Chapter Text
The rest of the car ride felt oddly domestic and peaceful, which was a rare occurrence. Despite the tense atmosphere and the looming consequences for his actions hanging over his head. It was still something, his brothers were here with him, willingly residing in Tommy’s presence and Tommy found that he couldn’t care too much about the technicalities if it meant he was able to pretend that this solace would last, just for a little while, especially considering his altered state of mind.
His brothers seemed to be annoyed though, with the way Techno glanced at him with furrowed brows in the rearview mirror or Wilbur side eyed him as if he was about to vanish once more and be a further inconvenience to them when they would have to find him out of pure expectancy - because what would people think if they let their dear old brother run off again? It would only bring them shame, so Tommy understood why they kept looking at him that way. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating.
Despite this, though, the hum of the engine, the melody of the music playing softly through the radio and the alcohol simmering through his body almost pulled Tommy into a dull sleep. Who could blame him? He had tuckered himself out with the partying, and the rebelling and the avoidance of his issues- issues that he doesn’t actually have because he is fine. Besides, it was pretty late at this point, so he was allowed to be tired. He was only human, okay?
Before he could really grasp at his exhaustion, give in to the urge to fall under its spell and let the tides of unconsciousness wash away his worries, the car slid to a stop. He heard seatbelts unbuckle and a door open and close, but he kept his eyes shut. He didn’t want to face what he had done, and he knew the minute he left this car everything would go to shit again.
No brothers to keep him company. No music or buzzing car engines to lull him into blissful unawareness. Nothing. Just a disappointed dad and siblings who lost the will to care for him.
He sighed, much louder than anticipated, unintentionally alerting the person to his left, Wilbur, of his awakening. Not that he ever actually got to sleep but no one needed to know that.
He heard shuffling.
“I knew you were awake!”
“Not awake,” Tommy grumbled, peeking open an eye before bringing an arm up to rest over them instead to block out the intensity of a streetlight staring him down through the window.
He heard a harmonious chuckle, soft and nostalgic, like bells ringing on Christmas day and carols sung gracefully. Tommy hadn’t heard such beauty in so long. He basked in the momentary comfort it brought, trying to force away the thoughts about how ’it wouldn’t last. It never did.’
He slowly lifted his arm from his head and peered over at his brother, truly trying to take in the wondrous sight that was his brother’s smile. He hadn’t seen that ray of sunshine directed at him - truly for him - in what felt like a long while.
Confusion or shock must have been written across Tommy’s face - maybe in the way his eyes flew to scour for more of the momentary contentment lining his brother’s features or in the way the youngest’s mouth opened slightly, processing the sound, unable to repress the emotions that sat clearly on his face as he gaped - because Wilbur responded with a slightly amused, “What?” when Tommy held his gaze for too long.
The blonde spoke too soon, and too fast. It was evident in the way Wilbur’s eyebrows raised minutely as he did so, “Oh- nothing! What do you mean? Nothing, big man.”
Wilbur looked at him weirdly, like maybe he had something he wanted to reply with, something that he didn't know whether or not he should say. Instead though all he said was a reluctant, “..Okay.”
They sat in silence for a moment more before Wilbur interrupted Tommy’s very obvious procrastinating with the clap of his hands, “Anyway, let’s get inside, can’t stay out here all night,” and he must have noticed Tommy’s apprehension because he sighed reluctantly, “..We don’t have to tell Phil what happened.”
“I didn’t say anything about-”
“Yeah, well, I know you.” Do you Wil? Do you really? Should we, maybe, test that theory?
Tommy withheld the urge to scoff, instead unbuckling his seatbelt and hesitantly getting out of the car, stumbling on his first step as he did so. He heard Wilbur do the same, with a boastful lack of falling over his own limbs. He wrapped a supporting arm around Tommy’s shoulders and walked him up the small patio of plants and past a two-seat bench and into the house.
Techno must have already gone in, probably well on his way to bed by now. The blonde hadn’t been paying enough attention it seemed, since he hadn’t noticed his absence until now. It wasn’t surprising though, he didn’t expect either of his brothers to even come and find him, let alone stick around to deal with his shit. So whatever, it didn’t matter that he left at the first chance he got. Tommy would have probably done the same.
(He forcefully shoves away the thought that he wouldn’t do the same, that he would try to be there for his family if he knew something was up.
And the fact that Techno had just left him in this state - even though it wasn’t really his responsibility, and Wilbur was helping currently anyway - hit him like a ton of bricks.)
