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Phil never thought that he would have to hurt his kid to help them.
No, he didn’t mean beating him. Phil could…he didn’t think he ever could. Honestly, he couldn’t even imagine hurting them, it made him feel sick.
But stabbing him with a miniature needle, just to test his blood? It just seemed… wrong . Especially since Tommy was new to the house, and this was all new to Phil. Maybe the testing wasn’t new to Tommy, but it was new for Phil.
As soon as he walked in, though, he saw Tommy’s face drop. “Hey, kiddo.” He said. Smiling weakly, he walked over to him. Swallowing, Tommy took a shaky breath. “Why don’t you lay back? Huh?” Nodding, Tommy took the pillow and started rubbing his hands. “What’s up?”
“My fingers are cold. It’s easier to prick warm fingers than cold ones.” Tommy murmured. Sniffing, he rubbed at his eyes, already tearing up. Phil started setting up the pain pen. That was what Tommy called it. Honestly, Phil agreed. Needles were horrible pain pens. He hated them with a vengeance, all of his experiences with needles had been bad whether it came from Wilbur self-harming or Techno’s old needle scars from his mother presumably using him to test her old needles for infection.
(Phil had seen Techno’s mother at the shelters a couple of times. Still, he’d recognised her instantly. Thankfully, Techno himself wasn’t in the front, but she had talked about her son and how she missed having him. That was the lady who had thrown coffee in his face. Because Phil confronted her on abusing her kid and then apparently she wasn’t happy with him. She was the only really problematic person, at least that he remembered. The good people outnumbered the bad. In all honesty, Phil had more trouble from abusive partners searching for their victims than from those who were homeless themselves.)
“Okay. How about tomorrow we have you dip your fingers in warm water or something similar?” Phil asked. Nodding, Tommy sniffed and ran a hand over his face. His shoulders shook slightly, and Phil swallowed. Fixing the pen up, he took Tommy’s hand. Lying on the bed, Tommy scrunched his face up and closed his eyes. The blond didn’t seem to be looking forwards to it. “Okay, you’re going to be okay.”
Looking down, he triggered the gun.
Tommy scrunched his eyes shut. Pulling the gun away, Phil brushed a finger over it. There was no blood, though. Frowning, he hummed. “I don’t think it fired.”
“It didn’t.” Tommy sniffed. Then, shaking his head, he whispered, “I can’t.”
Sniffing, Tommy coughed. There were tears running down the side of his face. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Phil reassured. Swallowing, Tommy sucked in a breath. His chest started heaving. Immediately, Phil paused and put the pain pen down. Rubbing his arm, Phil said, “Okay, how about we don’t do this tonight, okay? We can wait until tomorrow morning.” Tommy stared at him for a second, chest heaving. “You’re having a panic attack, we’ll work with it. We’ll just do this tomorrow, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Okay, okay.” Sniffing, Tommy ran his hands into his hair and curled up slightly. Another sob shook his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t—I didn’t want to—“
“I know, I know, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Tommy coughed. Setting the pain pen aside, Phil ruffled his hair and smiled at him. “Breathe with me, breathe with me. It’s alright, it’s alright.”
“I’m sorry, I know I’m the one who wanted this, I know I’m just being pathetic—“
“You’re not, Tommy. You’re not at all. You’re okay.” Stroking his hair back, Phil went through a breathing exercise. Eventually, Tommy was able to relax, able to breathe normally. Phil handed him one of the plush animals the neighbor’s kid, Tubbo, had given him. They didn’t have a bad living server, but Phil knew they would probably have to move soon. For all his sons’ sakes. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll leave the door open, just so I can check in on you. Okay?”
“Okay.” Tommy whispered. Tapping his shoulder, Phil took the testing kit and headed out into the kitchen. In about an hour, the doctor had suggested giving Tommy something to eat to help him be steadier when he woke up in the morning. Phil was going to make him a PB&J.
In the meantime, though, he was going to figure the testing kit out if it meant jabbing himself a thousand times.
It took the better part of probably fifteen minutes. Still, when he was done, he wrapped a plaster around his finger and hurried into Tommy’s room with the sandwich on hand. His youngest was curled up in bed, on his phone.
Glancing up, Tommy swallowed nervously. “Hey. How do you feel?” Phil asked softly. Pulling himself upright, Tommy took the sandwich. Phil pulled himself onto the bed, folded his wings out and brushed Tommy’s shoulder with one. In response to the question, Tommy just shrugged. Then, physically shaking, he took a bite of the sandwich and avoided Phil’s gaze. “Are you okay?” Phil asked softly as he set it back down.
“It’s hard to eat sometimes. Too anxious, I guess.” Sniffing, Tommy glanced to the side. “But hey, doctor’s orders, right?” Swallowing, he rubbed his arms and coughed nervously. “Sorry for crying.”
“Hey, I don’t blame you.” Holding his hand up, Phil said, “It wasn’t fun to jab myself either. But I think I have it figured out.”
Tommy stared at him, open-mouthed, for a moment. “You didn—you didn’t have to do that.”
Shrugging, Phil replied, “I wanted to know how to do it properly. Besides, I got to know what my own blood sugar was. Not the worst thing.” Looking down at the plaster, he looked to Tommy and added, “You’re worth the work that it takes to love, Tommy. Don’t forget that.”
Sniffing, Tommy looked down at the sandwich. Legs crossed, he started eating a little quicker, occasionally drinking from the water bottle. On his other side, the phone buzzed. Phil nodded at it, hummed lightly. “Tubbo and I started talking on Discord. He seems nice so far.”
Nodding, Phil smiled, “I’m glad that you’re making friends.” Tommy scoffed, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes were still a little reddened from crying.
“Shut up, old man. You’re so sentimental.” Laughing, Phil shook his head, looked across the room. There were still a few balloons tied to the suitcase that Tommy’s clothes had come in. A few of them were still floating, rather wrinkled but still there. The rest, however, were scattering down across the floor. One of them bobbed around casually.
Smiling, Phil glanced over at Tommy, who yawned. He reached over, rubbed the young man’s arm. Meeting his gaze, Tommy smiled tiredly, then pulled his phone out and started showing Phil some of the memes he and Tubbo had been trading off.
Yeah, they’d be fine.