Archive of Our Own

“Tommy!”

“Tooooooooooommy!”

“Toms!”

Tommy bolted upright in his bed. Around him laid a dozen crushed cans of diet cola, their silver plating glinting under the morning sunlight. Several pages of white paper surrounded him. Grumbling, the teenager grabbed a sheet and brought it to his face. What was it? Homework? His weary eyes scanned the page, growing larger and larger as he realised that it was the script for the school play.

The school play that he was auditioning for. 

Today. 

In— he checked the clock on his nightstand— an hour. 

A long string of swears spewed out from his mouth, as uncontrollable and vile as vomit. He hopped around his bedroom, desperately searching for something clean to wear. Phil had advised him to leave out clothes the night before and now he regretted not listening. First impressions were important, and he didn’t want to present himself as someone with poor time management, despite it being slightly true. It wasn’t like he was always late. He’d slept in because he’d stayed up past midnight to practice his lines! He couldn’t even blame this instance on Tubbo keeping him up with bizarre text messages. 

“Tommy!” That was Phil’s voice, “Everything alright up there?” 

He groaned into the shirt he was currently sniffing. Deeming it safe, he wrestled it over his head and began to search for jeans. “Yep!” 

To say Phil was eccentric was an understatement: Tommy’s been through his fair share of foster families, and he’s never met anyone like him. He was an architect and had cemented his reputation as the genius behind many of their city’s grandest buildings. From nine to five, he designed skyscrapers then he’d come home to work on his passion project: his dioramas. Constructing small-scale fantastical cities was certainly an unusual hobby but it was an impressive one. If only it didn’t take up so much space at their breakfast table...

The thought of food made Tommy’s stomach grumble, snapping him out of his thoughts. He replied with, “Alright, alright” and began the mad dash downstairs. The mess was not confined to the teenager’s room— the whole house was cluttered. To the unappreciative eye, it might have resembled a hoarder’s den but in the two years Tommy had spent here, he’d investigated almost every object lining the upstairs hallway and found it wasn’t merely junk. Crumbling annuals from the 1980s were stacked up on either side of the hall with tiny trinkets stowed away on top. Tommy leapt over the rocking horse and almost tripped, but grabbed the taxidermy polar bear to steady himself. Steve didn’t look too happy being touched, but there was no time to apologise.

He successfully made it to the top of the stairs and took a moment to appreciate how swiftly he’d got ready. And he hadn’t knocked over anything in the hallway— that was a rare occurrence! But he celebrated too early. Blindly, he stepped onto the first stair and felt his socks meet something slick. He slid off of the slippery surface, feet flying into the air, and landed on his rear with a yelp. Since when were all these magazines here? Tommy tried to move again, but struggled to get a grip on the magazines, which slipped out from underneath his feet, sending him flying down the stairs.

“Mayday! Mayday!” He yelled, “Heeeeelp!” 

He met the front door with a disgruntled oomph! Well, that was one way to get downstairs, though he would try to avoid magazine surfing in the future if possible. 

“Oh, Tommy.” Wilbur tutted as he skirted around him, “Look at the state of you. Did you not get any sleep last night?”

Tommy made a flabbergasted sound. He couldn’t look that bad. “Sleep is for the weak. It’ll be worth it when I snag the lead in the play.” 

“You won’t snag any part if you’re not there on time. I’m leaving in fifteen minutes, alright?”

For Wilbur’s eighteenth birthday, he’d been gifted a vintage car. They called it that to ignore the fact that it was falling to pieces. Despite its almost endless list of faults, Wilbur loved his car and Tommy appreciated having someone to chauffeur him around. If he didn’t get a ride today, he would have no choice but to sprint to school. The last thing he wanted was to turn up to his audition covered in sweat. 

Tommy bolted into the kitchen and frantically began searching the cupboards for cereal. There were boxes of jigsaw puzzle pieces, boxes of DIY tools, boxes of everything but cereal. 

“I already made you a bowl, Toms.” 

Tommy turned around. He hadn’t noticed that Phil was sitting at the table. He was holding a miniature tree close to his face, peering at it with his eager blue eyes, and delicately pressing dots of brown into the trunk with a thin paintbrush. His expression was one of absolute focus. Among the tubes of paint, the pots of brushes, the bundles of felt and stacks of card, there was a bowl of cereal laid out for Tommy. With a relieved sigh, he snatched it up and began frantically shoveling spoonfuls of soggy Cornflakes into his mouth.

