#o!technoblade

The first is that a flash of light erupted from Tommy's phone, surprising him and making him flinch.

The second was that the spider finally reacted to the stimulus, and in the way that wild creatures always do when they perceive a threat, which was to lash out and bite Tommy's hand.

The third was that Tommy yelped, and before his mind could catch up to his reflexes, he flung the spider off his hand as hard as he could.

" Shit! " Tommy balked and wildly looked around for the spider, his eyes starting to water from the pain already radiating from his hand.

He quickly zeroed in on the spider skittering away across the floor, its unusual coloring making it a stark target against the white tile floor. Tommy abandoned his group without a second's hesitation to chase after it.

It was just as he got close enough to leap and grab it (carefully, of course) that it disappeared under a boot with a ‘ squish ’.

"NO!" Tommy blurted out, a pang in his heart. That poor spider was just existing, it was Tommy's fault he scared it in the first place.

The boot jumped back at Tommy's outburst, confirming that the spider was now just a crumpled, gooey, white and red mess.

"Shit, what was that?" The owner of the boot spoke, and Tommy looked up to see a young man looking extremely concerned at Tommy's reaction.

"Oh, fuck, did I step on your bug?" The man asked in horror, taking a few steps back. Tommy turned away from the sad sight and sighed, his hand twitching as he registered the burning pain once again.

"No." He muttered, and halfway met the man's eyes. "Sorry. It was just a random spider."

"Well, still." The man scratched the back of his neck and winced down at the mess. "I didn't mean to. I know they're pretty important."

"...Yeah." Tommy agreed, slightly surprised. "Most people don't care about that." He remarked, and the man smiled lightly.

"Yeah, well. Not me!" He laughed awkwardly. "Uh, I'm Bill, by the way, I’m really sorry-"

Tommy opened his mouth to return the courtesy, but his teacher's voice rang out to interrupt him.

" Theseus! What on earth are you doing?"

Tommy winced. "Uh, sorry, I've gotta go. Nice to meet you." He added as an afterthought, and hurried away to his glaring teacher before Bill could reply.

"It's Tommy, ma'am." He said as soon as he was in earshot, gritting his teeth as his teacher just raised an eyebrow in response.

"I'll call you by your legal name, mister, and don't you talk back to me." She scolded, and a flash of anger tore through Tommy.

"I don't know what you're thinking, running off like that, but you're staying right here for the remainder of our trip, do you understand me?" She demanded, and Tommy glared at her. The pain in his hand was getting really distracting by now, and he absolutely wasn't in the mood to play nice with a teacher who wouldn't even call him by what he preferred.

"I need to call my dad." Tommy said in lieu of answering her rhetorical question, which was true. His hand was well and truly burning right now, and it was getting harder to think about anything else but the pain with every passing second.

His teacher scowled and opened her mouth to inevitably refuse him, but Tommy ignored her completely and stepped away to pull up Phil's contact with shaking hands.

…That was probably not good.

" Theseus Innit!! " His teacher seethed, but Phil picked up the phone right at the moment, so Tommy once again turned away from her.

"Tommy? What's up?" Phil asked, concern already apparent in his voice, which was fair. Tommy only really called him from school if something was wrong.

"Heeeyyy, Phil." Tommy said, suddenly very aware of how sweaty he was. How was he sweaty? He felt all shivery and shit all of the sudden, that didn't make any sense.

"Uh, so we're at the bug museum, right? And uh..." Tommy flinched as his hand panged with burning fire. "I don't feel good."

Phil would make a huge scene if he found out Tommy got bit while at the museum. Like full Karen levels of fury. Tommy was pretty sure the spider didn't even come from one of the exhibits, but he didn't want the poor staff to witness the wrath of Philza at his full 'mumma bird', as Wilbur called it.

No, Tommy just wanted to be picked up and sleep off the bite.

"Do you need somebody to come get you?" Phil asked, his worry creeping in over the phone, and Tommy nodded. "Er, uh, yeah. Please." He added weakly, and he heard Phil take a sharp breath.

"I'm on my way. Ten minutes, okay?" Phil assured, and Tommy breathed a sigh of relief that almost turned him dizzy. "You're the best, Phil, you deserve all the wives you have."

