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peninkwrites · 6 months

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Lines Drawn in Sand & Concrete - Ch 10 of ?

Wilbur is employed. Allegedly, he's also a big brother.

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 9

Ch 11

Mafia AU

~ Wilbur ~

Wilbur Soot has never had a job in his fucking life. He loathes the thought. Nonetheless, he cannot continue to abuse Niki’s goodwill, he cannot go back to his father and his stepmom’s money, and apparently he cannot kill himself. Hence, he will become another cog in the machine.

This cog is one which flips burgers.

It had been the first place he thought to ask for an application, the burger van that parks on Riverside that he and Tommy had occasionally gotten food at, and he was almost annoyed with how quickly the man had hired him. He had been slightly disappointed when Wilbur revealed the extent of his culinary experience was toast or perhaps pasta if he was feeling adventurous. Nonetheless, even Wilbur in all of his general ineptitude could figure out how to make a burger under the watchful eye of his very tired boss. Wilbur’s first day as a wage monkey passes quickly and slowly all at once.

Undeniably, the additional motivating factor in all of this is Tommy. The kid had refused to keep staying at Niki’s after that first night, and that had been after even Niki had tried to insist, and Wilbur has no idea where he has been staying since. He doesn’t know how he’s going to convince him to stay with him, and that’s if Wilbur manages to afford some shithole flat on a burger flipping wage.

Wilbur returns home from his first day exhausted and smelling of grease, but nonetheless, his first stop is not the couch, but the basement. The speakeasy is not as crowded as it was in its heyday, but there’s still enough of an accumulation of noise that Wilbur feels especially weary. Ranboo opens the door to let him in, greeting him with raised eyebrows and a “you look kind of terrible.”

“Thanks for that, Ranbus. I try.”

“Tommy’s here,” Ranboo nods over to the booth in the corner adjacent to the little platform Wilbur had been settling on with his guitar in the evenings.

Said booth is currently occupied by Tommy and, more surprisingly, Jack. Wilbur recalls Jack usually following around that little mob prince, it’s strange to see him without the other, and clearly not for pleasant company, as right now Jack is trying to say something and Tommy is talking over him. Well, not talking, just going “mimimi” over and over again.

“Hello?!” Wilbur interrupts loudly, voice a rough mockery of Tommy’s usual loud greeting.

Tommy immediately stands, replying in turn. “‘ello?!”

“Christ, Wil, you make him worse,” Jack replies weakly. “How the hell do you do that?”

“Do I?” Wilbur grins, sliding into the booth and trapping Jack there. “Ayup, Jack? How’ve you been?”

Jack eyes him suspiciously, doubting his sincerity, before replying. “Alright. Still weird seeing you around, mate. I meant to ask, what, did you and the old Crow- Father have a falling out?”

“Mmmmaybe keep your voice down, Jack,” Wilbur says tautly. Wilbur glances at Tommy, who, by some luck, has been distracted by the arrival of another kid and hadn’t heard him.

“What, Tommy doesn’t know-?”

“And I’d like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind.”

Jack frowns, calculating, before finally, he shrugs. “Right, fine, your business.”

“Thank you.”

“Wil! This is my old pal Eryn!” Tommy claps his friend on the shoulder, pointing to him like Wilbur cannot clearly see him standing there.

“Alright?” Wilbur gives him a nod.

“Alright. Good to… meet you properly,” Eryn responds in turn. “I’ve seen you play a bit. You’re not half bad with that guitar.”

“Thanks.” Wilbur finds the kid familiar in a strange sort of way. He’s doing his best not to stare at the deep red scar up the kid’s arm, before he connects the dots. Dark curly hair, a red bandana around his head, and red markings on his arm. Wilbur hopes his ill ease doesn’t show on his face as he realizes this must be the friend Tommy had mistaken that corpse for down in the tunnels.

“Eryn, come on, join us, join us,” Tommy slips back into the booth, pulling his friend along with him.

