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"How've you been sleeping?" Wilbur asks randomly, into the comfortable silence of the car. He keeps his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, trying not to betray how much the question has been weighing on his mind since Tommy ducked into the passenger seat with only half his normal vibrancy.
Tommy looks over from where he’s gazing out the window, pulled out of his daze. "Hm? Uh, alright I guess."
Well, that’s convincing.
"The other day you tweeted that you were late to a stream because you fell asleep with your dog," Wilbur says skeptically. Tommy winces.
"That's- that was-" he stumbles, "well, you've met my dogs. They're comfy."
Wilbur turns his head, raises his eyebrow and then looks back at the road. "Sure. But you're also really good about your own sleep schedule. So no matter how comfortable your dogs are, I'm sure they wouldn't be the one thing to completely knock you off course like that."
Tommy flushes a bit, caught out. "Okay, sure. Maybe- maybe I've been sleeping later. But I mean, I've been working, you know? It's exciting."
Wilbur hums. "Yeah I know, I know. I know you're very busy and doing amazing things-” he pauses, eyes flicking to the boy in the passenger seat. “Seriously Toms, you're blowing it out of the water with all the vlogs, and your streams are as funny as ever, and all the meet ups are going very well. You're balancing being entertaining and productive very well. It's insane to watch. You’re fucking legendary, you are, and I know that you know, because I’m constantly telling you. I just thought I should remind you of how you're killing it man."
Tommy goes redder and looks down at his knees. "Thanks Wil," he mumbles, sheepish.
"I'm serious you know," Wilbur presses, "you are. And I'm so proud of you."
Tommy's head ducks even lower, as if he could curl away from all Wilbur’s praise. He presses his wrist to his tomato-esqe face. "Thanks Wilbur, mate," he says, going all Philza Minecraft, the way he does when he's embarrassed by honest compliments. "I'm gonna go getting a big head now ‘cause of you."
"Good." Wilbur says, but leaves it there. Or else Tommy might combust in his car. "No, but what I'm trying to say is, you're doing well and the content has never been better, but are you making sure to take care of yourself? Sleeping and eating and- just fucking resting man. I mean, when was the last time you went a whole day without creating content?"
Tommy frowns. "Uh, It’d be yesterday I think? I didn't stream so I could watch the football game."
"Did you edit?"
Tommy goes quiet, thinking. Then he winces.
"A little, but it wasn't anything-"
"And also, that was the night you stayed up until two am." Wilbur continues, unrelenting. "I know it was because I was there. There is no way you got sufficient sleep then."
Tommy pouts. "I'm fine Wil, I sleep enough. I'm not even tired right now! I could do seven straight vlogs right this second and still have enough energy to stream."
Wilbur is quiet for a moment, watching the cloudy look in his best friend’s eye, the circles against pale skin. That, in his professional opinion, is a lie. Tommy would have enough energy to put on his persona for all of ten minutes before crashing. He seems determined to lie and push through it though. Wilbur doesn’t know how to get Tommy to prioritize taking care of himself. He doesn’t know why his word isn’t enough. How could he phrase it to get Tommy to understand?
It hits him then: a challenge. Tommy won't just let Wilbur take him home and help him get some rest, unfortunately, he'll need to be tricked into it. Wilbur can manage that. In fact, he already has a few ideas of how to do it. He just needs to get Tommy to agree.
"I bet," Wilbur starts, "if I took you to my house, gave you a blanket and had you sit on my couch, you'd be out within the first eight minutes of sitting down."
Tommy's nose wrinkles. "No. I wouldn't. I'm- I'm a man of steel. My sleep schedule waits for me, I don't wait for it."
"Okay," Wilbur says, and then he changes lanes, away from their previous destination- the outlet mall- towards his home. "Let's test it out then."
"But- I- your content," Tommy protests, worrying at his lip. "The vlog. You were gonna-"
"You are, and always will be more important than content," Wilbur looks over. "How many times do I have to tell you to make it sink in your big head?"
And he’s trying for a joking tone, something Tommy would laugh at, but Tommy looks away, back out the window, seeming genuinely troubled. "I dunno. It's just- content is our livelihood, our passion. So it seems a bit unreasonable for some sleep or whatever to be more important than it."
"You can't possibly expect to make consistently good content if you ignore your mental health, sweetheart." Wilbur says gently, turning into his apartment complex. "I know you know this because you tell me all the time. Why shouldn't the same rules apply to you? What makes you think you're unworthy of the same small mercies?"