"Just the one." Phil corrected fondly, and Tommy heard the tinny sound of car keys jingling through the phone. "Find a place to sit down, I'm coming."

"Thanks," Tommy said, and hung up right as his teacher stormed up to him.

" Detention , Theseus." She hissed, and grabbed his arm tight, making him grunt when her nails jabbed into his bicep. "Hey—let go of me!"

He tried to pull out of her grasp, but she was tough for an old lady and didn't budge. "My dad's coming to get me, let go!" 

He pulled again, harder, and this time he broke free, but the world spun around him and his vision went dark.

He opened his eyes looking up at the ceiling, even though he could've sworn he was on his feet a second ago.

"Tommy!" The concerned face of his friend Eryn appeared in Tommy's vision. "Holy shit, are you okay?!"

Tommy ignored the question to look directly at his teacher, attempting to glare the best he could through his swimming vision. "My dad's gonna sue the shit out of you."

He then promptly passed out.

-

"Phiiiil, I'm hungry ."

Phil turned from cleaning the counter to Tommy, eyeing the nearly full bowl of soup broth on the coffee table. Tommy himself was confined to the couch where Phil could keep an eye on him easier, and he was making it his dad's problem.

"You shouldn't eat anything solid until your stomach has settled." Phil said for the eighth time in two hours, ever patient. Tommy huffed and threw his head back dramatically. 

"Nobody loves me anymore." he lamented. "Me! Tommy Innit! What a cruel world this has turned out to be."

He could practically feel Phil's flat stare. "You'd think you'd feel better based on all your chatting." He commented, and Tommy froze.

"Oh?" Phil noticed, and Tommy cringed. Dammit. Shit fuck wank. 

"Tommy, have you been playing sick so you can get doted on more?" Phil deadpanned, and Tommy sheepishly raised his head to grin at him. "Er...no, Philza Minecraft, I would never. I've never lied in my life."

Phil let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, something he did when he was exasperated but not furious, so Tommy was still in the clear.

"Figures." Phil sighed, and carefully collected Tommy's bowl of broth. "Glad you're feeling better, mate." 

Tommy brightened. "You're still gonna get me food?" He asked hopefully. Phil snorted. "No. You can do that yourself, now that you're all better."

"Oh, Phil!" Tommy wailed, throwing his head back again. "You're the cruelest father I've ever known!"

"Now I know that's not true." Phil retorted with a smile in his voice, and Tommy heard the sink turn on. He let out a weary sigh and pulled out his phone, scrolling in his contacts until he came across the name 'Wilby Poo'.

"Tommy?" Wilbur picked up on the first ring, concern that he'd never admit out loud in his voice. Tommy cleared his throat.

"Wil," he croaked as pitifully as he could. "Phil's committing child neglect."

"I am not, you shit!" Phil called from the kitchen, and Tommy heard Wilbur shift on the other end of the phone. "Are you calling me from upstairs?"

"Well, I didn't feel like getting up, Wil." Tommy reasoned, and he heard Wilbur sigh. "So you called to complain to me? I can't make Dadza do what you want." 

"Oh, but you're the favorite , Wilby." Tommy protested, putting on his best 'weak little orphan' voice. Wilbur paused.

"Okay, you're definitely trying to bribe me." He said, and Tommy squawked in indignation. "I am not!" 

"You only say I'm the favorite when you bribe." Wilbur said. Fuck. Shit.

"I'll be quiet for an entire hour." Tommy offered, abandoning the act. Phil let out a cackle from the kitchen.

Wilbur hummed over the phone. "Not good enough. You'll be quiet every time you enter my room." 

"Forever?!" Tommy gasped. 

"Yep." Wilbur confirmed, not missing a beat. Tommy stuttered for words.

"Wh—how am I supposed to tell you things?!" Tommy demanded.

"This seems to be working for you just fine." Wilbur answered smugly.

Tommy mulled over the deal in his head. Did he really want Wilbur to dote on him more than he liked talking?

...Yeah, that was a fair trade.

"Deal." Tommy said.

"I'll be right up." Wilbur replied, and hung up on him. Tommy pulled his phone away from his ear and scowled at it. Prick.

