Chapter Text
“We can’t keep doing this, Thomas.”
Tommy slumped further down in the overstuffed armchair he was currently trapped in. He kept his mask of indifference as he stared out the window conveniently placed behind his current social workers head. He couldn’t remember her name. Tina? Tami? Something with a T, he was sure of it. His last social worker, a lovely man named Barry, had requested a transfer just a few months ago. He had been sat in an armchair not unlike the one he was sitting in now.
Barry had looked at him apologetically, his beady eyes sad behind his wire framed glasses. Sweat had dotted his forehead and upper lip and he dabbed it away with a grimy looking handkerchief as he informed Tommy of his request for a new social worker to help find Tommy his ‘forever home’.
“Tommy, lad. I feel as if your particular issues are a bit above my understanding. I am terribly sorry, I truly believe you are a nice, fine boy at heart-”
Blah blah blah.
Same shit his last two social workers before Barry spewed before running for the hills. His ‘issues’ seemed to make him difficult to place, as all that had come before Tamara (he was close, he can feel it) had informed him. Find your mother murdered in the kitchen by your own father once and suddenly you’re “traumatized” and “need extensive therapy”. It was a bunch of shit, if you asked him. It wasn’t like his mother was the best parent in the world. In fact, after he got over the shock of finding her lying on the kitchen tile in a pool of her own blood, he hadn’t even been able to shed a tear. The police officers said he was in shock. The shitty therapists the state would send him to said he wasn’t coping, he needed to release the pent up emotions inside of him. One of his more memorable social workers, a lovely old woman named Linda, had said he was a sociopath.
Tommy didn’t feel like he needed to release anything. He wasn’t a sociopath, no matter how much Linda tried to convince his therapist he needed to be committed before he ended up like his father. He just couldn't muster up the energy to cry for someone who didn’t even seem like his mother. She had never acted like it. And his father. Don’t even get him started on that piece of absolute fucking-
“Six homes.”
Tommy snapped out of his thoughts with a blink, Tamales (wait, that was fucking food-) voice had been steadily rising in volume as she seemed to catch on he was more interested in the London skyline than her shitty reason as to why she had felt the need to call this little meeting. Pulled him out of school and everything, the tie around his neck like a noose and the sweat from running to and from classes all day pooling under his arms. Gross, he could really go for a shower right about now-
“Thomas, are you even listening. Please, look at me. This is actually quite serious.” Trina (no, no still not right-) waved an annoying manicured hand in front of his face and he finally dragged his eyes away from the window to look at her pinched expression. She was wearing too much makeup. It was caking around her mouth and on her forehead. Black gunk was gathering in the corners of her eyes as she stared at him intently. He wrinkled his nose and turned his gaze to the little hula girl bobble head sitting on the edge of the desk. He wondered idly if her skirt was made from actual grass.
“Yes, quite serious indeed. Sorry, what were you saying?” Tommy yawned loudly, shifting to sit forward in his armchair.
“Six homes, Thomas. You have been through six different foster homes in less than two years. Running away, skipping school, fights, honestly Tom.” She looked at him in exasperation and he grinned widely back at her. He could practically feel her annoyance from here. It was wonderful.
“Listen, the last one wasn’t even my fault. The giant dick took the last fruit medley cup, Tina. Fruit medley! He saw me going for it too, the prick. Practically pushed me out of the way to reach for it. It was a little love tap, honestly. He didn’t even get a bruise-”
“That is not even close to being the point, Tom and I know you know that. And my name is Trinity, Thomas. For the love of God.” Trinity said, her voice shrill as she clacked away on her keyboard. Tommy rolled his eyes and flopped backwards. His eyes felt gritty and his mouth was gummy. He needed to chug at least ten glasses of water and take a four hour nap before being even remotely interested in continuing this conversation.
Trinity sighed loudly and Tommy dragged his eyes over to meet hers. She was looking at him almost sadly and he raised his eyebrows at her.
