Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Tom was a little kid, his family would go to church. It was a simple church, small, with little decoration. They would always arrive early and sit in the benches at the front. Tom remembered all the hours they’d spent listening to long drawn out speeches that he either didn’t pay attention to or couldn’t understand. He’d never seen much point in going to church. It was boring and took too long.

However, there was one thing Tom liked, the choir. There was something about way the walls would hum with their singing that drew him in. He’d close his eyes and listen to their voices with a dumbass smile on his on his face.

His mother would tease him about how it almost seemed like he liked their singing more than her’s. That wasn’t true of course. No one could be better than her. His mom had the voice angel. Whenever Tom was scared or hurt, she would take him in her arms and sing to him until he calmed down.

Life was different when Tom was younger. It was simpler. His parents still got along, his father didn’t drink, and his mother wasn’t running herself ragged. They didn't have much money, they never had, but they managed.  

Tom's mother had never been the type of woman who needed nice makeup and fancy dresses. She wore simple cotton dresses, most faded and worn from so many washes. Her hair was soft and silky. Whenever his mother held him, Tom would end up playing with the stray brown locks that framed her face, the rest pulled into a loose bun. Her skin was smooth and soft. She was a beautiful woman.

His father had black eyes, like Tom. He was a tall man with lean muscle and sharp features. There was scar on his brow and a near constant five o’clock shadow on his jaw. Some people might have called him handsome, others intimidating. However, when Tom was little, he would have called him kind.

Tom’s dad was a busy man. He left for work early and didn’t come home until after dinner. But every month he would take Tom on a father son camping trip to help make up for it. They would go fishing and make smores. He was a good dad and Tom loved him very much.

Things didn’t stay simple.

Years passed, and things began to change. His mother began looking more tired, and his father was becoming less kind, angrier.

At first, his parents tried to hide it. They argued at night when Tom was supposed to be asleep, and oftentimes he was until their shouting woke him up.

A few years later, things took a turn for the worse.

Tom was only eleven or twelve when his dad lost his job. At first things were okay, not easy but okay. His mother started working to make up for the lack of income, and, apart from when he was job hunting, Tom’s dad spent more time with him. That didn't last.

Months passed, his father was still unemployed forcing his mother to take on more hours, eventually, to the point where she was never home. The few times Tom did see her she looked exhausted, heavy bags under her eyes and wavering like she was on the verge of collapse. His father, on the other hand, took up drinking, and that's when Tom learned his father wasn't a kind drunk.

Things were fine. They learned to adjust; they have a choice not to. But some nights, even after he entered high school, Tom wished he could go back to when he seeing his father didn't end with yelling and a few fresh bruises. Tom missed seeing his mom, hearing her sing, eating her “home cooked” meals- even though most of it was flavorless and straight out of a can.

Chapter Text

It was during one particularly dull weekend, in the beginning of sophomore year, when Tom found himself loitering outside of Gary's Music Center. The store was part of a rundown strip mall in Tom’s neighborhood. It was no Guitar Center by any means, but it was half decent. from what he remembered from his more frequent visits in junior high, they carried a few nice instruments alongside the cheaper ones and and some music books that weren’t half bad.

Tom had no real reason to be there and even less of a reason to feel so hesitant about going inside. There was a lazy buzz of activity in the parking lot and outside the stores; if Tom didn’t make up his mind and go inside soon he’d probably get yelled at for loitering. He’d prefer to avoid that. So, he let out a sigh, let his shoulders slump, and walked into the store.

Warm air and dim yellow lighting greeted him. The air was thick with the smell of polish and dust. A small smile grew on his lips. The place didn’t seem much different from how he remembered it, barring a few changes in inventory.

Tom lazily wandered through the store, looking over all the instruments and sheet music as he made his way to the back. The back was where they kept the basses. It was, by far, Tom’s favorite part of the store, but he wanted to save that for after he looked at everything else- save the best for last and all that jazz.

When he made it, Tom was relieved to find that the base section hadn’t shrunk since his last visit. Not a lot of people wanted to play the bass, it wasn’t as glamorous as the guitar and not as respected as the violin. That said the bass section was by no means large; there were eight, maybe ten, instruments total. Tom didn’t mind much though.

Before he got into high school, Tom would come here two, maybe three, times a week when he could manage it. He would just come and look around a bit at first, too nervous to dare pick up any of the instruments on display.

As time wore on, he began to feel at home in the store. It almost became like a second home for him. He built up the confidence to actually pick up an instrument and pretend that he knew how to play. After a while, he wanted to do more than just pretend. Unfortunately, Tom didn’t have the money to buy an instrument, let alone pay for lessons. However, he refused to accept defeat.

