy winces. He can picture Wilbur making a similar expression from his spot over Tommy’s shoulder.

The woman sputters. “I beg your pardon?”

Wilbur clears his throat, fake laughing like the charmer he is. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. What my brother means to say is–”

“That tree is ours. We’re going to buy it, not you.” Techno cuts in, blunt as ever. Tommy’s getting whiplash from being stood between the two.

“And why must this tree be yours? I got here first. What, do you think you’re more deserving of it? Do you think you’re higher up than me?” She raises her chin defiantly at the boys, but all that gives them is a clear view up her nose. Tommy suppresses a laugh.

“No, we don’t,” Wilbur says, voice like silk. “To tell you the truth, ma’am, it’s– This tree is very important to our family. We always get a real one. It’s a tradition of sorts, and–” He looks to Tommy, eyes gentle and fond, “and it’s very important to my little brother that we bring one home.”

The woman huffs. “Maybe you should’ve gotten one sooner, then.”

“I know, ma’am, I–”

“You’re here on the same day as us, so you don’t get to talk,” Techno says, voice dangerously pointed now.

Technoblade isn’t a mean person, not in any way shape or form–but Tommy knows firsthand how angry and confrontational he can get when his family is involved. The woman doesn’t seem to be concerned by this.

“Listen, boys,” Oh, Tommy could just smack her, “I’m not going to pretend to care about your little family sob story, okay? Your little brother here should maybe grow up and learn to deal with some disappointment. After all, kid,” She addresses Tommy now, eyes gleaming with something sinister, “You’re not a baby anymore. Just because you’re the runt of the pack doesn’t mean you get to throw a tantrum every time you don’t get your way. It’s pathetic, really.”

Oh, no. Tommy can feel his brothers practically charging up next to him, and he almost wants to shield himself from the inevitable explosion that’s about to hit. He can’t even predict who’s going to speak first, but it ends up being Technoblade’s low, angry tone that answers that question for him.

“No, you listen, you bitch,” Techno spits, walking closer to the woman slowly like a lion on the prowl. His tone is poisonous, and Tommy thinks if it were something material it could genuinely kill someone. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.” His teeth are bared, and the woman is cowering now, seeming to finally understand the weight of his anger. “You’re going to give us this tree, and you’re going to give it to us nicely. And then, you’re gonna get in your stupid fuckin’ Honda Civic, and you’re gonna drive the fuck outta here. And when you’re gone, you better fuckin’ hope I don’t remember your face, because no one–no one–can speak to my brothers like that and get away with it. Do you understand me?”

Long story short, they arrive home that day with a real tree.

(Long story long: the woman immediately complied, the boys lugged the tree into the back of their dad’s truck, and they spent the rest of the ride home egging on Techno for literally threatening a woman in the middle of a parking lot just because of a goddamned plant. Truthfully they know it wasn’t just because of a plant–Tommy’s heart wouldn’t be so full all the way home if he didn’t understand that–but it’s a funny story for the future all the same.)

⋆⋆⋆

Maybe it’s not so funny, after all.

“You fought someone for this?!” Their dad yells incredulously, practically gaping at the tree that is now taking up its designated space in their living room. Wilbur winces.

“Well, she was a real bitch about it too, Dad, so–”

“I don’t care!” He shouts. Tommy fights the urge to hide behind Techno. “You can’t just–Jesus, you can’t just have shouting matches every time you don’t get what you want! The world doesn’t work like that!” It’s so painfully similar to what the woman said that Tommy physically recoils.

“Just because you’re the runt of the pack doesn’t mean you get to throw a tantrum every time you don’t get your way. It’s pathetic, really.”

Pathetic. You’re pathetic, Tommy, Patheticpatheticpathetic–

“She was so fucking rude to Tommy, Dad,” Will says, usually slower to anger than Techno but not when it came to Tommy. “You should’ve heard the shit she said. Hell, I could’ve clocked her–”

“William.” Their dad sounds horrified, and god, is Tommy dragging his brothers down with him? “Your behavior is, quite frankly, appalling.”

Tommy expects Wilbur to agree, to apologize and try to right his wrongs the way he always does, but instead he just gets angrier.

“No, dad, fuck off!” Wilbur steps forward from his spot next to Tommy, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. “I’m not gonna apologize for defending my brother, alright?! Forgive me for actually trying to help him.”

Tommy’s heart drops. Oh god, Will, why would you say that?

Their father blanches. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Wilbur laughs sharply, devoid of any humour. “Oh, I don’t know, why do you think we got a fucking tree on Christmas Eve?” Their father stares at him silently. “Because someone didn’t get one this year.”

He’s panting now, like the rage is strangling his lungs, and Tommy wants to pull him away, wants to make him stop, but he’s frozen where he stands.

“I- I hadn’t realized.”

“Yeah, of course you didn’t.”

Tommy’s not sure where all this anger within Wilbur is coming from–he seemed nothing but worried for Tommy the night before. He supposes his brother still has a knack for hiding his emotions like he always used to, just as he’s still got the knack for reading between the lines of any situation.

