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It was not a well known fact that TommyInnit, the Big Man himself, fucking hated spiders. Creepy crawly bastards with too many eyes and legs. He refused to back down from most challenges, from skydiving to the decidedly-more nerve-wracking experience of meeting his heroes. But put him in a room with one of those spindly little fucks and it was bound to be fear-fuelled chaos.
Therefore, maybe walking through cobweb infested trees at night was not the best idea. He’d crashed at Wilbur’s place for the night, parents out of town to see some distant relative. Tommy had begged to stay at Wilbur’s for two reasons; Aunt Myrtle wasn’t too overjoyed with the fact he had decided to forgo the trades route and had instead started streaming (she liked to grumble about ‘real men’), and that he knew if he played his cards right, Wilbur would get him McDonald’s.
The day had gone fantastic as well! Too many rounds of Mario Kart, enough swearing to get Wilbur a future noise complaint, and most importantly, Wilbur had agreed to get them McDonald’s for dinner. One slight problem; he didn’t have a car.
Brighton was a sprawling city, and it was far easier to take public transport everywhere. But Wilbur insisted on walking, rambling something about ‘a short walk’ and ‘seeing the sights of Brighton’ and, well Tommy was weak to Wilbur’s excitement. His eyes always lit up, hands gesturing faster than he could talk, and Tommy really did have a soft spot for his older brother figure. So Wilbur smothered Tommy in the coat he had forgotten the previous visit. He cited that Tommy’s parents would kill him if he came back sick, but he reckoned that Wilbur just enjoyed Tommy’s indignant look at the action.
“And Uber Eats doesn’t deliver to our house anymore after David puked in the bag while the driver was holding it,” Tommy let out a short cackle, gesturing him to go on. The walk to McDonald’s was short, yet dingy and creepy. Living on the outer suburbs of Brighton meant the pavement they walked on was not well lit, and it only got worse. Wilbur gestured to a break in the trees, an eroded pathway just barely visible in the moonlight. Sure, it was still right next to a road, but Tommy’s fuck no senses were tingling. He fiddled with the hem of the coat, now suddenly too warm and suffocated.
“Don’t be a pussy, Tommy! Don’t worry McDonald’s is literally right behind this. Went here with Niki once actually-” Tommy tuned Wilbur out, focusing on placing one step in front of the other, and not on what could be lurking in the forest. Wilbur didn’t know he feared spiders. And he didn’t need to know. Big men aren’t scared of stupid shit, he repeated to himself in his head, donning the stream persona.
He was very aware of his own body, from the wheezes that left his lungs almost silently, to the numbness of his fingers and he tried to move as quickly as he could through the bush, “Tommy, are you good, mate?”
His mouth felt frozen, as he took a few seconds to try and come up with something suave and coherent, mostly. And then he felt it.
The cobwebs against his face.
The cobwebs that belonged to the creepy, crawly, hairy little fucks that terrified him to the core. He flinched back violently, almost stumbling on his own feet as he rushed to go anywhere but where he was. Wilbur caught him, holding him by the shoulders and taking a few steps back with him. He steadied him, quick to pull him into an embrace. The air left his lungs. He didn’t think he was breathing, that he could do that anymore. Shuttered breaths, desperate attempts to pull more air into his body. His hands had gone numb, legs had turned to jelly. The only reason he was upright was Wilbur, who had one arm underneath his shoulder and one circling the back of his head, careful not to crush him into his chest as they stumbled back. His ears rang, eyes tightly shut as phantom spiders crawled over his body, itching and light.
He could almost make out words, someone was saying something. A low toned voice, speech quiet and steady. It took him a few seconds to register Wilbur repeating numbers. A breathing pattern, he presumed, air still knocked out of his lungs. He did try to follow it, as Wilbur guided his head against the older man’s chest so he could feel Wilbur’s inhales.
A few minutes passed, Tommy’s hiccupping breath grew steady, and Wilbur let go of him. He almost missed the warmth emanating off the other, the comforting heartbeat below cotton.
“So… What the fuck was that about?” Wilbur led with a light tone, gesturing vaguely to the area around them.
“I, uh… I don’t like spiders.” Tommy’s fingers returned to the edge of his shirt, twisting the fabric. Wilbur gave him a considering look, and in return he puffed up his chest, “And you can go fuck yourself if you’re gonna make fun of me.”
“What the hell dude I’m not gonna make fun of you,” Tommy deflated at that, bravado gone. “But this is the only way to get to McDonald’s. I don’t think you wanna get hit by a car- wait shut up I have an idea.”
“I didn’t say-”
“Shut up, what if you pull your coat over your head and I lead you through the path? That way every part of you will be protected.” That… didn’t sound like that bad of an idea. Tommy pulled off his coat, shielding it over his head like a nun. Wilbur wrapped his arms around him, the weight giving Tommy an anchor to hook himself onto. He focussed purely on Wilbur’s arm around him, letting him lead them through the pathway. Lo and behold, a shiny McDonald’s sign on the other side. Tommy straightened his coat and his back, shaking off the anxiety. Wilbur waited for Tommy to adjust himself before returning his arm to his shoulders. He shook him off, before sprinting through the parking lot.
“Last one to get there is a bitch!” He called behind him. He tossed a glance to Wilbur. Wil’s expression went from an endearing grin to the most amused and mock-outraged look he could’ve mustered.
The Happy Meal was officially not Worth That Shit. Nor the exhausted look the workers gave them as Tommy incessantly poke Wilbur to order it. But as Wilbur called David to pick them up, and he rested his arm around his shoulders once more; that feeling was worth it. Even if David muttered at them the way home about the fact they woke him up.
And if Tommy had snuck out of Wilbur’s room that night, curling up on the floor near the couch Wil was sleeping on when Tommy was supposed to be taking his bed; neither of them mentioned it in the morning. Nor the way Tommy was holding Wilbur’s hand in a death grip while he slept, only letting go once he woke up, cheeks going bright red.
And if Wilbur hugged Tommy more after that, no one mentioned it.