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wilbur’s felt a lot of fear in the past year.
absent-minded concern when he notices he hasn’t heard any of his little brother’s incessant babbles for a few moments. heart stopping panic when he realises tommy’s shining crown of golden curls is nowhere to be seen, his bright clothes conspicuously absent from the crowd. the fast-encroaching horror when, tearing around the town square, he finds that tommy isn’t lurking in any of his usual spots, by the fountain or hovering hopefully around the sweet shop. creeping dread when he takes in the fact that his baby brother was unmistakably gone , and wilbur’ll have to be the one to tell their dad that he’s lost the little omega. talking to the police, fingers twisting nervously at the hem of his jumper as he explains that, no, officer, he didn’t see anyone suspicious, and no, officer, he can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt tommy. at any other time, wilbur would have joked about who wouldn’t want to hurt tommy, the little brat. but the thought of his omega brother’s round, doll-like eyes scrunched up in fear as some stranger snatched him up, or the way he must have tried to call out for wilbur’s help, pleading for his big brother to come and save him, has him sobbing into their dad’s shoulder, arms wrapped around him in a tight hug.
“it’s all my fault,” he sobs into dad’s soft, black robe, snot leaving disgusting trails down the fabric. “he must hate me.”
“oh, mate, tommy couldn’t hate you if he tried,” phil coos, running soothing hands through his son’s floppy hair. “he knows, and I know, you were trying your best to keep an eye on him. he just likes to wander off, don’t he? but when he gets back we can talk to him all about not running off, huh?” their dad is adamant that tommy will be back by tomorrow, that he’s just holed up somewhere for the night, and he’ll be back in the morning. wilbur wants to have hope, but the image of his baby brother, tied up and gagged somewhere, won’t stop flashing on the back of his eyelids.
the first few days are a nightmarish haze, incessant hours of terror and anticipation blurring into one long stretch. every knock on the door, every trill of the phone, a new layer of anxiety, as uniformed police officers cycle through their living room, giving patient explanations that wilbur isn’t able to take in. it doesn’t matter whether they’re treating tommy’s disappearance as suspicious or not, or whether he’s officially a missing person. all that matters is that with each rap at the door, he prays it’s tommy, and with every new visitor, he cries bitter tears that it’s not.
the first week, the first month, all bring new horrors. turning around to mention some tidbit to tommy, or to make some quip, only to feel his heavy absence like a smack in the face. walking past his room, still untouched since the last time the omega left it, the unusual silence echoing from behind the door. meals for four, set out on a table occupied by three. lullabies, half sung, half sobbed into tommy’s baby blanket, mumbled pleas and apologies slipping out between crooned lyrics. techno doesn’t go to school, wilbur stays home from uni, the three of them huddled in the house like trembling rabbits in a burrow. if you get lost , he remembers their dad telling them, his children crowded around his feet, chicks in a nest. stay where you are, and I’ll come to you. so he’s staying, and praying tommy will come to him.
life suddenly springs back into motion after six months. the phone in the living room rings, and, like always, wilbur answers it with a sick sense of hope. “hello?” a soft voice asks. “is this someone in the craft family?”
“yes,” he says, clutching at the phone. “yes, this is wilbur craft.”
the voice hums. “good. this is inspector sam aweman from the l’manberg police department, I’m calling about your missing persons case?”
“yeah, yes, yes?” wilbur babbles, clinging to the hard plastic of the phone like a lifeline. he sees techno’s head peek around the corner, and waves him over, smiling weakly when his brother slumps against the wall, eyes curious.
“well,” says the inspector. “I have tommy here at the station. you can come and get him any-” wilbur’s scream of joy cuts him off, and techno perks up as their dad comes running. “what? what? ” phil hisses, trying to snatch the phone off him, but the young alpha dances out of reach, avidly listening to what the officer is telling him.
“uh-huh. yep. okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can. can you tell him we’re coming?” hanging up, wilbur turns back to his family with a wide grin. “they found tommy!” he cheers, face numb with excitement. his father and brother are frozen, faces blank with shock as they gape at him.