The store kept some guide books for beginners in stock most of the time, and Tom figured with enough patience and bullheaded determination he could teach himself on one of the instruments they kept on display. His first instinct was to learn guitar, it was cool, stylish, and a centerpiece in most of the songs he listened to. But when Tom went to look for a book on how to play guitar, he found that they were out of stock. Technically, he could have waited for the owner to order more, but he was not that patient. That was when his eyes fell on the bass. It was perfect. Just like a guitar, but it had less strings, so, at the time, he assumed it would be easier.

It wasn’t.

Tom snickered at his past self as he scanned the wall of bases. Then, his eyes fell upon something awe striking. Hanging on the wall, high up near the ceiling, was the most gorgeous base Tom had ever laid eyes on.

She was stunning. A slick gloss coated her dark body, highlighting every dip and curve beautifully. A checkerboard pickguard decorated her. Her neck was long and smooth, absolutely gorgeous. She looked like she’d never even been taken off the shelf. By far, she was the most beautiful bass Tom had ever laid eyes on.

Tom was afraid to look at the price. He knew that no matter how much it cost, it would be more than he could afford. A small part of him still clung to hope, however misguided, as he nervously shifted his gaze to the price tag hanging from one of the tuning pegs.

Oh fuck.

His stomach dropped. He was expecting it to be expensive, but the reality of what was written on that price tag felt soul crushing.

It was £ 456.73.

“She’s quite the lovely instrument, is she not?” A Scottish voice broke Tom out of his daze. He turned to see the store’s owner strolling out of storage in the back.

Tom swallowed nervously and nodded. “Yes, she is sir.”

“Are you interested in purchasing her?” He asked as he began to restock some of the glass display cases near the register.

Tom gazed at him for a moment, then at the bass before shaking his head. “No. I… I can’t” he sighed. “I could never afford her.”

The owner’s eyes softened. “Ah, well that’s too bad.”

Tom nodded.

“Well... I know you come in here pretty often my lad,” he continued. Tom’s face flushed, embarrassed and surprised that he’d noticed. “Listen, I know the way you’re looking at her all too well. I’ve experienced it many a times myself.”

The man paused, looking at Tom intently for a long while, before he went on. “Alright lad, you and I both know this isn’t the nicest neighborhood. I can’t imagine life is easy for you right now, especially with the bumps and bruises you’re always sportin’.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t want you to feel like that’s all life is, you understand?”

Tom nodded vigorously, unsure of what he was getting at.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he offered. “If you’re really in love with that bass there, I’d be willing to hold on to it until you’re able to get the money together. Go out find yourself a job, and just check in with me when you can so I know you’re still interested. And if you find work I’d be willing to consider hiring you.”

Tom stared at the owner in shock. This was the sort of thing that happened in books and movies, not in real life.

“Do we have a deal son?” The man asked, reaching out his hand.

Tom nodded, too stunned to answer otherwise, as he walked over and shook hands.

When Tom got home, his father was passed out in his chair. Luck seemed to be on his side for once. That said, he wasn’t about to push it. He quietly crept through the house, slowly inching his way to his parent’s room, praying that his mother was home. Much to his relief, she was. He found her laying on his parents’ bed, her shoes still on and a battered paperback in her hands.

She peered up from her book as Thomas approached the bed. “Oh Tom, it’s so good to see you. It seems like we’ve barely gotten to see each other lately,” she hummed. She sounded so tired . It broke Tom’s heart to see his mother run herself into the ground.

“Hi Mom,” He replied, a ball of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach.

“What brings you in here dear?” she asked. “I’m sure you didn’t come in here for no reason”

Tom sighed and took a seat on the edge of the bed.  “Yeah, you’re right.”

His mother narrowed her eyes, looking him over with concern. “Is something wrong? Are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m okay Mom” he promised. “I was just wondering if they need any help around the restaurant, like a busboy or something?”

“You want to work there?”

“Not exactly.”

Tom explained the offer he’d been given at the music store. The story made his mother smile and hug him. She told him she was more than happy to try and help him get a job at the restaurant with her. If everything worked out, it would mean Tom could get more time away from the house and see his mother more often. In all honesty, Tom was in desperate need of both.

Chapter Text

Tom’s mother ended up getting him a job at the restaurant, working after school and on weekends. He was a busboy in title, but more of maid or janitor in practice. Not that it did much good, the restaurant was the kind of dirty that could never get clean. Tom could only imagine the number of health codes violations there were in the kitchen alone.

The air was uncomfortably humid and stunk of grease and mildew at all times. It made Tom want to gag. He doubted the stained green carpet that stretched through the dining area did much to help the smell.

The restaurant itself wasn’t all that big, which certainly made his job easier. There were about ten to fifteen tables total in the dining area. The poor lighting made the whole place feel even more run down and claustrophobic.