“You have that audition today, don’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“Ah, you’ll ace it. You must know the lines off by heart. I’m sure you could recite them in your sleep!”

“Mhm.”

“When will they announce the casting? I want Wilbur to take a picture of you with the sheet.” 

Tommy swallowed a mouthful of cereal and said, “I’m a little busy right now, Phil.” He had to strain to hide his irritation. Wasn’t it obvious that he didn’t have the time for chit chat? His eyes darted to the clock on the wall and then almost bulged out of his head. Eight minutes left to get in the car! He hurried up his shovelling and tossed the bowl and spoon into the sink, wincing when he heard a crack but not pausing to investigate. 

As he sprinted away, he barely caught Phil chuckling, “He’s some boy.”

Wilbur stood by the front door as Tommy hurried about the house. Despite the warm summer weather, he was wearing a beige jumper and that beanie that never seemed to leave his head. He had his guitar case slung over his back and peered at his phone while periodically shouting about the time to Tommy.

“We’re gonna be late.” He sighed, “I swear you’re worse than Techno when it comes to time management.”

“Oi!” Tommy snarled. He was racing back up the stairs, holding onto the bannister for dear life as his feet slid across the slippery magazine paper. He just had to get his script, and then he’d be ready to go. Flinging the door to his room open, he looked to his bed and— it was gone.

His script was gone.

“No, no, no, no.” He whispered. His hands crept up to his head, fingers entwined with his golden curls, and he began to tug. With each tug, his mind spiralled. Where did his script go? He needed that. Could he survive without it? What was the opening line? He couldn’t remember the opening line. He was screwed. He was doomed. He was—

“Looking for this, mate?”

Phil was standing in the doorway, holding up a pile of neatly pressed papers. Tommy’s eyes lit up, and he let out a relieved sigh. He let his shoulders relax and stepped forward to Phil, snatching the script from his hands.

“I stapled it all together. Didn’t want you to lose it.” 

It was a helpful job and Tommy knew he should’ve been grateful but, after such a chaotic morning, he felt peeved that Phil would take his script and cause even more panic. His foster father meant no harm, but Tommy was irritated regardless. 

He quietly muttered, “Thanks, Phil.” and scooped up his backpack, slung it over his shoulder and darted out of the bedroom, leaving Phil behind. 

“Aren’t you going to give me a goodbye hug?” 

He froze. There was an unspoken tradition that, every day before school, Tommy would give Phil a hug on his way out of the house. It began two years ago, when he was eleven and absolutely petrified to start attending the local school. 

“You’ll be alright, Tommy.” 

“But how do you know I’ll be alright?” Tommy grumbled. He was sitting on the stairs, allowing Phil to tie the laces of his shoes. His fingers fidgeted with the straps of his colourful backpack, which was filled with brand-new school supplies. Tommy had never had things that weren’t pre-owned. It was a new feeling, to be loved. It was a nice one. 

“Well,” Phil lifted his head. There were laughter lines around his eyes, “why don’t you take a look at Wil and Techno? I raised them and they turned out fine, didn't they?” 

The two brothers stood in the doorway. Wilbur was only sixteen, but he was almost as tall as twenty-year-old Techno, who had come home from college to celebrate the special occasion of Tommy’s first day at school. 

When Wilbur noticed Tommy was looking, he smacked Techno’s arm and grinned toothily, eyes wide and darting back and forth between his brothers as if encouraging Techno to help to brighten the mood. 

“What are we smilin’ about?” Techno asked blankly. He always seemed to be off in his own world, Wilbur rolled his eyes, letting the forced smile drop from his face.

“Did you miss that entire conversation, dimwit?” 

“Hey, don’t call me— Phil, d’you hear this? He called me a dimwit!”

“Oh, you know I would’ve called you worse if little Tommy wasn’t here.” 

Tommy giggled and looked back at Phil, who didn’t seem irritated by the arguing. He had an expression of fondness that was reflected in his tone when he joked, “Well, maybe they aren’t perfect, but third time’s the charm, isn’t it? You’ll do brilliantly, Toms.”