Tommy stays quiet and Wilbur sucks his teeth. Alright then, one thing at a time. Wilbur’s not giving up on him.
He parks, and then pulls the keys out the ignition. They get out and Wilbur leads Tommy upstairs, opening the front door and taking off his shoes. Wilbur watches Tommy take off his own sneakers and then urshers him to the couch.
"I'm not going to fall asleep," Tommy says, stubborn now. He plops down and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks like a disgruntled kitten. A tired disgruntled kitten.
Wilbur doesn't bother responding. He just hums and goes down the hall. He doesn't rush- going into his room to plug in his phone and going into his closet to grab two blankets and an extra pillow. Still, even with him taking his time, it doesn't take him long to get back- only maybe five minutes- but when he comes back out to the living room, Tommy is leaning back into the cushions, slumped a little.
From here, the exhaustion plaguing Tommy is almost palpable. He's all bleary eyed and loose limbed- blinking like he can hardly keep his eyes open. The slight sway he has is enough to make Wilbur wince in sympathy and have to fight down the urge to roll him up in blankets and sit on him until he falls asleep.
"Here," Wilbur holds out the blankets, offering them to Tommy. Tommy halfheartedly glares at them for a moment, but takes them. His eyes widen when he touches them, and he does a small squawk of surprise that causes fondness to bloom in Wilbur's gut. "Good right? They’re the softest things I own, so I thought you’d like them."
Tommy immediately pulls one around his shoulders and throws the other over his legs. He peeks out from his self-made cocoon and nods furiously, eyes big. "I do, Wilbur, I do like them. I like them a lot." Wilbur laughs, and figures that when Tommy leaves he'll have to make sure he doesn't take anything with him. He honestly might, with the way he keeps running his hands along the plush, petting it like it’s a cat in his lap.
“It’s very soft and very warm. Almost soft enough to nap on, don't you think?”
"I’m still not gonna sleep. I'm just comfortable." He says defensively, pausing in his petting like he's been caught. “We are going to do your vlog Wilbur. I- I swear on Lizzie.”
Wilbur laughs and pretends to give in, moving over to his balcony door to close the blinds and make it darker. Wilbur is going to make Tommy sleep- he has not choice. Just the idea of taking him out and expecting him to be entertaining when Wilbur knows he's exhausted makes his chest ache.
"Okay, tell you what Toms." He says once the living room is nice and dim. "If you manage to not fall asleep in the next hour, we'll go back out and do the vlog. How's that sound?"
Tommy, from his warm cocoon, puffs up. "Fuckin' easy. Big men don't sleep."
"That seems a little unreasonable," Wilbur responds absently, reaching for his tv remote and opening Disney Plus. Which, of course, he only got because of Tommy. It was in preparation for their more frequent meetups- Wilbur was predicting the possibility of many late-night post vlogging movie marathons. As he was signing up to sell his soul away to the mouse, he couldn’t help but imagine Tommy on the couch next to him, feet on his coffee table obnoxiously, urging him to put on Monsters Inc or Bolt . Wilbur imagined that he’d protest in order to keep up his façade of being annoyed by Tommy's antics, but eventually he’d crumble, because really, Wilbur is putty in Tommy’s hands. He’d do anything for his pseudo-brother - monopolizing media companies be damned. It’s just lucky that Tommy hasn’t figured that out yet, because the exploitation of the TommyInnit puppy-dog eyes could lead down a dangerous road really quickly.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Tommy asks, sounding vaguely apprehensive.
"Just putting on a movie," Wilbur says innocently. He opens the Pixar section, then scrolls over until-
"Oh no." Tommy groans.
"Oh yes," Wilbur grins. "Tommy, did you know that Up is my favorite animated Pixar movie of all time?"
"But it's not though, now is it?" Tommy complains. "That's simply untrue. You're just lying to me."
"Nope, I swear. Cross my heart and everything." He draws an x over his chest, just the way he remembers it in Up and Tommy makes a noise like a wounded puppy.
"That's just fucked up- you're so fucked for that." Tommy starts, all huffing and puffing, the way he does when he's gearing up to argue for a bit. But there is no audience to entertain, no people to appease. It's just Wilbur and Tommy, and Wilbur doesn't need to be entertained to stick around.
"Come over here," Wilbur says gently, cutting off Tommy's rant before it begins. "Sit next to me."
