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Tommy had officially moved in a week ago. He, Sam, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Puffy had spent a hot sunny afternoon transferring his things from his hut into Sam’s base. It was a quick process (Tommy didn’t own much) and the day ended with the 5 of them drinking cold lemonade. Things had been going well, in Sam's opinion. He and Tommy got along very well. They would work on the hotel, Tommy would listen to music and mess around while Sam had to work at the prison. Tommy went over to Snowchester on the weekends to spend time with his friends and Micheal. Tubbo and Ranboo came over once a week for games and dinner. It had been nice, hardly different than before when Tommy spent most of his time here anyway, but it was nice. It was official.
Sam had woken up 20 minutes ago when the sun crept behind the window and got in his eyes. He had groaned and draped an arm over his eyes, stupid sun waking him up. He layed in bed petting Fran who slept peacefully next to him, they were both too tired to get up. Yes he had a kid to take care of now but it wouldn’t kill either of them if he got to sleep in just a little bit. It was peaceful and warm before he heard a noise outside of his door. He sighs softly, that damn kid is already up.
He looks down at Fran and frowns, so much for sleeping in. He’s being dramatic but sometimes a man wants to sleep in and pet his dog. He gets up and gets changed, slipping on slippers instead of boots. He opens the blinds letting the full light of the sun into the room, Fran sends him a nasty glare for ruining her beauty sleep. He laughs and scratches her ears, he doesn’t bother with making the bed.
Sam was under the impression today would be a good day.
When he turns the corner into the kitchen he is proven wrong.
Tommy is behind the kitchen island in front of the counters, there are two drawers wide open above him where the plates and glasses are. He’s standing in his pajamas with fuzzy socks on, he’s still got a messy bed head. In his hand is a glass plate, it’s raised high above his head. He’s shaking, from his feet to his head he’s shaking so hard it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen over. He’s glaring at Sam dead in the eye, like he’d been waiting for him for a while. He also looks half a second away from throwing the plate across the room and beating Sam with his hands.
Sam instinctively takes a step back into the safety of the kitchen doorway, if Tommy does end up trying to attack him he’ll have a head start. Though he doesn’t really plan on running. “Hey kiddo, you okay?” he puts his hands up as a sign of peace. Tommy’s glare intensifies and he starts shaking harder. He has deep scowl on and his eyes feel like daggers from across the room.
“You like this plate Sam?” he shouts, he turns the plate a little in his hands, like he’s showing it off.
It’s too early in the morning for this, the sun had just finished rising.
“Uh- yes?” Sam wonders for a few seconds if it’s a trick question.
It was.
Tommy looks at the plate, back to Sam, and back to the plate.
He throws it on the ground.
Sam’s body tenses, it feels like slow motion as he watches the plate fall. Sam cringes at the shattering noise that echoes through the kitchen, little bits of glass fly across the floor coating the floor in little bits of white. Sam isn’t cut out for this, whatever it is. He doesn’t know why Tommy seems so angry or why he just broke a plate. When Sam looks up from the floor Tommy is glaring at him again. He mentally thinks of everything that happened in the past 24 hours that would cause this, if he hurt Tommy’s feelings at some point. They were fine yesterday.
“Tommy? What happened?”
Somehow, if possible, Tommy’s eyes set ablaze, the heat from his anger is suffocating the room, like an open flame. Sam takes another step back, he’s trying to remember all the self defense he knows, he won’t hurt Tommy but he will defend himself. Tommy stares for a long time before he starts to laugh and he sounds mad as hell.
“What do you mean what happened?” He yells.
Sam slowly lowers his arms, “I know you’re upset but I don’t know why, can you tell me?”
“I fucking broke a plate Sam! One you liked too!”
Sam feels like he’s missing a really important part of the story, like there’s something there in plain sight that he can’t see. He gives Tommy a hesitant nod, yes, he did break a plate. Tommy broke a plate and is very, very angry about it. The only problem is Sam has no idea why. Why is he upset? Did something happen over night?
