The Childrens Rebellion

Oops, you made me drop my croissant-I mean, soup.

Tommy awoke with a thought on his tongue—just a faint remembrance, like the grasping of a dream he will never remember. It slid from his mind like water on a mirror, and he lost it, the only thing remaining a flash of pale green feathers. He smiled in afterthought—it was a peaceful dream, and he wished he could go back to it. He couldn't remember it, but he was sure it had been great.

And then the events of what had happened before registered, and Tommy lost the sweet smile on his face.

Ah.

Sniff was dead, and he had attempted—sort of?—suicide.

Was it suicide if he saved himself?

Wait, who saved him from drowning?

Did that count as a double suicide attempt because he'd stopped himself from falling and then decided to asphyxiate at the bottom of the San Francisco Bay?

He was in a familiar place. The medbay. He almost laughed at the irony behind the situation. He was sure that he'd been here more times than he'd actually slept in his own room on the L'manburg—of course, that was an exaggeration, but he had been here way too many times for it to be actually healthy.

Actually, wait, he wasn't healthy.

And the walls definitely weren't soundproof because he could hear Phil and Wilbur arguing. Tommy blinked to dispel his drowsiness as he tilted his head, attempting to listen closely to their conversation.

"—didn't know it was this bad," Wilbur was saying, a note of desperation in his voice. Tommy could almost imagine him tearing at his hair. "Watching that— seeing that, Phil, was one of the scariest moments of my life." There was a shaky sob, and Tommy realized Wilbur was crying. "I'd—I'd already thought I'd lost him once, and then he does that..."

Tommy frowned as Wilbur broke off into sobs that were soon muffled, presumably being drawn into a hug by Phil. There was something in him saying that he regretted doing what he'd done—yet, given a chance, would he do it again?

He didn't know, and that scared him. Uncomprehended plans were sometimes scarier than acknowledged ones because they led to in-the-moment decisions and promises that could not—and would not—be kept.

"It's okay, mate," Phil said. "It's okay. He's okay."

"I don't know !" Wilbur wailed. "I—I turned around for five minutes, and he's gone! And then I run to Niki, and she fucking tracked him to the Golden Gate Bridge, of all places, and we get there, and he's fucking standing there looking all sad and shit and then he falls, and I couldn't catch him, Phil!"

"Niki got him," Phil reminded Wilbur soothingly.

"Yes, but she shouldn't have," Wilbur said, and Tommy frowned. Did Wilbur not care for him? "He should have died when he hit the water, Phil." Oh. "But he didn't break a bone—only minor hypothermia, except he was drowning for some ungodly reason! I don't fucking understand!"

"The only way you'll understand is if you ask him."

Wilbur's voice was so quiet when he next spoke that Tommy had to concentrate sharply to hear him. "I don't know what to do, Phil. I'm afraid that if I turn around or accidentally let him near something sharp, he'll be dead when I could have prevented it."

There's a small pause in the conversation.

"You know he's the kid that rescued me, Phil?" Wilbur asked softly, and Tommy's breath hitched. "I—I recognize him now, I see it, Phil. He had darker hair, but I'll be damned if that's not fucking him. His eyes are so much greyer, Phil, and I can't...I can't connect them, because that kid was happy-go-lucky and I should have forced him to come with me because he ended up in Pogtopia, for heaven's sake...he told me, and of course I believed him, but I couldn't connect the dots until..."