Despite all that, Tom knew he was in no position to complain. He was lucky to have any sort of job, even if the work place was less than ideal. It would be worth it. He’d get that bass, and it would all be worth it.

It was a Friday night. Tom was waiting in the car for his mother; she’d offered to give him a ride home since their shifts ended around the same time. He smiled when he finally caught sight of his mother rushing out to the car.

She takes a moment to soak in the warmth of the car. A waitress uniform isn’t the best thing to be wearing in the bitter cold. After a few minutes her shivers die down and she looks at her son. “I’m so happy we get so spend more time together, even if it is at a rundown diner.”

Tom smiles. “Yeah, me too.”

With that, his mother starts the car and begins driving them back to the house. They laugh and vent about shitty customers and their ass of a boss. Thomas is so thankful that he gets to spend time with his mother again. He can’t remember the last time before this that he could.

Their upbeat conversation comes to an immediate halt when they pull into the driveway. It wasn’t late enough to guarantee that his Dad would be passed out in his chair. Tom was almost too afraid to hope that was the case, lest he be unprepared if it isn’t. The air in the car was tense. They were both afraid. Tom’s father was a loose cannon, especially when he was drunk.

He and his mother got out of the car. The air crackled with sparks of fear and desperation. Tom followed his mother’s brisk walk to the door. Her face was calm and stern; it betrayed nothing of the raging apprehension that Tom knew lurked below the surface.

With a flick of the wrist the door was unlocked. They both waited. Neither of them dared to move, even breath as they listened at the door for any signs of life within the house. There was nothing, no shuffling, no crashes, no angry curses. Silence was all that greeted the two of them.

A wave of relief washed over them. His mother smiled at him warmly before stepping inside. Tom followed suit. It was nice to feel like luck was on his side for once.

All that disappeared the moment tom heard the door slam shut behind them. He’d been so caught up in his relief that he hadn’t thought to make sure it closed quietly.

There was a grunt, followed by shuffling and the sound of drunken footsteps.

Fuck.

They were screwed.

His mother moved to stand between tom and his father as the man stumbled toward them.

His father was tall, but he stood hunched over, shoulders slumped, and head cocked to the side. The man wreaked of alcohol. Behind him, Tom could see the discarded wine bottles piled up around his father’s recliner. He had short hair, dark and matted with grease, that was a constant mess that stuck out in all directions, His maroon v-neck was threadbare and covered stains. Tom could only wonder when he'd last changed it. His nose was crooked, broken one too many times and never set properly. There was a scar that cut through his right eyebrow that he'd gotten in a bar fight. Tom knew because his father had taken him along that night.

His lips parted into a sneer, revealing a set of yellow crooked teeth.

“Good evening Honey,” his mother sang. “I didn’t think you’d still be up at this hour.”

His Dad’s face twisted into a scowl. “Shut up, you filthy bitch.” He threw a punch that landed square on her jaw.

His mother was barely able to stay upright, but she stood her ground.

He approached the two of them slowly. His steps heavy and unbalanced from intoxication. He leaned in, narrowing his eyes at Thomas. “Eh?” He chuckled.

A shiver went down Tom’s spine. Fuck he was scared.

“What are you doin’ here ya faggot?” An angry smile bloomed on the man’s face. “Isn’t it past your bedtime.”

Tom felt sick. He refused to look him in the eye and was too scared to muster up a response.

“Answer me when I ask you something, you pathetic piece of shit,” he snapped.

Tom flinched but remained silent.

Tension filled the air, thick and heavy like molasses. Normally his mother wasn’t home, and his father took the opportunity to drive the message home without hesitation. For some reason, her presence made him pause.

“Go to your room Tom,” his mother spoke slowly and carefully. “It’s late.”

Tom nodded and slowly crept to his room as if he was still trying to avoid his father. Even after closing the door behind him, Tom could still feel the raw uncut tension between his parents.

Then, in an instant it was broken. The sound of skin against skin and a bang against the door followed by his father’s booming voice sent guilt surging through his system. He had just left his mother helpless and alone with his father.

Fuck.

She was going to get the shit beaten out of her.

Tom slowly walked over to his bed and numbly curled up in the corner between the head board and the wall with tomme bear.

There was the sound of more hitting and yelling.

Tom knew that he should go back out there and protect his mom. It was the right thing to do. He shouldn’t just sit there and listen to her being beaten in his place.

This was his fault.

He was the one who woke his father. That was his beating, but his mother was getting it instead.

He needed to go help her.

Tom didn’t move an inch.

Shit, why wasn’t he getting up to help her damn it?

As night slipped past, the house grew quite again. Still, Tom hadn’t made a single move to help his mother and he cursed himself for it.