Chapter Text
Tommy stared at the yellow line, centimeters away from his feet. The announcement of the incoming train ringing in his ears, feeling the approaching vehicle vibrate the concrete under his feet. He forced his head up, glaring at the incoming lights.
Tommy squinted. He threw a glance at the only other person waiting on the 11:25 pm train— a little old lady, Tommy was sure that he had at least a foot on her. Her wrinkled hand clutched a brown cane, the other one on her ruby red purse.
Tommy would hate to inconvenience her.
Tommy stepped a few inches back, safely behind the yellow line. The train slowed to a stop, waiting a few moments before the metal doors pulled open in front of him, clicking with a metallic sound. There were a few stragglers at the front, where the elder woman had gotten, and a couple sitting in the midsection. Tommy ducked his head and grabbed a seat at the back.
Tommy threw his feet up on the empty seat next to him, resting the back of his head against the warm glass. Another few seconds and the doors hissed shut. The train pulled away, the lights in the tunnel buzzing past him.
Tommy mentally tallied how many people were in here with him; the three at the front, with the elder woman who was with him on the platform, and the couple. Six people whose nights he could've possibly ruined. Delaying a train at this time of night would be rude.
Sam would be sleeping, he had morning classes that he couldn't afford to stay up late for. When Tommy slipped out of their flat his older brother had been snoring away peacefully in his room. The thought of Sam makes Tommy pick at a loose thread on his jacket, pulling it with his fingernail. He didn’t want to think about Sam right now.
Tubbo would be up, definitely. His absent sleep schedule sucked. He was probably in a discord call with Ranboo, talking or playing CSGO or messing around in Minecraft, he didn’t know. On a normal night, he’d probably be with them. Laughing so hard and loud that it makes the neighbor's dogs bark. Falling over in his chair… and Sam would sleep right through it, like he always did.
Wasn’t exactly a normal night, though.
Honestly, he hasn’t had a normal night in a while. Tubbo, often Ranboo, would text him; “wanna play?” Or “why aren’t you in VC?” And Tommy would reply, “sorry, don’t feel like playing”, or, "can’t, got a bunch of homework.” Sometimes that wasn’t a lie. Then, Tubbo just stopped asking. And of course, Tommy couldn’t blame him, it hurt, yeah, but Tommy unintentionally ghosted them.
He just couldn't stand to be in that call, after the last few times. Tubbo and Ranboo giggling at each other, poking fun with inside jokes that Tommy didn’t understand. Little moments like those would have Tommy faking a yawn and saying goodnight. He didn’t want to ruin their fun.
Tommy’s phone buzzed, the little bit of reception that he got down here snapping him back to his current reality. The train had stopped at the next station, the couple standing and the old woman following. Tommy’s eyes followed them as they left, debating if he should follow. Another buzz. Tommy turned his attention back to his phone.
Tubbo at 11:30 pm
Toommy
Tubbo at 11:30 pm
do u wanna play Terraria
His fingers started typing, beginning a message, but shook his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket. His activity on discord was already invisible. Tommy didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t want his last possible text to Tubbo to be something as simple as a turndown to play a game.
A thump from across Tommy startled him, the cause of the sound being a man with a mess of curly brown hair mirroring his position across the aisle. His leg up and arm resting on the top of the seat. Brown eyes framed with round glasses met Tommy’s.
"Got any booze, kid?” The train was pulling away.
For no particular, definitely unrelated reason, Tommy wished that he had just gotten off.
“Wh— what?” Tommy choked out, his voice hoarse from the lack of use all day.
The man rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t just ask a completely impolite question. “I said, do you have any booze?”
Tommy sat still. He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding only a plastic pen. Could he stab this man with a plastic pen?
Tommy pulled said piece of plastic out, visibly holding it up. “I have a pen.” Something about the bemused look on the man's face made Tommy click it, and again, repeatedly.
click click click click click click click click—
The man waved his hand, leaning forward. “f*cking— stop that! That is annoying.”
Tommy grinned, it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know,” He said, pocketing the pen. “and you are a loser.”
The man gasped in a show of dramatics. Bringing his arm up to his forehead, the brown fabric of his coat covering his eyes. “Oh, woe me, the tragedy, insulted by a child!”
Tommy scowled. “You’re a real prick.”
The older man didn’t falter, continuing his tirade. “Poor, poor me. All thy’ve ever wantedth was thy vodka. A cruel fate!”
Tommy didn’t know why he egged this on. He could pull out his earbuds and tune out his nonsense until Tommy or him got off the train, whichever was coming first. “Your Shakespeare sucks,” Tommy grunted. “Wantedth isn’t a word, bitch.”
“Then you know Shakespeare?”