“I was… I was actually here to see Niki, so, I might move to the bar,” Jack nods in that direction, indicating Wilbur should move so he can get out, but Wilbur does no such thing.

“Really, Jack, you don’t have any time for an old friend?” Wilbur feigns a pout.

“You I have time for,” Jack gives Tommy a suspicious glance. “Less so him.”

“Aw, Jack, I’m offended! You’ve offended me, now, what if I was in love with you?!” Tommy feigns horror.

“What– What if you were– What would that change, exactly?!”

“Well, hopefully it would make you be nicer to me, for one.”

“Why?!”

“Because of love, you stupid bitch!” Tommy shouts.

“Wil, Wil please let me out. Please. Let me at least get a drink from Niki,” Jack’s hands were clasped together as if in prayer.

“No need,” Wilbur says teasingly. “Niki! Could we have another round, please?”

“You got it, Wil!”

“See? No need for you to go anywhere!”

Jack actually jumps when Tommy reaches across the table and grabs his hand in one of his own far grubbier ones. “Please, please Jack, why are you trying to leave me? What about the kids, Jack? Do you expect them to grow up without a father?!”

Jack leans in, speaking half through gritted teeth. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Because it makes you like this,” Tommy grins.

“I simply don’t understand how you’ve gotten so many people to put up with you! Like, Eryn, Wil, Ranboo, and Tubbo too for like a million years!” With one name, the tone at the table dies.

Tommy lets go, leaning back in the booth, scowling. “You’re a real dick, Jack, d’you know that?”

Jack seems genuinely guilty. “Look, man, I didn’t… I mean–”

“You’ve done it, Jack, you’ve lost me. Not in love with you anymore!” Tommy pulls Eryn out of the booth, loud and mocking, but clearly masking real resentment.

“Tommy, really, I didn’t– I wasn’t–” Jack tries halfheartedly, but Tommy has already made his escape, his friend Eryn in tow.

“Nicely done, Jack.”

“Come on, man I wasn’t…” Jack slouches down in the booth, gloomy.

“What even happened there, anyway? I thought him and the little mob prince were like attached at the hip before?” Wilbur takes a drink.

“I’d quite like to know too,” Niki appears, taking Tommy’s seat on the opposite side of the booth.

“Don’t look at me,” Jack raises his hands defensively. “I don’t know. Tubbo and I don’t exactly talk about feelings.”

“Really? All you two do is talk back here, always whispering,” Niki says mockingly. “You never thought to ask why he stopped talking to his best friend?”

“Well,” Jack turns defensively to Wilbur. “Have you asked Tommy why he stopped talking to Tubbo?”

“Why would I know?”

Niki and Jack exchange a glance. “Well, Ranboo doesn’t tell me anything, so we thought maybe you’d… have some idea?” Niki says with a shrug.

Wilbur frowns. Niki and her little brother. Jack and the kid he was responsible for. Of course he would get roped into it as Tommy’s stand-in guardian or whatever.

“Tommy doesn’t tell me shit, man. All he does is talk about nonsense and act like he’s tough,” Wilbur says grumpily. “What about you, Niki? What d’you mean Ranboo doesn’t tell you shit? He follows you around like a tall, nervous shadow.”

“Yeah, but you don’t understand, Wil,” Niki glanced carefully over at Ranboo, wiping down tables across the room. She lowers her voice. “He did that when he was a kid, but for a while there he was… I dunno, adjusted. He had Tommy and Tubbo to hang out with and they went out together. Now he just… he doesn’t do anything. It makes me worried.”

“Have you asked him about it?” Jack asks.

“Have you asked Tubbo?” She shoots back.

“Well, I asked if he wanted to talk about it, and he said no, sort of,” Jack says uncomfortably.

Silence, all three of them gloomily thinking of their charges.

Wilbur, for once, looks for something vaguely positive to share. “I, uh. I’ve started my job,” he offers. “It doesn’t pay great, and it’s only part-time, but… maybe I can get a shithole flat instead of breaking your couch?”

