Chapter Text
Tommy crashed about 10 minutes into the car ride home. When Phil glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, he was slumped in his booster seat, head tilted back and mouth slightly open. Phil was not surprised; he’d had an unusually active day.
It had been a good day though. Tommy had seemed to actually have fun which was not something Phil had seen from him yet. It had been a constant balancing act to keep him from falling too far into his instincts, but they’d managed it.
Techno had texted him a few hours ago with Wilbur’s request for spaghetti from Antonio’s (and his own request for ravioli). The request was not at all a surprise; it was one of Wilbur’s favorites from before Phil, and they had reportedly never changed the recipes. The soft snoring from the backseat didn’t pause even while Phil called to put his order in at the restaurant.
The person who answered the phone recognized his number and greeted him by name. He could hear them already starting to put his order in on the computer before he started speaking, though now that he had Tommy the usual order would be getting bigger. He ordered two family meals of spaghetti and meatballs (one because he wanted to make sure he had an abundance of food for Tommy’s sake and two because Wilbur would inevitably want twice-baked spaghetti tomorrow), an order of ravioli, and an extra order of cinnamon bread beyond what came with the meals.
Tommy didn’t stir when Phil pulled into the pick up parking spot at Antonio’s. Phil didn’t want to wake him up, but also didn’t want to leave him sleeping alone in the car. After a few seconds of debate, Phil decided to unhook Tommy from his booster seat. Tommy stirred slightly, but didn’t fully wake up.
“I’m going to pick you up, okay bud?” Phil said quietly. Tommy’s eyes squinted open tiredly and he made a sleepy sound but didn’t protest. So, Phil reached into the car to pick him up. He was lighter than expected (especially considering the amount of food he ate), but Phil thought he might have heard that shifters did run light. He was able to shift him so he was holding most of his weight with one arm.
Tommy made a little chirping sound while nuzzling into Phil’s shoulder, and seemed to fall back asleep. Not even the sound of the beginnings of the dinner rush made the boy stir from his position on Phil’s shoulder. He must be exhausted considering how jumpy he usually was.
“Pick up order?” the hostess asked, recognizing him on sight. Phil nodded. “I’ll check on it.” She turned to walk deeper into the restaurant and Phil moved to lean against the wall near the door. A couple of groups were leaving the restaurant at about that time and passed Phil on their way to the doorway. He recognized most of them at least somewhat. The adults nodded at him, but didn’t stop to chat in deference to the sleeping child in his arms. They did stare a bit curiously. Phil hadn’t been out and about with Tommy in the neighborhood yet, but he’s certain the rumor mill had been turning, the gossip very very likely originating from Phil’s own home (namely Wilbur).
The hostess returned to her station after a minute to tell him his food was being bagged up and would be ready shortly.
Phil recognized the person who brought to food to him as Clarissa, one of the granddaughters of Antonio himself and a water buffalo hybrid. She was a severe old woman who’d been working at the restaurant since before Wilbur had been born and now ran the restaurant even if technically a dozen of her family members held ownership along with her.
She raised an eyebrow at the child in Phil’s arms. Considering the number of related and unrelated teenagers who worked for her, Phil doubted she was normally the person responsible for packing up and handing off delivery orders.
“Another one?” Clarissa asked. She had a slight accent Phil had never been able to place. One would guess by context that it was Italian, but it sounded a bit more eastern European to his ears.
“You have seven siblings,” Phil pointed out, slightly defensively.
“Yes, but we all know where they came from, do we not?” she said, squinting at Tommy. “I heard you found that one on the street.”
“I didn’t,” Phil said, and left it at that. He’d found him in a park… and then a police station.
“Mmm.” She was about to try handing him the food but then thought better of it. “I will carry it out to your car for you.”
“Thank you,” Phil replied, though he took the bag holding Techno’s ravioli and the bread.
“Is Wilbur eating enough?” she asked, standing behind him while he strapped Tommy back into his booster seat.
Phil tried not to roll his eyes where she could see him. “He’s eating fine,” Phil said, turning to take the bags from her and giving a wry smile. “Obviously.” He packed the food into the space below Tommy’s feet.
“That one is too skinny,” she said, pointing a finger at Tommy.