“f-found? they found tommy?” phil stutters out after a heavy pause. “alive?” wilbur had never had the courage to think about what would become of him if tommy was dead, and now he doesn’t have to. tommy is waiting for them, waiting for him , at the police station.
phil herds them out to the car, but just before they set off, wilbur dashes upstairs, snatching up tommy’s favourite cuddly toy and a change of clothes for him. his baby brother might insist that he’s a big man, but he still sleeps with his teddy bear at night. or he did, half a year ago. wilbur doubts he’s had much in the way of toys for the past few months. still, he tells himself. tommy will be grateful for a little bit of comfort. the clothes, too - either he’s wearing something his captor gave him, which will hardly be helping him to calm down, or he’s been given a spare set of clothes at the station, which won’t be fitting him well. surely tommy will appreciate his cosy pajamas, the red cloth faded but still soft.
the wait at the station is agonising, police officers flitting about, all ignorant of the huddled family, lurking on hard, plastic chairs, eyes fixed on the door that will give them tommy. he jiggles his knee, cuddly toy still clutched tightly in his fist. after too long, it creaks open, and wilbur leans forwards, desperate for a glimpse of his baby brother, but his view is blocked by the largest alpha he’s ever seen. “craft family?” the man rumbles, and wilbur rockets up out of his seat, hurrying over.
“yeah, mate, that’s us,” his dad says eagerly, bouncing on his heels. “can we-? tommy?” with a curt nod, the looming alpha herds them through a series of heavy doors and echoing corridors, steel-capped boots tapping over vinyl floors.
they come to a nervous stop in front of a frosted glass door, a woman’s soft voice filtering through. “-so happy to see you,” she says, with the calm, flat tone that suggests she’s a professional. “they’ve been hoping for you to come home for a long time. they miss you.”
wilbur pauses, hand hovering over the handle, as tommy replies, words small and terrified. “but I was bad before.”
in the corner of his eye, techno freezes, and phil gapes, brow furrowed. wilbur turns to the officer, mouth open in confusion, but the woman’s soothing voice cuts him off.
“do you remember when we talked about the fact that your kidnapper lied to you?” she says, soft and encouraging. at tommy’s reluctant agreement, she continues. “well, that was one of the lies he told you. you’re not bad, and you were never bad. I’m sure your family will say the same thing. why don’t we go and see them?”
wilbur’s eyes are fixed on the door, hope rising like bile in his throat, as it creaks open. the woman slips out first - she’s short, and squat, with curls falling around her face in a soft curtain. she shoots him a small smile, stepping aside. tommy. tommy looks-
tommy looks dead. he’s stick-thin, even more than he ever was before, shirt hanging off his tiny frame like a nightgown. his hair is limp and long, and his arms are littered with fresh bandages and old bruises. the acrid stink of fear clings to him like an overprotective mother, souring his normally light and sweet omega scent. when wilbur flicks his gaze up to tommy’s face, he has to bite back a gasp. there are deep rings under his eyes that make him look like the raccoon they always said him to be, but the alpha can hardly take them in, too distracted by tommy’s dull eyes, lifeless in his pale, gaunt face. his stare is hollow as he looks resolutely at the wall, pupils skipping over the plain white paint.
“oh, god, tommy,” dad cries, falling to his knees and bundling the omega into a tight embrace. “thank fuck you’re alright.” his brother’s posture is stiff, uncomfortable, as phil curls around him, but he doesn’t move. he barely even blinks, still staring straight ahead at the painted-over breezeblock wall. his dad’s tears drip into tommy’s limp curls as the man cradles his son to his chest, but he makes no move to wipe them away, sniffling pitifully.
when he finally draws back, tommy seems relieved. wilbur wants nothing more than to squeeze him into his arms, to clutch at him until the omega is safely bundled away between his ribs, never to be hurt again. “here, tommy,” he murmurs instead, pressing his toy into his brother’s chest. “I brought henry for you.” tommy blinks at it for a few moments, fingers running over the fur with over-gentle movements, until he suddenly bursts into sobbing, wailing tears. his whole body shakes as he holds the cow up to his cheek, nuzzling into it with frantic need. “w-wilby,” the omega chokes out, and wilbur sweeps him up, wrapping his arms around tommy’s too-thin body as his brother clings to him.