As Wilbur loosened his grip on Tommy and knelt down to untie his own laces when they had entered and closed the front door, the younger stumbled seemingly over nothing. He wasn't even supposed to be moving, he was trying to stay still and in place to avoid being too much of a bother but his swaying vision got to be a little too much for a moment. Wilbur caught him with an outstretched arm as if he was expecting it - not that Tommy couldn't have caught himself, of course he could have! - and let out an amused yet frustrated breath of air.
“Tommy I let you go for one-” the younger laughed suddenly, unable to hold it back as he leaned into the hold securing his position in an attempt to double over as his amusement wracked his frame, “-second. Tommy shut up, Phil will hear!” he whisper-shouted, which, for some reason, only made him giggle more.
He couldn’t discourage the joy bubbling from his chest and, although he didn’t want to get caught, he didn’t really want to stop either. He doesn’t get this way often, happy and weightless, he should be allowed to revel in it when he can. Doesn’t he deserve to enjoy himself a bit?
And so he kept laughing. Though he had initially tried to quieten himself, it didn’t do much to quell the surge of noise emanating from him and making his stomach ache slightly with the force of it. He hadn’t laughed this much in so long and it was nice, despite everything - the situation, his poor, poor stomach right now and the fact that he had no idea why he was even gasping for air anymore. Wilbur’s protests did nothing to help, if anything, they merely added to it.
Then, echoing footsteps sounded through the dark entryway.
Crap. He was supposed to be quiet!
Tommy desperately fought with his humour to hold it back as he merely hiccupped in quiet humorous breaths instead of the roaring bells of laughter from just moments before. For some reason he still couldn’t fully quench his laughing fit but he didn’t completely hate it. In fact, it was kind of nice. He felt good.
“Uhh..?” a figure descended the stairs, hesitating as irises landed on Tommy, who was still quivering with unfound amusement, doubled over Wilbur’s outstretched arm, “You know what? Okay. Sure.” a deep voice rose slightly over the footsteps, still making an effort to be quiet, and then the figure turned to the brunette as he reached the bottom step, “Once he settles down, bring him to my room, I already got some stuff ready.”
Stuff?
“Yeah, okay.”
“What’dya mean by ‘stuff’?” Tommy slurred, once again stumbling over nothing, even as Wilbur tried to hold him upright.
With both brothers completely ignoring his question, Wilbur exasperatedly commented, “Fuck, Tommy, you’re so wasted.”
That sounded vaguely familiar.. Like.. oh! It was like the time when he’d played a game on Tubbo’s PC. He was driving through city streets in a fresh white - borderline expensive - car with red smoke flowing freely out the back, leaving traces of his presence behind. Tommy had designed the car himself (ignoring all of Tubbo’s frankly wrong opinions because why would he choose to have a yellow car?). Anyway he was showing off because his car looked epic and he ended up misjudging a jump. He was supposed to race up the hill and do an epic stunt of spinning midair. He didn’t know if it was possible but he tried anyway, and Tubbo wasn’t very happy when it failed and giant red text that read ‘WASTED’ boomed on the screen.
Bee boy had pretended to sulk, with his arms crossed and his head facing the opposite direction to Tommy. He lasted a whole two minutes before he caved and neither of them could hold back a laugh at his poor attempt at staying ‘mad’ for wasting his in-game money. It was so easy to just be themselves back then, so simple and nice.
The memory made Tommy smile.
Then, just like that, his smile dropped. As did his stomach in pure regret and anxiety.
Like everything in his life, the thought was ruined because he just had to be reminded of what was hurting him. One of the reasons he was out tonight in the first place. Of course he did. Because he was a terrible person and there was no reason for Tubbo to stick around now that he had Ranboo to replace him. Because Tommy was no longer enough for him or anyone and he likely wouldn’t ever be. Because there was nothing left for Tommy anymore. He had no reason to even be here anymore.
Embers dimmed in his chest, contradicting the fire that had been soaring to new heights previously.
Tommy didn’t know when he came to his knees on the ground nor when a salty tear fell desperately but he could faintly recall two pairs of eyes on him as he did so, one crouched in front of him, a grounding hand on his shoulder and the other stood further back.
“-ommy? What’s wrong?” Wilbur's slightly panicked voice chimed in, halting his self deprecating thoughts.
Furrowing his brows, the youngest looked up at the faux concern plastered on their faces and wiped the single droplet of vulnerability that had escaped his clutches hurriedly. He was so stupid. Why had he even let himself hurt like that in front of them in the first place? He was usually so good at pausing how he felt to revisit later, in the darkness of his room, with no one around to judge.