“I’m working on it, Clarissa,” Phil said, but she still frowned.
“Wait here, wait here,” she said and bustled off back into the restaurant.
Phil did wait, bemused next to the still open car door. She returned carrying another to-go bag almost as full as the bags with the family sized spaghetti buckets. “Here, here,” she said, shoving it into his arms. “For him and the other children.”
“Is this an entire chocolate cake, Clarissa?” Phil asked, shocked and honestly a little appalled. He wanted to balk and reject the bag as would have been expected among the migratory bird population, but he knew the customs here now and he knew Clarissa, so he swallowed it down. “Thank you,” he said, instead, packing the bag in with the rest of the food. “I’m sure the kids will love it.” He wanted to offer to fix the slightly broken storm door for the restaurant for free, but knew that offering a favor so soon after her giving him a gift would be an insult. Instead he closed the car door and thanked her again.
Tommy still hadn’t awoken by the time Phil pulled into the driveway. He stirred slightly when Phil plucked him up from his booster seat and made a confused sound.
“We just got home,” Phil said, continuing to carry him to the front door. “Do you want to eat first or go back to sleep?”
It took him a moment to answer, long enough that Phil could get his keys out of his pocket to open the front door. The jostling seemed to wake him up more.
“Eat?” he said more like a question than an answer.
“Okay,” Phil agreed, before calling into the house. “Techno, could you help me get the food from the car?”
“Sure,” Techno called back from the direction of the living room.
The living room was a mess, Phil noted when he stepped into the room. There were blankets and stuffed animals everywhere. A pizza box empty of everything but 3 crusts and smears of grease was on one of the side tables. A half consumed 2 litter bottle of cherry Pepsi was on the other side table along with a stack of cups far too large for 2 boys to have reasonably accumulated in a day. There were three marinara covered plates on the floor.
It seemed Wilbur’s entire collection of music had been brought out of storage, and they had somehow managed to drag the huge record player upstairs and abandoned it in the middle of the room between the TV and the couch. There were two gaming consoles. The PlayStation was hooked up to the television at the moment but there was an old Nintendo 64 (which Phil hadn’t even known they had) sitting next to it along with what appeared to be a plastic Dance Dance Revolution mat spread out next to it.
There was not as much gold as there would be if Techno had gotten pulled into his instincts, but Wilbur was sporting a necklace and a full hand of rings he wouldn’t normally wear. He may have some more gold somewhere, but he was also wrapped in one of Techno’s blankets from downstairs, so Phil couldn’t tell.
“How are you doing?” Phil asked Wilbur.
“I’m good,” Wilbur answered. He shifted and Phil saw a flash of an old stuffed sheep. He looked at Tommy who was still in Phil’s arms and made grabby hands, letting Phil know that he was okay with being around Tommy now. Phil moved over to set Tommy down on the couch.
Tommy was a bit more awake now, enough to shift around on the couch so he was curled up against Wilbur’s side.
“You sleepy?” Wilbur asked, seeming delighted. He reached out a hand to scratch the top of Tommy’s head. Tommy made a churring sound and began to purr, pressing into the touch. Wilbur started to pet his ears.
“He had a bit of a long day at the children’s museum,” Phil explained.
“There was a movie,” Tommy said, “and tractors, and I got to climb walls.”
“Wow,” Wilbur said. “That sounds like fun.”
“I’m going to go help Techno with the food,” Phil said, turning to walk back into the hallway.
“Did you buy an entire chocolate cake?” Techno asked as they passed each other. He had the bags of pasta, but hadn’t been able to get the aforementioned cake.
Phil sighed. “It was a gift.”
“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Techno said. “Should I put this in the living room or kitchen?”
Phil wasn’t particularly enthused about eating pasta in the living room, but it was one of those days, and Wilbur had looked very comfy curled up on the couch. “Living room,” he decided.
Techno looked pleased with the decision. “I’ll grab the plates after putting this down,” he said.
By the time Phil had grabbed the cake and locked the car, Techno was already handing out plates. Meanwhile, Wilbur was scrolling through Netflix to find a movie to watch while they ate, a tradition when they were eating in the living room.
“Nothing gross,” Phil reminded.