“Well?” Tommy is full on screaming now, his face has turned pink and he’s shaking so, so hard. He’s shaking like the air from his breath is trying to push him over. He sounds infuriated, like Sam is being stupid, his eyes stay ablaze as he stares Sam down. Sam has no idea what to say, he isn't mad about the plate, he’s just worried about his kid.
“I think there's something you want me to say, but I don’t know what it is,” Sam says, trying to sound calm and quiet.
“Damn it Sam!” Tommy screams again, Sam flinches. Tommy’s voice echoes across the base and it stays ringing in Sam’s ears. Sam considers leaving for a moment, or even making Tommy go outside to blow off steam. He can’t see the situation desculating at this rate. When Sam doesn’t say anything Tommy starts up again.
“Aren’t you going to fucking do something?”
Sam’s head hurts trying to figure this out, “What do you want me to do?” it’s obvious he wants something specific. Sam just can’t figure out what.
Tommy’s fiery eyes die down, the flames blow out. All that’s left is something cold. It’s a different kind of anger, his whole face darkens, he stops shaking, all that's left is ice. He’s glaring at Sam and he feels a chill run down his spine.
“Hit me,” Tommy says, it sounds like a threat.
Sam’s brain completely short circuits.
“What?”
“Come on. Yell at me. Do something.”
It feels like smoke comes out of Tommy’s words, intoxicating the whole room. He’s stone, nothing on earth could move him, he’s so determined it’s scary. His voice sounds like a demand, like if Sam doesn’t do something a quick Tommy will make him. He looks ready to smash every bit of glass in the house and not bat an eye, like he’d burn the world to the ground to get whatever reaction he wants.
Sam’s brain is still reeling from what Tommy said, it feels like static or cotton filled his skull. Why would Tommy want him to do that? Why is Tommy doing this? Gods, Sam isn’t cut out for this, he can love Tommy all he wants but he isn’t prepared to deal with trauma responses like this. He takes a deep breath, it’s all he knows how to do. Calm himself. Carefully, he takes a small step forward. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow deeper.
“Why,” Sam whispers, “why do you want that?”
“I don’t- I broke something. I purposely broke something. Now what the hell are you going to do about it?”
He still sounds like it's a challenge, that Sam is too much of a coward to do anything so Tommy is trying to pressure him. He’s daring Sam to do something.
“Probably make you help clean it up?”
Tommy scoffs loudly. “Bullshit. That’s bullsit.”
Sam takes another small step forward, Tommy’s eyes flash in fear but they go back to that dark icy anger. Sam raises his hands complacently again, he’s glad he put on shoes, there's glass everywhere. “What is this about kiddo? I know you don’t want me to yell at you or-or to-'' Sam can’t even say it. He can’t fathom raising his hand to Tommy, “you don’t want me to hurt you. I know that. So what’s wrong Tommy?” He keeps his voice as gentle as he can, trying to fight the panic building in him.
Tommy’s ‘I’ll murder you and dance on your grave’ demeor falls for a few seconds, obviously trying to think of an answer, he shakes his head. “I moved in a week ago.” Sam gets the feeling that is supposed to ring a bell in him, like that was the piece of the puzzle he was missing. It only made him more confused.
“And?”
“And!” Tommy’s screaming again, the fiery rage is back full force, his whole body seems to be sparking with anger and energy. “What do you fucking mean and! Stop playing dumb Sam you’re smarter than this! Stop asking me stupid fucking questions you already know the answer too! You’re not helping anyone! Fucking do something already!”
Sam can see the spit fall out of his mouth, the way his face turns red, sweat rolls down his head. He’s frustrated. Angry, upset, maybe a little sad but above all he’s frustrated. Sam does feel dumb, there has to be something he’s missing. There’s something about his reaction that is making Tommy frustrated.
“You want me to yell at you?”
“Bingo bitch! Took long enough!”
Under different circumstances Sam would’ve laughed.
“What does that have to do with how long you’ve been living here?”
Tommy groans loudly and runs his hands through his hair in a panicked sense.
“Gods Sam! Come on! I’ve lived here a week and you haven’t gotten mad once! Even when I wake you up! When I make a mess and don’t clean up! When I don’t do what you say! You haven’t gotten mad once! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Oh.