But apparently not tonight.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” he rushed to stand, but, because everything ever sucked massively, the world swayed terribly, black dots swimming in his vision as he did so. He retched, causing bile and anything he had eaten to fall unceremoniously on the floor. He lurched and felt something wet drip on his bottom lip but he made no move to rid himself of it, he felt too weak all of a sudden.
He gagged again, coating the floorboards in a vile layer of bile and spit following the sounding strepitus of his throat.
“Shit, what do we do?” he heard a voice say through the particularly loud chunder.
“Bathroom,” he looked up from where he had fallen onto the floor once more to see Techno nod towards the general direction of the downstairs bathroom and before he knew it, Tommy was hoisted up into strong arms. The sensation was dizzying and he could do nothing but bury his face in the soft material of his pink haired brother’s t-shirt and let out a small whine. As Techno spoke his next word, he sounded almost as uncomfortable as Tommy felt, and the younger could imagine Techno wincing as he did so, seemingly stunted for anything better to say (not that it really mattered anyway, Tommy was pretty out of it), “Sorry.”
Soon enough he was being placed down on a cool tiled floor and he, almost immediately, hurled into the toilet he was positioned next to, silently cursing out the world for doing this to him. He distantly registered a hand rubbing circles on his back comfortingly, and he would never admit it aloud but that’s what got him through this terrible situation. He knew Wilbur and Techno had every right to snitch on him, he knew that he was going to be in so much shit for this and he knew that he felt deeply uncomfortable in this predicament. But there was a reassurance right there with him and he didn’t want to let that go.
(Did he have to be in disarray for anyone to show that they could possibly care?)
When his plundering demise slowed to a stop, he heard a creak from above resounding through the house like a clash of thunder with the inevitable threat of lightning.
Shit.
“We’re screwed.” Wilbur breathed.
“Well, technically, he is. We’re fine.” Techno inputted, very unhelpfully.
He had a point but what the heck man.
Tommy rolled his eyes, swaying slightly, “Gee thanks big bro,” a pause, as both the older boys turned to meet each other’s equally confused gazes at Tommy’s sarcasm, mulling over what he had said dumbly. Why did they just freeze? They’re on a time crunch here! “Jus’ close the door!” Hey at least Tommy sounded some more coherent now that he lost his lunch and everything else he had consumed today.
Wilbur made a move for the door in Tommy’s peripherals but it was too little too late. Just as he pushed it close enough to the door frame, a hand halted it and pushed it open gently.
“What’s going on? I thought I heard-” there was no way Tommy was getting out of this now. Phil had definitely spotted him, and despite the fact that he was just a blur of blonde and green in the corner of the younger’s vision, it was clear that he stilled when he laid his eyes upon the mess that was Tommy Innit Craft. “Oh.” He watched as Tommy pathetically reached out an arm to flush the toilet from where he sat on the floor leaning into it, waiting for the telltale sound to finish before speaking low, as if daring them to twist the truth, “Boys, what happened?”
Tommy was the first to - try to - speak up, blinking blearily in the harsh bathroom light, “Nothin’! Nothin’ happen-”
“He snuck out and got wasted at a party.” Wilbur oh-so-helpfully interrupted, much to Tommy’s dismay and Phil’s disarray.
“He- what?” When Tommy defeatedly turned to meet Phil’s gaze, his dad was wide-eyed as if his favourite show just uncovered a massive plot twist and he needed a moment to pause and process it. As if he couldn’t understand the words he’d just heard. He turned to Techno who was standing awkwardly near Tommy, “Tech?”
The pink haired man looked from Phil to Tommy - who was still sitting next to the toilet in the fear that if he made an attempt to stand up he’d blow his frayed cover of sobriety. It was pretty obvious that any movement would prove to be futile in his state - then back to Phil, “..Yep.”
At least he had the thought to look sheepish, unlike the brunette who continued exposing his brother, crossing his arms almost tauntingly as he did so.
“He was with Dream.”
And this, for some reason, made the air freeze at their fingertips. Made Phil’s worried expression turn into a snarl that was quickly concealed. Made fists curl and frowns deepen, allowing a bitter reality to creep in and encompass every inch of the room in a heavy layer of distaste. There was a cloudy fog of something in the air but Tommy had no idea why that was, he couldn't even be sure what it was beyond brief context clues.
“Right.” Phil forced out and then just like that, as if nothing happened at all and Tommy merely imagined the heat barring their features, the tension was gone, as if it were never there, like it had evaporated into thin air, “Well, let's get Tommy to bed then.”