His eye was drawn from his phone to the back of his hand, where the spider had bitten him. Where there used to be a jawbreaker-sized lump on the back of his hand that almost had him giving in to telling Phil about it and begging for a hospital, all that remained was two shiny pin prick scars that he had to squint to even notice.

It'd not even been a full day since he got bit, but throwing up more than he ever had in his life and passing out for fourteen hours straight seemed to fix him right up.

Tommy tried to reverse image search the photo he took of the spider to figure out what kind it was, but the accidental flash pretty much covered the entire arachnid in unnatural light, rendering the picture nearly incomprehensible. The research he'd done on his own to try and find the spider was also unsuccessful; every red and white spider he managed to find didn't look like the one that bit him.

Eventually, he decided to let it be. The bite didn't kill him, so there was nothing else to worry about.

"What do you want, child?" Wilbur announced his presence from the stairwell. Tommy flopped his head over the arm of the couch again and glared at him. "You hung up on me." He pouted.

"Going once." Wilbur deadpanned in response, and crossed his arms. Tommy let out a long dramatic sigh.

"Bring me a Coke, bitch." Tommy ordered, pointing at the kitchen, and he saw a muscle tense in Wilbur's jaw. He grinned saccharinely in response. 

Wilbur turned without a word and opened the fridge, rooting around inside for a few seconds before he straightened and chucked a can right at Tommy's head.

Tommy yelped and shot upright, somehow managing to catch the can with lightning speed before it hit the couch.

Phil let out a low whistle. "I guess you really are feeling better!" He noted. Tommy grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at Wilbur, who rolled his eyes.

"Anything else, your highness?" Wilbur asked. Tommy tapped a finger on his chin exaggeratedly. "Hmm, how about some biscuits for your dear brother?"

"You are not dear." Wilbur muttered as he turned back to the kitchen. "And don't say that, I'll cry."

Tommy's shit-eating grin softened into something more genuine. Wilbur was such a fuckin' softie. It'd been almost ten years since Tommy was adopted into the family, and Wilbur still got teary-eyed whenever the word 'brother' was brought up.

The reminiscent thought was cut short by a packet of biscuits flying towards his head.

Tommy's arm shot up and caught it an inch from his face before he even registered that anything was flying at him. He gawked at his arm, shock spinning in his brain.

"Holy shit! Did you see that?!" He exclaimed, lowering his arm to stare at the packet of biscuits in awe. Wilbur huffed.

"I'm now going to make it my mission to throw shit at you." Wilbur promised, trying and failing to keep the surprise off his face. Tommy grinned ear to ear.

"Try it, bitch." He challenged, jutting his chin at his older brother. Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

"Hey, hey." Phil intervened right as Wilbur grabbed another pack of biscuits to chuck. "If you're gonna fight, take it outside, I just cleaned."

"My bet is on Tommy." Techno's low monotone announced him from the hallway, dragging a punching bag behind him like it weighed nothing.

Tommy smugly beamed in Wilbur's direction. "Hear that, Wil-bitch?" 

Wilbur glared at Techno as the oldest brother moved towards his room. "We've literally sparred together since we were little. Why would Tommy win?"

"He's feral." Techno shrugged, seeming indifferent, but Tommy caught the glitter of amusement in his eyes. "Tommy's not afraid to bite."

"Nope!" Tommy agreed proudly, putting his hands on his hips and baring his teeth at Wilbur. His older brother still looked offended.

" Please , Tommy can barely throw a punch." Wilbur rolled his eyes, and Tommy's mouth opened in offense. "I can too!" 

" Boys ," Phil interrupted, fondly exasperated. "If you're gonna fight all day, take-"

" 'Take it outside' ." Tommy, Wilbur and Techno finished in unison. All three of them cracked a smile at their synchrony.

"Fuckin’—yeah." Phil added lamely, abruptly turning back to the clean sink as if to busy himself. Tommy snorted, and that made Techno bark a laugh. Even Wilbur had to tamper down a giggle.

"You feelin' alright, Tommy?" Techno changed the subject, his eyes meeting his little brother's.

Tommy replied by flexing. Before, he did so to make his friends laugh, since he was all skin and bone. Now, though, Techno's eyebrows raised in surprise.

Tommy followed his gaze to his bicep, and was shocked to see lean, lithe muscles where his lanky arm used to be. He blinked several times.

