Chapter Text
Summary: SBI story, Wilbur ODs and ends up in a coma, Tommy hates being pitied.
Already the day was terrible. It rained on the way to school, leaving Tommy with soggy jeans weighing down his ankles along with his waterlogged converse. He forgot to grab lunch money this morning, and without breakfast or money for food, his energy drained quicker than if he’d run a marathon, and it’s only 12:30. Then he finds out Tubbo forgot to give him one of his makeup assignments, so the teacher is dropping his grade a letter since that’s the fifth assignment he’s missed. And lastly…
“…if I could just borrow him for a few minutes..?” The short guidance counselor glances over at him from the doorway, directing the teacher to call him up. He doesn’t wait for the command, instead, he drops the notebook he’d been doodling in into his pack and slings it over his back, standing from his desk and shuffling to the door. He tries not to draw any attention, but with every movement, he feels countless eyes watching him.
He’s a head taller than the adult in the doorway, despite being nearly a decade her junior, but she’s much more built than his lanky stature. Ms. Kara Fluffy. With the peculiar last name and the strange request to call her ‘captain’. Tommy doubts she’s ever actually piloted a boat before, but really he lacks the credentials to assume who is and who isn’t a sailor.
She grants him enough mercy by staying silent while they walk to the front offices, as he despises small talk. Or talking at all. Tommy wishes it could be this quiet all the time, with the empty halls and walls muffling the boring lectures in every classroom. It’s a lot easier to breathe when no one is staring with those pitiful gazes. When they finally reach the narrow aisle of administrative offices, Ms. Puffy opens a door labeled with her name and allows him to enter first. He takes a seat in one of the awkward couch-chairs while the captain sits behind her desk.
Tommy kicks his backpack under the legs of the chair, both as a precaution and because he doesn’t want to make any accidental eye contact. He lazes back, and waits for her to type whatever she needs to before she asks him her question.
He knows it’s coming because she stops what she’s doing and breathes out a sigh, like the mother of an unruly toddler would, “Thomas, why are you at school today?” She gets straight to the point, gazing at him under the palm that holds her head.
“You said two weeks,” he mutters, still avoiding her suspicious gaze, “didn’t say I had to stay out that long.” He watches his brittle nails scrap along the grain of the chair’s armrests, uncaringly peeling away small splinters of the wood that curl under his fingertips. Even this boredom rotting his brain is better than trying to stay home all day, he’d take school over another emotional breakdown from his father any day.
The creak of her office chair alerts him to her leaning onto the desk, shortening the distance between them by a few inches. “The two weeks is for your benefit, Thomas. We all need the time and space to grieve after the death of a loved one,” she repeats what she told him over the phone before, and once again he rolls his eyes. “I know Wilbur meant a lot to you, and I know he would want-“
But at that, Tommy cuts her off, scolding, “Pfft, you don’t know what he would want. You don’t know anything,” he seethes, crossing his arms and sinking down in the uncomfortable chair. With the last of his energy, he mutters, “And he isn’t dead.” Before finalizing the decision in his head to silence his end of this exchange.
The Captain can keep talking, keep applying whatever method she thinks will help his situation, will convince him to stay in his quiet little bedroom so he can grieve. But he doesn’t need to grieve. Because no one is dead.
Without a second voice, their meeting grows tiring quickly, and Ms. Puffy is forced to let Thomas go back to class, unable to keep him from attending school when he’s done nothing wrong. Tommy sweeps the hair from his eyes (just like his brother would do, perhaps with less flair) and slumps under the weight of his backpack. He’s not carrying much, just a few notebooks to look like he belongs there, but really nothing of value. Instead of class, his feet take him to the back stairwell where a small set of steps lead down to an exit. But he goes up, two flights behind him as he opens the door to the roof. Usually, an alarm would sound, but the door is already propped open by a small eraser taped to the door. Tommy put it there after slipping away during a fire drill, with this exact scenario in mind.
He watches the door close to make sure it doesn’t latch before closing his eyes and facing the direction of the wind. It’s still raining, but it’s a warm rain, a sign of spring, the clouds having been heated by the sun all morning. He breathes, happy to finally be away from all the annoying eyes of pity, but it fails to alleviate the cold in his chest. He’s still alone, still sad, and still without Wilbur.
The usual spot is a shadow behind a large AC unit, something loud enough to conceal any talking and large enough to block out the sun. Tommy sits and puts in his headphones, shooting a text to the only other souls in the school who know of the spot. While he waits he lets the flow of the world consume him. The wind chases out his lonely thoughts, the sights of blood and sounds of screaming, of sirens, and Phil crying drowned by his music. The image of Wilbur laying in the hospital bed, the machines surrounding him, his cold, lifeless hands tied to the posts, skin so grey he looked like a mannequin. Tommy wishes he never entered that room, but he never imagined that image would be worse than the night before.
—-
Someone throws a party. All of the upperclassmen are invited. Wilbur is invited.
Niki is invited.
Wilbur and Niki used to date, but after three months, she breaks up the relationship. But Wilbur hasn’t gotten over it. He thinks this party is a chance to win her heart back.
No one told Tommy exactly what went down, but Wilbur drank a lot of shots, tried to make a move on her, and got rejected.
It didn’t matter to him. What mattered was the slam of the front door, a drunk and depressed Wilbur bloody Soot stumbling in at 2 am. Tommy was awake, watching YouTube videos on his phone under the covers when he heard the commotion.
He should thank god he didn’t wake Phil, Techno was able to shut him up and drag Wilbur to his bedroom to sleep. Tommy listened at the door to see when Techno went back to his room, certain that Wilbur was out cold.
He never woke up.
—-
“Heeeey Tom!”
Tubbo walks into his line of sight, waving a hand. It must be lunchtime then since Tubbo doesn’t usually skip class.
Tommy attempts to lift the corners of his mouth, but he thinks he did it wrong. “Hey big man,” he says, “how’s maths?”
“They’re real shit, I tell you. I just wait until the bell,” Tubbo responds, taking a seat next to Tommy in the shade of the large metal structure.
“Ms. Reicht gave me an earful this morning, I think you forgot her on my class schedule.”
“Oh, shoot, I knew there was something I missed,” Tubbo shrugs, knowing it’s not as big a deal... (I'm so sorry but it ends there)