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Tommy sits on the cold tile, dangling his feet off the edge. He watches as a frog ripples the water at the bottom of the pool, wavering and weaving stars around itself. Amidst the quiet of the countryside, he hears an engine coming closer to the front of the house. He should run, but he doesn’t. He knows he’s done now. It’s over.
He looks up, further from the pool to the treeline off the backyard. If he hid, how long would he last? He’s not confident he could survive much longer with how weak he is. He’s been throwing up for a week now. As long as it pains him to admit it, he just wants someone to take care of him already.
The rust on the glass door behind him groans as it moves. Tommy doesn’t look. He doesn’t have to.
“Don’t,” he rasps, something heavy sitting on his throat. “I know what you’re going to say so just- don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says, like he feels any guilt at all.
“Shut up!” Tommy yells, slapping the tile with both his hands. “Holy shit do you ever shut up- can you listen to me for once in your life?”
Wilbur is silent.
Tommy wants to look at him, slap him in the face, throw him in the empty pool to become frog food along with the flies. He doesn’t dare look back, though. He’s tired of being sick.
“I just want what’s best for you,” comes the answer, broken, too small for Wilbur.
“You’re a fucking traitor,” he says, letting all his hatred spill from his tongue. “I’ve always listened to you. I asked you to stay, and what did you do? You ran to your- your family. I thought we were family. Thought we were brothers.”
“We are,” Wilbur says, and there’s a beat up cow plushie being set beside him on the edge. Tommy grabs it without thinking twice.
He thought it was gone. He thought he’d lost it forever.
Wilbur slowly sits by the pool as well, far enough that he can’t reach for Tommy. Good. He better not.
Tommy glares at him from where he’s buried his face on the plushie.
Wilbur crosses his legs, looks at his hands on his lap. “I didn’t think there would ever be a place for people like us in the world, but I was wrong. I’m so sorry I went away for as long as I did, but I’m trying to be better. And I swear to you that there’s nothing to be scared of. Phil is a good person, I promise.”
“How can you be so sure?”
They share a look, the first in so long, Tommy almost cries. He misses Wilbur so much. He just wishes he could stop being an asshole so Tommy wouldn’t be mad.
“You can see for yourself, if you don’t believe me. Phil is waiting in the car, he wants to meet you.”
Tommy brings his knees to his chest, squishes his plushie with all his might. He doesn’t know what to feel anymore. He wants to have his brother back, wants things to be like they were before. But he’s changed. They both have. If his chances were slim before, now he knows there’s no future waiting for him anymore.
“You know I can’t go.”
“What? Why?”
“Of course you have a place in the world, idiot,” he says, curling in on himself even further, “it doesn’t work like that for me.”
“Oh Toms, you’ll always have a place in me,” Wilbur says, and he’s hugging Tommy, and Tommy can’t do this anymore. He’s crying, sobbing like he can fill this pool with his own tears. Poor frog, will burn in the salt of the water.
“Wil, I’m so tired-” he starts, choking on the words, “I don’t know what to do, where to go- I fucked up Wil, I-”
Great. He’s throwing up. Again.
Feelings suck.
Wilbur rubs his back as he retches into the pool. He’s murmuring something, trying to soothe Tommy.
They wait until it passes a bit. Tommy has always had his body speak louder than him, and lord knows how loud he is already.
When he’s finally done, he sighs. Wilbur runs a hand through his hair, sighing too.
“Poor frog.”
Tommy can’t help but laugh. It’s a sad, relieved sort of laugh that makes him feel lighter. He collapses against his brother, clinging to him like he’ll disintegrate if he doesn’t.
“Come with me Toms, please. I promise I’ll listen if you tell me no, but please come. I know we can make it work.”
“I… can try, but I told you Wil, I fucked up. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Wilbur laughs. “Unless you managed to get the police to go after you, you gremlin.”
Tommy laughs, rolls his eyes. They sit in silence for a moment.
“No, but I actually did though.”
“You what?”
“Pissed off the cops in Brighton.”
“You- what? How?!”
He shrugs. “Dunno.”
“Oh my God, you absolute menace-” Wil jumps to his feet, bringing Tommy with him. “Let’s go, Phil has to hear this.”
A wave of fear chills him to his core. He walks alongside Wilbur, laughing nervously. “Hear what? You’re gonna tell your adoptive father that your brother is a hardened criminal at the ripe age of sixteen?”
“Pretty much,” Wilbur laughs, crossing a barren living room to the front of the house.
“What?” Tommy stops dead in his tracks when he sees the pickup truck come into view. Wilbur stops with him, tugging his hand to come with.
“You’ll fit right in.”
Phil comes out of the driver’s side smiling, but there’s something else about him. Tommy is not new to this game. He’s wearing a very specific kind of jacket that’s loose-fitted enough that Tommy just knows he’s hiding something under it. There’s this way he walks around the hood, the way he holds himself.
Phil is waving at them, warm and innocent.
“For fucks sake Wilbur- did you have to go into a crime ring looking for a parent?”