"I...guess so." Tommy finally answered, thoroughly unnerved. He was positive he didn't have those muscles yesterday. He would've bragged to everyone he knew if he did.

Spurred by a new urgency, Tommy practically leapt off the sofa, surprising his brothers even further. 

"I have to poo." He lied. "Big one. Like, the biggest shi-"

"Fuck's sake, just go!" Phil cried from the kitchen, disgust emanating off his tone. Tommy uttered a laugh that was more nervousness than mirth and ran to the bathroom.

He slammed the door behind him and locked it for good measure, though he knew nobody in his family would dare follow him in fear of the carnage of one of Tommy's Signature World-Breaking Shits. 

(Eryn came up with that one, way back in primary school. Tommy remembered laughing so hard that he discovered he had asthma through the resulting attack. It was still a good memory despite that.)

Tommy shook his head free of his thoughts, and leaned forward on the sink to take a good long look at himself in the mirror.

...Yep. Still Tommy. His face was the same, as was his hair and eyes, and the little scar under his left eye. Tommy didn't really know what he was expecting, but was relieved that nothing changed.

His eyes trailed down his shoulder, and he lifted his sleeve. 

Same crazy muscles.

Tommy flexed again in the mirror, for real this time, and his eyes bugged out of his head when his arm responded with an impressive show. Tommy pressed the fingers of his other hand to his arm, recoiling at the rock hard muscle that met resistance immediately.

What the fuck .

Tommy slowly lifted his shirt, stepping back a little to see his torso fully in the mirror. Like his arm, where there was once the body of a skinny seventeen-year-old was now incredibly toned. He had a fucking six pack. 

Okay. He was really fucking freaked out now.

Tommy let go of his shirt, and it didn't leave his hands.

"Wh..." Tommy whispered, gawking at his shirt still clinging to his palms despite nothing keeping it there. He gave his hands a little shake, and his shirt still stuck fast.

Fuck, what did he spill on himself? Superglue?

Tommy tried to wrench his hands free, and he tore his shirt off in one smooth motion like the fabric was made of tissue paper.

Tommy stood dumbly in silence, staring at his shirt tatters still sticking to his hands, before a laugh bubbled up in his throat.

It escaped with a loud wheeze, and soon Tommy was doubled over from the absurdity of the situation. Realizing that he was bent over crying with laughter in his bathroom, shirtless, only made him laugh harder.

Tommy tried to stifle his laughter when he heard a knock at the door.

"Uh, Tommy?" Techno's muffled voice sounded through the wood. "Do you need your inhaler?"

His brother sounded extremely awkward. Tommy took a deep breath to fight off another bout of laughter, and his shirt tatters finally fell from his hands.

...Huh. 

"Yeah, uh-" Tommy replied absently. "Can you get me a new shirt?"

There was a painfully long silence on the other side of the door.

"...I don't wanna know." Techno said, and Tommy heard his footsteps leave the door.

Tommy laughed to himself and turned back to the mirror, his smile falling as he looked at himself again.

What the fuck. 

-

Things only got weirder from there as the day progressed.

The weird sticking continued, even after Tommy washed his hands multiple times and scrubbed so hard that his palms were raw. Any time he got even a little heightened with any emotion, he could count on sticking to something. 

It was getting really fucking annoying.

"Come on." Tommy struggled in his room, using the pressure of his heel on his blanket and pulling his hand as hard as he could in the other direction.

Like his fallen shirt from before, the blanket ripped clean in half like it was as tough as a wet paper towel. Tommy sighed in frustration, thoroughly pissed.

Great. Just another thing to fucking fix.

He didn't mind sewing things up, but it was increasingly hard to do when his fingers wouldn't stop sticking . 

Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose to quell his rising anger. The blanket peeled off of his hand as soon as he did so, finally obeying gravity.

... Huh . 

Experimentally, Tommy picked up his spare hoodie off the floor. As expected, when he opened his hand, it didn't move.

Tommy took another deep, relaxing breath, his eyes not leaving the hoodie. Like the blanket, it finally unstuck from his hand and fell to the floor as soon as he did.

Tommy grinned. He finally got this figured out. The secret was to relax.