“I’m so sorry, tommy,” he croons, peppering feverish kisses to the top of tommy’s head. “wilby’s so sorry he let you get hurt.”
--
six months later, and fear still hangs over the family like a pendulum, swinging closer and closer to tommy’s breaking point.
every tuesday, the whole family drives down to tommy’s therapy sessions. the police had refused to release tommy without having phil sign him up for counselling, and, from the list of pre-approved therapists, the omega had chosen puffy, the emergency counsellor on duty on the night he was found. on the way back, phil always tries dancing around the topic, asking questions that are just prodding enough to make tommy freeze up, face buried in his cuddly toy. puffy is insistent that they not ask the omega for any details, reminding their dad after every session that the key to regaining tommy’s trust is allowing him to process his trauma at his own pace, and providing him with a safe environment. the environment is safe. nothing could be safer. tommy hardly goes anywhere without one of his brothers or his father, and they, in turn, refuse to let him out of their sight.
tommy doesn’t go to school, a year behind his peers and far too fragile, so on saturdays techno takes him over to tubbo’s house for a bit of ‘re-socialisation’, as puffy calls it. tommy’s made the ten minute walk by himself since he was nine, but the first time phil suggested it, the omega had crumpled, begging and pleading. his scent had turned sour, the sharp scent of terror running through it as he sobbed. “please, daddy, please,” tommy had wailed, fat rivers of tears rolling down his still-hollow cheeks. “please, don’t let him get me again. I’ll be good, don’t make me go by myself.”
the whole house stinks of tommy’s panic, a sickly sweet rotting citrus smell that clings to all the furniture and the curtains, too. at every dropped plate, every missed chore, the room is flooded with omega pheromones, as tommy frantically fights to soothe an anger that doesn’t exist. “I’m sorry!” he snivels, scrabbling to pick up shards of glass. blood runs down his milky wrists, but the omega keeps pawing at the floor, scent thick and wild with fear. dazed by pheromones, wilbur can only croon at him lowly as he bends down, clutching at tommy’s fingertips to pull him away.
it’s important to remember , puffy reminds the family, that progress is being made. when they first got him back, tommy slept every night in wilbur’s bed, snuggled up to his chest like a pup, and he cried terrified tears whenever he was left alone. now, he sleeps through the night, for the most part, in his own room, for the most part, and he can handle a few minutes alone while his family take care of chores. he’s not so thin anymore, cheeks chubby with baby fat again, and the bruises that once ringed his wrists like handcuffs have all faded.
“why me?” wilbur had asked the woman once, nervous question suddenly slipping out. it had been preying on his mind since tommy came back, guilt eating away at him. “shouldn’t he hate me? I’m the one who lost him in the first place.”
“but,” puffy had reminded him, smiling at the young alpha so comfortingly that it made painful tears prickle behind his eyes. “you were the last person he felt safe with. tommy loves you, wilbur. he could never hate you.”
still, wilbur fears he does. he’s frightened of a lot of things, now. he’s scared to let tommy out of his sight, but he’s scared that if he never lets tommy go, he’ll never recover. he’s scared that tommy will get taken again, that anyone on the street could see him, and decide they want him, and snatch him away and wilbur won’t be able to save him. most of all, he’s terrified of the part of him that delights in how much tommy depends on him now, that gives a mean little grin whenever the omega clings to him.
all that constant, bubbling fear is why, when he sees the unmistakable silhouette of a person appear in his doorway, outline dark in the dim room, wilbur doesn’t startle. the small shoulders are shaking, the distinctive scent of a frightened omega rolling off tommy’s slight body. he scrambles backwards, tugging his duvet up in clear invitation, and his breath hitches as his baby brother steps into the room.
