Chapter Text
“Do you know why you're here?”
Tommy hates this question. He loathes it.
Of course he knows why he’s here. He can still hear the sounds of shattering glass, his mother's scream dying in her throat. The sound of sirens.
Everything soaked red.
The thing is, he can't say these things. He can't scream that it's unfair, that it all hurts. That therapy is bullshit because this lady sipping iced coffee with freshly dyed hair has never watched her mother die.
They do not understand.
All he wanted was ice cream. Ice cream to celebrate that his mother, his whole world, wasn't transphobic.
He can't speak. The words will not come up.
He nods his head.
“I understand you haven't spoken since that night,” she says.
He nods again.
“Okay. What are your thoughts on learning sign language? It could help with communication…” she offered.
He shrugged. He wasn't against it.
To be able to talk again would be nice. He tried so many times but the words always died in his throat.
It was like a part of him died that night too.
“I will see if we can set something up with your new family...Are you nervous to meet them?”
That's right. The new family.
He was being taken out of the group home and into a foster home. A dad and three sons. One biological. Two adopted.
He nods. He was nervous.
What if they were upset he didn't talk? What if they were transphobic assholes? What if, what if, what if?
He was certain his file still said his deadname, he was certain they'd introduce him as a girl. There were many things to be worried about.
He grabbed his whiteboard off the table and scribbled something down.
“Do you know them?” he wrote down, showing it to her.
“No I don't. They seem lovely.”
He erased the whiteboard with his sleeve. “I don't want a new family.”
“Why not? I think you deserve a place to call home.”
“Miss mom,” he wrote simply.
She smiled sadly. “Can you tell me about her? Take your time.”
He wrote as much as he could onto the whiteboard. Over and over and over. His mother had been his whole world.
He was lost without her. And he wasn't keen on replacing her.
She'd been his entire world as long as he could remember. He briefly remembered his father but he took off before any real memories settled in.
After that. It was him and his mom against the world. They were best friends. They’d stay up late, star gazing, listening to his mom's old records, whispering secrets.
One night the secret happened to be that he was not her little girl. Tommy hadn't been scared to tell her, he was excited actually. His mom was too kind to hate anyone over such trivial things.
She didn't even hate Tommy’s dad. Even when Tommy was angry and spoke ill of him, she scolded Tommy.
Tommy was unsurprised to be greeted with love and acceptance. And of course they had to celebrate with ice cream. They always did.
Too fucking bad that truck had other plans in mind.
He missed her more than he missed the sound of his own voice. More than he missed walking without a knee brace.
She took part of him with her that night.
He didn't think he’d ever get it back.
-
Tommy held his two bags in his hand and stood in the corner of the office.
“This is [redacted]’s medication for depression and her inhaler. Rarely needs it but just in case,” the house mother said.
It was out of date. His mom had been meaning to call it in. It never happened.
Phil took the plastic baggie containing his medications.
“[Redacted]?” Phil echoed the name. “Thought I was getting Tommy.”
Not worth the fight, Big Man.
“Yes well, legally--”
“What do you want to be called?” Phil asked him.
He blanked. No one ever bothered to ask him.
“She can't speak.”
Fuck you.
He uncapped his marker and scribbled the name Tommy is his chicken scratch writing. His hands were shaking.
“Alright then,” Phil said and turned to the lady. “Anything else for me to sign?”
“Um, no sir.”
“Then let's go. You've got your bags?” Phil asked him.
God when was the last time someone spoke to him. Everyone spoke to him like he wasn't in the room.
He nodded, biting back a smile.
Phil opened the door for him.
In the driveway a group of three boys stood leaning against a minivan. Phil did not look like the type to drive a minivan.
Interesting.
“Tommy, this is Techno, Wilbur and Ranboo,” he said pointing to each of the boys.
Techno had long pink hair and was dressed like he was going somewhere fancy. Wilbur had fluffy brown hair hidden in a beanie with circle glasses that were crooked on his nose. Ranboo was the tallest with split dyed hair.
“He,” Phil paused, looking for confirmation that Tommy was a he. Tommy nods. “He can't talk. So don't bombard him with questions, Wil.”
Wilbur looked mildly offended. “You're rude, you know!”
Phil just laughs, opening up the trunk for Tommy's bags. He set them in and watched the others pile in the car.
He watches the three boys rock paper scissors for the front seat. Wilbur ends up winning and happily changes the radio station to his phone, playing songs Tommy never heard before.
He lets the others take their seats before he climbs into the far back, half hidden behind Ranboo.
“Veto,” Techno says when a new song comes on.
“You already vetoed three songs on the way here,” Wilbur says.
“Overruled,” Phil says, changing the song.
This family is weird.
Phil caught his eye in the rear view mirror and smiled. “When we're in the car everyone gets to veto three songs. It keeps the arguments to a minimum.”
Tommy just nods.
Him and his mom both liked the same music. He had never considered that families disagreed on these things, let alone argued about it.
“How is he gonna veto if he can't talk?” Wilbur asks, looking over his shoulder at Tommy.
This family is so weird.
At least they aren't a weird religious family or extremely transphobic. He could tolerate this level of weirdness.