silence falls || ✔️

chapter thirteen - baby steps

or, taking life one step at a time.

//tw: ed ment

Three months had passed since the 'accident'. Three long, painful, slow, and downright unbearable months. Tommy had since healed from the surgery, but not from anything that followed.
Every morning, Tommy woke. He ate. He made his rounds, checking for the diseased. He came inside. He went to his room. He tossed and turned for hours until eventually, he slept; and then he did it all over again. There was still the aching, burning pain in his chest that comes from losing someone you love. It never goes away- at least, not for him. First, his father leaving. Then, the fact that he'd had to euthanize his own mother. Now, Techno. It was an accident, yes. But nonetheless, his fault. The constant reminder of the still seemingly fresh grave in the backyard by the beautiful rosebush never let him forget. The oldest, strongest brother, now lying beneath the dirt. Dead. Gone. Never to return.
Despite the constant reminder, though, Tommy pressed on as he always did. He tried to keep the rhythmic walk, the same shithead personality- but it was getting harder and harder. There were no jokes between himself and Wilbur. There was no happiness in the walls of the house. It was doom and gloom, silence. The very same silence he wished so often to escape from when it was just himself and his parents- the silence he had forgotten since being reunited with his brothers. But now, it was just himself and Wilbur. They each had their own routines. Wil would tend to the garden in the backyard, make food for the two of them to eat, and keep the house clean. Tommy would defend the outside, killing off diseased that arrived on the premises, and lazily doze in the sun if things were safe. The two managed to do this for three months without speaking a single word to one another, and Tommy had just about had enough. He was more than determined to get Wil to speak to him. Even if it was a simple hello- it would be something. He kept his eyes on the fence line as he plotted. 'Alright Tommy. It's been three months. Neither of you have made a move to speak. What the fuck am I even supposed to say? "Hey, big man! It's me, your brother!" No, that's too awkward. He knows who you are. Fuck sake, why is interacting with him so hard?' He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. 'There has to be something. Ask him how he's doing maybe?' He was snapped out of his thoughts when a rustle sounded from the fence line.
He rose to his feet, slowly but surely, and put his hand on the holster. He watched closely, and upon determining that it was not, in fact, a diseased and merely the wind, he relaxed. He sat back down. Just as he relaxed in the chair again, the front door swung open. Wilbur emerged, a plate in his hand. He handed Tommy said plate and turned to go back inside.
'Come on. Fucking say something, pussy.'
He spoke. Quietly, but he spoke.
"Wil?" The older stopped, and slowly turned. He made eye contact with the younger, who flinched under the gaze. "Yes?" He responded in a soft tone. Tommy sighed in relief. "Would... would you mind sitting with me for a bit?" He asked, and Wil shifted. He was quiet for a moment before nodding and taking a seat in the chair next to him. The two sat silently, the feeling of needing to say something hanging in the air; but to no avail. For thirty minutes they sat like this, staring off into the sky. That is, until Tommy spoke.
"Do you still hate me?" He asked. The silence following was thick, and it made Tommy feel like he was choking- because he was. He was choking on the pain of being the reason Techno was dead. Choking on the months of tears he'd held back. He heard Wilbur sigh, and turned to look at him. "Do you?" He repeated, this time softer and less demanding. Wil looked at him, his eyes full of sorrow. "I never hated you, Tommy." He said, his voice low and gravelly. He slowly stood and went inside, leaving the younger alone on the porch. It was silent again, minus the wind and the sound of thunder rolling in. Tommy swallowed hard, holding back tears. When was he not holding back tears, at this point? He felt like a little bitch for it, but honestly, man. Three months of not allowing yourself to feel your emotions can really drain you. He took a deep, shaky breath, took the glass plate in his hands, and rose to his feet. 'He could at least tell me the truth. I know he hates me. I killed our brother- his brother. I killed him. I also killed our mother. How the fuck does he not hate me?' His hands shook, and as he walked to lean on the railing on the porch, he took another slow, shaky breath. 'I'm so sorry. So, so fucking sorry.' He closed his eyes and laid his head on the railing as it began to rain. At least now the diseased wouldn't hear him cry.
Or maybe they would.
He didn't care.