Feeling thoroughly relieved, Tommy went to his closet and reached for the handle to get his sewing supplies.

The wooden knob broke into splinters under his grip. 

-

It took an embarrassingly long time (and several broken things) for Tommy to re-learn how to hold things without crushing them into dust.

Because, apparently , in addition to the sticking, he had fucking super strength . If he hadn't literally just folded one of Phil's kitchen pans like it was origami, he wouldn't believe himself either.

(Said ruined pan was hidden underneath Tommy's pile of laundry, at the moment, next to the wood chips that used to be his closet door handle and the other broken things he'd amassed. Phil would be monumentally pissed if he found out.)

To try and get his thoughts in order, Tommy took to his desk, pencil in hand. He made sure to hold it like glass, because it pretty much was to him now.

The blank notebook in front of him stared accusingly at him.

Tommy took another deep breath and started writing.

Powers; 

Tommy scribbled that out immediately. That made the situation sound unreal. This was happening, whether he wanted it to or not.

He tried again.

Abilities; 

...Still too comic book-y. He scribbled that out too.

Symptoms; 

Well, fuck, that sounded morbid, but it was the most accurate descriptor so far.  Tommy kept it and moved to the next line, making a bullet point.

Sticky

He quickly scribbled that out. Gross.

Unnatural clinging

Yeah, that sounded much better. Scientific, even. Tommy was so smart.

He moved on to the next bullet point.

Unusual strength

...And he had nothing else to add. This might have actually been a waste of time.

Tommy thought back to the instinct that let him catch the Coke can and biscuit pack that Wilbur threw at him. The can could've been luck, sure, but the biscuits? Tommy caught those without even trying. He didn't even know they were coming for him until he already caught them.

Was that a power?

(He corrected himself. Symptom. These were things that were happening to him, things he was scared of and didn't want. He wasn't some superhero or anything.)

Well, twice was a coincidence, but thrice was a pattern, or whatever Wilbur said. Tommy (carefully) got out of his chair and left his room, beelining for downstairs.

Weirdly, he hoped Wilbur was serious about throwing things at him. It would make the whole 'caught off guard' thing a lot easier for testing.

Tommy made his way downstairs and to his brother's bedroom, tentatively knocking on the door. He heard movement from inside, and took a step back as Wilbur opened the door.

"What do you want, child." Wilbur asked, peering at him with suspicion over his round glasses. Tommy frowned at him and crossed his arms.

"What, not gonna throw anything at me?" He taunted. Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

"You really want to play that game?" He asked dangerously. Tommy raised an eyebrow at him in challenge.

"Do it, pussy." Tommy goaded with an overconfident grin, and that was all it took.

Tommy's hand caught the thing flying at his face before he even realized anything was coming at him. Wilbur's mouth opened in shock as Tommy registered he was gripping his brother's wrist .

"You were gonna hit me in the face!" Tommy gasped, furrowing his brows at his stunned brother. Wilbur only gawked at him.

"How...how did you do that?" Wilbur asked faintly. Tommy frowned and let go of his hand, thankful in hindsight that he already got used to his new strength so he didn't crush all of Wilbur's wrist bones by accident.

"...I don't know." Tommy answered truthfully. "Weird shit's been goin' on, Wil."

His tone must've been more vulnerable than he tried to let on, because his brother's face instantly changed.

Wilbur opened his bedroom door fully, and stepped back, gesturing with his head to come in. Tommy raised an eyebrow.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "You can talk in here." He sighed, exasperated. "Just this once."

Tommy grinned and finally accepted his brother's invite.

Wilbur shut the door behind them as Tommy looked around.

He hadn't been in Wilbur's room a lot, just plainly because it wasn't his own room and Wilbur liked his privacy. That said, it looked the exact same as Tommy remembered it last time he actually had a reason to go in there.

Fairy lights were strung up along the walls, illuminating the room with a soft yellow light in replacement of the sun hidden behind blackout curtains. Wilbur's bed was an absolute mess, unmade and practically serving as another space to hold all of Wilbur's junk instead of a place to sleep.

Papers cluttered Wilbur's desk, different stacks held down by various paperweights that didn't belong with the ‘antique aesthetic’ of his space, since he’d collected them from all over. Tommy smiled in particular at one paperweight, a wood-carved sheep.

