Stolen Chances

Chapter Eight

The car ride was silent. This time riddled with tension, the two adults up front radiating frustration and blood lust while the teen just tried to catch his breath. He has been riding out the beginning of a panic attack the entire car ride at this point. As the car rolled to a stop outside of his apartment complex, he felt his dread build up. Not wanting to walk up the several flights of stairs to get to his apartment. They sat still in the car, Tommy's lungs worshiping the air they had access to as his chest rose and fell. Finally, Wilbur cleared his throat before turning to look at him. His features landed somewhere between nervousness and guilt, "Can we get you anything?" Wilbur murmurs, and there's a strange intensity to his words, eyes fixed on him. It was unsettling to hear from the man who threatened him only so many nights ago.

"What?" Tommy's brows were raised in confusion. Exhaustion was dragging each of his limbs into the seat of the car, trying to smother him while his chest pounded.

Wilbur cleared his throat again, shooting a glance at Technoblade, who was ignoring him before turning back to Tommy, "Can we get you anything? For, you know," He gestured to the whole of Tommy.

After a second of considering his words, Tommy just shook his head and settled on not wanting any more debt, "No, I'm alright, big man." His voice was hoarse; he could already tell tomorrow it would be worse.

"Are you sure?" Wilbur's eyes finally met him, and Tommy just nodded before reaching for the car door. "I'm sorry-" but his words were cut off by the car door falling shut. They watched as the teen made his way into the apartment complex, disappearing behind closed doors. Wilbur shifts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms as he tips his head back up to stare at the ceiling.

"You're getting attached." Technoblade finally spoke.

Wilbur only shot him a glare. Wilbur's long fingers drum against his biceps; if Phil saw him now, he'd say he was pouting. "He wasn't supposed to get hurt."

"We sent him into the armed household of our enemies, Wilbur. So the possibility of him getting hurt was always there." Wilbur rolled his eyes, turning to look out the window, "He's a loose end, Wilbur."

"He's a child, Technoblade!" Wilbur turned a fierce look on him, only getting an unamused eyebrow raise.

"So was Fundy."

"Don't." Wilbur was white-knuckling the fabric of his trenchcoat now, "Do not say that. You don't get to say that to me, Technoblade."

Techno only rolled his eyes at this as he turned the keys to the ignition, "No tantrum-throwing in my car."

Wilbur only glared, "I'm going to kill you."

"Uh-huh, sure, come on, let's get you home. It's past your bedtime." Technoblade snarked, getting another eye-rolled from Will and a quick, "Fuck off."

It felt a little strange to just return to his apartment after almost dying. Dying. That's a new one. The elevator was still out, and the night air was thick with humidity, a promise of rain as the stars were blotted out of the sky by dark clouds. So Tommy ignored the way his bones shook with fatigue and continued up the stairs as if nothing had happened.

Exhaustion fogged over the confusion in his brain, the pure concern that leaked through Wilbur's voice as Tommy tried to regain his breath. He was just a distraction. This was what was supposed to happen. Yet, part of Tommy has never been more scared in his life.

By the time he made it back to the old door of his apartment, he had released a sigh of relief Tommy hadn't even known he was holding. The keys clicked against the lock as the door creaked open; the apartment was dark besides the soft glow of Tubbo's laptop on the coffee table. On the couch, the short brunette was laying against Ranboo's shoulder, snoring, a string of drool falling down the taller one's arm. Ranboo himself was sitting upright, his head tipped back as his snores were drowned out by Tubbo's. He placed his bag on the floor beside the coffee table, the bag falling with a thud waking up the taller one.