“I am going to be blunt here, Tom. I’m switching case files. You’re being transferred.”
The again was left unspoken but rang loudly in the small office. Tommy felt his heart thump painfully in his chest for a moment before shoving whatever feeling trying to make itself known away. He should have seen this coming. He has only been placed with Trinity for three months. In that time, he had been moved twice. In his defense, his last foster father was a bastard who locked Tommy in a small hall closet as punishment. He called it the “Thinking Room.” Tommy had been locked in the closet for two days before he decided yelling wasn’t working and made his own way out. His foster father hadn’t appreciated that too much and Tommy had been pulled from the home with a black eye from ‘falling into the doorframe as he destroyed it in a fit of teenage rage’ and a newfound hatred for small spaces. He tried to tell Trinity that his black eye was actually gifted to him by his foster fathers knuckles and the door frame was completely innocent, but she had done nothing but scold him for telling lies and said “Mister Ellis is a nice man, Thomas, have some respect and pack your things immediately.”
“...name is Phil. He is a wonderful man. Was actually a foster father himself for a while before he adopted his two sons, lovely boys. Only a little older than you, I do believe…”
Tommy tuned back into the drone of Trinity’s voice. She was chattering away, refusing to look at him as she typed manically on her keyboard.
“So you’re dumping me.” Tommy cut her off, crossing his arms over his chest as he kicked his foot against the back of the desk. He saw Trinity’s eye twitch, but she didn’t ask him to stop.
“I am not dumping you, Thomas. Honestly, don’t be so childish. This is how the system works, I’m afraid. I would love to continue helping you, but unfortunately I am being pulled.” She actually did sound a bit sorry as she finished typing on her computer. She sighed quietly before turning to face him directly.
Tommy tried not to fidget. He gave the back of her desk an extra sharp kick and watched her close her eyes for a moment before opening them again calmly.
“Now, I’ve taken the liberty of having the Colton’s send your things here. Phil will be ready for us any minute now.. Be polite, Thomas. You need to learn to cooperate. Everyone here is trying to help you…”
Tommy felt almost detached from his body as he watched Trinity bustle around, getting some paperwork ready for Phil. His new social worker.
Phil.
What a disgusting name. He cannot wait to take the absolute piss out of him.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Trinity walked him a few floors up to where Phil’s office was. Tommy struggled to carry his school bag and trash bag full of clothes, shoes and his other measly possessions down the narrow hallways. He may have purposefully knocked a few fake ferns out of their pots, but he simply smiled innocently each time Trinity shot him a look and hoisted his trash bag in explanation.
The petty satisfaction of watching her scoop dirt back into the pots and set the plants back right was so worth it though.
Now, standing in front of Phil Watson’s door (he had a fancy name plate and everything), his stomach was twisting into knots.
He never much liked his male social workers. They were always...harsher. More likely to find his insubordination bothersome. He assumed Phil would be no different. An uptight arsehole with a university degree now having to deal with traumatized children while wearing a suit for eight hours a day. Actually, now that he thinks about it, Tommy might also act like a right twat if he was forced to wear a suit and tie for eight hours, five days a week-
The door opened and Tommy was faced with his new social worker.
He...didn’t look mean. In fact, he was grinning kindly at them as he greeted them with a nice lilting “Good evening, please come in!” and waving them into the office.
Tommy felt himself hunch forward as he passed by Phil. He could tell the older man was trying to catch his eye, but he refused to look up from the carpet. It was such a lovely pattern. Nice mixture of purples and grays, very nice indeed.
“Please take a seat, Thomas. I’ve got him, Trinity. Thank you.” Phil smiled widely and Trinity handed him the thick manila file she had lugged from her office and with one last look at Tommy, she patted his shoulder kindly and left. He tried his best not to hate her, but he was failing miserably.