He stood and looked at the front door warily. The encouragement had helped but there was still the nagging fear that things would go wrong. That the other children wouldn’t like him, that he wouldn’t understand the work, that Phil’s love would be wasted on him. 

Before he could spiral further, his attention was drawn back to Phil. The man crouched down on his haunches, holding his arms out wide. 

“Still feeling worried? C’mere, let me hug the bad thoughts away.” 

Tommy felt safer in Phil’s arms than anywhere else in the whole wide world.

Now, Phil stood before him, face mapped with a few more wrinkles but eyes just as bright and arms looking just as welcoming. 

He repeated, “Tommy? Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”

Tommy was conflicted. He wanted to hug Phil, he always loved his foster father’s affection, but Wilbur was at the bottom of the stairs, swinging the car keys around his fingers. His heart pounded in his chest, the script suddenly felt like heavy stone tablets, and when he turned away from Phil, his footsteps were as loud as thunder. 

This time when going down the stairs, he did not fall and made it to the bottom safely. Wilbur sighed and said, “We’re three minutes behind schedule.”

“I know, I know. No need to complain. Let’s just get going.” Tommy wrestled to put on his Converse shoes. He hopped across the hallway, tying them while trying to get out the door.

“Are you not going to give Dad a—” 

Tommy eyed the clock. The auditions were quickly getting closer to starting. “C’mon, let’s just go.” 

Wilbur frowned but followed him out of the front door and towards the car. Tommy flopped down into the passenger seat and began to leaf through the script. Wilbur turned on the radio (taking the time to find a suitable station) and pulled out of the driveway. 

Phil waved from the living room window. Tommy didn’t wave back.

Wilbur was a fast driver. Phil was constantly warning him to slow down and be more careful (“Especially with your brother in the car!”). He flew around corners and, when zooming through yellow traffic lights, he kissed his curled fist and punched the ceiling. He devoted no effort to avoiding potholes, which made them bounce up and down in their seats. The wild motions made it difficult for Tommy to focus on his lines. 

They arrived at school the second the bell rang. Wilbur slowed down outside of the entrance and told Tommy to hop out. 

“I’ll find a parking spot, you go ahead.” 

Grumbling out a thanks, Tommy hopped out of the car and ran towards the front door. He wasn’t late! It was a miracle! He made a beeline to the auditorium and was just in time to join the queue for auditions.

When it was time for him to come onto the stage (signalled by a sharp “Next!” from the student casting director), Tommy shoved his script into the care of a stagehand and stumbled out into the spotlight. 

The casting director looked up from her notes and asked, “You’re auditioning for the lead, yes? Do the monologue starting on page twelve. Whenever you’re ready.”

Deep breaths, he told himself, In, out, now project your voice!

Reciting the monologue was the easy part. The words flowed smoothly from his mouth with no stuttering or hesitation. When an actor could recite their lines and it looked like they were speaking their own mind, not the thoughts of an ancient playwright from a hundred years ago, that was when you knew they’re good. At least, that’s what Phil had told him. 

It was thoughts of Phil that hindered his performance. When Tommy had rejected his hug, he hadn’t looked upset exactly. Phil would never force anyone into any unwanted affection. It was more like… Phil had looked at him as if he was finally seeing that he was no longer the petrified eleven-year-old who had clung to him on the first day of school. The sun’s morning rays revealed an older, mature boy to him, clearing away his previous perception of him. It was a look of revelation. 

Tommy hoped that this new image Phil had of him wasn’t opposed to hugs. Guilt over rejecting the affection made his palms sweat. He rubbed them against his jeans and stumbled slightly with his monologue. There was nothing he loved more than a hug from Phil. Things had to be made right between them, Tommy had to make sure their tradition didn’t die.

But right now he was on the stage. He needed to make the morning’s chaos worth it! It took all of his might but Tommy managed to push the guilt out of his mind for just long enough that he could focus on his performance. 

And his practice paid off— the crew loved his performance! He anxiously bugged them for hints, but they laughed and told him he’d have to wait for the official casting announcement along with everyone else. 

