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prelude: : born in a burning house
Tommy grew up in a burning house. It hurt him, burned him. Some days he couldn't see past the flames.
No matter what he did he always seemed trapped with the fire.
The house was his body. Something that you cannot escape in his life. It felt like he was burning.
It was a suffocating feeling.
Sadly one he was used to.
He sat in the bottom of the shower, curled up in a ball, ignoring every inch of him that had been built wrong. He cried silently as the water poured down around him. Salty tears mixed with lukewarm water, blending together until he couldn't tell the difference.
He was just trying to put out the flames.
He bit down on his knuckle hard. He was so sick of this. He felt like he might explode. Like the fire burning inside him would be too much and he'd have to explode, ruining everything around him.
Too long hair stuck to his back. It made him feel physically ill. He tried not to think about it.
He should just tell Phil. He knew he should. He'd been here for three years. Phil didn't bat an eye when Wilbur explained that his friend Eret used multiple pronouns, didn't blink when Tommy’s friend Ranboo said they preferred they/them pronouns and the name Ranboo.
It was always different when it was your own kid, though. Tommy knew.
He was worried that if he didn't say something soon, he would burn up and turn to ash.
Tommy bit down harder on his knuckle, letting out a whimper of pain.
He didn't want to go up in flames, but he didn't know how to put out the fire.
part one: the home
Tommy came down the stairs, his hair still wrapped in a towel from the shower. A band-aid was wrapped around his knuckle. He pulled his hoodie sleeves over it and hoped no one noticed.
He was always a clumsy kid, so it would be easy to pass off as just another accident. Accidents didn't leave teeth marks though.
Wilbur was sitting in the living room watching TV and Techno was curled up on the window bench in the front room, a book in his lap, a coffee in his hand. He stared at his two brothers, debating for a moment, if he should say he's not okay.
He decided against it, retreating back up to his room. He didn't feel like hearing that name at the moment anyway. The idea made his insides feel like they were trying to be outsides.
He towel dried his hair, tossing the towel into the clothes bin and braided his hair down his back. He rarely wore it down. That was far too feminine.
He looked down at the bandage on his knuckle and saw blood was already leaking through it. God he really was set on his own destruction. Every little thing he did…
He changed the band-aid fairly quickly because he hated the sight of blood and returned to his room. And he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Shouldn't have looked. He hurried to Wilbur’s room and grabbed one of Wilbur’s hoodies. They were oversized on Wilbur and left Tommy drowning. Perfect. Much better.
He adjusted the hoodie so it didn't hug his chest like every item of clothing seemed to do.
And god...he just snapped. He completely lost it. He was so damn sick of this. He sat down on the edge of his older brother's bed and just sobbed.
It was ugly and loud and the tears didn't stop. They didn't put out the fire.
part two: the fire
When Tommy was five he came to live with Phil. Wilbur had been ten and Techno was twelve. The age gap might have stopped other kids from getting along but the three of them…
Inseparable.
They were best friends.
They told each other everything.
Mostly.
Wilbur hadn't told them about the drugs until it was almost too late. Techno hadn't told them about the self-harm until Tommy caught him in the act.
By this rule it was Tommy’s then to be hiding something.
And he was.
It only took a few minutes of crying to summon his older brother. Wilbur liked his head inside.
“Hey, that's my crying spot,” Wilbur teased, trying to lighten the mood. “And my hoodie!”
Tommy sniffled, looking up at him.
“What's wrong, kid?” Wilbur asked, closing the door. He sat down on his desk chair.
“Does your body ever feel wrong?” he asked. “It's yours, but it's not right.”
It would be better to describe it as feeling like you were burning from the inside out. But you simply never stopped burning and you couldn't put it out.
“Um, no,” Wilbur said with a frown. “Are you okay?”
Tommy chews up the inside of his cheek for a moment. “No.”
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Not really,” Tommy says, showing him the band aid covered hand. “That's not what's wrong.”
“Then what is wrong? I want to help but you're just confusing me.”
“I'm just really dysphoric,” he says quietly, looking away.
He hopes that Eret had mentioned dysphoria before. He cannot bear to look at Wilbur though.
“Oh,” Wilbur says. “Okay. What can I do?”
Tommy shakes his head, thanks nonexistent gods that the fire that destroyed him didn't ruin thr people around him. They were good. The were not harmed by the flame.
“Call me Tommy.”
“Of course, Tommy.”
part three: the building
“Okay, so it says to measure like this, and this,” Wilbur says, showing him before passing over the measuring tape. “When you're comfortable, measure yourself and let me know. I'll order the binder.”
“You don't have to,” Tommy insists, fiddling with the measuring tape.
“I think I do,” Wilbur said. “What else are big brothers for?”
Tommy smiled a bit, shooing him out of the room. He opened up the door to let Wilbur know what size he needed, handing him the measuring tape.
It was a week later that the binder arrived and the two of them locked themselves up in Tommy’s room so he could try it on.
Tommy froze looking in the mirror, tears welling in his eyes because it was perfect. It felt like for the first time in years, there was no fire. Just for a second, he did not feel like he was burning.
“O-Oh, what’s wrong?”
“No. It’s perfect. It’s perfect, Wil. Thank you,” Tommy whispered, stepping forward to hug him.
Wilbur enveloped him in a tight hug. “Of course.”
That week after school Wilbur took Tommy out to get a haircut. Wilbur’s friend Niki had her license and knew about Tommy being trans, so she didn’t give him a pixie cut like a regular hair dresser would have tried to do.
The waterworks came again, because God...that was him in the mirror.
Instead of burning, he was a pile of embers. Hot to the touch, still smoking, but no longer a raging wildfire.
part four: the world
Phil had reacted pretty well to Tommy’s hair cut, claiming it suited him.
It made Tommy feel guilty for not telling him, oddly enough. After all Phil had done for him, to help him, to raise him… Tommy still kept this secret close to his chest.
And finally one night, he cracked.
Despite the binder, despite the hair cut, he was burning.
His whole body felt like it was on fire and he wanted to be removed from it instantly. He wanted a body that did not burn, did not ache.
His tears did nothing for the flames. In fact, it only seemed to feed them.
Tommy stepped out of his room, walking down the hall to Phil’s. He couldn’t stop crying and he honestly felt like the whole world was minutes away from crashing down around him. He knocked on the door twice.
A moment later Phil opened the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It took only half a second for him to realize that it was Tommy standing in front of him sobbing.
“What’s wrong,” he asked, concern lacing his features.
Tommy shook his head, unable to speak. He was choking on smoke.
He stepped forward to hug his father and it felt like breathing in fresh air. Phil was a great comfort, a protector. He was his whole world.
He cried into his arms, accidentally waking up Wilbur who slept in the next room over.
When he settled enough, Phil helped him back into his bed, gently carding his hands through his youngests hair. Tommy curled into the touch for a moment.
“I’m a boy,” Tommy whispered. “My name is Tommy.”
For a split second Phil said nothing and Tommy could feel the burning house about to crash around him. His heart dropped, his stomach flipped--but then:
“Thank you for telling me, Tommy. I love you.”
And Tommy cried again.
part five: putting out the fire
Putting out the fire in its entirety would never be possible. There would always be remains that burst into flames if provoked, but the hormone therapy, the binder, looking into surgery all in combination with therapy helped.
His supportive family helped too.
Some days it still felt like every inch of him was burning and nothing could put it out. Other days, it was like the flames never existed.
He’d always have the fire inside him, eating him alive. But he wouldn’t let it destroy him anymore.