“That’s great, Wil! Where?” Niki asks. Her pride seems sincere, and Wilbur would expect nothing less of her, but it still feels special to him.

“Some burger van over on Riverside.”

“You’re working at a burger van, Wil?” Jack scoffs.

“Big talk for a man who was a bellhop until about five minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t a bellhop!” Jack snaps back, clearly a sore subject.

“Mhm, sure.”

“And I was– I was just surprised. You of all people seem adamantly opposed to… I dunno, everything a business represents.”

“Well, that’s not really true! I mean, I love Niki’s bakery! And the speakeasy,” Wilbur tries to defend himself.

“Yeah, but it’s not something you have to work at, right? You… you don’t like work, Wil,” Jack sounds a little amused. Niki poorly covers a laugh.

Wilbur frowns, offended, but unable to defend himself. “I just… I don’t like that sort of work.”

“And what work do you like, Wilbur?” Niki teases lightly.

“Maybe I’m just meant to be an entertainer! You know, a musician. A-A storyteller!” Wilbur nods to the stage, proud of himself for thinking of something.

“I’m sorry my patron’s tips aren’t enough to make rent, Wil,” Niki gets up from the table, mussing up Wilbur’s hair before returning to her post at the bar.

Wilbur, rather than pout, continues on Jack Manifold. “So, you said that shit to Tommy, bit fucked up, for one, and… you have no clue why Tubbo stopped putting up with him, or whatever?”

“I– I dunno, man,” Jack says sheepishly. “I… I didn’t mean to say some shit, I just didn’t think about it. Tubbo… he’s gotten weird.”

“Weirder than being JSchlatt’s son, you mean?”

Jack gives him a look. “Don’t call him that.”

“Christ, everyone’s treating this kid like a saint, last I heard, he took over for his old man, is that not worth critique?” Wilbur says drolly.

“Maybe you should shut up about shit you don’t understand, Wil,” Jack says icily.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow at him. “Actually, I’d say I of all people can understand the mob-prince lifestyle.”

“Don’t– Don’t act like that’s even remotely the same!” Jack gets more and more irritated the longer they talk. “Phil was a good man–– complicated ––and maybe not always good, but he did right by us. And by you. Schlatt is– Schlatt was different. For the rest of this city and for Tubbo especially,” Jack doesn’t look at him now, clearly lost in some separate train of thought.

“But he did take over after Schlatt died, correct?” Wilbur, perhaps against his own better judgment, still prods the issue.

“Yeah, and I’m in it with him,” Jack gives Wilbur a hard stare, so much stronger, so much more iron-willed than Wilbur remembers, of the gangly teenager delighted to have his first job. “So, if you take issue with it, you take issue with me, yeah?”

Wilbur nods, redirecting back to their initial topic. He buries the urge to light a cigarette in Niki’s building. “So, he’s gotten weird, then. Weird how?”

“I think he’s trying to act tougher, but I guess I know him better than that, so instead it just looks like he’s scared of everyone and everything, and part of me is worried the other lads, the shadier ones, that they can see it too,” Jack opens up perhaps too easily, like he’s been desperate for someone to share this with. “You’re more right than I’d like you to be,” Jack says quietly. “Sometimes he acts like… I mean, I was never around JSchlatt, thank god for that, but Tubbo will act like… like he’s trying to copy someone else, and obviously it’s Schlatt, I mean, who else would it be? I think… I think he thinks, it’s the only way he can do this, y’know?” Jack gives Wilbur a nervous glance, as if expecting him to exploit Jack’s honesty.

Wilbur nods slowly, thinking. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t say I don’t understand the temptation.” He takes another drink to supplement his yearning for a cigarette. “You still seem under the impression that he’s better than Schlatt, yes?”

“Yeah, by a fucking mile.”

“Better how?”

“...what?” Jack stares at him, unnerved by the question.