Wilbur’s ears are tinged red with anger, and Tommy wishes it was because of exhaustion and not because he’s seething. When he speaks again, his words are like daggers.

“I suppose you also haven’t realized that Tommy’s grown at least three inches in the past year, or that he’s gotten into filmmaking recently, because Tubbo introduced him to it. Or how about that he’s got a new friend, Ranboo, who he describes as ‘insufferable’ but one look at his face when he talks about him tells you that he’s actually one of his favourite people in the entire world. Or how his music taste has completely changed, or how he’s got a new favourite sweater, or–or how he can’t even seem to look you in the eyes anymore because you’ve become a complete fucking stranger to him.”

Wilbur takes a huge breath, and the room is so silent that Tommy can hear the wind beating against the windows. He distantly registers Techno looking at him from the corner of his eyes, gaze sad and conflicted. Tommy can’t bring himself to look back, instead burning a hole in the floorboards as his father struggles to think of something to say.

When he finally speaks, Tommy wishes he could finally turn into mist for good.

“Tommy? Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Tommy doesn’t know what to do besides nod, and his father seems relieved at his response if the look in his eyes is anything to go by.

“Techno, Wilbur, could you give us a second please?”

The two brothers nod, leaving the room, but not without giving Tommy small reassuring touches that scream Wilbur and Techno in every way–a thumb brushed against the nape of his neck and a squeeze to his shoulder that quiet a fraction of the noise in Tommy’s head like magic.

His father motions for him to join him on the couch, and Tommy complies, but not without leaving a cushion of space between them.

“I think this conversation is long overdue,” The man begins, a year’s worth of regret in his voice. “I knew something was up, but I guess- Well, I guess I was just hoping it was regular teenage angst.” He scoffs. “It was selfish of me to assume that.”

Tommy doesn’t have any words to say, but he thinks if he did he’d choke on them anyway.

“This past year,” His father continues. “I’ve–I’ve pushed you away, haven’t I?”

Tommy sniffles. He pauses for a moment, then nods. His father makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m–God, I’m so sorry, kiddo. I promise you, I never meant to. I would never consciously push you away, Tommy.”

Tommy nods. He’s starting to think that’s all he knows how to do.

“Are you hearing me, kid? I would never do that to you on purpose, do you understand?” His voice is gentle, like Tommy’s a kid again, and maybe he is.

“I–” Tommy finally speaks, and he doesn’t even recognize his own voice when it reaches his ears, “It’s okay.”

“No,” His dad sounds broken, broken in a formation that Tommy sees whenever he looks into a mirror. “No, it’s not okay. It’s not okay, Tommy, and nothing I say will excuse it.”

Tommy sniffles, wiping his face with his sleeve. His father’s hands twitch, like he wants to reach out to him and wipe the tears away himself, but they both know there’s a crack between them that’s stopping him from reaching.

“Why?” Tommy asks, voice breaking. “Why did you, dad? Am I–” Tommy’s broken, he’s falling and he has nowhere to reach to– “Am I… bad? Do you– Do you hate me?” The words escape him on a sob, and he buries his face in his sleeves to hide away from the prying eyes of the man who raised him.

His dad makes that wounded noise once again, and why can’t Tommy do anything right?

“God, Tommy, no. No, never. I love you. I love you so much.”

Tommy hiccups. “Then why– Why did you shut me out? As soon as Techno and Will left you just…shut off.”

“I’m so sorry. I guess I…” He trails off, and Tommy almost thinks he’s not going to continue, the seconds stretch on for so long.

When he breaks the silence, Tommy clings onto his every word.

“When your brothers left, I felt…lost. In my head, it was like they were leaving the nest. And a huge part of me knew that–” He swallows. “A huge part of me couldn’t shake the fact that your mother wasn’t here to send them off.

“And I know that’s not fair, because you’re still here–you’re here, my precious boy, but my heart just… couldn’t take it. And you remind me so, so much of her, baby, you’re so good.” He’s openly sobbing now, shoulders shaking and voice stricken bare.

Tommy is suddenly acutely aware of all that his father has lost–of all that he’s pushed his way through despite everything.

“I guess I just collapsed under it. And that’s not okay, and it’s unfair, and I am so sorry.” His father inches closer to him now, noticing the way Tommy has relaxed, and Tommy lets him grab his hands.

“I just–” Tommy breathes in shakily, “I just thought that you– you didn’t love me anymore.” He whispers, close enough now to see the lines on his father’s face and the weight that rests on his shoulders. He’s starting to realize that the weight isn’t because of him–that it’s never been because of him.

“Tommy, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in the entire world,” He says, and Tommy knows he’s telling the truth. “You and your brothers. You’re my babies, okay? You’re my baby, Tommy.” He smiles through his tears, a broken flash of ivory from a broken man. “I will never not love you.”

Tommy feels his final resolve shatter, and he goes boneless in his father’s arms, pressing his face into his collarbone and letting himself fall. Strong arms encircle him tightly, sheltering him from the world and carrying him home the way they used to. Tommy’s gasping for breath, and yet he can finally breathe, safe in his father’s arms and surrounded by love.