“Don’ need to go t’bed.” Tommy’s speech was slowed and hard to keep a handle over as he felt arms lift him up to a standing position, “’M a big man.”
“Sure you are, Toms. Let’s go.”
Tommy swore he could see tears casting a reflective layer over ocean blue, an unrecognisable emotion shining in his dad’s eyes as Phil watched him intently but it had to have been a trick of the light. His intoxicated brain was making shit up and his dizzying vision wasn’t helping the situation either. Before Tommy had a chance to thoroughly consider it, though, he was keeling over once more, this time aiming for the toilet bowl.
When Tommy was finally settled in his room (Techno ended up having to carry him up. A revelation that he was incapable of walking up the stairs safely in this state - despite Tommy’s protests that he was a ‘big man’ and could handle himself just fine - led to Phil asking his middle son to carry him when they were already a few steps into their futile journey), Phil had ushered his oldest boys out of the bedroom in the hopes that he could ask Tommy about what’s been going on with him. Hopefully with a little more luck than the last time.
He got his wish. He just didn’t expect it to hit him so hard.
“How are you feeling now mate?” Phil asked, watching Tommy’s weak form try to find a comfortable position on his bed as the older man settled onto Tommy’s ruby coloured desk chair in his obnoxiously red room.
He had a wooden desk to the left of the bed, accompanied by the spinning chair that Tommy insisted he get for Christmas that one time because “it spins Dad! How could I possibly go on without another spinny thing for my collection?”. On it were various bits and bobs; a pot of pens, a ruler, a notebook and some eraser rubbings scattered here and there. His cream walls were bare of personality apart from the band posters hung proudly above his desk (one of which belonged to his brother’s band. Phil smiled fondly at the sight).
Tommy, who was curled up into and around his pillow in a gesture clearly meant to soothe a deep ache within him (and not a physical one, one meant for settling a longing for a surplus of comfort and safety that Phil was unfortunately still oblivious to), let out a muffled and slightly slurred, “Like I just barfed in front of my family.”
“Well, that’s to be expected, I'm afraid.” Phil chuckled, and it almost seemed like Tommy was going to laugh alongside his father as his lip pulled up ever so slightly. He didn’t though. Of course he didn’t. Phil rarely got to see his youngest son’s smile anymore, the tugging up of lips accompanied by the brightening of big, blue eyes glistening animatedly. He was so preoccupied with work to keep the family afloat that he regretfully had little time to spare for watching Tommy’s eyes light up with excitement in that way that was so uniquely Tommy. He missed it. He cleared his throat, “So uh, wanna tell me why you were out tonight?”
He watched as the younger blonde’s mouth turned down and he buried his head further into his cushions.
“Tommy, mate, talk to me. What’s going through that head of yours?” Phil tilted his head, not unlike a bird or a curious puppy trying to deduct the next move in a dance so timid that it may not even be happening at all.
Tommy sat up abruptly, startling Phil who tried to keep his expression neutral for his son’s sake. He didn’t want to make any wrong moves and cause Tommy to back down or feel targeted in any way and although that made it seem like he was placating a wild animal, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the comparison, there were more significant things at stake right now. At least potentially. And he needed to be sure this wasn’t what he suspected it to be.
It couldn’t be what he suspected it to be. It couldn’t.
“What do you want, Phil?” Tommy’s irises glinted with a challenge that Phil pointedly disregarded in favour of swerving around the route that everything went the last time he laid his eyes upon that look.
He kept his voice calm and collected.
“I want to know what’s going on with you kiddo.”
“Nothing’s-”
“No.” Phil stopped him, knowing his protests were potentially self-destructive lies, just like when Wilbur-
No. They don’t know for sure that this is the same. Tommy’s just rebelling, he’s a teenager, that’s what they do. It’s fine.
That didn’t mean Phil wasn’t going to make absolutely sure of it though.
“Somethings up. So, what is it?”
“The sky.” Tommy deadpanned, and, wow, even drunk Tommy was still sarcastic and stubborn as a mule. If he were to be honest, Phil couldn't say he didn't expect it. Wilbur was the same, the little spitfire, though he was at least a little easier to talk to when it came down to it. If Tommy didn’t want to speak on a topic then you know damn well that he would avoid speaking on it to the best of his ability. Perhaps an intoxicated Tommy could be different? Maybe he’d be less aware of his words and the implications of them? Maybe the alcohol on his breath would whisk away his logic and call for a heart-to-heart?
It’s time for a new approach.
Look, Phil knows this is wrong but he needs to know what’s bothering his son and if the only way to get through to him is to take advantage of an unfortunate situation and cause himself to question his morals a little, then so be it. This was for Tommy’s sake, okay?
