Chapter Text
Wilbur was a strange man, to say the least.
Although, it wasn't like Tommy had known him for very long - in fact, his apparently long lost older brother who he had no idea even existed beforehand only reappeared in his life about a month or so ago.
And even then, he still barely spoke to the man.
Often they exchanged hasty, fumbled greetings with one another whilst passing through the house, both eager to finish the interaction and get back to where they were originally headed.
And perhaps on the rare occasion, they would be made to endure a terribly awkward ride to school, whenever Phil or Techno were too busy to drop Tommy off themselves and Wilbur was the only one who could.
Small talk about the weather or what time Tommy finished school was the extent of their absolutely riveting conversations.
When Wilbur had first showed up on their doorstep, around late evening, awkwardly hunched over and uncomfortably shifting on his feet that were missing any kind of footwear for some unknown reason with a rather large box that was unlabelled tucked underneath his arms, he had offered Phil a half-hearted greeting and a weary, wobbly grin.
Much to Tommy's surprise, his usually composed and collected father had burst into tears, crumpling into the supposed stranger's arms and hugging him taut, unwilling to let go even when Techno had attempted to yank him back.
There had been a furious scowl scrawled across Techno's countenance, a stark contrast to his usual stoicism. It had only confused Tommy even further, peering around the corner on his tiptoes as to get a good look at the stranger.
With a few words of reassurance from Phil, his elder brother had reluctantly made way for the stranger to walk on inside, and Tommy was then finally able to get a decent look at him.
Dark hickory curls spilled over his forehead, a singular white streak entwined into them, a crooked pair of circular-framed glasses clinging to the bridge of his bandaged nose, dark purple eye bags smattering underneath his entrancing mocha eyes.
It was hard to make out the exact emotions that tugged taut at his handsome features, however, Tommy could definitely make out apprehension, the man certainly ruminating as he stared around the cosy interior of the house.
Strangely, over his patchy mustard jumper, the man adorned a worn-out lab coat, covered in grime and what seemed to be splatters of blood, similar to the specks of crimson painting his pale face. A pair of goggles, very reminiscent of the steampunk style, sat atop his mess of curls, both lenses cracked.
When his eyes had met Tommy's, the man's features had softened considerably, lips pursed as the tense air around them both thickened, like a heavy smog.
Phil had skittishly introduced the two of them, Tommy's eyes almost completely bulging out of his skull as his dad presented the ragged and dirtied stranger as none other than Wilbur Watson (Wilbur Soot, he later found out the man had changed his name): his brother.
Younger than Technoblade, older than Tommy.
The strange stranger was his brother.
It was safe to say that Tommy had been much more than pissed off upon finding out, distrust unfurling within him, feeling himself lose some ounce of respect for his dad - for having never told him.
Still, he had gritted his teeth, sharing a look of unease with Techno who seemed seconds away from pouncing on Wilbur.
It wouldn't be until the next day that Tommy would discover Wilbur was some sort of wacky scientist who had abandoned his very own family in order to pursue a life of adventure and discovery.
Completely unimpressed, any curiosity he once held for this man had dissipated in mere moments, unable to believe he had caused so much trouble and heartache in the name of science out of all things.
Tommy did not at all regret calling the man a piece of shit.
Well, maybe just a tad, considering Wilbur had physically flinched at his little brother's disapproval and exasperation.
And after that, the two never really got to know one another - unpleasant passings in the hallways and strained chats had ensued, neither really bothering to spark a relationship, to rekindle their brotherhood (not like there was anything there beforehand, anyway).
But Tommy could care less.
Could care less about the man who had destroyed his family by abandoning them.
Could care less about the scientist who spent most of his time either curled up fast asleep on the sofa, clutching a bottle of wine to his chest as though it was his child, or holed up in the garage that he had selfishly stolen for himself and cluttered with his rubbish.
Could care less about his brother.
Wilbur was a strange man, and one that Tommy held no interest in getting to know.
----
Ever since Wilbur had permanently (well, perhaps excluding the many days in a row where the man would just... disappear, leaving his dad to desperately cry out for him in the dead of the night) moved in with them, many arguments between his eldest brother and father had emerged.