“What about him is better than Schlatt? ‘Cause far as I’ve heard––rumors, you know––Schlatt’s old boys are getting in scuffles with the Badlands every other day, and people are getting caught in the crossfire, like always.” A pause, Wilbur waiting for Jack to respond, but he doesn’t. “So I ask you, Jack, better how?”

“He’s not bullying every fucking business in the neighborhood, Niki’s included,” Jack offers his defense quickly, clearly relieved to have thought of it. “He’s not taking fucking hostages, he’s not executing anyone in the street–” Jack cuts himself off, clearly having thought of something, something which Wilbur now catches on to.

“Right. Car bomb,” Wilbur nods, as if satisfied, and nonetheless he moves on with ease. “Still, makes me wonder how he’s making his money, eh? Are you privy to that as his right hand, Jack Manifold? You need money to oil the gears of this grotesque little machine, don’t you?”

“None of your fucking business, Wil. Just leave well enough alone, alright?” Jack digs his heels in, in a way Wilbur knows his teen-aged self never would have, so he finds himself respecting it more than feeling annoyed.

“Damn right, Jack. Damn right,” Wilbur raises a toast to his old friend, and tries to avoid these dark alleyways of thought he’s found himself so temptingly drawn to.

Nonetheless, well into the night, when the Secret City has finally close its doors, Wilbur helps Ranboo wipe down tables while Niki stows away their earnings.

“So, Ranboo. I’ve asked you this before, and I’m deigning to ask again: What do you do for fun?”

Ranboo looks up at him, pausing in wiping down the table, eyes wide. “What?”

“What do you do for fun around here, man? I swear, you never go out.”

“I’m… I’m not exactly big on… big social gatherings, or… or speakeasies other than this one,” Ranboo murmurs, returning his attention to the table.

“What about your friends? Tommy doesn’t seem to hang out with you as much, and… that kid Tubbo, he doesn’t either.”

Ranboo gives him a scrutinizing look. “Did Niki put you up to this?”

“What?” Wilbur laughs, genuinely surprised. “No, no actually, she didn’t. I think she knows you well enough to be more direct than that.”

Ranboo shrugs. “Dunno about that.”

“Anyway, she didn’t. I was just… curious. Tommy, he says he has friends, I mean he left with that Eryn kid for one, but he spends a lot of time hanging around with me.”

“I dunno. Tommy and I… it’s different, hanging out without Tubbo, and Tubbo’s been… preoccupied.”

“With being a mob boss, right?” Wilbur watches Ranboo carefully for a reaction. The kid doesn’t wear his mask around the speakeasy anymore, but Wilbur still struggles to read him.

“He’s not… I don’t think I’d call him that,” Ranboo mumbles.

“What would you call it, then?”

Another shrug. “Surviving?”

“Surviving,” Wilbur repeats it, as if adjusting to the idea.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s doing what he can, y’know? It’s all we can do, I think,” Ranboo offers.

“Guess so.” Wilbur exhales a soft laugh.

“What?”

Now Wilbur shrugs. “Surviving,” he says it like it explains the joke.

Ranboo gives him a bemused look, unsure of how to respond to it, so instead he just moves to the next table, leaving Wilbur to his musings. Surviving.

Wilbur had been quite amused by that notion of survival, and maybe that had something to do with his own blase take on the matter. He and Tommy dare to venture into the tunnels under the city once more. Perhaps they should’ve been deterred for good by a dead body, but some nagging curiosity––boldness on Tommy’s part, maybe something more suicidal on Wilbur’s––made them return. It didn’t take much. Boredom is one hell of a motivator.

“I dunno, I wanna… I wanna figure out what that fuckin’ sound is. I keep on thinking about it,” Tommy shifts restlessly, staring at the stairwell he’d all but dragged Wilbur to. It had been Tommy’s idea this time, which Wilbur found surprising. “And, I’m not scared of shit, so, I’ve got no problem going back!”

Wilbur gives him a look, staring doubtfully at the door marked DANGER: MAINTENANCE ONLY.

“And I got this!” Tommy says brightly, holding a knife in one hand, a torch in the other.

