MCYT Oneshots And Other Random Stuff

Magic of Music

Tommy was cold.

It wasn't just the chill of the damp rocks of Pogtopia.

It was Wilbur.

His brother was so distant, so empty, now.

It chilled Tommy to the bone.

He longed to run to Wilbur, to explain, and to have Wilbur laugh and smile in return.

"Empty? Me?" Wilbur would snort. "No, Tommy, I'm not f*cking empty. Your child brain is what's empty."
Then he'd smile
And it would all be okay
Because Wilbur always made everything okay again.

But somehow Tommy didn't think that was happening anytime soon.

Instead, he decided to go bother— ahem, observe Techno.

Tommy found the blood god in his bedroom cave, his nose in a book. He was wearing a pair of rectangular glasses.

"Oh, it's you," Techno said absentmindedly as Tommy stepped through the entrance. He didn't look up.

"Hi, Techno," Tommy responded in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

Techno's head snapped up. "TommyInnit, speaking quietly? What happened?"

Tommy scowled without any real anger. He wanted to snap back the way he usually did, but it just wasn't in him, this time.

Techno sighed and lowered his book. "What's wrong?" he asked with great reluctance. Tommy couldn't help but think that Techno sounded like he was only asking so he could get Tommy to go away and return to his book.

But Tommy needed to talk to someone. "It's Wilbur," Tommy admitted.

Techno nodded knowingly. "He's broken," he diagnosed confidently.

Tommy's stomach clenched, and so did his fists. "He's not broken!"

Techno gave him a skeptical look, and Tommy felt a need to explain.

"Wilbur is the strongest person I know," Tommy insisted. "He wouldn't just break. He can't!"

Techno shrugged, changing the subject. "Why'd you come to me? I'm like— the paragon of failure in social interaction."

Tommy mirrored the shrug. "Who else is there?" He had a sudden impulse to explain himself, so he did. "It's just— I used to go to Wilbur when I was sad, and he'd take out his guitar and sing or play a song— or both— and then... everything would be better. Music does that for me. Wilbur did that for me."

"Music," Techno repeated musingly. "Music makes you feel better?"

Tommy nodded. "The discs, Wilbur's songs— it helps."

Techno looked like he was deep in thought, seriously considering some unspoken idea. Finally, he spoke again. "I... think I can help. Maybe."

Tommy watched with silent confusion as Techno crossed the room and dug through a chest, lifting out a worn, black leather violin case. He opened the case and pulled out a scratched violin made of polished amber wood.

As Tommy stared, Techno rested the violin on his shoulder, picked up the bow, and started to play.

Oh wow.

Wilbur's music was always the gentle strumming of a guitar. It reminded Tommy of sitting around a campfire, laughing with friends and family.

Techno's music was entirely different, a beautiful swell of harmony and melody that filled the cave with every stroke of the bow against strings.

Wilbur's music was like peace.

Techno's music was like magic.

Tommy closed his eyes and let the music sink into his soul.

When the song finally trailed away, Tommy opened his eyes and found Techno watching him warily. "Um," Techno said at length. "Did it work?"

Tommy's response was a tackle-hug.

Techno stiffened in his embrace, then very awkwardly hugged him back.

"Did I mention," Techno reminded, "that I am abysmal at human interaction?"

Tommy laughed.

"In addition," Techno added, "I am... highly unused to contact."

"You mean you're touch-starved."

"I prefer the term contact-deficient."

"Loser."

"Oh no," Techno deadpanned. "My feelings! They're so hurt! Whatever will I do?"

"Shut up."

Techno rolled his eyes, breaking away from the hug. "I hope you know that was strictly a one-time thing. I am not playing babysitter to a traumatized child."

"F*ck off."

"The door's over there." Techno swept an arm towards the cave mouth, then sat back down on his bed and went back to reading.

Tommy left, the magic of the violin lingering in his heart.

He wished it hadn't been a one-time thing. With Wilbur, it was never a one-time thing.

Maybe if I could convince Wil to play again, it would remind him of who he is.

A day ago, an hour ago, he would've scoffed at the idea. But now...

Maybe all he needs is the magic of music.

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:D

I liked writing this oneshot

iz floof