He left the auditorium feeling like he was on cloud nine. The morning rush had been worth it in the end. Guilt had been nagging at him ever since he skipped his ritual goodbye hug with Phil. He’d understand though. He always did. And he would be delighted to hear about the successful audition too. 

He gleefully skipped to his next class: Geography. His assigned seat was at the back of the classroom, which was just far away enough from the teacher that he could whisper to Tubbo and Ranboo instead of doing any work. 

Today their teacher had chosen to put on a documentary about volcanoes. It wasn’t the most interesting topic in the world, so Tommy subtly scooted his chair across to the double desk Tubbo and Ranboo shared. The two boys were pleased to see him, their happy expressions illuminated in orange by the projector’s light. 

“How did it go?” Tubbo whispered. Tommy nodded back enthusiastically, making his friend smile. “I knew you’d ace it.” 

“You think it’s safe to say you got the part you wanted?” Ranboo chimed in. He was a tall boy with tight, nervous features. 

“The lead? Oh, I’d say it’s guaranteed.” 

Ranboo and Tubbo shared twin looks of delight. As they smiled and whispered their congratulations, a volcano exploded, but they paid no heed to it.

The three of them quietly discussed their plans for the rest of the day. Tommy had been so consumed by auditions that he’d neglected to consider what would come after them. Surely there was some mischief he could get up to. Maybe Wilbur had a few cans of spray paint stowed away somewhere in his locker. Or perhaps he could pay a visit to Techno at his apartment after school. It had been a few months since they last saw each other.

Oh. No, Tommy knew what he had to do. 

“Something happened this morning.” He anxiously told his friends about the chaotic state his house was in earlier on and how he’d rejected Phil. “He was just trying to help me but— but I was so mean to him. I didn’t even hug him as I left.” 

“That’s cold, man,” Tubbo murmured. Tommy didn’t fight the criticism. He deserved to be told off for his behaviour. 

“But you’re gonna fix it, right?” Ranboo asked, “It’ll be fine. You can fix it.”

Tommy nodded firmly. “Yeah. I just missed one hug. It’s not like the end of the world or anything.” 

Another volcano erupted, sending molten lava spilling down a green hillside and leaving a path of destruction. It was at that point that the teacher’s phone rang. She paused the documentary (causing a few groans from the more attentive students) to pick it up and listen to the message. Tommy kicked at the table legs, not particularly caring about eavesdropping. He wasn’t nosy like that. These things never concerned him. 

“Tommy, your brother’s here to collect you.”

Uh oh. 

Tubbo voiced his confusion, asking, “Do they mean Techno?” He knew that the oldest of Phil’s foster children only came home on rare occasions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his family (at least that’s what Phil said), it was just that he was happy to live the life of a hermit in his metropolitan apartment. All of his time was devoted to writing his next novel. Or playing his violin. Or... no one truly knew what Technoblade got up to. He was a strange man. 

If Techno was here, something was wrong. Tommy’s heart pounded as he raced through the empty hallways to the front doors. What had happened? Was Wilbur involved?

Wilbur was already outside, standing underneath a tree and anxiously picking at his nails. When Tommy swung the doors open, he perked up and hurriedly walked over to him. His brother was an affectionate person, but he was still surprised when he wrapped him into a tight hug, holding his head against his neck and murmuring, “Oh, Tommy. Oh, oh, Tommy.”

“W-What? Wilbur, what’s happened?” 

A cough came from behind them. Tommy had to wrestle out of Wilbur’s grasp to lay eyes on Techno. The man was dressed in tight black trousers with sailor-style buttons, a tucked-in band shirt and had a motorcycle helmet held underneath his arm. His pink hair was braided, though it had been loosened by the wind. To a stranger, Techno’s still stature could’ve been seen as placidity, but Tommy knew that his oldest brother became inert when panic was clawing at him.

“Hi.” He said, “How... how are you?”

“Confused.” Tommy spat back. His disorientation was presenting itself as anger. He didn’t intend to sound bitter, though he trusted Techno knew this. Even with the age gap of nine years and Techno having moved out, they were family. Brothers connected through Phil and his kindness. 

Deep down, Tommy knew this was about Phil before Techno told him.