“Fine. Don’t tell me, but will you at least tell me who you were with so I know you were safe?” Phil knew who he was with, at least one of them. Wilbur had told him right in front of Tommy so, really, the youngest would have no reason to lie. Phil just needed to get the conversation going, then he’d get into the thick of it, ask why his son was with him and proceed from there.
Tommy almost looked like he was going to cooperate, for a brief moment, as his lips parted and his brows furrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t find any reason not to answer. Apparently he did find a reason to beat around the bush though because that’s exactly what he continued to do.
“Why does that matter? ‘M home now, aren't I?” Tommy retorted, clearly struggling to form the words through his hazy state.
‘Too stubborn for his own good’ Phil thought.
“I want to make sure you’re not getting in with the wrong crowd.” And Phil was telling the truth. Sure there was more to it, underlying questions hidden behind his carefully spun words but what he said was still true, if a little tainted by his spur of the moment deliberation here. He had no intention of letting Tommy hang out with Dream and his crew again if he could help it. He couldn’t bear to see history rear its spiteful head and repeat itself in the ugly way that it tended to. He couldn’t bear to see another son break, just out of his reach as fate clawed its terrifying hands into innocence, brutally ripping it away from its destiny. Forcing them on a darker, more intrusive path than ever before. He couldn’t do that again.
“Well if you must know, I was with D-” Tommy stopped himself abruptly, as if Phil wouldn't notice, as if Phil was a fool. Phil was not a fool, “Tubbo.” Tommy nodded to himself, as if confirming his alibi, “Tubbo invited me out.”
Well, there goes that plan.
How could he ask Tommy why he was spending time with an older kid at a party (parties? Was it just the one or was this a recurring thing that Phil was too busy to notice? He felt a wave of guilt weighing down his stomach like a rock floating down the depths of the Mariana Trench, curling around his throat and stealing his breath momentarily. How much had he missed out on in his sons’ lives from picking up a few more hours at work?) if he wouldn’t even admit that he was in the first place? Not to mention that it was literally ten minutes ago at most that Wilbur splurged about it, so how wasted was Tommy to forget that his brother had already told Phil who he was with in such a short amount of time?
“Tubbo?” Phil repeated, an edge of disbelief creeping into his tone because why would Tommy lie about this? It’s obvious to everyone who knows the pair that Tubbo wasn’t a party person - neither was Tommy, really, but apparently that has been disproven now - and he certainly wouldn’t be the one to be foolish enough to invite his best friend into a situation where neither of them would have been comfortable since they have a mutual distaste for large gatherings. Tubbo could be cool and honestly really funny but, much like the other two in their trio, he mostly kept to himself and his friends. They were a quiet group, and Phil took pride in trusting Tommy’s friends to keep him out of trouble as he would do for them.
And besides, last Phil heard, Tommy was pushing them away or arguing with them or something. Being the parent, it was shockingly rare that he ever got details on such occurrences nowadays, particularly with his boys growing up, sobering to life and its troubles. Either way, last Phil knew, Tubbo and Tommy were barely on speaking terms.
Tommy visibly swallowed.
“Yep.”
Sighing, Phil dropped his hands from where they had been pushing his own hair back away from his eyes.
“Why are you lying Tommy?” And if Phil let the desperation creep into his voice, if he let the concern he had for his boy make itself known in the way his voice shook slightly, then no one commented on it.
Tommy paled, momentary regret flooding his features before he forced himself to roll his eyes, slouching further and crossing his arms in an act of both apathy and rebellion in one. It was almost impressive how he managed to convey such juxtaposition in his stance alone, “And what-” he closed his eyes briefly as if it would protect him from the stench of alcohol on his breath and the way his father was watching him intently, “-would I be lyin’ about?”
“A lot apparently.” Tommy opened his eyes blearily as a new voice came from the doorway, bitter and hurt with undertones of worry if you were to look close enough, which Phil was. Tommy was decidedly not.
“Wilbur I told you to give us a second.” Phil scolded, but it was a weak effort. There was a more important issue at hand. He had bigger fish to fry than whether or not his oldest son had listened to something he said. Then again, isn’t that a reflection of the issue at hand anyway? He needed his youngest to listen and actually talk to him so his other son ignoring a minor command was insignificant in comparison, no matter how similar it might seem.
“Just came to give you these.” Wilbur handed Phil a slowly warming water bottle with a blue label and a packet of tablets for the hangover that Tommy would certainly have in the morning, “Tech brought them to his room when we came in but we didn’t exactly get that far.” Wilbur sheepishly brought a hand to the back of his neck as he spoke, seemingly guilty for the brothers making an attempt at hiding the situation from their dad.