Before Wilbur had appeared, both Techno and Phil were attached at the hip, never straying from the other's side for too long - maybe there was some sort of co-dependency issue, with how much they both relied on one another, though Tommy wasn't ever going to bother exploring it.
Whilst Phil did seem to genuinely love all of his children, Tommy knew that there was a special fondness reserved for Techno and Techno alone. There always had been, no doubts about it.
But, as of late, they were both constantly at each other's necks, a pair of savage predators fighting over their prey.
It was because of Wilbur. He was always the subject of the arguments, the man never once stepping in to put a stop to the rift that he had caused.
Most nights, Tommy laid barely awake, exhaustion not enough to tune out the sound of his family screaming back and forth like it was a stupid fucking competition that neither were willing to lose.
And, like most nights, the current one was no exception to such disputes.
Although, this time around, it had been ignited during dinner. The fire had been immediate in smouldering, the two poking at the flames until they finally erupted, scorching Tommy's perturbed mind as he was forced to endure it.
Of course, it was during the one dinner that Wilbur had decided to not make an appearance.
Techno's hand slammed down on to the rickety oaken table, sending cutlery across the table, a stray fork very almost piercing Tommy's thigh (he was an incredibly lucky man to have been able to avoid it in time).
"You can't keep doin' this! You can't keep gettin' your hopes up like this!" Came Techno's indignant cry, voice having reached a crescendo - as it usually did whenever arguing, Tommy would know - as he accusingly scowled at an indifferent Phil.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Phil sharply exhaled, bushy blond eyebrows twitching from where they were furrowed on his forehead. "He's my son, Techno. I can't just - I can't just kick him out now! Do you expect me to leave my son?"
Even Tommy winced at that, feeling dreadfully tense as he waited with baited breath, silently begging for his dad to just shut up for once. He could only feel guilt at the absolutely crestfallen look that had melded on to Techno's face, his brother's fists curling into his sides.
Just when Tommy thought it was going to end, maybe with either Techno storming off or Phil apologising (which was the option Tommy was praying for), Techno shoved himself to stand, looming over Phil as he practically growled out, "I expect you to not just abandon your other two sons just like he did with us!"
And with that, the screaming match began for the second time that night, cerulean eyes rolling hard as Tommy cupped quivering hands over his sensitive ears.
"Fuck it." Tommy eventually grumbled under his breath, a shrill ring reverberating throughout his head, bringing upon a headache that was sure to be agonising later on.
Pushing his chair out from under the table with a purposefully deafening screech, Tommy marched out of the dining room, thunderously stomping up the carpeted stairs as he made the prolonged trek back to his room.
A grin tugged at his bitten lips when he heard the collective chorus of 'Tommy!' from Techno and Phil, pulling open the door to his room and slamming the door shut behind him, continuing to obnoxiously thump his sock-clad feet against the hardwood floor until he reached his bed, falling down on to it with a distinct lack of elegance.
At least his room could somewhat muffle the bickering, only partially, and Tommy sardonically praised whatever potential God was above as he fumbled for his duvet, not even bothering to change out of his clothes.
Just as his head hit the pillow, forcing his eyes to squeeze shut as taut as he could possibly manage, there was a series of rapid knocks at his door, fear squeezing around his heart and threatening to pop it.
Grousing, attempting to ignore the way his heart pounded agonisingly against his poor chest, Tommy didn't bother to raise his heavy head, instead hoping that whoever was knocking would just piss off and leave him to sulk alone.
Of course, Lady Luck had never been particularly fond of Tommy.
The door swung open, hitting the wall with a worrying crack, a blinding light flooding his previously dim room, his veil of darkness being ripped away without his consent.
A whine was pulled from the very back of his throat, feeling too deflated to twist his head slightly and check who had just barged in on him - in all honesty, he'd much prefer for there to be a murderer or a thief at his door, not really wanting to face anyone in his house just yet.
"Fuck off." He settled for instead, voice muffled by the pillow he had shoved his face into, curling up even more as though making himself as small as possible would hide him from the intruder, to no avail.
Boot-clad feet clacked against the wooden tiles that made up his floor, coming to a sudden halt right beside his bed.
Still, he was far too stubborn to glance up, instead yanking his duvet more over his body, as to tell the person to go away (if they hadn't already gotten the hint, somehow).
There was a sigh and then the duvet was snatched from his hands, falling in a heap on the floor, followed by large hands shaking his shoulders.
At once, Tommy jolted, springing up in his tiny bed. Golden curls whipped his face with how fast he turned his head, a frown wriggling on to his lips as he squinted down at the discarded duvet.
Glancing up, Tommy felt his heart stutter, eye twitching as he caught the eye of none other than Wilbur Soot.
Agitation prickled underneath his milky skin, teeth grinding together as he mustered up a glare that was hopefully intimidating as he grunted out, "What the fuck do you want, dickhead?"
Amusement glimmered in the man's tired eyes, not at all bothered by Tommy's attempt at intimidation. The corners of his mouth twitched up, as though he was trying his hardest as to not break out into a full blown smile.
"C'mon, come with me." Wilbur shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat - a lot less grimy than usual, Tommy noted with pleasant surprise - as he regarded his younger brother, schooling his features into a deadpan expression.
Raising a brow, Tommy crossed his arms over his chest, sneering at his brother with clear disgust. Wilbur didn't waver.
"Why?" Tommy inquired, still refusing to budge.
Wilbur had the audacity to roll his eyes, bringing a hand up to scratch at the stubble littering his chin and jaw. "God, man, stop asking so many fucking questions." He snapped, before whirling around, lab coat flitting behind him almost whimsically, "Fine. Meet me in the garage, if you want to."
His tone was condescending, as if his goal was to rile Tommy up, to challenge the boy with a promise of the unknown.
And, shit, yeah, it was kind of working.
With that, Wilbur strode away, his eloquently spindly legs poised rather gracefully, not once faltering in his swift strides, not even bothering to shut the door behind him, far too confident that Tommy would follow.
Glancing down at his duvet, cast aside and draped over his desk, Tommy was tempted to nuzzle back into it and just sleep. Never before had Tommy felt so drained, and the lack of sleep was really beginning to get to him.
Though, he would be lying if he claimed that he wasn't a little intrigued. What could the man who barely uttered a word to anyone in the house possibly want from Tommy?
Curiosity urged the boy to get up, and so he did, planting unsteady feet on the ground and heaving himself to wobbly legs, grasping on to his bedside table as to not topple over.
Once he had caught his balance, Tommy was off, grabbing his azure woollen cardigan on his way out and slipping into it - it was far too big, barely clinging on to his lanky frame, and basically swamped his torso and arms, cascading to his lower thighs.
But he had owned it ever since he was a young child, and deftly refused to throw it away, despite Phil's insistence that they could just get a new one.
Passing by the dining room, he peered inside, having noticed that the fighting had quietened down a little. Both Techno and Phil were still in there, both at a loss as they sat across from one another, their heads in their hands.
Tommy continued to the kitchen, finding his way to the ajar door at the very back of it. Light peered through the crack, highlighting it in a light that was almost celestial in comparison to the unlit kitchen.
Akin to that of a moth drawn to a lamp, Tommy fluttered over, hands grasping the doorknob and twisting it, pulling open the door with an easy tug - he was haloed by the flickering lights from within, beckoning him inside.
Stepping in, he allowed his gaze to flit around the garage, taking note of the many boxes that littered the once-empty shelves, overflowing with metal scraps, an array of all sorts of different materials in general and what looked to be an assortment of peculiar devices.
The bin was overflowing with empty bottles of wine and charred rubble, spilling over on to the hard concrete floor that was stained with weird, discoloured patches that Tommy had never noticed before (unless they were new, not like Tommy would be able to tell, considering he never went in the garage anyway).
A camp-bed was tucked away in a corner of the room, a thin sheet clumsily draped over it, an even thinner pillow propped up against the bed instead of laying atop it.
Even though the state of the garage was horrendous, it didn't smell nearly as bad as it looked.