Quickly, Tommy shook his head. “Absolutely not. None of that nerd sh*t. I just paid enough attention in Lit to know you’re a f*cking moron.”
His eyes narrowed at Tommy, or more so, what he was wearing. “What sport do you play?”
Tommy’s eyebrows shot up, what made him ask that? “Pardon?”
He groaned, rolling his shoulders. “Your jacket, you insolent toddler,” He gestured vaguely at Tommy. “what sport?”
Tommy looked down, glancing at the red thread he was picking at earlier. “Oh,” That came out quieter than Tommy wanted, a whisper. “it’s my brothers,” There was Tommy’s voice. “Got it when he was visiting the states.” Tommy shook his head, brushing the thought of Sam away. “And my names Tommy, dickhe*d.”
The complete ass, he had the audacity to hum at him. “Wilbur Soot,”
Tommy scoffed. “That’s a stupid f*cking name.”
“You are a child.” Wilbur chided, there was no true heat behind his words.
Tommy shrugged. “You’re a bitch.”
Another stop, Tommy tallied that as the third one; another stop he hadn’t gotten off at. This wasn’t meant to be a trip, he remembered. The ticket, which sat folded in his pants pocket, was one way. Tommy had bought it out of... what was it? Courtesy? He hadn’t intended to survive long enough for the ticket collectors to come around.
Excuses. Excuses, that’s what this was. Tommy was making excuses, simple as that. He wanted to go through with this, he was sure of it. He’d thought about this for weeks, planned this out for days, he figured out which day and which time of night would have the least people. But there were still people, there was the old lady and couple who had gotten off earlier and the four people at the front and the—
Well, there was Wilbur Soot, who for whatever damned, unknown reason, had sat down across from Tommy. Now Tommy was stuck with him until either of them get up and leave. He silently wondered who would go first.
No one had gotten on, or left. The train moved on.
“So uh, where—“ Tommy stumbled, swallowing. “Where you headed?”
Wilbur shrugged, Tommy furrowing his eyebrows. "Nowhere in particular, just felt like getting on. You?”
The f*ck did that mean? Tommy thinks. “So you just... got on, no reasoning. Just like that?”
“Just like that. You didn’t answer the question.” Tommy groaned. Tommy was edging back to wanting to punch his stupid face.
“Not when you answer so vaguely,” Tommy cried. “I’m not going anywhere in particular either, for your information.”
“Really?” Wilbur pushed, incredulously. Like he had the right to be skeptical.
“Really.” Honestly, who did this irritable dickhe*d think he was? Tommy shuffled, folding his arms. Maybe he will get off at the next stop, he won’t ever have to ever see the enraging presence that was Wilbur Soot and his stupid Reagan and Bush sweater again.
Reagan, Reagan… that was an American President, right? The more and more he observed the man, it could be concluded without a doubt that he was a loser. Not only that, but an irritable one. An irritable loser.A fate, worse than death— he’d say it was a cursed existence, if you asked Tommy.
Tommy shifted uncomfortably, becoming too aware of the hard plastic seat underneath him. “I just needed to get out tonight. Don’t know why.”
Wilbur rapped his knuckles against the window, in a rhythm that Tommy didn’t recognize. “Running from something? School? Parents?” He grinned. “Girlfriend?”
Tommy’s face twisted in disgust. “I— no-no-no. To all of those! Down the list, no, no, and no. ”
“Running to something then?” You could word it like that. Tommy frowned, decidedly not answering. “What, were you gonna jump then?”
Tommy knew that Wilbur was joking, but he couldn’t help the way he flinched. “I wasn’t going to jump, bitch— do you do this to every stranger you meet on the rails? Interrogate them for their life story?”
Wilbur pointed his index finger towards the front of the train. “They would not care, you know,”
Tommy’s mouth was dry. “What?”
“Them,” Wilbur gestured. “everyone, they would complain about the delay, they— they would be at best inconvenienced. At worst angry at you.”
“You’re real emo, you know,” Tommy deadpanned. “A right gothic.”
“I prefer poet,” Wilbur corrected. “I am not wrong though, the people here, no sympathy. No empathy. Just inconvenienced.”
“You’re inconveniencing me.” Tommy expressed.
“Because you were going to jump?”
“Oh—“ Tommy snapped. “That’s none of your business! Stop trying to psychoanalyze me you pretentious prick, what I came down is none of your con—“
“So you were going to? That is what you came down here to do?”
Whatever battle they were fighting, Tommy was losing, and he was exasperated. “Oh, so, what if I was? Why do you care?”
“Come on,” Wilbur said, swinging his legs over the seat and standing up. How his legs weren’t asleep, Tommy didn’t know. Tommy hit his asleep leg, silently cursing it.