in the dim moonlight, it’s clear tommy is utterly naked, not a scrap of clothing covering his creamy, gleaming skin. wilbur scolds himself for the way his eyes flick down to the omega’s bare pussy, gaze skipping guiltily over the glistening lips of his cunt. “tommy?” he croaks, propping himself up on his elbows. “what are you-?” he trails off as tommy stalks over, feet padding softly on the plush carpet, steps muffled. the alpha is scared to speak, frightened that the slightest movement will send tommy skittering away again, so he stays quiet as tommy clambers into his bed, sliding under the covers. wilbur tries to will away the stirring in his cock as his baby brother crawls up his body, bare skin rustling against his, just-slick cunt hovering over his lap.
“wilby, help me,” tommy murmurs, and wilbur could cry. he, sobbing and pleading, has begged tommy to let them help him, to tell them how to help him, to ask them to help him.
“I’ll help you, tommy,” he whispers fervently, hands poised hesitantly over his omega brother’s hips. “please, just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.” he wants to sing tommy a soft lullaby like he did when he was little, or curl up around him and let his protective, alpha scent soothe him back to sleep.
with a hum, tommy leans down, pressing a wet kiss to wilbur’s sternum. “I need your cock in me,” he says, matter-of-fact as he runs his tongue along the shallow lines of his brother’s chest. the alpha squeaks, fingers tightening on the omega’s waist in surprise. it feels like his mind has rammed straight into a brick wall, brain trying to grapple with the gravity of what tommy’s just said. “w-what?” he stutters, not noticing the way his thumbs rub small circles on his brother’s skin, fingers hungrily dancing over the curves of tommy’s tiny waist.
“I need it,” tommy groans, wiggling his hips, the movement sickeningly enticing. “please, wilbur, my cunt is so hungry for it.” like a bored fish at the aquarium, wilbur’s mind is bumping against the glass of his brain. where did tommy learn to talk like that? despite some slip ups, and his baby brother’s propensity towards swearing like a sailor, phil’s always been keen to keep his kids’ attention away from sexual matters for as long as possible. he wanted them to be kids while they were kids, although that didn’t stop wilbur from fisting his cock under the covers, fevered fantasies of his future mate, tall and blond with lean limbs and swooping curves, running through his mind.
he stutters out, “when did you-? how did you-? tommy, what?” his brother leans down, mouthing desperately along his neck and under his jaw. tommy’s hot little mouth is like a brand on his skin, drawing guilty moans from wilbur. “stop it, tommy,” he says, pushing the omega away gently. “why are you doing this?”
“it’s okay,” tommy soothes, a sickening reversal. wilbur wants to comfort him, and yet here his baby brother is, hushing him. “I know that’s what I’m for.”
“ what’s what you’re for?” wilbur hisses, despite the fact that it’s plainly clear what tommy is asking for. “tommy, please, I want to help you, but I don’t know what you need.”
“it’s alright, wilbur, dream taught me everything. I’m a good omega now.” tommy snakes a hand down his chest, dipping between his folds, and holds up his slick coated fingers proudly. “see? my cunt wants you. I need you.”
“who’s dream?” he cries softly, hands clenching helplessly at his brother’s waist. “tommy, please, just tell me what’s going on.”
the look tommy gives him is fond, pleading, desperate. “it’s okay. dad tried to hide it, but dream showed me. omegas should be bred, I know that now. that’s why he took me, so he could teach me. and he did teach me, he taught me how to be a good wife. I can look after you, wilbur, but I need you to look after me, ‘cause I need your cock so bad.” his baby brother’s breath is hot against his skin, filthy whispers curling around his ears. “I didn’t want it at first. the room was so small, and I was so scared. he hurt me, wilbur. my ankle- he broke it, so I couldn’t run. and then when I couldn’t run, that’s when he taught me how to be a good wife.” wet, smacking kisses across his cheeks. “he’d take my hands, wilbur, and there was this big ring on the wall, and he’d tie my hands up to the ring, and- and- and then he’d push my knees apart, and-”
“tommy, stop,” wilbur begs, hot tears welling up in his eyes. “please, I don’t want to hear it.” it’s selfish of him, to want to ignore tommy’s desperate gush of words. but the poison dripping from tommy’s lips is burning him. he doesn’t want to know what some alpha did to tommy, all the ways he hurt the omega. he wants tommy to never have been hurt at all. you want to be the one who hurt him , a little voice whispers. you want tommy to crave your cock, to want to be your wife.
