Chapter Text
"So… you're dying."
Tommy nods his head, an amused huff of breath leaving his lips as he does so. It's not funny, though, not really. "Yeah," he muses, flicking his nails against one another. "I am."
"And that's what the doctor said?" Techno asks, his brows drawn tightly together. They're getting brown again, just at the roots and the edges. He should probably re-dye them.
"Yup," Tommy confirms. "Acute myeloid leukaemia. Treatable for the most part, but I've still got an expiry date."
"That's not funny," Wilbur shakes his head.
Tommy just shrugs, and Technoblade's frown only deepens.
They're sat in the car together, still parked outside of their local hospital. Tommy had wanted to go in alone, needing a sense of independence and honestly just a few moments to properly process whatever it was he was going to be diagnosed with. And— huh. It looks like he'd made the right decision there because cancer— cancer isn't something you can just brush off as if it's nothing, at least not at first.
The symptoms were there, though, had been for a while now: the constant need to sleep and the aching lack of energy; the joint pain too much to brush off as a bit of early arthritis; the thinness to his figure and the nosebleeds that just don't want to stop.
They were there, and Tommy had, y'know, he'd tried to ignore it. He'd tried to wave his hand in dismissal and laugh at his dad's bewildered expressions when the tissues pressed against his nostrils would turn a brilliant shade of red in a matter of seconds. He'd tried his best to push everything underneath the guise of paranoia or health anxiety, but—
But it just hadn't been working as of late, and as much as Tommy hadn't wanted to, a doctor's appointment had been made.
A doctor's appointment that had turned into a hospital visit that had turned into tests and questions and forms and then another hospital visit with a final diagnosis.
'These are your treatment options,' is what Tommy had been told, sheets and leaflets and lines of paperwork gently placed within his shaking hands. 'We're going to help you through this as best we can, you're not alone,' is what they'd gone on to say, but Tommy— oh, Tommy had felt very, very alone.
He doesn't feel as alone now, though, as he sits in the back of the car - still in the middle, so that he can stare out the front window, but in the back nonetheless. Wilbur had shotgun the passenger seat (dickhead), and Techno was their designated driver for every occasion when their dad couldn't be around (work was a bitch, Tommy got it, and he didn't mind), so there he was.
Tommy glances between his two brothers, twins in every right other than appearance, and then laughs. He can't help himself. "Fuckin' hell, guys, I'm not some weird museum exhibit. You don't need to stare at me, as handsome as I am."
"Don't swear," is what Techno immediately replies with, and then he sighs. And sighs again. "Bruh. You can't just—"
"Can't just what?"
"Act so nonchalant!"
Tommy shrugs, leans forward to flick at Techno's forehead. The other ducks away before he can reach, though. A shame. "Well— what do you want me to say?"
Techno huffs. "Something more than— more than just jokes about it, maybe."
"Oh no," Tommy deadpans. "I have cancer. I'm dying. Whatever shall we do?"
"That wasn't—"
"Do you want me to roll around on the seats and start crying, too?"
Wilbur laughs this time. He can't help himself. "You're so disgustingly morbid sometimes," he says.
Tommy rolls his eyes. “I’m not morbid! I'm just not being a complete pessimist!"
"I think I'd prefer a pessimist over whatever this is supposed to be," Techno mutters. "Are you in some sort of pre-acceptance ritual? Are you going to break down any minute now?"
Tommy taps his chin and then nods. "Maybe. I think we should go and pick up a Mcdonald's to get ready for my inevitable collapse."
"You're trying to scam us out of free food again," Wilbur points out. "Prick."
Tommy sticks his tongue out. "You can't call a cancer patient a prick! That's gotta be against some sort of moral code."
"He's already pulling the cancer card on us, Techno," Wilbur sighs dramatically, flopping over to the side to lean against his twin. Techno glares. And glares some more. "Whatever shall we do?"
"Kick him out of the car and make him walk home?"
"Uhm— I think dad wouldn't be too impressed with you if you did that," Tommy scoffs. "You guys are horrible."