Tommy was barely blinking away his exhaustion and it was evident in his barely there movements and how he was back to slouching against his pillows, making little effort to stay coherent, but at the very least not completely lying back down to sleep just yet, “We doin’ drugs?” He smirked quietly.
Despite himself, and the situation at hand, Phil let out a startled laugh, the two of his boys that were in the room joining in, though one considerably more than the other.
Tommy seemed unable to hold back his amusement at his own comment and laughed obnoxiously. It was beautiful.
He seemed to notice that the older duo had slowed their laughter though so he made an attempt at stilting his own. All he succeeded in was a moment of quiet that was interrupted by little hiccups and then he was leaning forward again, body quaking in time with his giggles. His smile was something Phil hadn’t realised he’d been lacking recently.
It was endearing to see his kid in this state, unable to quell the amusement lining his features, all attempts to do so proving to be fruitless, and it was difficult not to lean into the way Tommy naturally brightened the room in a way only he was ever truly capable of, so effortlessly, so Phil let himself be endeared into more fond amusement. How could he not? His son’s happiness was everything to him and his laughter was contagious in the best way.
When they had calmed down somewhat, Wilbur had found himself perched on the edge of the blonde’s bed and Tommy had settled himself back down under his favourite red blanket (because ‘duvet’s are for wimps and blankets are for big men’ apparently). Head resting upon a fluffy pillow, the blonde spoke up, almost hesitantly. Well, it would’ve been if his rational thoughts weren’t clouded by intoxication.
Maybe if he was sober he wouldn’t have voiced what he did next.
“I’ve missed this.” He smiled appreciatively into his pillow, blinking slowly, unaware of the impact his words would have on his loved ones and on everything soon enough, “I've missed you guys.”
And the words hit like a dart soaring mercilessly towards its target, with the target being Phil’s heart. They pulled at his heartstrings and made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt since everything went down with Wilbur.
It wasn’t explicitly vocalised but it was evident that Tommy must have felt somewhat neglected or left out, that much could be interpreted by the seemingly innocent words.
How could Phil have lost himself in the world of his work and bills and taxes to such an extent that his child - his teenager - felt he hadn’t been present in his life in such a way? And what about his siblings? Surely while Phil was at work they hung out with him, why wouldn’t they? They’re close. They care for eachother. They’re brothers for heaven’s sake. Brothers who have different interests and passions, sure, but that’s no reason that Tommy would have to feel like he’d been separate from his family. Like maybe he didn’t belong.
How could Phil have missed this?
“What do you mean Toms?” Wilbur questioned, his gentle voice filling the weighted quiet that the youngest seemed oblivious to as his droopy eyes struggled to focus on the world around him in another clear wave of exhaustion.
He wouldn’t say this aloud but in this moment, Phil was grateful for Wilbur’s impressive speaking skills, the way he could keep his voice neutral with no indication of his true feelings, as worrying as it was, because frankly the oldest of the three didn’t think he had the power to form coherent words currently. He was speechless as he pondered all of his potential parenting mistakes.
Where did he go wrong? When he chose to pick up more hours? Or was it before that? If it was before that, when the fuck did it begin? He needed answers but every train of thought came up blank, even as his mind raced through hurdles of questions at the speed of light. Fuck.
“What I said, dumbass.” It was difficult to decipher his words as they slurred and mumbled themselves into existence beyond Tommy’s conscious thought, but Phil and Wilbur managed to understand it despite that, “Missed actin’ like a happy family.”
But even Wilbur, with his charming, sometimes even cunning words, and the agility in which he performed his speech, slipping in and out of truth and carefully crafted facades at his will, didn’t know how on earth to respond to such a statement.
“Wh- Acting?”
Tommy merely hummed in response, lidded eyes gliding shut.
Wilbur bit the tip of his thumb as his face scrunched up, whether it was in anticipation or worry, Phil couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was a combination of both.
“Wait- Tommy, don’t sleep yet.”
“Why not?” He whined, rolling over to face the opposite direction to the two, and, in a way, he almost seemed like his old self, almost seemed like a little kid again, refusing to follow orders and being the grumpy little gremlin Phil remembered.
Because you can’t just drop a bombshell like that and then simply leave the conversation he mused internally.
Instead of voicing his thoughts, Phil leaned forward and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, his back still facing him, and asked, “What did you mean by that Tommy?”