He pats the cushion next to him expectantly and Tommy stalls, his mouth closing. That sheepish look returns and Wilbur yet again has to wonder how so much insecurity could possibly pile up in someone so blatantly wondrous. Tommy scoots over, sitting at a polite distance away from Wilbur.
Okay, Wilbur thinks, baby steps.
He remembers a late call early in their friendship after the first round of meet-ups. Tommy had stayed up gushing about it all, his voice full of that child-like excitement that comes with having your dreams come true right before your eyes. It was endearing, and even though Wilbur was properly worn out, he stayed up with Tommy and listened to him talk, unable to quite admit to himself it was mainly because he already missed his best friend. During the call though, Wilbur distinctly remembered Tommy mentioning Tubbo’s aversion to touch and how Tommy had been nervous about it because that was the way that Tommy showed his affection. He liked to greet his friends with running hugs or lean on them in moments of quiet, so he wasn't sure how it would all go- what would be allowed. But even that didn’t make things awkward between the two of them. Tommy was able to hold back and just enjoy being there in person with Tubbo and it was everything he thought it'd be.
When Tommy told him that, it made Wilbur think of the way Tommy lingered close when the two of them met up, like he wanted to reach out but was reeling himself back. Over the call, Wilbur didn't know how to tell Tommy, next time you can hug me, next time I want you to reach out. I'd love it. You're my best friend and not just when there's a screen between us, so he didn't. He thought it though, and wished he made the effort to let Tommy know.
“Most people find me annoying at first,” Tommy had grinned over the call. He shrugged like it was nothing, but Wilbur knew most jokes were born out of hidden truths. “I try my best to ease them into the inescapable TommyInnit charm. Usually it works.”
Wilbur had half a mind to ask about the few times that it didn’t, but he didn’t need to. He could guess. They've been friends for almost two years now, and Tommy is still holding himself still on Wilbur's couch like they're casual acquaintances. Even all wrapped up in Wilbur's blankets the way that he is. But that’s fine, Wilbur will disprove Tommy’s insecurities one by one as many times as he needs to. He has no problem with that.
Wilbur presses play and leans back, half watching the movie and half watching Tommy out of the corner of his eye. He understands why Up is one of Tommy's favorite movies. Other than the fact that it's good, it fits him. It mirrors Tommy in a lot of ways. The plot that hides its own intellect and deep emotional significance behind bright colors and lighthearted surrealism, the sense of adventure threaded throughout, the unforgettable character and set designs. It's a very TommyInnit movie. It feels right for it to be his favorite.
Wilbur catches himself humming the score under his breath, and slowly, as the movie goes on, he notices Tommy relaxing more. Leaning more into Wilbur's space, seeking the touch he’s been keeping from himself. Wilbur happily obliges, curling an arm behind the couch and letting Tommy slowly tuck into his side.
A feeling erupts in his gut at the sight of Tommy nestled close. Something so sudden and intense that Wilbur almost feels punched out by it. Fierce protectiveness, so fiery and abundant that Wilbur might be torn up from the inside out. This is his best friend, his brother, his Tommy. The one who laughs so hard it sounds like he’s having an asthma attack, the one who does his best comedy when he’s half asleep and has his persona off, the one that leans into jokes at his expense because he’s not afraid of a bruised ego. The one that takes pictures of the things that he loves, the one that will write paragraphs to people when they're feeling down but won't let anyone believe he's nice, the one that believes in and cheers for Wilbur louder than anyone he's ever met before.
The one that’s tired and just needs a rest but won't let himself.
It's around the middle of the movie- with Carl meeting Charles Muntz- when Tommy's eyes begin to droop. He keeps almost nodding off but then getting stirred awake by the movie.
"Don't look now," Wilbur whispers, "but I think you're starting to fall asleep. Want me to turn off the movie?"
"Mh," Tommy tries to protest, "no, I'm watching, I'm watching. I'm going to win. We gotta vlog."
"We don't have to," He says, "you're tired. That's okay. You should rest."
Tommy shakes his head, as stubborn as the day is long. Wilbur sighs, having known this would happen. The only thing more impressive than Tommy's work ethic is his persistence. So, Wilbur decides this is as good a time as ever to go in with his last move. He lifts the arm that's around Tommy's blanketed shoulders and carefully brushes the bangs off Tommy's head. Tommy's eyes flutter closed and Wilbur takes that chance to card through his locks, soothing and slow.
Tommy whines involuntarily, and, still with his eyes closed, turns to bury his face into Wilbur's shoulder.