"The most dad would do is sigh and send us back out to go and find wherever you're moping on the street," Wilbur grins, all shark-like and annoying. He's so annoying. Tommy's going to punch his lights out one of these days. "We're not horrible. We're just… materialistic."
"Material girls?" Tommy guesses.
Techno throws his head back against the seat. "Not again. I hate both of you. I hate both of you and your stupid tik-tok references so much. They're so awful."
"Sorry that we're not stuck as complete boomers who can't understand the internet, Technoblade," Wilbur snorts.
Techno scoffs, bringing a hand down against Wilbur's forehead. It smacks. A bit like a tambourine. Or is it a cymbal? "Boomer was so last year."
"So last year was so last year," Tommy chimes in and grins back at Techno's scathing look. "Just accept the fact that you're never going to be tech-savvy, man. The youth of today just isn't for you."
"I don't have time for being 'tech-savvy' or a 'tik-tokker.'"
"Yeah because you always have your face shoved into your stupid literature books," Tommy points out. "I'm surprised you haven't been sucked into one of them by now."
"Didn't that happen in an anime once?" Wilbur frowned, looking up in contemplation.
"What?" Tommy responded, "Getting sucked into a book?"
"Yeah."
"Uhm— I don't know, maybe? I don't really—"
"It was in Bungou Stray Dogs," Techno interrupts. "Imbeciles."
"So you're not a tik-tok fan; you're just a weeb," Tommy notes. "Got it."
"I'm not a weeb—"
Wilbur shakes his head and pushes himself off of his twin. He might have elbowed Techno in the crotch as he did so. Or he might not have. Who knows. "You definitely are a weeb. You literally have anime posters up in your room."
"It's for the aesthetic—"
"Cringe!" Tommy hollers.
"Cringe!" Wilbur hollers back in solidarity.
Technoblade, hunched over just slightly, gives out a groan. "I'm kicking you both out of the car. I'm actually leaving you here. I can't do it. I can't. You're both so fucking annoying. I feel like I'm losing my mind more and more with every minute that I'm stuck speaking to you. I can't; I just can't, It's not—"
"He's having his villain's monologue," Wilbur whispers to Tommy as the two of them watch Technoblade thump his head against the steering wheel. Over and over again. And then over some more.
"Is this how Joaquin Phoenix felt?" Tommy whispers back. Society, he thinks, we live in a society.
"Jared Leto played a better joker," Wilbur huffs. "So much better."
Tommy's nose wrinkles. "Suicide Squad was a boring shit show. Get a grip, Will."
"It was not!"
"It was. You complained about it for weeks. Don't pretend to like it now."
"Okay, and you didn't like Joker, either."
Tommy shrugs, sticks his tongue out and then blows a raspberry. "Potato potahto."
"That's not how it works, you stupid little—"
"Okay," Technoblade breathes as he pulls up. There's a red mark on his forehead. Huh. What a guy. "Okay. I'm fine now. I'm fine."
"You sure about that, buddy?" Wilbur snorts. "You seem a little—" he waves a hand.
"Crazed?" Tommy adds on, "Manic? Demented?"
“I’m fine,” Techno stresses. "Shut up. I need both of you to shut up."
"We have the right of free speech, y'know," Tommy says as he crosses his arms over his chest. "You shouldn't be so oppressive."
"My car, my rules."
"It's dad's car, actually," Wilbur points out. "He bought it so technically—"
"Technically, neither of you can drive, so you shouldn't get a voice in this matter whatsoever," Techno shakes his head before turning his gaze onto Wilbur. "You literally failed your driving test nine times. You shouldn't even be allowed near cars."
"And yet here I am," Wilbur grins, leaning back into his seat and stretching his legs forward. "A miracle, I know."
"He's like Jesus," Tommy nods, a solemn expression on his face. "You should give our lord and saviour some more respect, Techno."
"Can we go home now?" Techno begs, "Can we please just go home? I'm so tired of the both of you."