“Right, a toothpick.”

“Fuck off before I stab you!” Tommy snaps. “Either way, it… it freaked me out, seeing the dead guy down there.”

“And that’s why you want to go back?”

“No! More like, whatever did that, I… I don’t think we’re gonna like, catch a fuckin’ murderer and fight him off with our bare hands, I just… I don’t like knowing he’s creepin’ around under the city, I guess.”

“So, you’re not planning on stopping this mysterious killer, what are you planning on doing, then? Talking to him?”

“No!” Tommy says irritably. “I dunno! Maybe… look for clues?”

“Right. Clues.”

“Are you coming with me or not?”

Wilbur gives one last doubtful look at the doorway back into darkness. “Yeah, fine, fuck it. Might as well. I wanna look for that platform, though. That is still my goal, alright?”

“Fine, fine, you nag like a fuckin’ mother.”

They return to the dark, flashlights in hand, hesitating at the bottom of the stairwell.

“So, d’you wanna try going the other way?” Tommy tries nervously.

“No, the platform I’m looking for, it’ll be that way,” Wilbur nods in the direction they’d chosen previously.

“Right, right the direction with dead bodies and weird noises and shit…” Tommy grumbles.

“What makes you think the other way will be any better? If you wanna find clues you wanna go where the dead bodies are, right?”

More mumbled grumbling Wilbur can’t be bothered to decipher.

“Still don’t get your obsession with tunnels, man. Are you a mole? Perhaps? A mole person? Hm?” Tommy starts chattering again after those two seconds of quiet become unbearable.

“Right, yes, a mole person.”

“You look it. Maybe you should live down here, eh? Instead of breaking Niki’s couch?”

“I’ll have you know I am… I am working on getting an apartment!” Wilbur says grumpily.

“Oh? How many burgers d’you gotta sell to do that?”

“What, like I work on burger commission?”

“I dunno how burger salesmanship works! I’m self-employed.”

Wilbur laughs, staring ahead down the dark tunnel, their flashlights not piercing far enough through the black for them to see anything beyond the walls immediately ensnaring them, the pipes and wiring covering the walls like the roots of some great long dead tree. He considers broaching the subject now. “Well, actually, since I’m not a mole person and I’m currently working on getting a flat, like, probably not for another month or so, would you like to try not being homeless, perchance?” He has no idea how to bring it up in a way that Tommy is of any inclination to accept.

“Still fuckin’ creepy down here,” Tommy mutters, once more desperate to break the silence when Wilbur didn’t reply.

“Yeah. It wasn’t exactly welcoming in its heyday, if I’m honest,” Wilbur admits.

“Then, yet again, since you’re not here to look for a murderer or do any of the cool shit I’m here for, I ask you: what the fuck are you looking for down here?”

Wilbur considers this, and he decides to give away a few closely held truths. “A little before I left the city, I fell on the tracks. Someone dragged me off, so I was a little banged up, but I lived. Might sound a bit odd, but… I’ve got a lot of memories associated with that platform, and I thought maybe I could go back,” Wilbur shrugs. “See it again, see if it’s… I dunno, if it looks different to me now?”

Tommy stares at him, baffled. “You wanna… you’re looking for the spot that you almost got yourself killed?”

Tommy is more right than he realizes, not that Wilbur plans to share that. “Yeah, I know it probably doesn’t make much sense, but yeah,” he shrugs.

“You’re fuckin’ bonkers, man,” Tommy shakes his head. “I followed a crazy bitch into a bunch of dark abandoned tunnels, tracking down a murderer! Hm, my own bravery amazes me sometimes–” Tommy jumps, grabbing onto Wilbur’s arm as the sound of concrete hitting concrete echoes toward them.

“It’s okay, maybe… maybe we kicked some rocks and it… it echoed weird or something,” Wilbur tries to console him, nonetheless his own heart is racing. He peers carefully into the gloom, first ahead of them, and then just to be safe, he turns back, pointing the flashlight the way they had come, but nothing emerges.