his omega brother continues, ignoring his desperate pleas. “-and he’d fuck me up against the wall, wilby. it hurt, it hurt so much. my back would bleed, and my pussy would bleed, and I’d be crying, but he wouldn’t stop-” tommy dissolves into keening sobs, high and miserable as he rocks back and forth in wilbur’s lap. the alpha tries to ignore the way the blond’s bare cunt brushes over his clothed cock. “but I learned,” tommy whispers, stepping his fingers childishly to his clit, like a toddler reciting a nursery rhyme. “I learned how to make it feel good.”
the omega rubs at his clit, mewling softly as he flicks and pinches the little nub. wilbur watches him, rapt, as tommy teases himself, fingers darting in and out of his needy little hole. “I started to like it,” his brother continues, smiling glassily through his tears. “I really, really liked it. but-” he lowers his voice to a murmur, and wilbur leans in, cheek to cheek. “-I wished it was you. I wished I was made into your wife, not dream’s.”
wilbur rears back, blinking rapidly. two factions of his brain war to be the first thing he processes. tommy wants to be his wife. tommy thinks he is this ‘dream’ guy’s wife.
“that’s why I’m bad,” tommy mutters to himself, wagging a finger in front of his crossed eyes like he’s scolding a puppy. “bad, bad, bad. and that’s why dream has to hurt me, so I can learn to be better.” he blinks up at wilbur, pleading. “now you have to help me, wilby. I miss it, being stretched out on alpha’s cock. being full.” he pats at the smooth skin of his stomach. “having a tummy full of cum.”
“I- I can’t hurt you, tommy,” the alpha says, brows pinched. “I’m not going to do that.”
“I need it,” tommy begs, hands clenching on his brother’s shoulders. “wilbur, I deserve it. please, wilby, I deserve it.” his pretty doll eyes are red with tears, pink lip trembling as he chokes back tears. it takes all the strength he has to push tommy away, hands gently bumping at the blond’s shoulders.
“tommy, I can’t,” he murmurs, persevering through the fresh bloom of misery that worms its way into the omega’s scent. “you don’t deserve it, tommy. you’re the sweetest thing I know, no one should ever hurt you.”
his brother’s lip wobbles, fresh, salty tears flooding to his eyes. “I don’t?” he whimpers, fingers trembling.
“of course you don’t, my darling, my poor little tommy. he hurt you because he could, not because you deserved it. he was wrong, everything he told you was wrong, you’re not bad, you’re not some object that exists for his pleasure, you’re my little brother, and I love you to pieces.”
“you still love me?” tommy whimpers, tears spilling over, wet streams flowing down his chubby cheeks.
“I do,” wilbur chokes out, fat tears rolling down his own face. “I could never, ever not love you. even if you were the worst person alive, I’d still love my little tom.”
tommy clings to him, body shaking with sobs. he can’t help the way his hands run over the omega’s body, like a sculptor inspecting a masterpiece. wilbur cradles his brother close to his chest, a precious treasure he’s trying to hold together.
“I love you, too,” he gasps out between shaky, wet breaths, nuzzling his soft curls under wilbur’s chin, nudging at his scent gland with his nose.
“you’re safe now, you’re safe here with me, I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” wilbur babbles, spewing soft promises into his brother’s hair. “I love you so much, tommy, my lovely little tommy. you don’t have to be afraid anymore. if anyone tries to hurt you again, I’ll kill them. I mean it, tommy, I’ll fucking kill them.” the omega’s cunt slicks up again at the bitter vows, and he rocks his hips against his brother’s, mewling happily.