Tommy shrugs. "After we pick up Mcdonald's."
"I'm not buying you—"
"He's a cancer patient, Techno," Wilbur reminds him, "You have to do what he says."
“Oh my fucking god—”
They get going. Eventually.
It takes a while, and there's a shitton more of arguing before anything really happens, but they manage it - Techno still in the driver's seat, Willbur in the passenger's and Tommy having switched to sit on the right side so that he could kick at the back of Wilbur's seat as they drove home. (Not to Mcdonald's, apparently, because Technoblade absolutely refused despite all of the pitiful begging. What a prick.)
The mood is light, all things considered, but Tommy prefers it that way.
Realistically, he's very aware of what's happened. He knows, he understands, he gets it, okay? He knows that he has cancer. He knows that he has to start looking at treatment options. He knows that his life is soon going to be consisting solely of tests, procedures, sickness, hospitals and then everything else, too, but he just— he doesn't want to think about it.
Why ruin the good mood that he's in— the good mood that they're all in, because of some stupid diagnosis?
Sure, Tommy is going to miss out on a lot of things in life. Sure, he's quickly, rapidly deteriorating with each day that passes. And sure, sure, he's going to drop dead sooner rather than later, but that's— well, he can ignore that just fine. He ignores everything that he doesn't like or doesn't want to put that much time towards, so…
So what's different about this whole thing?
A lot, apparently. Wilbur says as much as he spins around to face Tommy. They're at home, parked up in the drive and— right, dad.
"What're you going to tell him?" Wilbur questions, arching a brow upwards. He still seems pretty content. Or maybe he's just internally freaking out. Who knows.
"Haven't thought about it yet," Tommy admits with a shrug. "Probably just the truth?"
"Well duh," Wilbur rolls his eyes. "I didn't expect you to lie about it. I just mean— how're you gonna break it to him?"
"You should ease him into it," Techno pipes up. "He's old. His heart might give in."
"I think mine will go first," Tommy jokes, before shaking his head, "Nah— I just— I was gonna be straight up with it. Y'know. Cancer. Dying. All of that jazz."
Wilbur tilts his head. He purses his lips. "You should tell him that you have a tree growing in your lungs."
"What the fuck."
"Okay, wait, hear me out—!"
"Nobody wants to hear you out," Techno says as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Ever."
"No, no! Hold on; it's a good idea—"
"It's just fuckin' not, is it?" Tommy remarks drily.
Wilbur is determined, though. "I saw it in Grey's Anatomy! It makes sense! It's plausible!"
"Grey's Anatomy was garbage," Tommy groans, dragging his hand over his face. "It went to shit after Derek died. Everything up until then was fine, but after that stupid death that didn't even make sense? Yeah. No thanks."
"Okay, well, the tree bit was before his death, so technically—"
"Wilbur, do you ever shut up?" Techno sighs as he turns to look at the two, drawing his legs up slightly. "Like. Seriously."
"No, actually, thanks for asking, though. I happen to think that free speech is a right that everyone should have, and therefore everyone includes me, so I get to say what I want no matter what it is— well, to a degree— but still, I think that—"
"I hope my death comes early just so I can get away from this." Tommy groans.
Wilbur punches at his arm. Gently. Probably. "Don't say that! That's horrible—"
"But true," Tommy grins. "I honestly can't even be bothered dealing with this. Let's just drive away for a bit," like Meredith Grey did that one time or something, "go and do some cool shit. Go to Chester zoo. Do some rock climbing. Fight a bear."
"You wish," Techno snorts, running a hand through his pink locks. They're not doing that. They're not doing whatever Tommy's weird, stupid bucket list is. No chance.
"I do."
"I think it's a good idea," Wilbur hums in thought as he taps at his chin. Dying people have bucket lists. Tommy is dying. Tommy has a bucket list. It makes perfect sense. "Maybe we should."
Techno stares, and then his eyes narrow. "Maybe we should what?"
"Drive away."
"As if."
"No, seriously, I think it would be cool." Wilbur defends himself, "It would be a break, right? And Tom could, y'know, process everything away from home."