“No, no Wil, we did not make some magic fucking echo shit, that was something down there,” Tommy hisses, nodding in the direction of the noise. “That was something else kickin’ rocks about, alright?! Instead of looking for your favorite spot to die or some shit, why don’t we turn around a-and– and you can buy me a burger!”

“Is that supposed to tempt me?” Wilbur teases. “And don’t you have your knife?”

“Thought you said it was a toothpick!”

“Hold on a second, just be quiet, let’s listen.”

Tommy actually obeys, and the two of them focus, still searching into the darkness, listening closely. No other sounds echo, no footsteps, no shifting stone, nothing.

“See? It was probably nothing. I think we’re a few blocks away from my platform,” Wilbur says optimistically, even as he really isn’t sure how close they are.

“Oh, now you’re all for fucking around with serial killers, hm?”

“This was your idea, Tommy, if you remember.”

“I’m the idea man, you’re the– the other man!” Tommy says irritably.

“What’s the other man?”

“The guy that pussies out and tells us to leave!”

“Isn’t that what you’re currently doing?”

“No, I’m waiting for you to do it! I’m not scared!”

“Fine! Fine, you big baby, if you want to go back, we’ll go back!” Wilbur rolls his eyes and turns around. His flashlight shines brightly off of a white mask smiling at them, a few meters away. Wilbur screams, Tommy somehow doesn’t, although Wilbur can feel his white knuckled grip on his arm and hears his shaky breathing as Wilbur’s echo dies out.

The figure doesn’t move. Wilbur realizes that Tommy has stepped in front of him, putting himself between Wilbur and the figure, and he drags Tommy back behind him instead. Tommy doesn’t protest. The figure still doesn’t move. It is currently standing between them and their exit. The only reason they haven’t started running in the opposite direction is that they know there is no true escape for them there. The only guaranteed way back to the light is a five minute walk behind that white mask. It had been following them this whole time. Wilbur hopes Tommy can’t feel that he’s shaking.

“Look, we’ll– we’ll just go, alright?” Wilbur says in what he hopes is a strong tone of voice.

The figure doesn’t react, but it doesn’t step toward them either, merely watches, eerie and uncanny. That smile, both an expressionless void and a malevolent grin mocking them. Wilbur feels sick just from the sight of it, hairs standing on end, a primal warning telling him that face is a threat.

Wilbur side-steps toward the opposite side of the tunnel, backing up so he’s almost against the tunnel walls, keeping as much distance between himself and that mask as possible, Tommy still kept behind him. The figure merely watches, turning slowly to follow them as they circle to the other side of the tunnel.

“Wil,” Tommy whispers shakily. “H-He’s got a gun. He’s got a fucking gun.”

Wilbur doesn’t reply, glancing from the white mask to where the figure’s hands should be. Barely visible even with the flashlight, Wilbur sees the faint gleam of dark metal. Wilbur keeps moving, stepping in a wide arc around the man. If Tommy weren’t here, Wilbur thinks he would’ve been a lot stupider. He buries the urge to say, “you know, everyone is looking for you,” or “you sure do discriminate in your choice of victims, don’t you?” or even, “does trespassing warrant a bullet? Newsflash, dickhead, you’re trespassing too.” He doesn’t say a word, hyper-aware of Tommy one step behind him. His back is now to the direction out, still facing the figure, while Tommy looks ahead. Wilbur takes a step back, Tommy leading the way with his own torch, still holding on tightly to Wilbur’s hand.

Wilbur’s heart drops when, as they finally get some distance between themselves and the figure, it takes a step forward. Wilbur takes another step back. It follows. It doesn’t come any closer, though, merely matches pace. They’re making sure we leave.

Wilbur doesn’t tell Tommy the figure is following, merely keeps facing it, hardly daring to blink. Wilbur stares intently at that white mask, one without an expression for him to read. Wilbur realizes, with a tiny shred of relief, that the figure probably can’t see their faces. Wilbur is shining a light in their eyes. The figure has their voices, but not what they look like. Small mercies.