He got it for Wilbur's birthday, way back when Tommy was still new to their family. He didn't know if Wilbur would like it, and he agonized for weeks after buying it before he finally managed to give it to his new brother.

He still remembered Wilbur's face when he unwrapped it. He looked at it like it was made of gold.

Wilbur brought him back to the present by moving to his bed to clear some space for Tommy to sit next to him. Tommy obliged, and took a second to gather his thoughts.

"What's going on with you, Tommy?" Wilbur asked gently. Tommy took a breath.

"Uh, some... weird shit has been happening." Tommy started, keeping his eyes on his clasped hands. "With me?"

Wilbur tensed next to him. "Oh, Christ." 

Tommy looked up with furrowed brows, feeling a spark of defensiveness at his brother's tone. "What?"

Wilbur looked increasingly uncomfortable. "I don't—I'm not the right person to talk to about this, Tommy." He said stiffly. Tommy blinked at him before he realized what had made his brother all weird.

"Oh! Oh, no, it's not fuckin’—Wil, I'm seventeen ," Tommy stammered, his face flushing. "I went through that shit already!"

Wilbur eyed him hesitantly. "Are...you sure?" He asked awkwardly. Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Fuck's sake, yes." Tommy assured. "This isn't puberty."

Wilbur visibly deflated with relief. "Okay, thank God. I did not know how I was gonna do that conversation."

Tommy snorted, despite himself, and shook his head. "You're a fuckin' moron."

"Hey! I'm well within my right to kick you out, you know." Wilbur reprimanded, mercilessly ruffling Tommy's hair, who yelped. " Oi! Cut that shit out!" 

He batted Wilbur's hand away from him, and his fingers caught on his brother's jumper sleeve. Tommy froze.

His own clothes were one thing, but he didn't want to ruin Wilbur's favorite sweater.

Wilbur must've noticed his face drop, because he stilled as well, his eyes flicking to where Tommy's fingers were clinging to his sweater. 

"What the—did you spill juice on your hands or something?" Wilbur asked, his tone still light with teasing. Tommy took a breath and closed his eyes, and his hand freed itself from his brother's jumper.

"Er...no." Tommy said, suddenly self conscious again. He crossed his arms and stared at Wilbur's messy floor.

"That's the shit that's been goin' on." Tommy explained. "I keep--I keep sticking to shit. And breaking things."

Tommy glanced up at Wilbur. "Don't tell Dadza." He ordered, attempting to beam his seriousness into his brother's brain. Wilbur blinked at him in response.

"What do you mean 'sticking to shit'?" He asked, raising his hands to make air quotes. Tommy looked around in lieu of answering, his eyes landing on a random poetry book on Wilbur's desk.

"Like this." Tommy said, and reached for the book, intentionally only pressing his palm and fingers on the cover. When he lifted his arm, the book cover firmly stuck to his hand, falling open with gravity.

Tommy turned to Wilbur, raising the book hand and gesturing. His brother had furrowed his brows as he stared.

"...You probably just spilled something on your hands, Tommy." Wilbur finally said, his tone a tad exasperated. Tommy felt a flash of annoyance.

"Wh— no!  I washed my hands like fifteen times!" Tommy argued. He took a breath, and the book dropped from his hand, landing on the floor with a loud ‘ thud’ that made Wilbur jump.

Despite that, he still looked unimpressed.

"What about when I caught your hand, huh? Or the Coke? The biscuits?" Tommy needled, a prickle of real worry seeping into his mind.

He wasn't crazy, was he? No , definitely not! Wilbur was just being a skeptical bitch boy like he always was.

"It's not out of the realm of possibility for somebody to have good reflexes, Tommy." Wilbur crossed his arms in that snooty way that made Tommy furious.

“Fine, dickhead, check this out.” Tommy snapped, jumping up to smack his palm on the ceiling.

Predictably, Tommy just hung there, glaring at Wilbur, who gaped like a fish.

“W-what-“ Wilbur stammered, getting to his feet and adjusting his glasses as he stepped forward, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

“How are you doing that?” He asked, his voice faintly awed. Tommy breathed in through his nose, unsticking from the ceiling and dropping to his feet.