“By what?” He still sounded inconvenienced, as if Phil and Wilbur merely interrupted nap time or something equally as insignificant and he wasn’t currently in the process of admitting his greatest secret to the very people it's centred around.
“What you said.”
And, at this, Tommy opened his eyes and swivelled around, still half laying down and holding himself up by his elbows behind him, so that his brother and father were in his view. His tired blue irises appeared to be startled by the question as if he hadn’t initiated the conversation. It's possible that he hadn’t considered that anything he said would have any consequences, or maybe he was hardly aware of the topic being discussed in the first place, given his state (C'mon, the kid was hardly present right now-). Either option was liable, so it makes sense he’d feel a little off put at being questioned.
He looked between Phil and Wilbur, mouth slightly agape as excuses tried forcing their way through his apparent shock or the realisation of what he’d done that was plastered across his face. He kind of reminded Phil of a goldfish like that, which was a thought that was endlessly endearing.
“I- Well, you-” he sighed, defeated after a full ten seconds of broken sentences. His next words came out tainted with uncertainty, “I don’t know.” Tommy bit his lip and closed his eyes in clear anticipation for their reaction to his jumbled mess of an excuse. Well, something shy of an attempt at an excuse made by an intoxicated and tired person who sucked at them to begin with.
When no one spoke for a moment, he hesitantly peeked open an eye, not unlike a curious child in a cartoon who was supposed to be resting, checking to see if their guardian was near to urge them back to sleep. Again, Phil was overwhelmed with such fondness that he had to hold down a smile, even given the situation.
He opened his eyes fully to see what must have looked like constipated facial features full of repressed concern and the barest shadow of a smile from Phil.
Then, Tommy mumbled something as the silence grew to be oppressive, avoiding eye contact all the while.
“What was that?”
“I said that I.. didn’t mean it. Wha’ I said. Was nothin’.” Tommy mumbled as he laid his head back against his pillows. If the poor kid looked like he was exhausted before, he was barely conscious now, trying desperately to urge his fluttering eyes open to continue the conversation and defend his honour, probably with a surplus of swear words and increased volume in a way that was so uniquely Tommy.
Phil met his eldest son’s eyes, both of their faces morphing into clear expressions of disbelief and an agonising hurt that they each failed to mask. A weighted pain that settled on their brows and urged gravity to pull their lips down in concern.
Little did he know, he would be unable to rid his mind of such a feeling for quite some time.
When Tommy woke up the next day, it was to sunlight forcing its way through his curtains and aggravating his pounding headache and a vague lingering taste of sickness sitting remorselessly on his tongue. His mouth felt endlessly dry, like a savannah desert in summer months. He could see his oasis though, resting in the form of a lukewarm water bottle on his bedside table, amongst the glaring beams from the window that attacked his vision. Next to it was a packet of.. tablets?
As he reached over for them, sluggish in his movement, he thanked the heavens for it. He needed so badly to quench his undying thirst and the stabbing sensation in his skull that he didn’t even question where they came from for a moment. He placed a tablet on his tongue and drank the liquid. It almost made him gag as it went down, he never was great at taking tablets, but the relief it would provide made the unpleasant experience worth it.
Giving himself a second to ensure that the small bead of medicine wasn’t clogged in his throat, a discomforting image that prevented him from taking tablets for much too long, he downed as much water as he could to soothe both his dehydration and his underlying worry. He capped the bottle and wiped away a stray droplet from his lip with his sleeve before - very much belatedly - realising he hadn’t been the one to put them there in the first place. Well, he couldn’t really remember much of the night before but he was pretty sure that he hadn’t. He would know if he had, right?
He shrugged it off. Surely it’s nothing. He was drunk after all and that meant that his memory of the previous night wasn’t exactly reliable. Besides, maybe he had simply predicted that he’d have a killer hangover so he thought he’d do himself the favour of leaving something there to wake up to. Yeah, that’s it. It had to be, nothing else made sense.
That’s when he noticed it.
A vague buzzing of noise from below.
He narrowed his eyes at his door from where he sat perched on his bed, leaning towards it slightly. He couldn’t hear it any better than before (why would he? He barely moved an inch) so he decided to ultimately - and begrudgingly - just walk over to it and open it, careful not to make any sound.
He failed.
The door creaked painfully and the noise reverberated for the entirety of the time he was hesitantly opening it. It gave the air an awkward tinge despite the fact that no one else was upstairs.
He froze.
He stood in silence for a minute, two, desperately clinging to hope that he went unheard. He didn’t want to socialise today, he felt like shit. He just wanted to know if what he thought he heard was correct, if there really was a stream of three voices echoing from the floor below. If his father and brothers were really up yet. It seemed way too early, though maybe that’s the effects of his alcohol intake last night kicking in.