“Wha’?” Tommy asked, narrowing his eyes. “What makes you think I wanna get off with you?”
Wilbur shrugged. “Well, I have nowhere to go, and you have nowhere to go, and to be honest this is getting depressing. And, I would rather not leave a possible suicidal teenager alone. Also, I know a store outside this station.”
Tommy groaned. “Oh no,” He said. “I’m being kidnapped. No, stop, someone help please.” He stood up, shaking the static-like feeling out of his left leg. Begrudgingly following Wilbur when the sliding doors pulled open. “Is this the part where your gang comes around the corner in a white van and shoves me in?”
“I don’t have enough friends for that.” Wilbur insisted, leading Tommy up the concrete stairs of the station.
Tommy couldn’t help his smile. “I believe you.” Wilbur blew air out his nose, hopefully in amusem*nt.
Tommy checked his phone, the bright light illuminating his face as he and Wilbur stepped out of the tunnel. 12:13am stared back at him, along with a few more texts from Tubbo. Tommy pocketed it.
Tommy breathed in the crisp midnight air, after almost an hour in the underground, the fresh air felt nice. The area was rural, decently lit for the middle of the night. Tommy turned to look at Wilbur. “So where we goin? Pub? Club? I don’t have a fake ID, big dubbs.”
“No,” Wilbur shook his head, starting his trek up the hill. “Store, if you can call it that. He is open until three.”
They crossed the street before Wilbur came to a stop, tapping his foot against the ground. “This it?” Tommy asked, reading the sign. Wilbur giving an mmm-hmm— in response.
JACK OF ALL TRADES
That was… lame, Tommy thought. “I can’t go in though.” Tommy double-took, stepping back.
“What do you mean you can’t go in?!” He hissed.
“Got banned,” Wilbur replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“How?”
Wilbur slapped him on the shoulder. “Story for later, my young friend. Maybe refrain from telling Jack I sent you in, though.”
Tommy huffed. “You suck.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket. “You’re not gonna ditch me here are you?”
Wilbur rolled his eyes, holding up three fingers. “I swear on it.” His smile grew, eyes shining.
He sighed. “Why am I going in again?” It seemed rather pointless, to take Tommy to a store he wasn’t even allowed in. With a quick glance through the windows, Tommy guessed it was some sort of gift shop, snow globes, and odd-looking jewelry lining their respective shelves.
Wilbur tilted his head. “Because it will give you something to do other than to ride the tube to the end of the tracks trying to make up your mind.” He answered.
“When you put it like that,” Tommy grumbled, pushing open the door, triggering the bell at the top to ring. The inside was small and warm. It was definitely homey.
“Hello!” A heavy accented voice greeted Tommy looked up, a shaved-headed man wearing a striped hoodie smiling at him. Jack, he assumed. He sat behind the counter, his legs perched up on the counter. He put down the magazine he had been reading. “What brings you here this time of night?”
Tommy’s mouth formed into an ‘o’, he didn’t expect to have to make conversation with another stranger tonight. “Oh, um,” He cringed, running his hand through his hair. “out for a walk, saw you were open.” He lied, Wilbur had said not to bring him up.
Starting to pick at the thread again, his eyes scanning over the snow globes and miniature statues. His attention fell on a bowl of pins, some were round and others were shaped. The scan bars on the back faded or scratched out.
He reached in, moving around the pins. He wasn’t really searching for anything specifically. Tommy rubbed his thumb over the bee-shaped pin he had pulled out. “How much?”
“The pin?” Tommy nodded. “Two pounds,” Jack answered.
Tommy blinked. “That’s ridiculous.” He grumbled, opening his wallet. He handed it to Jack, fiddling with the bee pin.
“Have a goodnight now!” Jack called as Tommy left, stepping outside. Wilbur was there, like he said he’d be.
“Did you get banned for complaining about his obscure prices?” Tommy sneered, making Wilbur laugh. “Absolute ridiculousness.”
“What did you get?” Tommy opened his palm, showing the bee. He attached it to his jacket, the needle clicking into place.
“Jackets blank, thought it could use something,” Tommy explained, walking beside Wilbur. “I’ve been completely ripped off, though. You did this to me.”
“No no, mister Jack Manifold did that to you. Not me.” Wilbur expressed. “I merely brought you there.”
“To be scammed.” Tommy insisted.
Their walk back to the tube station was pleasantly uneventful, Tommy didn’t comment on how Wilbur got on the opposite platform they got off of. He guessed that was the sign that this night was coming to an end. They were going back in the direction they came.
Tommy silently wished that they didn’t, that they kept going. The idea of returning home was becoming less and less appealing. The robotic voice echoed through the speakers, announcing the incoming train.