Sat at the cluttered workbench was none other than Wilbur himself, back slouched as he tinkered with a device, hands reaching for a test tube that was haphazardly leaning against a test tube rack, filled with a gloopy green liquid that looked pretty grim.
Without even turning around, Wilbur pulled up his trusted goggles from over his glasses so that they were sat in his hair, using a free hand to pat the stool beside him. "I need you to hold this for me." He explained as soon as Tommy had reluctantly taken a seat, passing over the test tube.
Grimacing, Tommy cast a weary glance down at the device that his brother held in his hands - it looked like some sort of gun, white with a bulky square frame, and a tube that stuck out from the top. There seemed to be a black dial behind the empty tube, along with a red screen which flashed with words that Tommy could not make out.
Wilbur held its wide handle, hand completely engulfing it, and twisted the tube out of its holster, holding it in front of a very puzzled Tommy as he set down the gun.
Frowning, Tommy tipped his head down, staring at the tube cradled in his own hands. Was he supposed to pour the contents of it inside of the one Wilbur had?
As he inched his face closer to the bubbling goo, Wilbur's voice chimed in, "Don't go near it."
At once, Tommy's head snapped back up, curls bouncing with the action. He curiously raised the tube above his head, swishing it back and forth without much care. "Why?" He queried, raising a bushy eyebrow in challenge.
"It's highly corrosive and acidic." Wilbur sounded terribly exhausted as he explained it to Tommy, whose eyes grew comically wide and he stilled, awaiting further explanation that the man was more than happy to give, apparently. "Put it too close to your face and it'll probably burn your retinas."
With that, Tommy shrieked, startling Wilbur who straightened in his chair, frantically checking his younger brother over, dropping his one tube in favour of grasping the boy's wrist, holding it taut.
"What?! Are you okay? Did you spill it on yourself?" Wilbur's flurry of questions had Tommy's head spinning.
A rouge flush painted Tommy's cheeks as he vehemently shook his head with each question, attempting to tug his hand back.
"Why the fuck did you scream then?" The man snapped accusingly, eyes squeezing into an incredulous glare, prying the tube from Tommy's hands who gave it back with no argument.
Snickering, Tommy couldn't help the mirthful smirk that stretched across his face from ear to ear, amusement bubbling in his chest. "I didn't know you actually had a heart, Soot." He teased, only a little serious.
"I'm human, aren't I?" Wilbur grumbled, looking a lot more offended by the question than Tommy had expected.
Guilt tugged at his heart and he averted his gaze, fixating it on the laptop that had a bunch of wires wrapped around its exposed components.
"Phil would kill me if I injured you," His brother's next words didn't make Tommy feel nearly as bad as he did before, shooting a bitterly unimpressed glare at Wilbur who just ignored it, "I'm already on thin fucking ice as is."
Rolling his eyes, Tommy propped his elbow against the workbench, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand. "So... why have you brought me to your creepy sex dungeon?"
Wilbur's nose wrinkled at that, pausing in his action of pouring the contents of the tube into the one that belonged to the gun.
Genuine distress settled over his face, and Tommy burst out into shrieking laughter at how utterly distraught the man appeared at his comment.
"What the fuck?" Wilbur was finally able to force out, the distress oozing into embarrassment, a smattering of pink dusting his cheeks as he finally finished filling the tube. He then clicked the cap over the top of it, making sure that none of the contents spilled. "Gross. Aren't you, like, ten?"
Laughter ceasing, Tommy bristled, sitting up in his seat and crossing his arms taut over his chest. "I'm fifteen, prick! Fuck you!" It was Tommy's turn to be embarrassed, his own face smouldering with a crimson heat.
"Anyway," Wilbur hummed, screwing the tube back into its holster, picking the gun up once again and twisting the dial, "this is my lab."
Oh, right. Tommy had forgotten that Wilbur was some sort of scientist - although, it didn't really explain the technical gadgets scattered around his 'lab'.
He had expected the man to just work with chemicals and periodic tables... or something like that.
"Okay?" Tommy was still befuddled, unsure of what the man wanted with him. Why he had just stormed into his room and demanded that Tommy should follow him.
It had worked, at least.