"Feels nice?" Wilbur asks. He pulls through a tangle and Tommy curves up into Wilbur's hand. "Want to sleep yet? Because I'm very comfortable here- I could do this for hours."
"Fuck you," Tommy says, voice muffled, "this is so not on. This simply is not-"
Alright then. Time for the secret weapon.
Wilbur takes the hand still carding through Tommy’s hair and lightly scratches at his scalp. Tommy instantly goes silent, his voice dying. He's so silent that after a couple beats, Wilbur starts to worry, and it only increases when he feels Tommy’s shoulders hitch under all the blankets.
"Toms?" He says, pausing, pulling the hand from Tommy's hair. "Are you okay?"
Tommy burrows further into Wilbur like he's trying to hide. "Wil," he goes, all slow and defeated, sounding close to tears, " 'M tired. 'M really, really tired."
Oh.
If Wilbur thought his chest hurt before, that's nothing compare to now. He wishes he could’ve caught this earlier- helped before it got to this point. He knows very well the way that the razor thin edge between anxiety to preform and passion to produce can push a person to work past their limits. He knows just easy it can be letting things like mental health and wellbeing slip by the way-side. And Tommy's just seventeen- he couldn't be expected to know his limits with hardly a full year's worth of experience.
Wilbur should've looked out for Tommy better. All he can do now is play catch-up and be more keen in the future.
"I know Tommy, I know." Wilbur whispers. "It's okay, you can sleep, I promise."
“But I said I’d help you,” Tommy tries, voice thick. “You help me. You help me so much. How could I just-”
“Oh Toms,” Wilbur sighs, holding him tighter. “No, no, don’t even think that. Don’t put content- anybody’s content- above your health. Especially not mine. Don’t you know how much it kills me to see you hurting? Don’t you know how much I want you healthy? The whole point of this was to get you to rest, not to test you or some shit. Please just- come on Toms. I truly want you to take care of yourself. You are so important to me.”
Tommy whimpers, and Wilbur feels a hand curl into the fabric of his sweater. “Can I- can I sleep here? Please?”
"Yeah," Wilbur says, relieved. "Yeah, yes. Of course you can. And I’ll stay if you need me to. Hell, I'll stay if you don't need me to. And- and I won’t let anything wake you, yeah? How does that sound sunshine?”
Wilbur’s only answer comes in the form of Tommy going lax, leaning all his weight onto Wilbur, trusting that he’ll be safe. And of course he will. Wilbur wouldn’t dream of any other possibility. He shifts so they're laying on the couch- Tommy tucked under Wilbur's right arm, in between the couch and his body. With his right arm he manages to grab the remote and turn off the television, letting the room go completely dark except for the late afternoon sun peeking through the closed blinds. Because of their proximity, Wilbur can feel exactly when Tommy's breathing deepens as he drops off into sleep. That anxious buzzing that's almost always active in the back of his mind, saved strictly for Tommy, dies down a tad and Wilbur sighs, relieved. He presses a kiss to Tommy's hair, and Tommy hardly even shifts.
"Sleep well Toms," he whispers, and then drifts off himself.
(Later, when Tommy wakes up- well rested for the first time in weeks, with Wilbur's arm still loose around him and the soft blankets that smell like his brother all piled around his shoulders- Tommy'll blink at the darkened living room, waiting for that tight feeling of guilt in his chest for wasting time sleeping when he could've been working, but it never comes. He hesitates for just a moment before burrowing back down in his spot. It's the first time in a while that he feels okay letting his phone notifications go unchecked or not planning out the next video idea - but with Wilbur's voice in his head reminding him that he deserves small mercies, and the tempting warmth of Wilbur's couch still under him, he finds it less hard than it was previous.)
(And even later still, when Wilbur begins to shift and finds a well-rested teen on his hands, they'll forgo the vlog completely in favor of ordering take-out and re-watching the movie they missed. Tommy will quote all of Dug's lines and compare Wilbur to the various other dogs- specifically Alpha- just to annoy him, while Wilbur throws microwave popcorn at his mussed hair and tries not to feel terribly fond. Of course it doesn't work, but Wilbur can dream. The movie will end and in the quiet between the credits rolling and Wilbur queuing up another, Tommy will kick him with a socked foot and throw an embarrassed thank you at him. Wilbur will pause, then smile, and say you can nap here anytime, and then put on one of his favorite movies just to make Tommy sit through it.)
But for now, they sleep, curled up and comfortable, getting the rest they both deserve.