"Or he could process everything at home in a safe, controlled environment." Techno points out. "Come on, let's just go and tell dad and—"
"Hold on," Tommy puts a hand up. Damn, he feels sort of like God doing that, all commanding and shit. "He's onto something."
"No," Techno denies immediately. "Wilbur is never onto something. He's stupid as hell. Come on.”
"Let's run away," Tommy declares with a nod.
"Yeah!" Wilbur grins, pumping his fist into the air - just narrowly missing the roof of their car.
“Absolutely not!” Techno hisses. "We can't just leave! We have— we have school! I have university classes! We both do, Will— and Tommy, Tommy you have college, we can't just—"
"C'mon, Tech, stop being the voice of reason for a second and just let it be," Wilbur sighs, swatting at his twin. "It's nearly the holidays anyway, and we won't be gone forever!"
"We can't. We're not. You're both imbeciles," Techno says, "I'm getting out and telling dad." He doesn't move, though - doesn't even reach for the door handle - what a weak, weak man.
"It'll only be for, like, a few days," Tommy shrugs. "It's just a bit of fun, innit? C'mon, don't you want me to live life while I have it? This is literally my personal bucket list!"
"You're guilt-tripping me."
"Is it working?"
"I hate both of you. So much."
Wilbur reaches back to high-five Tommy, and they're both grinning like idiots. They've done it. They've won. This is their perfect victory. (To be fair, Technoblade is a complete pushover when it comes to his siblings, so his compliance was something to be expected eventually anyway, but still. It's a win in their books, and that's all that matters. So what if Techno gives in far too easily?)
"Okay," Wilbur nods. "I've got my wallet. And my phone. We'll be fine."
"And I've got a charger," Tommy notes. "There's probably some other junk in the boot that we can use, too."
"I never even agreed," Techno tries, but it falls on mainly deaf ears. "I seriously did not agree."
"We can tell dad when we're already like— an hour away," Wilbur says as he begins to re-buckle his seatbelt. "He'll freak out for a bit, but I'm sure he'll calm down eventually."
"He'll probably be grateful for the peace and quiet," Tommy laughs. "Lord knows the poor man needs it."
"Maybe he'll finally be brave enough to talk to our neighbour that he's been crushing on for the past, like, year," Wilbur notes, "What was her name again— Kristin?"
"Kristin," Tommy nods in confirmation. Maybe the peace and quiet will grant their dad the confidence that he so desperately needs. Huh. They can only hope at this point. (He seriously needs to grow some balls.) "Do you not think that he's already seen us in the driveway?"
Wilbur waves a hand. "Nah. His office is on the other side of the house. He wouldn't know we were home unless we started screaming and shouting right outside of his door or something."
Their dad really is a complete workaholic who gets pretty focused on what he's doing. He should probably start getting a grip on that, before it turns into an addiction. Or something worse. (God forbid he starts giving up their Friday movie nights in favour of paperwork.)
"Right, right," Tommy smiles, before turning to glance towards their other sibling. He raises a brow. "Techno?"
"We're not doing this."
"We are! C'mon," Wilbur slaps his shoulder. "Chop chop."
"We don't even have an immediate destination in mind—"
"That's what's fun about it!" Wilbur croons, "The surprise!"
"I hate surprises."
"You're boring," Wilbur shrugs and then glances back to Tommy. "Ready for a road trip?"
Well, Tommy wouldn't necessarily call it a road trip, only because that sounds like something typically used in America, and they're stuck in the hills of England in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, with more sheep than people and an abundance of tourists that like to take pictures of weirdly built fences around the town, but still - a road trip, sure.
Or actually, maybe it's not a road trip. Maybe this is Tommy's escape. Maybe this is his time to find himself, to see the world in ways that he hasn't before, to explore and to learn, and to grow.
(...Or maybe he's just going to waste everyone's money and gorge himself on McDonald's, who knows.)
"Ready when you are," he grins, and, well, then off they go.