With a heavy sigh, Wilbur pocketed the gun-thing in his coat, running a hand down his face.
"Look, Tommy, I'll be completely honest with you -" he grasped Tommy's shoulders, calloused fingers digging into the soft wool of his cardigan, forcing the boy to focus his attention entirely on the man in front of him, "I need your help."
Heavy silence intoxicated the atmosphere, threatening to drag Tommy under with the sheer weight of it.
"I assumed so, Wilbur." Tommy commented dryly, shifting in his seat, not really liking the direction the conversation was taking.
Clasping his hands together, Wilbur beamed radiantly, grinning in a way that made Tommy very uneasy, giddily exclaiming, "Great!"
The man brought a hand down on to Tommy's mess of unruly curls, ruffling them before he leapt to his feet, twirling around without faltering, pulling out the gun from his pocket and intently focusing on the dial as he twisted it around.
Flattening his wild curls, Tommy tried to peer over the man's shoulder to no avail, slipping from the chair to stand beside Wilbur, straining his neck slightly as to properly look at the man.
Clearing his throat, Tommy swallowed past the lump lodged in his throat and rocked on the heels of his feet, still only in socks, "So... what's the problem?"
Wilbur didn't even spare a glance in his direction as he answered, "I'll tell you when we get there." He eventually tilted his head down to look at Tommy, "You might want to put some shoes on."
With a hesitant nod, Tommy briskly left the garage, in search of his trusted trainers - as soon as they were safely on his feet he rushed back to Wilbur's side, wondering if he should bother running up to his bedroom to grab his phone or not.
But before Tommy could even ask his older brother about that, he had raised the arm holding his gun, his other hand nonchalantly shoved into a pocket on his lab coat, and pointed it at the closed garage door.
And then he pressed down on the button at its side, Tommy stumbling back with a startled yelp as the green substance from earlier shot out of it, splattering against the door with a resounding vwoosh, hastily expanding in size, so that it covered a large area of it.
On the garage door, some sort of strange vortex supposedly made of the goo was plastered against it, a swirling kaleidoscope of greens with splatters of yellows and whites, sparks of electricity crackling along its circular edges, an illuminating glow casting an ethereal light upon the floor before it.
Uncanny noises fluttered from it, the electricity rippling throughout it as low, fantastical sounds flitted around the room, a glacial thrill shooting up Tommy's spine as the vortex seemed to almost croon at him, trying to lure him in.
Rubbing his eyes a few times, Tommy could declare with certainty that it was very much real and wasn't just in his head, that was spinning the world around him into a muddled blur of countless colours.
Staggering back, the boy's hands fumbled for his hair, fingers sinking into his knotted curls as he tugged at them, eyes bewildered and mouth agape, heart faltering in his chest as he tried to stop sputtering, despising how humoured Wilbur seemed.
"Wha - what the fucking hell is that?!" Tommy shrieked at last, legs feeling awfully wobbly, knees swaying as he grasped on to the workbench beside him for support, squeezing the counter until his hands trembled and paled as a result of his iron grip.
"A portal?" Wilbur had the audacity to sound confused at the boy's melodramatic reaction, splaying a hand against his back and bringing him closer, squeezing an arm around one of his tensed shoulders. "Shit, did I not tell you?"
It was clear that Wilbur was just fucking with him as he pondered on his own question, frustration coiling into a taut knot in Tommy's stomach. He felt a bit queasy, squinting at the portal.
There had never been anything like it before. Not from what Tommy had seen, at least - it was like something straight out of a sci-fi film.
Squirming underneath Wilbur's hold, Tommy shoved him away, meeting the other's unnerving honey eyes with his own incredulous cerulean ones.
"No?!" His voice was at a falsetto, not registering when Wilbur began to subtly urge him forwards, "Tell me what?!"
It was only when Tommy found himself face-to-face with the portal that he realised Wilbur had walked him all the way across the garage, features creasing as he glanced over at his older brother, who appeared almost bored as he drew his hand back.
Only to suddenly shove it forwards into Tommy's back without warning, knocking the boy off kilter and sending him tumbling through the portal, disappearing into it with a piercing scream that cut off as he fell through it.