Tommy whispers back to him, “still following?”

“Yeah,” Wilbur says softly. The figure can surely hear them regardless, the tunnels so large and echoing, their footsteps on the cracked concrete filling up the silence, Wilbur only now recognizing the additional echo of this person’s footfalls, which must have been not far behind them this whole time, never letting up, merely following, slow and careful.

Then, to Wilbur’s shock and horror, Tommy looks back over his shoulder and shouts, “stop following us, you fucking creep! We’re leaving your tunnels, so you can fuck off!”

“Tommy?!” Wilbur hisses. “Have you lost your fucking mind?!” Wilbur turns his back to the figure just for a moment to shake Tommy, and as he does so, he hears a laugh. It’s a man’s voice, his laugh irritating and wheezing. Wilbur turns back around sharply, but the figure hasn’t gotten any closer. The laughter dies. The figure takes another step forward, one step closer, as if ushering them on to their destination.

Wilbur doesn’t need any more encouragement. He walks faster, now looking ahead, glancing over his shoulder at the figure often, but more focused on a quick pace to get them the fuck out of there.

“Stairs! Oh, stairs, I fucking love you,” Tommy says, voice weak with relief as he spots their exit. Wilbur is right behind him. The figure stops a few meters back, and Wilbur allows the metal door to swing shut on that eerie mask in the darkness.

Tommy had taken off up the stairs at a sprint, Wilbur staggering to catch up. They both stop, breathless in the alleyway outside.

“H-How fucking long do you think he was following us?” Wilbur says once he’s calmed his racing heart a bit.

“He laughed at me. He fucking laughed at me,” Tommy scowls. Then, surprisingly, perhaps awfully, he looks to Wilbur. “What do we… what do we do?”

“What do we do?”

“I mean, we– we saw ‘im! The guy who’s been beating up homeless people and killing criminals and shit,” Tommy nods back to the door, still tense, like he’s half expecting it to open and the killer to come out.

“We can’t do anything. And I dunno about you, but I don’t trust the pigs to do shit,” Wilbur says, oddly enough, the first person to come to mind of who he wants to do something about it is Technoblade, but he’s preoccupied several states away. He gives the door another wary glance. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here, go somewhere with more people.”

Tommy is quick to agree. “That was… that was so fucked. What the fuck were we thinking, going back down there?!”

“It was your idea, remember? You were actually looking for some shit like that, if I recall.”

“I wasn’t looking for the actual fucking guy!” Tommy blusters. “Are you fucking bonkers?! Nah, I was just– I dunno what I was looking for, but not that freaky bitch in a mask!”

Wilbur almost can’t stop himself, words tumbling out as he senses an opportunity. “You cannot be on the streets, Tommy. It’s too fucking dangerous. Sleep in the speakeasy, if you really don’t wanna be in Niki’s apartment. And– And once I get my flat, you should come stay with me. Pitch in rent, if it makes you feel better, just fucking hell, don’t get stabbed on some park bench by some stupid dick in a smiley mask.”

Tommy must truly be afraid, because his first impulse isn’t to argue. Instead, he nods, grudgingly, but nonetheless. “Fine. Dunno about paying rent, but I’ll take up part of whatever shithole you’re gonna get.”

“And until then, Niki’s?”

Tommy grumbles for another moment, before nodding once more. “Fine, I’ll stay at Niki’s, fucking hell, you’re acting like you really are my big brother.”

“What, just ‘cause I don’t want you to get stabbed?”

“Yeah. Very brotherly of you.”

“We may as well be. We’re trauma-bonded after that bullshit. We must be,” Wilbur sighs wearily.

“I don’t get trauma. I’m the Tommyinnit.”

#mafia au #my writing #yeahhh wooo finally #an update!#writer's block is a real bitch.#so. feedback is cherished #remind me it's worth the slog <3 #OH AND #c!dream #he's there for a minute. ew.#c!crimeboys

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