Tommyinnit Oneshots

Sixth Sense (3)

TW for the series: Swearing, graphic depictions of injury 

The day was chilly, and the cold cut through the loosely woven strands of Wilbur's sweater. He felt sad today. The kind of sad that makes a brisk wind on your skin a relief compared to the all-consuming greyness on the inside, freezing you until you're so cold you can't even move.

So Wilbur welcomed the chilly breeze.

"What's wrong?" A voice asked beside him, and he saw that bright yellow hair and those vibrant blue eyes staring into his own. It was like Tommy was the only colorful thing in his world of grey.

"My dad," Wilbur said, and he wasn't sure why he said it. "And my brother."

Instead of changing the subject like he would have done another time, Tommy pressed on, pushing on the bruise.

"What's wrong with your dad and your brother?"

"They've been ignoring me for almost two months now. Our house is silent. They're upset about something but they won't tell me what. Sometimes they catch my eye, but it's like they're looking right through me. And the days are blending together because nothing happens, and you're the only thing keeping me steady, because it's like my family is falling apart."

Wilbur sniffled. "I don't know how to fix things if they won't tell me what went wrong."

Tommy looked at him with an expression Wilbur couldn't read, but he didn't have the energy to navigate the emotion swirling in those blue eyes. So he looked down at his lap, and at the hot, salty tears falling on his clasped hands.

He watched as a smaller, warmer hand rested itself on top of his dry knuckles, catching the tears on it's back. The hand grabbed one of his own, and pulled him up.

He followed as Tommy led him somewhere, he wasn't sure. He didn't move much, he liked the stay on that park bench. It was peaceful.

"Where are we going?" Wilbur asked. "Somewhere I should have brought you a long time ago," Tommy said, almost mournfully. "I was just too selfish."

They walked down sidewalks, turned through alleys, until they reached a black metal fence. Intricate designs attached one fence pole to another, and each post was brought to a four-sided, sharp tip on the top.

"Why are we at the cemetery?" But neither of them cared for the answer to Wilbur's question, their attention brought to the two figures entering the cemetery, gate creaking gently behind them.

The shorter had blond hair and the taller's hair was pink, and both of them carried bouquets. The blond man held a collection of waxy, white lilies, while the pinkhead held a handful of wildflowers. The wildflowers looked like they had been thoughtfully handpicked.

They walked forward, saying nothing until they reached a headstone. They crouched in front of it for a while, muttering to it and each other every few minutes, flowers placed in front of it.

Wilbur watched in bewilderment since he knew that his mother was buried in a cemetery on the other side of town. So whose grave were his father and brother visiting?

Eventually, the pair left, wiping under their eyes and looking so incredibly broken. Their faces seemed to reflect the strange quiet that had filled Wilbur's home for the past few months.

Wilbur and Tommy went around the small cemetery to the gate, creaking as they entered just like it had for the pair before them.

Nothing could have prepared Wilbur for what he saw when they arrived at the grave with the lilies and the wildflowers.