Wilbur rolled his eyes.
“Wilbur.”
“Techno throws up one time because he can’t handle watching a few fish being gutted and...”
“I had the stomach flu and we were eating fish-sticks,” Techno snapped.
Wilbur tsked, but he put on Legally Blond instead of a documentary. He’d tossed Techno’s blanket over the back of the couch so it wasn’t at risk of a tomato sauce incident, but he still looked cozy.
Phil grabbed everyone drinks while the kids started serving themselves. Wilbur dished Tommy out a large helping of spaghetti that took up most of his plate. Phil watched as he considered the plate of food, the couch, and Techno who was sitting on the floor at the coffee table to eat intently. He slipped off the couch to sit with his legs under the table. When he started to eat, he leaned over the food carefully. As usual, he ended up eating a lot, though his energy started to flag again halfway through the meal. Phil was a bit worried he might face-plant into his plate.
When Tommy ended up setting his head on the table next to his plate only to start slowly sucking a spaghetti noodle whose edge had fallen slightly over the side of the plate into his mouth, Phil decided it was probably bedtime. Wilbur laughed when the last of the long noodle entered Tommy’s mouth and he smacked his lips. Eyes closed, he opened his mouth again.
“Okay, buddy,” Phil said before the child could find another stray noodle. “I think you might need a nap. If you’re still hungry later, we can warm up your plate. Tommy opened his eyes to look up at him beyond the plate of spaghetti. He looked a bit dazed, tired but also maybe a little bit in his instincts, though Phil didn’t know what would have set them off now.
He let Phil wipe his face down with a damp rag, and then let Phil pick him up again. In fact, more than that, he got a bit clingy, his tired fists curling into Phil’s shirt as Phil carried him up the stairs. Clarissa was right; he really was too skinny. Phil was able to hold him with one arm while he pulled down the sheets with the other.
He met more resistance than he’d been expecting. He knew from experience that most children didn’t bother to tuck their sheets in every morning. Techno would pull the sheets straight and maybe tuck the comforter in if he wanted the bed to look neat. Wilbur meanwhile rarely even bothered to make the bed, arguing that he was going to just mess it up again the next night.
Phil was the only one who made beds with any real care for precision. He’d grown up flying between various hotels and hostels. As a young child, he’d often found himself bored, and one thing he’d done to relieve that boredom had been following around the staff at the places they stayed when they were amicable. He’d learned how to make beds in a very particular way.
He settled Tommy onto the bed and covered him with the sheets. They were oddly unwrinkled, Phil noted idly. Even Phil’s sheets weren’t that wrinkle free except for when they’d just come out of the wash.
When he paused, he wasn’t fully cognizant of why, but he did pause. Tommy was blinking sleepily up at him. Phil smiled softly down at the boy, and he made a soft rumbling sound in the back of his throat. He turned his head and sniffed twice at the pillow Phil had just laid his head on. Then he curled up into a ball and nuzzled his cheek into it with a small yawn. Phil tucked the comforter around him and a little hand came up to stroke the stitched design inquisitively.
Phil stepped back. Discretely, he checked one of the corners at the end of the bed and found the sheet tucked in exactly how he always did it. Exactly how he had done it before Tommy had moved in. He frowned. That did not mean anything on its own. It was technically possible that Tommy knew how to make beds the same way Phil did. After all, Phil had been doing it by Tommy’s age. It was more plausible that Tommy just didn’t move around at night too much and the sheet had never been disturbed enough to get messed up.
It didn’t sit right with him.
He glanced around the room at large. There wasn’t much of interest. Tommy had never gotten out any of the toys they’d provided even when Phil had lightly suggested it. The only time anything had been disturbed is the couple of times Wilbur had gotten something out first to try to entice him. The only thing of note was a watermelon pillow Wilbur had mentioned giving him sitting on the play-mat.
Phil stepped over to the mat and picked the pillow up. He set it next to Tommy in the bed, and Tommy, even in his half asleep state, recognized it instantly, a hand coming out to pull it to his chest.
Phil felt a sinking feeling in his gut, but Tommy was basically already asleep. So, Phil stepped quietly away and closed the bedroom door behind him.
Tommy eating spaghetti: