Chapter Text
It’s fine. Tommy was not crying in the middle of a field located off the beaten path. No he was completely fine, safe at home. Totally at home. Fuck.
- 1 Month Prior
“Sam, this is my 6th family, I don’t think you should be getting your hopes up,” Tommy sighed, hugging his arms close to his body in the back seat. Sam didn’t falter, instead, with his hands leisurely placed on the steering wheel, and a smile warmly resting on his face, he responded, “Think of it like a new baseball game Toms.”
Tommy couldn’t help but glare at his case worker, “If this is a new baseball game, it’s also the end because 3 strikes and you’re out, that’s like basic maths Sam.” His attempt to rile the other up never worked and he often wondered why his good use of quips were being wasted on Sam rather than his new family that would probably love him for a week and then, like a used toy, throw him out; once more. “Stop being so pessimistic, I know it’s your personality trait at this point, and the system hasn’t been kind to you but I assure you that your new family isn’t like the others,” he explained as he took a right turn into the yard of a two story home that looked like something from the Adams Family.
Tommy squinted, trying to make out the red base from the black trimming, “Are you sure this is the right house and you’re not sticking me with a cult?” Sam ignored Tommy as he exited the car and opened the younger one’s door. The blonde rolled his eyes on the way out, and with only his “super mommish” tote bag full of snacks and a compass, he followed Sam’s lead up to the deck of the main entrance.
Knock. Knock.
The creaks accompanied by the knocks sent a shiver down his spine, and if it weren’t for the fact that it was March, he would’ve thought that he was taken to a haunted house, but with closer inspections of the stripped paneling's and broken fence, he might’ve actually been taken to a real haunted house.
The door swung open, and with what seemed to be a tower and a blur of brown hair, came about a seventeen year old with raging emotions. His gaze softened when he realized Tommy was there and connected the dots, “DAD! THEY’RE HERE.” As soon as he came, he also soon left, leaving behind the frightening black abyss that was apparently their living room. A loud bang could be heard from what seemed to be the upstairs, as well as loud whispers and a quiet disagreement, then a man with a green and white striped hat emerged, and with a grin similar to Sam’s, told them to, “Come in.”
Tommy is ushered in first, Sam following suit, and from what Tommy could tell he definitely has stepped foot into a cult. Black couch, black wall, black fridge, how did they have black windows? Okay maybe not a cult, definitely vampires of some sort. The living room was cut short by a half wall that marked the start of the kitchen, and for a second Tommy debated hurling to the fridge and scouring through their cupboards, but he knew better than that, he would have to do it when they were sleeping. “Sorry, I was just asleep, so Wilbur had to fetch the door, I know he’s well, less than welcoming sometimes.” It was like Wednesday, doesn’t the old man work? Or did he mean a nap? Definitely vampires. “Don’t you work?” Tommy couldn’t help that his mouth moved and transmitted what he was thinking. He often knew his previous families were not fond of questions so as soon as he spoke he slapped a hand to his mouth and offered, “Sorry.” The man only brightened up, “No it’s fine, I don’t mind the curiosity. I only work nights on the weekends so I’m used to going to sleep at 5 am and waking up at 2 pm.” What kind of job is that exactly? Yeah definitely vampires. Sam’s phone rang before Tommy could ask and just like that, Sam had given the man some papers and off he went saying that something had come up.
“Guess I’m your new guardian, I know it’s a bit of an adjustment and all so I apologize if it’s a bit hard to settle in. I’m Phil, and I have two sons, Wilbur, who you just met, and Techno who is currently napping, you’ll meet him later during dinner,” he sat on the couch and Tommy mirrored, “They’re both foster kids who I later adopted, so they understand what you’re going through, but Wilbur can be a bit, uh, insensitive at times so you’ll have to grow used to his unfamiliar personality.” Unfamiliar? Tommy wondered if he meant jackass but bit back his comment. “If you'd follow me,” Phil beckoned, already off the couch and climbing the stairs close to the main door. The house was on a street with a couple others, so Tommy didn’t worry that he’d have to jump out into traffic and travel a mile down the road to call for help like he once had with his previous foster parent, Dream. He shook off his worries and followed the old man up the stairs, stopping at the only white door in the house, “This is your room,” he pointed to the one across from it, “This is the bathroom.” He pointed to three others down the hall, “Mine is the one furthest down on the left, the one you hear music pouring out of is Wilbur’s,” his was the one across from Phil’s, Tommy noted.
“And Techno’s is the one next to yours,” he shuffles the papers in his hands. Tommy opens his door and walks in, he doesn’t want to look at Phil’s face when he reads the papers. Tommy finds the bed immediately and sits down, admiring the white wallpaper and the red trimming, the only room in the house that seemed to be different, his room. Phil tottered in, “It says you have adhd and nervous tics. Techno has adhd, and Wilbur has nervous tics,” he says, acting like this knowledge would bring them closer, if anything it made Tommy feel uncomfortable, fitting in made him uncomfortable, which only made Tommy want to distance himself more. He won’t be here too long, he shouldn’t attach to them, he reminds himself. “Okay,” the only words he’s spoken in minutes. “Oh!” Phil remembers.
“I have to go out and get a few groceries because Techno binged a bit last week. I’ll be back soon, you can get accustomed to your room, and if you think of anything you need text me. I know Sam put my number into your phone, so if anything pops up don’t be afraid to tell me. No drugs, and if Wilbur is putting up a fight, call me,” with that he leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and from what he could hear, treks down the stairs. The only thing that stands out to Tommy in that whole paragraph was “No drugs”, he chuckles, unpacking his granny tote and revealing a small pouch full of prescription pills that certainly were not prescribed to Tommy. He downs a Xanax with little to no care and without the help of water. He knows he shouldn’t be taking them, but the bubbling feeling inside him only dissipates when he ingests them. His fingers graze over the name on the bottle, Dream. He grimaces and throws them back into his pouch, and back into his book that nestles a large hole for his drug stash. He then shoves his tote under the bed, reveling in the carpet beneath his feet, the only room with a carpet. Before Tommy can react his door is being thrown open and in Wilbur walks, “Hey fucker, I’m going to tell you a few unspoken house rules.” His words don’t offer a sweet sting but rather a bitter one. “One, don’t try getting away with not doing your house chores, Phil’s too sweet to enforce them so you’ll probably try slacking but that means I’ll have to do them,” he pokes Tommy’s chest, “and I have better things to do than pick up after a brat.” He wants to reach into his pocket and dial Phil but Wilbur continues on before he can reason to do so, “And don’t think you can just come and go you little twerp. We have a curfew at 10, and you can’t go out unless you ask Phil.”
Tommy has never glared so harshly at anyone in his life, not even that one woman who yelled at him for saying prime’s name in vain. “Lastly,” oh goody, there’s more. “Don’t go in my fucking room. Got it?” He wouldn’t go in his room even if he wanted to, he remembers Dream’s warnings well enough. Wilbur grabs onto his shoulder and pulls his face close to his while squinting, “Are you high?”
“No asshole, I’m tired, now can you leave?” Wilbur shoves him away, eyeing the boy, before stomping out and slamming Tommy’s door. He turns the light off and collapses on his bed, pulling the red comforter onto his body, not bothering to put away his few clothes into the neatly arranged dresser next to the window. Instead he shuts his eyes, his heart beating out of his chest from the less than welcomed events.
…
Tommy jolts awake when he hears footsteps and then a voice, his brain trained to recognize the sounds and heavy boots that belong to Phil, “Hey Tommy, dinner’s been prepared!” Already? He hears the footsteps travel back down the stairs. His eyes meet the orange hues of the sun in the window to his right and he supposes that he’s at least slept a couple hours. With slow movements and crusty eyes, he makes his way downstairs. The open frame to the right of the stairs glows and he watches Phil sit down to a black dining table adorned with red chairs and a pink haired figure that he notes must be Techno. The aroma of steak and potatoes leaves Tommy’s mouth salivating and he hurriedly makes his way to an open seat on the pinkies left, Phil sitting at the end and Wilbur sitting to Phil’s left. They’ve already started piling food onto their plates, so Tommy does too. “Techno Tommy, Tommy Techno,” Phil sputters, rubbing the back of Wilbur who ended up choking from his “I’ve never eaten in my life” slobby type of eating habit. Techno grunts out what appears to be a hello while meeting his blue hues, and he admires the man’s red eyes and pig ears? WAIT PIG EARS????
Tommy’s mouth drops open in a comedic way, “Why do you have pig ears?” Phil chuckles and Wilbur explains after recovering, “He’s half piglin, have you never met a hybrid before?” Tommy can only shake his head no. “Well you’re in for a surprise because half this town is full of hybrids,” after finishing his informative piece, he goes back to stuffing his face. Phil can only sigh, and offer a plate of food to Tommy more ceremoniously than the others, “I’m actually a crow hybrid but my wings were clipped many years ago, and Wilbur here is a siren hybrid, which explains his bossy and rude attitude.” Tommy shifts in his seat and tries to collect his thoughts as he takes the food treaty, “Well why the fuck am I here?” Tommy feels jealous of his lack of specialty, cursing upon his pureblood heritage. He can imagine Bad, his dead ex foster parent, yelling “Language!” and his face contorts happily in a mischievous manner. Then, he remembers he’s in a new household, and he snaps his mouth and eyes shut, ready to be scolded by Dream , for saying a forbidden word but Phil calms him, “Actually, Sam’s a creeper hybrid, and like all hybrid’s can, he mentioned that he suspected you were as well.”
Tommy opens his eyes, greeting the food before meeting Phil’s eyes and ignoring Wilbur’s fuming ones. “Hmm? You are talking about me big man? Like thee Tommy Innit?”
Techno pipes up, “Yeah, I can feel your aura from here, I think you’re an end based hybrid to be precise.”
“End based?” He questions, still trying to process the whole hybrid situation while nibbling at his steak. “Like Ender Dragon, Ender Man, etc.,” Techno offers. “Yeah because that was really helpful,” he scoffs while trying to chew a tough side of the meat. “Okay brat, it’s kind of like this kid Ranboo, who you’ll meet, he’s an Ender Man, teleport shebang, can pull out an ender pearl out of nowhere. Well, he’s like ¾ enderman but that isn’t important,” Wilbur juts, already finished eating. He gets up, leaving the table to what Tommy supposes is the kitchen, his converse making loud thundering noises as he climbs the stairs. “We’re actually going to be working with you for a week to figure out which hybrid you are before forcing you into school, don’t want you reacting badly with another hybrid.”
Tommy remembers his dead foster parent and lack of information about the week he died, did he kill them? They ruled it an accident but with Tommy’s memory loss he can’t help but wonder- “Tommy?” Phil gets his attention, “ You spaced out on me for a second, I was asking if you want to go out with me tomorrow?” Tommy pushes his plate back, “Yeah, sure.” With his thoughts running amiss, he doesn’t recall ending his meal, or putting his dishes into the sink. He does remember the look on Phil’s face when he admitted he didn’t have an appetite, and that all he could eat was the little bit of steak and a small dent in the potatoes. And nowadays, with his conditioned body, he supposes he should thank Dream for his lack of eating enthusiasm and snack stashes. He trudges up the stairs, not bothering to bring out his travel size toothbrush and take care of his hygiene. He barely makes it to his bed before he passes out, barely giving the hybrid and dead foster parent another thought, he doesn’t want to anyways. It already weighs heavy on his mind.