“I don’t know , Wil, that’s why I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Tommy huffed. Wilbur stared at him like he was finally seeing him.

Wilbur took Tommy’s hand to stare at it, running a finger experimentally over Tommy’s palm. “ Woah . It feels like—you know burrs? Plant burrs?”

“It does?” Tommy asked, curiously looking closer at his hand. He didn’t notice it feeling prickly like that—though, he guessed he wouldn’t, if it was his own skin.

“Come—c’mere,” Wilbur dragged Tommy over to his desk by his wrist, making Tommy stumble and swear. But Wilbur didn’t falter, shoving junk on his desk to pull over his antique microscope that he had vehemently told Tommy to not even breathe on in the past because of how ‘fragile’ it was.

It must not have been that fragile, because Wilbur pressed Tommy’s hand under the lens palm-up and peered through the eyepiece, his hands coming up to the old dials on the side of the ancient machine to carefully zoom in. “Don’t move."

Tommy huffed impatiently, but his curiosity won out over his annoyance, so he stayed put as Wilbur silently configured the old machine to look closely at Tommy’s hand.

“...Woah,” Wilbur eventually said, and Tommy paled. “What? What is it?”

“I don’t…know,” Wilbur mumbled, lifting his head to frown quizzically at Tommy. “It looks like a bunch of…like, I dunno, hairs?” 

“Hair?” Tommy’s mouth parted in confusion, and he shoved Wilbur out of the way to look into the microscope’s eyepiece, ignoring his brother’s indignantly offended noise.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, and the microscope’s image came into focus, revealing exactly what Wilbur described—he saw his fingerprints, his pores, and now tiny little hairs sprouted all over the underside of his hand.

“Wh—wait, I know this!” Tommy gasped, pulling away from the microscope to whip out his phone (which somehow survived his bout of getting used to his new strength). He googled at the speed of light—he couldn’t remember the scientific name of it, but those little hairs looked just like a spider’s-

“Scopulae?” Wilbur squinted at Tommy’s phone screen, taking it from his hand and reading over the wikipedia article Tommy had pulled up. “Like—the hairs on spider feet-?”

“Yeah, it looks just like-!” Tommy’s words left his brain as the realization hit him like a brick.

…Waaait a fucking minute. 

“I got bit by a spider,” Tommy realized aloud, and Wilbur reeled.

“What? What kind?” His brother immediately badgered, his eyes going wide and concerned.

“I don’t—I don’t know, it was red and white-” Tommy stared down at his hands with wide eyes, all the pieces clicking together in his head. Enhanced senses, clinging, super strength—holy fuck, that was—that was everything a spider could do-!

Did he have fucking spider powers?! 

“Am I gonna shit webs?” Tommy blurted, and Wilbur blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Is that actually your concern right now?!” Wilbur asked back, his voice pitched higher. “Tommy, you fucking—oh my God, is that why you were so sick?! Are you dying?!”

“No, I’m not-” Tommy quickly said. “I’m fine! Wil, I’m—you actually wouldn’t believe how fine I am, this is-!”

A shaky smile started to grow on his face, and he raised his eyes to the ceiling. Wilbur seemed to realize what he was thinking as soon as Tommy thought of it.

“Tommy, don’t you fucking dare-” Wilbur started, his voice taking on the ‘Dadza tone’, as Tommy liked to call it, but Tommy had already made up his mind.

He leapt for the ceiling, and Wilbur yelped a swear and stumbled back as Tommy planted his bare feet and hands on the ceiling and hung there. 

Tommy laughed, almost hysterically pitched. “Holy fucking shit! Wil, I’m a fuckin’ spider!!” 

“Get off my goddamn ceiling, you menace!” Wilbur scolded back, and Tommy felt a strange tingle in the back of his brain. He reacted to it on complete instinct, pressing up against the ceiling just in time for Wilbur’s hand to miss grabbing him.

“H-how did you-” Wilbur was again dumbfounded, just like when Tommy caught his hand in the hallway. Tommy cackled at the look on Wilbur’s face, his hair obeying gravity and falling from their normally messy curls as he looked down at his brother upside-down.

“Don’t fuck with Spider-Boy, bitch!” Tommy crowed, focusing back on his stuck hands and feet. After a second to figure out the breathing thing, he started slowly crawling across the ceiling of Wilbur’s room, his smile getting wider and wider. This was fucking rad!! 