“I love you, my boy,” His father whispers, pressing kisses into his hairline. “I’m so sorry I ever made you think any differently.”

Tommy nuzzles in closer, wishing he could brand those words on his heart. He sighs, shoulders loosening, and lets his mind settle.

“I love you, too, dad.”

And with that, the two of them are pieced back together, if only just a little bit.

⋆⋆⋆

Christmas morning is everything Tommy could have hoped for.

He sleeps in his own bed that night, after much deliberation from Wilbur–”Come get me if you need me, alright? I swear to god if you don’t, I’ll kill you!”–but he’s still awoken by his very loud, very lovable, family.

“Wake up, kiddo, breakfast is ready!” It’s his dad, yelling through the crack in his door like a goddamned sports announcer. Tommy groans.

“Oh, by the way, it’s Christmas!”

Tommy’s eyes snap open, and in a split second he’s bustling his way down the stairs, sock-clad feet sliding him all the way to his spot at the table.

Wilbur and Techno are already sitting there–early-risers that they are–laughing at Tommy fondly like he’s something special. Tommy feels heat in his cheeks, but he can’t even be bothered to care.

“Merry Christmas, Toms,” Wilbur says, the glow in his eyes reminiscent of the stars. “Was everything okay last night?”

Tommy rolls his eyes at his brother’s concern. “Yes, Mother Hen, I was fine.”

“And with Dad?” Techno adds on, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes. We…We talked.” Tommy decides to leave it at that.

“And you guys are okay?”

Tommy turns to look over his shoulder at where his father stands in the kitchen. The man’s got a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, a pan of scrambled eggs in his hand and an ugly Christmas sweater thrown over his sleep shirt. He’s humming along to the quiet music that’s playing from the living room speaker, and the undereye bags that Tommy has gotten so accustomed to seeing lately have lightened just enough for him to be more drawn to the stark blue above them that mirrors his own.

He looks light, carefree, and he’s got a smile on his face that reminds Tommy of Christmases already passed.

He turns back to his brothers. “Yeah. We’re getting there.”

They eat breakfast almost frantically, all of them desperate to open gifts. Tommy’s practically vibrating in anticipation, nervous but excited to see all of their reactions to the gifts he got for them.

Once they’re all situated around the tree–they’ve all opted to sit cross-legged on the floor, the fire crackling and the music still playing–they pass around the gifts until everyone’s got a sizable pile sitting next to them. They always start with the youngest first, so Tommy’s the first to open his gifts.

Wilbur gets him a shiny blue record player, plus some vinyls of bands that he says he thinks Tommy will love. Tommy’s chest is already warm at the thought of how listening to them will always make him think of Will.

Techno gets him a book on the stars, a thick edition that is filled cover to cover with facts about the constellations that make Tommy’s mind whir and his hands tingle. Techno even says that they can read through it together, and Tommy is so touched by both of his brothers knowing him so well that he thinks he’s about to burst.

The final gift he opens is from his father.

“It’s a tripod,” he explains. “I, uh, I noticed that you’ve been spending a lot of time on your computer recently, I assume editing, and–and you have that big camera. So, I thought, you know, maybe this would help with your filming.” He clears his throat, and Tommy thinks they’re all remembering Wilbur’s words from the night before. He’s gotten into filmmaking recently, because Tubbo introduced him to it.

Maybe his father did notice a little bit more than they all previously thought.

“And maybe, if you felt up to it, you could show me some of it.” His father smiles, eyes bright and hopeful. Tommy smiles back.

“Yeah, Dad. I think I’d like that.”

The smile those words put on his father’s face makes all the pain of the last year worth it, and Tommy realizes he’d do it all over again if it meant he got to have this, here, with his favourite people in the world.

He knows everything’s not perfect–Hell, it’s far from it. But, Tommy thinks, it’s a start–having his family next to him, their hearts and their souls connected by an invisible thread that, despite missing something, still remains unbroken. Getting to look up and see his father smiling at him. Getting to see Wilbur gasp in shock at the brand new guitar Tommy got him, and Techno with his shoulders relaxed and posture loose because he knows he’s safe here. Knowing he has a phone call with his two best friends waiting for him later, and that they’ll always be so excited to know all of him–whether he’s falling apart or being pieced back together.

And later in the night, so many hours later when the sky is painted black and littered with stars, when their bellies are full and their hearts are singing, Wilbur motions to Tommy, then to his shoulders, and it’s like everything Tommy has never understood suddenly makes sense.

He climbs atop his brother’s shoulders, glittering star in hand, and places it on top of the tree. The needles poke his palm, a sensation he knew was coming–but Wilbur’s hands are solid on his ankles, his father is smiling up at them, and Techno’s laugh is sending joy into every crevice of the room.

Wilbur doesn’t put him down for a moment, and Tommy just breathes.

Up here, next to the stars, Tommy thinks they’re going to be okay.

When his feet finally touch the ground, he knows they will be.