Oh.
That was the very large obvious piece of the puzzle he was missing. Tommy is used to whoever he’s with to expect perfect behavior from him and to be reprimanded for slipping up. Wilbur would yell at him, Dream would hit him, and Techno would scold him. He’s experienced one pattern of behavior for a large part of his life and is now thrown into a situation where none of the rules he learned applied. Of course he’s frustrated. Tommy was just confused why Sam hadn’t followed the pattern yet, he was lashing out to get a reaction that would make sense to him. Gods Sam is an idiot.
“Tommy…” Sam breathes because it’s all he can say.
“Finally get it genius?” Tommy snaps.
Sam takes a deep breath. He wishes Puffy were here, she could handle this much better than he could. He thinks even 17 year old Tubbo could handle this better than him. But there's no use thinking about that, he’s here and he’ll figure something out. He takes another deep breath and starts to walk to Tommy slowly.
Tommy tenses but he shows no sign of backing down, he stands tall with his chest up and shoulders back. Sam carefully steps over the glass shards until he’s standing in front of Tommy, just out of arm's reach. Tommy glares up at him defiantly, he almost looks smug. Sam studies him for a long time, trying to figure out what to say. What does he say? How does he convince his boy that making mistakes or being a little rude doesn’t warrant anger like that?
He decides on something simple, “You haven’t given me a reason to be mad.”
Tommy scowls, “I just broke something, yelled at you, and called you stupid. Those are pretty good reasons.”
Sam shakes his head. “Those don’t count. You were lashing out because you’re confused,” Tommys demeanor once again washes away. He looks like Sam told him the sky was green, he looks confused and almost sad. “My nookling,” Sam is not above using nicknames to his advantage, to be fair, it works. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow deeper and he looks less and less angry and more and more confused. “I know you’re used to people getting angry when you mess up, but I’m not going to. You might not believe me but that's okay. I will never, never raise my hand to you, and there is nothing you could do that would make me.”
Tommy looks close to tears staring up at Sam all his rage has left a very hurt, very young kid. “But why? Why won’t you even yell?” he whispers.
“Because Tommy, you haven’t done anything to provoke that. I’m not perfect, I can’t promise you we’ll never fight or that I’ll never yell at you. I can promise that if I do, it will never be to hurt you. I will never purposely say something to upset make you confused,” He slowly reaches a hand up to cup Tommys face, the boy instantly leans into the touch, still looking at Sam with his sad blue eyes.
“It’s likely now that we live together that we might butt heads, but even if I get frustrated that doesn't mean I don’t love you. I will always apologize if I lose my temper and find a way to make it up to you. I won’t ever yell at you without reason. If I do yell it’s because I’m hurt or scared, never because I hate you or you deserve it,” Sam smiles sadly, “does any of that make sense?”
Tommy nods and closes his eyes, a tear slips out. Sam slowly rubs it away with his thumb. “I’m not mad nookling, you have every right to be confused,”
“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers, when he opens his eyes he refuses to look Sam in the face, his eyebrows are knit together. He keeps his head leaning into Sam’s hand. “I know kiddo, it’s okay. You’re just upset, I get it. Let me clean up this glass and I’ll get started on breakfast okay?”
Tommy nods slowly into Sam’s hand and pulls away. Sam almost leaves it be (Tommy says that he likes being comforted through physical touch but sometimes he makes his body burn, like the feeling of explosives. Sam always waits for Tommy to come to him). Before Sam can fully turn away, Tommy is pulling him into a tight hug. His arms are wrapped around Sam's waist and he buries his face into Sam’s chest. His hands claw at the back of Sam’s shirt, the hug feels desperate. Sam slowly wraps his arms around Tommy’s back and pushes his head further into him. “I’m really sorry,” Tommy whispers, “for being mean to you. You didn’t deserve that, you aren’t stupid, you’re pretty fucking cool.” Sam lets out a soft, warm laugh and hugs his boy closer to him.
He buries his face into Tommy’s hair, “All’s forgiven nookling,” he mutters.