“Jesus, you fucking Exorcist child-!” Wilbur cried, and Tommy laughed again. “Get your fucking feet off my ceiling!!”

“Fine,” Tommy dropped his feet from the ceiling to hang rightside-up from his palms, smirking at his both annoyed and stunned brother.

“I can’t believe—how are you not losing your mind?!” Wilbur asked desperately. “You can fucking crawl on the ceiling!”

“I know!” Tommy grinned at Wilbur. “I have fucking spider powers!” 

“How do you have spider powers?!” Wilbur bunched his hands in his brown curls, staring in shock and a bit of real panic. Tommy tried to shrug, though it was a bit hard to do so when hanging from his arms.

“I dunno, I got bit by one at the museum-” Tommy said, and Wilbur blanched.

“You idiot child, why didn’t you tell anybody?!” Wilbur’s voice had practically gone up an octave. “What if that killed you?!”

Tommy tried to stick his bare feet in Wilbur’s face to get that expression off his brother, and Wilbur choked out a disgusted noise and smacked his feet away.

“It didn’t kill me, I’m fine!” Tommy swung his feet back up, doing a pull-up crunch with ease, holy shit, to plant his feet on Wilbur’s ceiling again and this time hang by his feet, just for the purpose of pissing Wilbur off. Just like his hands, they held firm against the plaster, as easily as his gravity having literally just flipped an axis, if it weren’t for his hair and the bottom of his shirt dangling down.

Wilbur’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Do you—do you have a goddamn six-pack?!” 

Tommy looked down (up?) at himself. “Oh, yeah! I’m strong as shit, now, I told you!” He made upside-down eye contact with Wilbur again to smugly wiggle his eyebrows, flexing his arms again. “Now I can definitely kick your ass, Wil-bitch!”

Wilbur just stood there with his mouth open, stunlocked. Tommy felt proud of himself—it wasn’t very often that he managed to render Wilbur speechless. That’s what Wilbur got for being a bitch and doubting him like that.

“Tommy, you—you can’t tell anybody about this,” Wilbur finally said, faintly, and Tommy’s smile slipped off his face.

“Well, duh , I’m not gonna tell Phil, he’d probably lay an egg.” Tommy said, and Wilbur vehemently shook his head.

“No—no, Tommy, I mean nobody . You—not Eryn, not Tubbo, not Ranboo-” Wilbur quickly said, and Tommy’s face shifted to dismay.

“What?! Why not? This is cool as fuck!” Tommy complained, and Wilbur growled out a helpless noise and pushed his hair back, his eyes looking his upside-down little brother over again.

“Tommy, do you have any idea what would happen to you if somebody found out about this?! The—the fucking government would snatch you up in a heartbeat and-!” Wilbur started to stammer, and Tommy’s face fell.

“...Oh,” He uttered, belatedly. He…he hadn’t thought of that. Wilbur nodded with wide eyes, like Tommy was stupid.

“Yes, ‘oh’! Fuck, Tommy, this-” Wilbur gestured to Tommy hanging from his feet from the ceiling. “This is insane! I’ve never seen-” He made more incoherent noises, and Tommy scowled.

“Alright, Wil, I won’t tell anybody!” Tommy huffed, effortlessly bending to stick his hands to the ceiling again to right himself and then hop down. He wasn’t even dizzy or lightheaded or anything that usually happened when he hung upside-down for a long time.

“I mean it, Tommy, you-” Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s shoulders as soon as he was on the ground again, his eyes uncharacteristically serious as he looked into Tommy’s. “You can’t. I—I have no fucking idea how this happened, but you have to lay low with this, okay?”

Tommy was taken aback by Wilbur’s almost frantic concern. He knew Wil was a softie under there, but, damn…he was acting like some truck would come scoop Tommy up and carry him away forever, like Tommy wouldn’t bite every bitch that dared try to do that.

“I–” Tommy’s hesitation must’ve shown on his face, because Wilbur’s grip tightened on his shoulders.

“Promise, Tommy. Promise me,” Wilbur said sternly. Tommy searched his brother’s stern yet worried gaze, and sighed.

get you a man who can do both