The moment the door closed behind her, Tommy felt his heart start to pump a little faster. Phil’s office was smaller than Trinity’s, the majority of space taken up by a long, comfortable looking couch along one wall. Bookshelves full of books and knick knacks lined the opposite wall. Tommy could see pictures hanging on the wall behind the large oak desk that stood in the middle of the floor, but he didn’t look close enough to actually register the people in them.
There were no windows.
His hands were starting to sweat where he was gripping the trash bag closed tightly. He ran his eyes over every inch of the office, steadily ignoring Phil. The man had taken a seat behind his desk, but he was watching Tommy, eyes scanning him for a moment before he was standing back up. It took every ounce of Tommy’s willpower not to flinch when Phil slipped around him. He turned to watch as Phil stopped at the door and pulled it back open, propping the heavy door open with a little stone doorstop painted as a pig. Tommy stared at it a moment before risking a glance at Phil.
The man was watching him, but his face was open and he smiled slightly when Tommy met his eyes before jerking his head back down to the floor. He tracked Phil’s footsteps as he walked back to his desk and took his seat again. His heart was starting to calm in his chest and he released his deathgrip on the trash bag.
“Feeling better?”
Tommy’s head shot up and he glared at Phil on instinct.
“What?” He snapped and Phil smiled warmly at him. He was starting to hate that smile. So all knowing and shit. He wanted to punch it off the older man's face. He scowled as Phil gestured towards the chair in front of him, but slid into it gracelessly. He dumped his trash bag to the side and stared at the back of a picture frame that sat on the desk. He felt off kilter. He hadn’t truly realized Trinity was transferring him until the moment Phil had opened the door. He blinked his eyes rapidly, they were so dry. He really did need a nap.
“Alright, Thomas?” Phil asked. His voice seemed to be naturally soft. Tommy hated it.
“I’m fine. And stop calling me Thomas.” He snapped. His leg bounced jerkily for a moment before he forced himself to stop.
“Okay, what do you prefer then?”
“Tommy. Or Tom. I don’t care. Just not fucking Thomas.”
“Alright, Tommy it is then.” Phil chuckled before finally, finally looking away from Tommy and shook his mouse to wake his computer awake.
He typed quietly and Tommy felt himself drooping in the quiet of the room. Trinity always talked, jabbering on and on to fill the silence, not caring if Tommy responded to her or not (he never did.) Phil seemed content to sit in silence as he typed on his computer for a moment and Tommy hid a yawn behind his wrist.
“Feel free to lay on the couch, if you want. I’m just reading a few things in your file then we should be able to head on out.” Phil said suddenly, breaking the silence and Tommy glanced up at him.
“Where am I going?” He blurted out before he could stop himself. He hadn’t hated the Coltons and he had just started getting used to sleeping on the lumpy mattress in the room he shared with two other boys. Not the best, but at least Mrs. Colton had fed him regularly which was better than some other foster families he had been graced with.
“For tonight, you’ll be coming home with me. It is unconventional, but we are running short on emergency placements.” Phil smiled at him again and Tommy was beginning to wonder if his face was just frozen like that.
“Whatever. You don’t look like a pedophile or a serial killer. But if you are, just know I will cut your fucking balls off.” Tommy sneered. He wasn’t sure why he was being nasty, but he didn’t plan on thinking about it too much. Most of his brain capacity was being used to keep his eyes open. God, he was fucking exhausted.
“Noted. Thank you for that. Go lay down on the couch before you brain yourself on the desk, Tommy.” Phil’s voice was still gentle and Tommy felt a stab of annoyance at having not gotten under the older man’s skin. He took retribution by knocking over a few picture frames on the desk on his way over to the couch. He heard a sharp sigh behind him and he smirked as he sprawled out on the surprisingly fluffy couch.
The minute he was even slightly horizontal, he felt himself losing the battle of keeping his eyelids open. He blinked sluggishly at the bookshelf across the room for a moment before letting his eyes fall shut.
The soft sound of Phil typing on his keyboard followed him into unconsciousness.