The clattering of pans and cutlery downstairs confirmed his suspicions. People were awake. They were downstairs. They were talking. All three of them, together in one room as Tommy rots and succumbs to his hangover. Soundwaves carrying his fate in remorseful clangs and chatter and he almost hoped it was fake because then he wouldn't have to face the reality that they were chatting idly without him. That they were fine without him.
They were all together and he-
Who was he kidding? He was overthinking this. They spoke to him in the mornings too, idle chatter and ‘good mornings’ passed around the dining table. It wasn’t like they ignored him or shut him out. Why was he being so dramatic? And why did he feel so weighed down this morning? It felt like more than just the hangover, it felt like a dark cloud hung menacingly overhead, just waiting for him to meet his fate.
As he descended the stairs, slow and hesitant, he heard the noises still. They were still there but quieter, with hushed whispers as if preparing for his presence.
He was completely fucked.
When he rounded the corner to the kitchen, all eyes but Techno’s - who, more often than not, pointedly avoided eye contact anyway - fell upon him.
It was Phil who broke the quiet. “How’d you sleep?”
Tommy shuffled his feet from where he stood awkwardly in the doorway. “...Fine.”
“Yeah?” Phil turned away to pour himself a cup of coffee and Tommy took this as his chance to dart towards the fridge for another bottle of water since he had already finished the mysterious bedside bottle and he was still thirsty.
“Mhm.” Tommy realised belatedly as he swallowed the water that combined with an awful bitter taste in his mouth, that he still stank of vomit and alcohol. That’s just great.
“Fun night?” Wilbur directed at him from where he sat on one of the chairs next to Techno. It was difficult to decipher his tone.
“Uhh- I guess.” Tommy didn’t really know what to say to that since he couldn’t fucking remember most of it. Luckily - or not - Wilbur spoke up again before he even had the chance to get an actual word out.
“Got much of a hangover?” Wilbur crossed his arms, steely brown gaze pinned on Tommy, as if daring him to speak.
Tommy looked away. How the fuck did Wilbur know about that? If he could just remember what happened last night, maybe he’d know the appropriate way to respond to the questions, but alas, he didn’t. He was stuck in this weird limbo, unable to tell right from wrong as he desperately clawed at his memories for some kind of explanation to Wilbur’s questioning. The most he could remember was meeting some purple guy, taking shots and then hanging out with Dream’s friends but even that gets a bit fuzzy. “No.”
Completely disregarding his last question, Wilbur continued to interrogate him.
“How much do you remember?”
Furrowed brows. “I- Well I don’t-”
“Stop it Wilbur.” Phil sighed, bags laying under his eyes as he sipped at his coffee.
“I’m not the one in the wrong here Phil. It’s obvious that Tommy is doing exactly what I-” Phil and Techno both whipped their heads up to meet Wilbur’s gaze, something shimmering in each of their eyes - a warning in their telepathic stares, perhaps? - and a moment of pregnant quiet passed before Wilbur recollected himself, promptly walking out of the room. “Whatever, I’m going back to sleep.”
As much as Tommy wanted to know what the fuck that was all about, he was way too hungover to be dealing with Wilbur’s dramatics. His head was still spinning and if he had to stay standing for a moment longer he was sure he’d simply collapse.
He desperately needed a shower to rinse away the events of the night before - whatever the fuck they even were - and the vague smell of bile and alcohol haunting him so he made his way out of the room silently and ascended the stairs. He chose to make an attempt at ignoring the swirling of his gut and the pounding in his head that intensified with every step.
When he finally made it into the bathroom, he turned the shower on and seated himself - still fully clothed - below the flow of warm water and melted into the sensation of the liquid pounding down his back and droplets gathering in his hair.
As he let his mind drift from one topic to the next, he tried once more to recount his memories. All he could gather was people (tons of them) blasting music, blurs of dancing and obnoxious laughter, the night air licking his face and of his bedroom, unspecified people talking to him as he fell into a reluctant sleep.
Tommy didn’t actually remember getting home, let alone walking up the stairs and settling into bed but he was at home now so he must have. It was all a blur of voices and dizziness and.. the bathroom? Fuck knows what that was about.
He hated being unaware of what was going on. The idea of being stuck permanently out of the loop made his stomach twist in discomfort.
Speaking of being uncomfortable, school was going to suck big time today. Tommy just couldn’t wait to get the day started! (Note the very intense sarcasm here.)