“Phil, he— he got himself into a bit of trouble this mornin’. When he was drivin’ to work, just after you two left.” Techno’s chin wobbled. He looked away, a fruitless attempt to hide his emotions. He was close to Phil. No one loved him with the same passion and loyalty Techno did. 

Wilbur took over. “Dad got in a car crash, Toms. He’s.. it was bad. Really bad.”

The world was ending for Tommy but in a still, subtle way. It wasn’t like the volcanoes he’d seen in Geography. There was no fire and flames. The trees continued to sway in the light breeze and fluffy clouds drifted across the blue sky. Tommy felt paralysed.

“How... how bad is it?” He asked through winded breaths. 

“They wouldn’t tell me over the phone. He was taken in for surgery, though. Maybe around two hours ago.” Techno said.

“Two— you’ve known for two hours and you didn’t think to tell me sooner?” Tommy felt the lump growing in his throat. Wilbur was holding him, but he couldn’t feel the touch. He was numb.

“Dad asked him not to. He didn’t want you to get distracted from your audition, Toms. Don’t get mad at Techno.” 

Tommy was stunned. In his mind he pictured Phil, bloody and worn, clinging to a paramedic and prattling on about some stupid play. Why had he ever made it a higher priority than his father? 

Wilbur drove him to the hospital. For the first time in his life, he drove slowly. Cautiously. Techno led the way on his motorcycle, pink hair whipping out behind him. Tommy trained his eyes on that braid in a pitiful attempt to distract himself. But gory images of Phil flashed in his mind, becoming grimmer with each second that passed. He needed to see him. He needed to give him that hug. 

It took a few rounds of the parking lot before Wilbur managed to snag a spot. The busy nature disturbed Tommy. Ambulances rushed in and out, patients bustled to and fro. It occurred to him that he’d never been to an adult hospital before. The thought unsettled him. 

Techno shepherded them through the building without being hindered by uncertainty at any point. Tommy knew he’d probably called beforehand and asked for directions but part of him enjoyed the idea that Techno only needed his heart to guide them to Phil. 

Wilbur tried to keep an upbeat spring in his step but even he was depressed upon arrival at the trauma wing of the hospital. There was no way to put a positive spin on anything traumatic. 

Tommy gulped as they entered the waiting room. It was barren of life. All of the identical plastic chairs were uninhabited. Techno’s cold stare at the next door told his brothers that this was their destination, beyond that door would be where Phil was. The “NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL” sign mocked them.

Tommy flopped down onto a chair and began to bite at his fingernails. Usually, Phil would scold him for that but... well, Phil wasn’t here.

He ducked his head, keeping his gaze lowered, while Wilbur and Techno quietly conversed. It was a boring adult conversation about insurance and probably taxes too— oh, Tommy prayed that Wilbur wasn’t turning into a boring adult as Techno had. If he did, then the only fun one left would be Phil.

The lump in Tommy’s throat grew stronger. Would Phil be the same after this? What if he walked into this room and his foster father was no longer the funny and caring man he’d met two years ago? 

Would Phil even be alive after this?

Regret bubbled inside of him, threatening to spill over to the surface. Why hadn’t he gone for that hug this morning? Why hadn’t he fought against the pressures of time and raced to hug his father? If he’d had known the disaster to follow, he would’ve clung to Phil and never let go. Maybe if he’d taken that extra minute to hug Phil, the timeline would’ve gone differently, and he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed right now. If he’d had known it would’ve been the last time—

“Tommy? Oh, Toms...”

When... When did he start crying? He wiped the tears spilling from his eyes with the back of his hand and frantically blinked. He hadn’t meant to let the waterworks begin.

“Somethin’ about these chairs, I swear. So uncomfortable.” He muttered pathetically. Wilbur sat down beside him and took his free hand.

“It’s alright to be upset. It’s alright.” Wilbur lowered his voice an octave and asked, “Are you worried?”

There was no use in hiding it. Mouth morphing into an ugly crumpled shape, Tommy nodded. He pressed his trembling lips against his curled fist. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it? They wouldn’t do surgery if it wasn’t bad. And— and I had the chance to hug him this morning and I rejected it. So stupid. So, so stupid. If I’d known...” Cold snot trickled down from his nostril but couldn’t find the energy to wipe it. All he wanted was to curl up on the couch and listen to Phil shuffle around the kitchen, muttering about materials for his dioramas. He wouldn’t even mind it if Phil scolded him for forgetting to recycle his cola cans again. 