“wilbur, please, please, please , fuck me,” tommy begs, the thick scent of his arousal blooming between them. the alpha smiles as he strokes circles on the omega’s curvy sides with his thumbs. this is tommy’s real lust, desire born out of love, not fear.
“do- do you want it?” he asks, searching tommy’s face for any hint of distress. “we don’t have to do anything, I promise. whatever you want, that’s fine.”
he watches tommy watch him with a smile. the blond’s grin is tiny, but real, the first one he’s seen in a year. “I want it,” he says, through thick tears. “I want you. fuck me, please.”
“I- I-” wilbur stutters, cupping the curves of tommy’s chest. “if I hurt you, you have to tell me.”
“I will , wilby,” tommy says with a roll of his eyes. the alpha can’t even put up a pretense of being annoyed - it’s the most normal his brother’s been in months. “can you breed me now?”
he chokes on his own spit, but snakes a hand down to tug his straining cock out of his pyjama bottoms. there’s precum beading on the flushed tip as it jerks and twitches in wilbur’s palm, and the alpha has to muffle a groan, cock weeping, as tommy leans down to press a soft kiss to the slit, brushing his hair behind his ears. the omega’s tongue is perfect as he laps at wilbur’s cock, sloppy, drooling kisses pressed along the shaft as tommy contorts himself to reach. the older boy tries to brush aside the knowledge that his captor was the one to teach him to be so seductive with his movements. even the innocent reaching of tommy’s fine hand up to his cheek has wilbur shuddering with pleasure.
the blond shuffles awkwardly in his lap, spreading his legs as wide as he can. warm, delicious slick pools over wilbur’s thighs, and he scoops it up, lathering it over his dribbling cock. he holds the shaft tightly in his fist, nudging at tommy’s quivering hole with the blunt head of his cock. “you sure?” he murmurs against the omega’s collarbone, rocking his hips up at tommy’s eager nod. “I’ve never- uh. I’ve never had sex with anyone before,” wilbur confesses into his brother’s salty skin. tommy’s cunt is tight, and wet, and hot around him, gripping at his cock and fluttering around it.
“big,” is all tommy says, slurred words falling out from his open mouth. “god, so fuckin’ big. a-ah! wilby!” he pants happily as he bounces in the alpha’s lap, each slow, upwards drag a delicious counterpoint to the fast, wicked thrusts back down. wilbur groans lewdly as his baby brother rides his cock, each gasping moan followed by a wet hiccup.
“darling, darling,” he panics, cupping one of the omega’s tearstained cheeks. “am I hurting you? toms, what’s wrong?”
“it feels so good!” tommy wails, clawing at his back with blunt nails. “I thought I was broken forever, but it feels so good!”
“you are not broken,” wilbur whispers, fervent and believing. “you’ve suffered, god knows you have, and I love you even still. even more, if you can believe it.”
tommy falls back into sobs, head tipped back, as his hips buck wildly, chasing the feeling of wilbur’s thick cock against his womb. “wilbur, wilbur, thank you,” he chants, body shaking as he slams his cunt against the alpha’s lap. “ugh, fuck, wilby!”
with a squeal, the omega cums, slick gushing over wilbur’s thighs as his pussy clenches tightly around the alpha’s shaft. with a contended groan, the older cums too, flooding his tight cunt and tummy with sticky, hot seed.
“I love you,” wilbur murmurs into tommy’s sweet, orange-and-lemon curls as he lays the blond down, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. “I love you so, so much, and I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again.”
the omega’s breaths are small, hot puffs on his neck, but the blond tilts his head up, capturing wilbur’s lips in a soft kiss. tommy’s tongue is tiny, warm against his own, and he smiles into the kiss. “I love you, too, wilby,” his brother whispers, blinking up at him with crystal eyes that are brimming with hope. “thank you.”
when wilbur dreams tonight, it’s tommy painted across his closed eyelids. tommy, happy and smiling, tucked into his lap or bundled up in his arms. tommy, round with his pups, and full of life again. “I’d do anything for you,” dream wilbur promises dream tommy, and he means it. it’s a promise he can keep.