Tommy resisted the urge to make a jumping joke, knowing that would earn him a smack against the head or something. So he stood behind the yellow line, Wilbur at his side. The inside had a single man, at the front alone. Tommy ignored him, hitching his seat at the back, Wilbur sitting across from him.
“This wasn’t how I planned my night, by the way,” Tommy grumbled.
“I know,” Wilbur told. “I am sure this had the better outcome though. I will make you a deal, okay?” Tommy nodded, starting to play with the edge of his sleeves. “If you can make it to the end of the week without, trying to jump in front of another train, or try to kick a chair out from underneath you—“
“That would be a really lame way to die,” Tommy interjected.
“I am giving an example, Tommy,” Wilbur huffed. “If you make it through the end of the week, come back here. Same day.”
Tommy considered it. “Same time?”
Wilbur shrugged. “Sure, although I would not recommend making a habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night.”
Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating. This offer— there was no reason he had to take it. He could get off and never see Wilbur again, it wouldn’t change anything. The world will continue spinning, they would both move on, Wilbur would eventually forget about this strange encounter, and so would Tommy.
They stopped, again, no one getting on or off. Wilbur was still waiting for his answer. Tommy didn’t have it.
This was nice though, Tommy thought. It was nice to leave that flat, to get off his mattress. To have a reason to ignore the discord messages from Tubbo and Ranboo. He didn’t have to lay in bed, dreading going to his classes the next day, because he was occupied. He had something to do.
“Alright,” Tommy said. “I’ll take that bet, big man.”
“Deal?” Wilbur reached his hand out, Tommy leaned forward, shaking it.
“Deal,” Tommy gave a toothy smile. “I’ll try not to become a tube line statistic until next week.”
“That is not funny,” Wilbur warned, although there was no true malice in his tone. “I will have you know statistics are no laughing matter.” Tommy barked out a laugh, the serious expression Wilbur carried dropping. If the stragglers at the front were giving bewildered stares at Tommy, he didn’t notice.
“It was…” He wheezed. “It was kinda funny. If anyone gets to joke about that it’s me, alright? Isn’t that some, therapist sh*t or something? Using humor to cope? That’s me. I’m doing that.”
“You should try that, seeing a therapist,”
Therapy was useless, at least to Tommy. He didn’t need someone in a fancy office to tell him something was wrong with him, he knew damn well what was wrong with him. No pens, or clipboards, or uncomfortable couches, or ticking clocks, and judgemental eyes will be able to tell him something that he didn’t already know.
Tommy thinks Sam knows one, or at least she’s studying to become one. A school friend that Tommy’s met maybe twice. The mere idea of dumping his sh*t on her, he almost felt bad! No thank you, Tommy thought. He would be avoiding that.
“Nah,” Tommy brushed it off. “I don’t do that. Don’t need that. Won’t do anything for me.”
Tommy didn’t realize how long they had been talking, because when the train slowed into a familiar station, Wilbur pulled himself up. Tommy frowned, watching the man stand next to the doors, waiting for them to pull open.
“So, see you next week Toms?” He teased.
Tommy groaned in annoyance. “We are certainly not at Toms yet, big dubbs.”
“I will get there I’m sure,” He said, stepping out. “Farewell Tommy!” He waved, Tommy’s urge to punch those stupid glasses off his face coming back.
Tommy flipped him off, watching the curly mop of brown hair disappear as the train started moving, the platform and the man with it being replaced by the cement walls.
His stop was next, he realized. Tommy would get off, he would walk home and slip into his bed and would have to pray that Sam’s heavy sleeping habits had not changed; that he hadn’t gotten up and realized that his bed was empty, or that the door was unlocked. The thought of Sam sitting there on the couch, waiting for him to enter the door like some sort of walk of shame—
Tommy quickly checked his phone, looking at the notifications. He breathed in relief, no notifications from Sam. No missed calls, no voice mails, no worried text messages; all things that would indicate Sam was awake and that he knew Tommy was out.
Shakily, Tommy stood up. The doors clicked open, waiting for him to exit. He could just keep going the other direction, he thought. He made no promise to Wilbur to return home.
Tommy stepped out, the doors hissing shut behind him. Wind bristled through his hair as the train moved again, almost taunting him. Look at me! Look what you missed!
He chose not to, though. Tommy didn’t because of a bet, and he didn’t even place money on it. A simple bet of wills was supposed to keep Tommy running till the end of the week. It wasn’t like Tommy didn’t enjoy Wilburs company either, it was… nice, having someone to just talk to, to engage with. He didn’t have to raise his voice or make a scene to get him to listen to him.
He would never tell Wilbur that, though. He was f*cking irritating enough.
Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets, leaving the station. He’d come back, alright. If not just to prove something to Wilbur but to himself, maybe.
He really should've put money on it, though.