“Oh, Tommy.” Wilbur said, voice soft, “Don’t cry. Techno, go get him some water.” He balled the sleeve of his jumper over his thumb and wiped his runny nose, “Ew, you little gremlin. Don’t cry, it’s gross.”

Tommy sputtered out a pitiful laugh. 

“Listen: there’s no one stronger than Phil. He’s going to be alright.” Even with the cold blue glare of the overhead lighting, Wilbur’s eyes had a honey-gold sheen. Tommy always felt safe under his gaze. “When we go in there, I won’t lie to you, it might be messy. It might be a bit frightening. But you’re going to see him again. You’re going to be able to give him that belated hug and, tomorrow, you can give him another. And every day after that, too. Alright?” 

Fat tears dribbled down Tommy’s red cheeks. Techno rounded into the hall, carrying a flimsy plastic cup of water. Tommy took a meek sip of it.

“I’m goin’ to spend some time at home.” Techno said, “After all of this, I mean. Phil will probably need some help keepin’ you two in line.” 

“Aw, you’re putting your novel aside for us?”

“My novel? I completed that ages ago. No, I’m campaignin’ for anarchy now.” 

Tommy laughed weakly. So that was what Techno had been up to. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes and drawled, “I can’t wait to hear all about it over the dinner table. Seriously, though, Dad misses having you around, Techno. He’ll be delighted.”

A pinkish blush spread across Techno’s cheeks. He ducked his head and said, “Yeah, well, I wish we were reunitin’ under better circumstances.” 

Tommy tried to imagine it. Coming home from school and seeing Phil and Techno on the couch, excitedly chattering about one thing or another, and watching them look up with wide smiles when he entered. Phil would beckon him over, and he would squeeze in between the two men while laughing and joking about being such a tall teenager. Wilbur would insist on taking a photograph but it would be with his terrible Polaroid camera because he’s quirky like that. And Phil would hug him tightly and it would all be okay. 

All three of them almost jumped out of their skins when the double doors to the “NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL” room opened. A flurry of energetic nurses and doctors pushed a wheeled bed out and down a corridor. Behind them trailed an exhausted group of surgeons. Their scrubs were clean. Tommy was at least thankful for that.

The bed moved past them too quickly for Tommy to get a good look at who inhabited it but, judging by Techno’s leap to follow it, it was Phil. Even as they sprinted to catch up with him, Tommy continued to cling to Wilbur.

Techno managed to catch up to the procession of personnel and stopped a nurse just as the bed took a sharp turn and left their view. She was a short, stout woman with greying hair. She’d probably been in the job for years and was well-trained with dealing with frustrated family members. Techno and the nurse seemed to be engaging in a fierce argument. Wild hand gestures were exchanged. Casting a knowing look at each other, Tommy and Wilbur chose to slow down to trot. 

Techno stalked away from the nurse and approached them with a scowl. Tommy’s heart sank. Was it bad news? Had something went wrong in surgery?

“We’re allowed to see him.”

Tommy squeezed Wilbur’s hand. 

“And he’s alright? Stable?” Wilbur’s tone was grave. He wasn’t ready to celebrate just quite yet. 

“Yes. Yeah, he’s goin’ to be okay.” 

“You scared me there, Techno.” Tommy let out a shaky sigh. “Don’t ever deliver happy news again while looking so angry.” 

Techno frowned, “Yeah, well, that nurse was pretty adamant that visitors would only annoy Phil. If anything, visitors will make him feel more comfortable.” 

The three continued their quest to follow the rapidly moving hospital bed. Tommy had never felt his heart beat so fast. He thought he was nervous for his audition this morning but this triumphed any other fear he’d ever experienced. He was hyper-aware of his surroundings: the squeak of his Converses against the shiny linoleum floors, the scent of bleach combing his nostrils, the bounce of Techno’s pink hair. The sensation he felt strongest was desperation for Phil. For his father. 

They managed to catch sight of the tail of a doctor’s long white coat whipping into a room. The door was banged closed behind them. Techno was the first to reach it and forcefully slammed his hand onto the knob, ready to pull the door off its hinges, but was stopped by Wilbur.

“We should be quiet.” He hissed, “If Dad’s asleep, we won’t want to wake him.” 

Techno’s eyes flashed with fire, but he removed his hand from the knob. Tommy pushed past Wilbur’s shoulder and peered into the room through the door’s thin window. Three doctors stood at the end of the bed, deep in a conversation he could not hear, while nurses hooked Phil up to several machines and contraptions. Tommy avoided looking at Phil’s face. 

A young blonde nurse spotted him peeping and smiled. Skirting around the bed, she bounced over to the door and opened it. 

“Ah, Tommy, Wilbur and Technoblade, yes?” She asked. Tommy nodded. She spoke some more, but he didn’t take in her words. His attention was drawn to the bed. It was thin and hard-looking, with a skeletal plastic frame and papery turquoise sheets. Back home, Phil had a lovely king-sized bed. Many weekend mornings had been spent curled up among the fluffy blankets with Phil running a tired hand through Tommy’s blond curls and holding him close as the sun spilt its glorious golden light into the room. 

The light in this room was a cold blue. The bed had no comfortable blankets or pillows. There was dried brown crust underneath Phil’s fingernails. Tommy had to look away again. He didn’t want to cry in front of the nurses and doctors. 

“Are you alright, poppet?” The nurse asked him. She rubbed his shoulder and made a pitying sound. Tommy appreciated her attention but it wasn’t the attention he was looking for. 

“Just worried about Dad,” Wilbur explained. 

The nurse nodded understandingly and checked the notes on her clipboard. “Well, I’d say we’re just about done with setting him up to spend the night here. He’ll need to be supervised quite closely as he recovers. I’m sure the doctors will explain it all later. For now, I think the best medicine your father can get is some quiet company.” 

Tommy was so glad this nice nurse was interacting with them instead of the grumpy older woman Techno had argued with earlier.

The crowd of nurses moved away from the bed, finally giving a full view of Phil. Oh, Phil. Tommy couldn’t stop the tears now.

His left leg was in a cast and suspended in traction by an intimidating metal machine. He had been dressed in a turquoise gown, the same clinical colour of almost everything in this horrid place. Tommy dreaded to think of the countless stitches and scars which were hidden underneath it. An off-white bandage had been tied around his forehead, pushing his hair back. Brown blood had dried on his scalp. It was disgusting.

But at least Phil looked at peace. His chest rose and fell slowly. Tommy recognised the rhythm from all the times he came downstairs for a midnight snack and found Phil passed out at the kitchen table with a paintbrush still loosely held in his hand. It was slow, steady, safe. 

As Tommy slowly inched towards the bed, he was dimly aware of Techno conversing with the doctors behind him. There was something about painkillers and head trauma and many other words that Tommy was too young to understand the meaning and gravity of. He felt Wilbur squeeze his hand. 

“He’s sleeping.” He said quietly, “But he’s alright, see? The drugs will wear off soon and he’ll be awake to hug you.” 

“I don’t think I can wait that long.” Tommy’s voice was barely a whisper. He dropped to his knees at the side of the bed and, shoulders slumped in defeat, pressed his forehead to the hard mattress. Tommy would later find out that there were chairs available, but the coolness of the hospital floor grounded him. His tears splashed against the linoleum. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

“I-I’m sorry, Dad.” With each gasp of air, he felt his throat burn, “I’m really sorry. I love you. Please, I just want-”

And then the most miraculous thing happened. 

Phil’s touch was so light, so gentle, Tommy wasn’t quite sure if he was real. It took a gasp from Wilbur for him to realise what had happened.

“Oh, Tommy.”

In his sleep, Phil had moved his arm from his side to hang off the bed and fall loosely around Tommy’s shoulders. His twitching fingers tickled his scalp. Phil made a sleepy noise of contentment before his fingers fell still. 

Tommy stared at his father’s sleeping face with eyes full of tears. Slowly, mindful of the injuries hiding beneath his gown, he placed his curled fist on Phil’s chest. He felt each breath he took. He felt his heart thrum. 

It wasn’t quite a hug but, finally, Tommy felt like things might be okay.